#rat what is you doin

[stromer]

matthew chucking a rat like its a puck pls

[strang3lov3]

VS

Summary: Yours and Joel’s newest patrol task is exploring the old mall not far from Jackson. You learn what Victoria’s Secret really is. (She was NOT having an affair with former president of the United States Colonel Sanders) AKA grumpy cranky joel and you get down and dirty in an old Victoria’s Secret.

This is part 1 of my new series “Mall Rats”

Warnings: smut, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, doin it in front of a mirror (thanks gracie!), reverse cowgirl, joel is a dick, joel is condescending, reader is charming just like me, Joel does all the work because reader is a lady and Joel is an asshole.

W/C: 4.7k

“Weird looking stairs,” you mumble as you take in the unique environment. Beneath your feet are metallic steps with deep lined grooves, in front of you is Joel, stepping down the staircase. In the enclosed building, the walls are lined with different shops, there’s a few different seating areas. Old posters, advertisements. Colorfully painted walls are overgrown with roots and vines. 

“S’cause they’re not regular stairs,” Joel says with a gruff voice. “S’called an escalator. Didn’t have to walk up and down the steps, you could stay stationary and it’d move ya up an’ down.”

“Sounds cool.”

“No,” Joel mutters. “Not cool.”

None of this is cool to Joel. In fact, it’s the opposite. 

Tommy and his crew had stumbled across this mall while on patrol. Of course they couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, but they deemed it largely safe of infected. He wasn’t sure how picked over it was, but he figured it would be a good task for you and your curious mind. Comb it through for supplies, clothing, entertainment. Take notes and report back to him. 

So what was Joel there for?

To chaperone you, of course. Keep you out of trouble, keep you safe, answer your million and one questions. 

It was Tommy’s sick and twisted idea of a joke. Joel’s new patrol project involved two of the things he disdained the most: Malls, and you.

 Comedy gold.

“No,” you mock his tone with a silly face, “Not cool.”

Joel rolls his eyes and ignores you. When you reach the bottom of the steps, he looks at his surroundings as he reaches in his bag for his flashlight. Turning it on he says, “We’ll start down here and work our way up. Scope everything out, get familiar. Then you can start combing through the stores for supplies and what have you. You stick by me. No wanderin’.”

“Don’t you mean we?” you ask. “We comb through the stores.”

“No, sweetheart, I don’t. S’your job, not mine. I’m just here to keep ya from gettin’ killed.”

Whatever. Joel can bitch and moan about this all he wants, but you’re grateful for the opportunity to explore the infinite wonders of the mall. It’s not like you’ve got much else to do. You’re indoors, safe from the elements and infected. You’re not complaining. 

You reach into your own bag and pull out your flashlight. You turn it on, and the light flickers dimly. You smack it with your palm a couple times before the light finally goes out, then turn to Joel with a sweet smile on your face. “You wouldn’t happen to have a couple extra–”

“You’re lucky I do,” Joel glares at you as he digs through his belongings to find a couple of double A batteries in his pack. You hold out your hand and he begrudgingly drops the batteries in your palm. “Quit fuckin’ around. Be prepared next time.” He’s certainly jolly today. 

You replace the batteries and turn your flashlight on, and begin to make your way through the bottom level of the mall. Joel’s said nothing since giving you the batteries. 

“So what did you do here? Or, not here specifically. Just like, malls in general,” you ask as you make your way through tables and chairs. A big sign on a nearby wall informs you that this area is called the food court. 

“I did nothing. Malls were always packed with people, way too busy. Too many teenagers. Expensive too,” Joel scrunches his nose as he catches a whiff of something foul at an old hot dog stand. “But other people, they’d come here and shop for clothes, get somethin’ to eat. Could catch a movie f’ya wanted.”

“So where’d you get your clothes from?”

Joel shrugs. “Dunno. Just kinda always had them in my dresser, I guess.”

Sounds like Joel. 

There’s a Panda Express, something called Auntie Anne’s that you and Joel are looking through together. He’s eyeing the cooking equipment and you’re baffled as you stare at a five gallon drum of nacho cheese on the floor.

“That cheese is probably still good,” Joel comments. 

“You’re joking.”

“It ain’t the real cheese like we got back in Jackson. Auntie Anne’s was a pretzel shop, lotta people would dip ‘em in that cheese.”

Auntie Anne’s doesn’t have much to offer, so you and Joel move right along. Next stop is Kentucky Fried Chicken. You point to the man on the logo. “Who’s that?”

“Colonel Sanders. He was the president way back when.”

You know better. “No, he wasn’t.”

“Sure he was,” Joel says. “You weren’t there. You don’t know.”

He’s such a dick. You roll your eyes and leave him and Colonel Sanders to their own devices as you walk through the rest of the food court. 

Joel doesn’t realize you’d left. He tells you another Kentucky Fried Fun Fact and when he’s met with no answer, he looks up to find you at Cinnabon at the end of the food court. 

He makes his way to you then kicks you with his boot. “Didn’t I tell you to stay next to me?”

You ignore his question and ask him your own. “What’s Cinnabon?”

“M’serious,” he says. “No more wanderin’.”

“Yeah, yeah. No wanderin’.” you mock his Southern accent once more. But more importantly, you demand answers. “Tell me about Cinnabon.” 

“They’re just cinnamon rolls. Cinnamon. Bun. S’in the name, genius.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t like those much either, then.”

“Actually, they were pretty good. Big and gooey, covered in icing. You were supposed to split ‘em with someone but I never did.”

“Ah, right. You and your sweet tooth,” You smile. 

“I don’t have a sweet tooth,” Joel lies. “Keep movin’.”

So you do. There’s a lemonade stand here and there, but mostly shops now. A bookstore, jewelry stores. Something called “Wet Seal”. You ask Joel what it is, to which he replies “Fuck if I know.”

A shoe store has piqued Joel’s interest. He’s looking for a new pair of boots as you stare out the window of the shop, wondering who the hell Victoria is and what secret she’s hiding. Joel taps you on the arm to tell you to follow him as he leaves the shoe store.

“What’s Victoria’s Secret?”

“Oh,” Joel says. “Nothin’. We don’t need to go there.”

Oof. Bad move, Joel. Now you have to find out what the deal is with Victoria’s Secret. You take off for the store, ignoring Joel’s orders to stick by his side. ��Did she have a secret affair with President Colonel Sanders?”

“No, god dammit. Get back here. We ain’t goin’.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t wanna.”

But you do. So you ignore his bitching and approach the store, stopping when you realize exactly what kind of store it is. “Oh.”

Joel catches up to you. “Mhm,” he mumbles. “S’just underwear. Now c’mon, I’m tired of chasin’ ya.”

“No way,” you argue. “I need new underwear. I’m actually going commando right now, so this is perfect.”

 Joel makes a face like he’s in pain and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Boundaries.”

You don’t believe in TMI. 

You enter the store, entranced by the women in the photos and the black sparkly floor. There’s a big table with panties laid on top, drawers underneath that indicate sizing. You open the drawers with your size and begin sifting through the underwear. All different styles, patterns, colors. Way cuter than the few you have back in Jackson. 

You pick out a few different pairs. Brown with pink polka dots, pink with red roses. Some bikini styles, some boyshorts. You hold up a white pair with lace and a little blue flower sewn on the center of the waistband. “Joel, look! Aren’t these cute?”

“Just adorable,” he mumbles without bothering to actually look. If his voice were any more full of sarcasm he’d choke. Joel keeps his eyes firm on the ground, like he’s being intimidated by the mannequins and their threatening panties. You giggle and he shoots you a warning look. 

You look for a few more pairs, then find a few pairs that look a little different. You hold one up, trying to figure out which side you put your legs through. When you look at the nearly bare-assed woman in the advertisement that reads 5 for $20 above you, you realize how it’s meant to be worn. Oh, you think. Neato. You stuff a few of the thongs in your bag. Could be fun. 

Joel’s still behind you, eyes still focused on the floor, off in his own, prudish little world. You wonder what he’s thinking. There’s a fire engine red thong in the drawer, with sparkles and lace. You know, the works. And you know it’ll be just perfect for a special someone. “Hey, Joel. Found some for you.”

“Not interested.”

You loop the thong over your index finger and pull back with your other hand, then shoot it at Joel like it’s a hair tie. It hits him square on his nose and he catches it in his hand, then throws it on the ground as he pouts. “Alright, enough. You’re done. We’re leavin’.”

You shake your head. “Tommy said I’m in charge.”

Joel groans. “Oh, for the love of god. In charge, my ass.”

You know better than to keep arguing. So you just walk towards the bras, ignoring Joel’s voice in the background telling you to get back here. He hates it when you walk away from him when he’s speaking, so he always follows you so that you hear every last word. It works out, though. You get to do what you want, and Joel gets to give you his stern talking-to. How’s that for a compromise?

The bras are set up similarly to the panties, with different drawers for different sizes. Joel’s still going off about how you never follow orders, how you probably don’t even need any of this, you’re just doing it to get under his skin. And it’s working. Something about how when we get back to Jackson, I’m telling Tommy to take me off of patrol with y–

You interrupt. “The fuck?”

“What?”

“What does any of this mean? 30A, 30B, 32A, 34C, 34DD?” You hold up different bras and show him the tags. 

“Those are sizes, sweetheart.” 

“Yeah, I gathered that, thanks. But what’s my size?”

“Why’re ya askin’ me? Just grab one so we can go. Christ almighty.” 

Men. No help at all. 

Surely a store that specializes in bras must have some sort of sizing chart or something. There’s end caps with different beauty products, you stuff a strawberry flavored lipgloss in your pocket as you search. The register might have something, you guess. And lucky you, you’re right. Under the counter are a few measuring tapes and charts. 

Predictable Joel follows you, of course. He says nothing as you read through the instructions. First wrap around your back, under your armpits and just above your bust. That’s your band size. Then do the same with your bust, and subtract the band size from the bust. There’s your A, B, C, D and so on.

You take off your hoodie and stand in just a tank top, no bra. When you said commando, you meant it. Joel watches you as you wrap the measuring tape around yourself. 

“Sweetheart,” Joel interrupts, and he sounds exhausted. “What are you doin’.”

“Making you a Cinnabon, what’s it look like?” you mumble with your chin smushed into your neck as you try to read the numbers on the tape. 

And Joel thought Ellie was annoying. 

You’ve got the measuring tape twisted and tangled behind you, and you don’t even realize it. The inner contractor in Joel can’t bear to watch any more of this fuckery. “Give me that,” he spits, yanking the measuring tape away from your body. “You’re useless.”

Joel looks over the directions for a moment before tapping your arms. You lift up, he wraps the measuring tape properly around your body. There’s a nearby pen and he scribbles the number down, then lowers the measuring tape, his thumbs skating over the clothed flesh of your breasts. Your nipples harden as his fingers brush them accidentally. 

And you thought the thong you shot at Joel was red. It doesn’t even begin to compare to the shade of crimson Joel’s face turns as he realizes what he’s done. Quickly, he drops the measuring tape and writes down the second number and your bra size. “Ther-” his voice cracks and he clears his throat. “There. Go find your bra. Then we’re leavin’, and I’m not arguin’ this time.”

You smirk at his vocal mishap. “Okay. But I have to try them on first.”

“You never make things easy for me, do you?”

Joel follows you as you look for a few different bras in your size. You pick out a few that match your panties, and a few others. There’s a silky black bra with so much memory foam padding that it rivals your pillow at home. Again, perfect for your special someone. 

Joel’s smelling different perfumes when you sidle up to him and lay the bra on his head, the large cups sitting on either side of his scalp. “Mickey Mouse,” you tell him.

Joel glares at you as he removes the bra and drops it on the floor. “You are giving me a fuckin’ aneurysm.” 

You look pleased with yourself, which only makes him more pissed off. But the table next to Joel catches your eye. There’s a pretty satin babydoll dress, with a matching pair of panties. It’s a nice light pink color, with pretty floral lace. “Hmm.” you mumble, thinking to yourself.

Joel watches your eyes leave his face as you become distracted. “What?” he turns his attention toward where your vision is focused. “Oh. Nope. You don’t need that.”

 “Why not?”

“You said you needed underwear. S’lingerie. All them frills and lace…” Joel trails off.

“I think it’d be nice for a date night.”

Joel’s jaw clenches slightly. “I do not envy the poor bastard who takes you home,” he says. He’s probably just annoyed, at his wit’s end with you. Probably not jealous. Definitely not jealous. “But guys don’t give a shit what you’re wearin’, honey. Just wanna get what’s underneath. S’a waste of time.”

You shrug and grab your size in the lingerie anyway. Then you take off towards the dressing rooms to try everything on. You enter the first room on the right, and Joel sits at a bench directly across, just a few feet away from you. 

You try on a couple of bras and feel pleased when they fit and support you. They make the girls sit pretty, too.

You take off the bra and eye the pretty babydoll and its matching bottom. So you try it on, and it’s gorgeous. It frames you nicely, sits right above your ass to show off the panties. You admire yourself in the mirror for a while before deciding you’ll save it for a date night. Fuck what Joel says. Maybe he doesn’t like lingerie, but that doesn’t mean you can’t. 

Things are going smoothly until you try to unhook the babydoll in the back. It’s stuck or something. You fidget with it for a second, accidentally smacking your elbow against one of the dressing room walls in the process. 

“Y’alright in there?” Joel calls out to you.

“Fine, just uh…” You step out of the dressing room. “Need your help with the hook in the back. It’s stuck.”

Joel looks like a deer in the headlights when you stand before him, clad in your pink satin babydoll and matching panties. You leave the changing room door open, Joel stares at your ass on the mirror attached to it. He’s all flustered, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Lord have mercy.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not a lingerie guy.”

Joel swallows thickly. “I don’t know about that, exactly.”

“No?” You raise an eyebrow. Joel, suddenly a man of few words. How much nicer he is when he’s quiet, you think. “How about you unhook it so I can change?”

“Yeah I could uh…do that.” Joel stands up, then carefully holds the straps of your dress between his fingers. His featherlight touch leaves goosebumps on your shoulders. “Shouldn’t be wearin’ this. It’s very impractical.” 

“I know, Joel. You mentioned that.”

His hands trail lower down the straps, his fingers resting against your skin. “Uh huh. Cheap material…could get torn very easily f’ya aren’t careful.”

And then his fingers are moving up the straps again. He places two hands on your hips and turns you around, fingers skating across your ass cheeks. You feel his body step closer to yours, his hot breath on your neck as he whispers, “M’sure it's not stitched too good. Probably not easy to clean, either.” He catches you off guard when you look at yourself in the mirror. He’s staring intently at the reflection of your body, then his eyes flicker to yours.

“Right,” you agree. 

Joel’s scanning your body again, observing how the fabric falls around your curves just so. He looks hungry, like the moment you peel your eyes from him he’ll devour you.

“Are you gonna take it off of me?” He ignores your question as he pinches the bottom of your babydoll between his fingers, the soft satin tickling your skin as he moves the fabric. “Joel?”

“Yeah, hon. I’m gettin’ there. Be patient f’me, now.” Your stomach flutters at the low timbre of his voice, the way he purrs in your ear. Joel absolutely does not like lingerie. Not one bit, god dammit.

His eyes are darkened with lust as he sucks in a breath, admiring the way your breasts sit beneath the clothing, the way it drapes over your stomach and rests on your hips. One of the straps falls off your shoulder and he clicks his tongue. “See? S’no good.”

“Guess so,” you agree, and he places the strap back on your shoulder, his fingers lingering for a moment too long as he contemplates his next move.

“Closer,” he pulls your hand towards himself, and you step backward. He lets his hands slide down your body over the lingerie and you watch him frown in the mirror, his hands stopping when he reaches the bottom of your dress. “N’it covers up all these pretty curves…” Joel lifts up the fabric, inspecting the craftsmanship of your panties. He takes note of the way they’re darkened beneath your core, sticky with your arousal. “These panties…thin, huh?” He traces a finger delicately over the strap on your hip, pulling it back and snapping on your skin. 

Your breath hitches in your throat. “Joel,” you breathe shakily, “You’re teasing me.”

“M’sorry, darlin’. Just tryna show ya somethin’.” You watch as he trails a finger over your mound, dragging it across the damp cloth and finding your clit over the fabric. He rubs steady circles as he whispers, “See, now look at that. You’re stainin’ em. Makin’ a big fuckin’ mess of yourself.”

You bite back a moan. “Joel, what are you doing?”

“What’s it look like, I’m makin’ a Cinnabon.” Joel mocks you from earlier, but you don’t catch his snide teasing. You’re foggy headed and lost in this moment. “I just said I’m tryna show ya somethin’. Now hush while I’m speakin’.” He pushes your panties to the side, smirking when he feels how soaked your soft folds are as he drags his fingers up and down your slit. Your knees weaken and wobble, and Joel wraps an arm around your waist to guide you back some more. He sits on the bench with you on his lap, tapping a foot in between yours. You spread your legs and your stomach flutters feeling his hardness press against you. You watch him through the mirror as he speaks quietly into your ear, his breath tickling you as two of his thick fingers breach your entrance and push inside. “You said this lil’ number would be nice for a date, right?”

You nod while whimpering, turning your face into his neck. With his other strong hand, he holds your jaw and turns your attention back to the mirror in front of you. “S’matter? Don’t be gettin’ all bashful on me now,” he murmurs.  He’s curling his fingers, swirling them inside you and memorizing every inch of your walls. “Watch how I touch ya.”

You watch his fingers twitch and dance under your pretty pink panties. You peel your eyes away to look at his face, and he’s focused on his hand between your thighs. 

“S’pose it could be nice for a date,” Joel breathes. “You’d wear this, what, under a pretty dress or somethin’?”

You nod again.

“And then when that pretty dress comes off that evenin’, then what happens?”

“I-I dunno, Joel.”

“I know you don’t, sweetheart. I’ll tell you what happens. Your gentleman's gonna take one look at this little getup and rip it right off. Leave it in shreds on the floor and break your poor heart.”

You’re waiting for Joel to do just that. But he doesn’t, he just keeps fingering you under your panties. Two fingers deep inside you, thumb painting circles into your clit. There’s a heat building in your stomach, tickling you from the inside. Joel takes a moment to lift you up, undo his jeans and pull himself out before he begins to rock against you. His head nudges between your cheeks, warm and smooth and hard. How you wish you could see it, hold it in your hand, feel him with your tongue. You squirm against him and find his free arm, hugging it tight to steady yourself on him. Joel chuckles in a low tone.

“But I know you feel pretty,” Joel continues, “M’gonna work around it for ya, baby, but only if you’re good t’me. You know what that means?”

You’re irritated as you shake your head no. Joel’s using his fingers to taunt you, tease you. He knows just how he’s working you up, giving you just enough to keep you squirming but not enough to send you over the edge.

“It means–” Joel pulls his fingers away from your core and you groan. “Shush. Quit your whinin’.” He pushes you up by your hips so he can pull his pants down a little further, then sits you on his lap again, this time with his cock sitting between your folds and your panties pulled as far to the side as he could get them. With his hands still on your hips, he guides you up and down, up and down, coating himself in your arousal. You can just barely make out the shape as his tip rubs against your clit. He continues, “Means no more wanderin’,” he pulls the top of the babydoll down and watches your tits fall out, his both hands leaving your hips and sliding up to play with your breasts. “Y’come prepared for patrol,” he notches his stiff cock at your dripping entrance, “And I’m in charge. Not you. We clear?”

You nod. You’re not sure how he did it, but with Joel’s teasing, he’s seemingly melted away every bit of attitude in you.

“Good girl. Now don’t say I don’t do nothin’ for ya.”

With that, he thrusts up into you, parting your insides. You watch his cock disappear inside of you before throwing your head back on his shoulder with a moan. Joel smirks before using a firm yet gentle hand to guide your head back where he wants it. “Watch,” he coos, reminding you. “You’re pretty like this.”

Joel uses his hands on your hips to bounce you on his cock, then lets them glide up your body. He palms your breasts, squeezing and watching your flesh move and bulge under his fingers. He gropes you a couple of times while pinching and twisting your nipples, enjoying the way your moans change pitch with the action. 

While Joel plays with your nipples, you ride him. Your thighs ache and tremble, knees shaking. You bounce yourself on him a little longer before letting yourself go limp. 

Joel takes the hint, drops his hands to your hips and picks up where you left off. You lean back and let him do his thing. “Gonna make me do all the work for ya, huh?”

You say nothing, just let those sweet sounds fall from your lips as he fucks you. You reach between your thighs and touch what you can of him, unsatisfied with the way you didn’t get to before. Joel makes a noise, seemingly enjoying it.

He kneads your ass as he uses his strong arms to move you up and down, snapping his hips against yours. “Fuck,” he hisses. He lets out breathy sounds, grunts and growls tickling your ear and making the hair on your neck stand straight up. He’s sweating, soaking through his shirt and making your back feel damp. You’ll take what you can get of Joel right now, but you’re wishing you could see him better. Feel him more, his skin, watch his muscles twitch under you. Or above you. You don’t have a preference at the moment.

“Joel,” you moan. “Oh, Joel.”

He smirks, pleased with the noises you make. Pleased with your lack of words, your lack of attitude. How docile for him you are. He would have fucked you long ago if he knew you’d be like this. So well behaved. 

He turns his face into your neck and bites down. Hard. He soothes the marks over with his tongue, whispering nothings into your skin. You find your clit with your hand and begin circling it while Joel fucks into you. You think you have the right. Joel, however, disagrees.

“Hey,” he smacks your hand away. “What’d we talk about? Who’s in charge?” You move your hand between your thighs again, and Joel circles your wrist with his fingers and holds it away from you. “I asked you a question.”

“You are, Joel,” you breathe. 

“S’right. Means I take care of ya,” In the mirror, you watch Joel let go of your wrist and find your clit himself. “Thought you’d know better. Just sit pretty. S’all ya gotta do.”

“Joel,” you whisper, “Let me come,” 

“What’s the magic word, hon?”

“Please,” you beg. “Please. Make me come for you, I want–I wanna come on your cock, please. Please, Joel.”

“Wrong,”

You huff, exasperated and frustrated. 

 “It’s Cinnabon.”

Joel shifts himself on the bench, finding the perfect angle. He continues fucking you, effortlessly finding that sweet spot inside you. He pulls back the hood of your clit, fingers painting the sensitive nub as he begins his work. Your thighs tremble and shake, he keeps you pressed tight to his chest. 

He’s magic. You’re moaning with abandon, eyes darting between the picture between your thighs and his face, and he’s playing with you like he owns you. 

“Right there,” you tell him. “Right there, Joel.”

Soon enough, your moans become breathier and broken, spread out between a medley of curse words and Joel’s name. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Look at you, comin’ so nice on my cock.”

You squeeze Joel’s working arm as you come, nails digging into his hot skin, feeling his tendons and muscles twitch under your fingertips. Your walls pulse and contract with your orgasm, the pleasure built up deep inside you spilling over and coursing through your veins. 

You’re limp against Joel, letting him use you as he chases his own release. He sits you straight up, bounces you harshly for a moment before breathing through his gritted teeth. You pull your attention from the mirror in front of you and focus your vision on your lap, watching as he comes inside you. Watching yourself soak his cock. He keeps you moving, his spend spilling out of you and over your pink panties. 

Joel pulls your body off of him and sits you back down. His spend continues dripping out of you, spilling onto the bench. He gets your clothes out of the dressing room and places them next to you, then stands you up and unclips your babydoll dress in the back. You forgot about that. But he did say he was getting to it, after all. 

He pulls the garment off of you, then helps you out of your stained panties. He helps you into a new pair of panties, the white pair with the little blue flower on the waistband. “So you’re not goin’ commando anymore,” he says. Then he dresses you in one of your new bras, your shirt and your pants. The lingerie lays crumpled on the floor. 

“So you still don’t like lingerie?” you ask.

Joel shrugs. “Keep it. I don’t care,” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You tried your shit on, we’re leavin’.”

That’s fine by you. Next stop is Bath and Body Works. You spotted it earlier, and you actually know what that store is. You’re low on body sprays and you’re gonna make Joel help you pick out some new ones, even if you have to drag him kicking and screaming. 

‘Cause Tommy said you’re in charge. 

Part two here

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[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter Two - An Understanding

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Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

The captain looks at you for a long moment, dark blue eyes wide with surprise as he takes you in. You have to admit that he’s handsome, dark brown hair and well-groomed facial hair (muttonchops, no less) flecked with silver, and a nice nose that skews to the large side. It gives him a friendly, approachable demeanour, despite the weight of his stare. His heavy attention shifts from you to the other three, and his expression turns serious. “Lads,” he says, his voice a rumble that you can feel through your own body. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Weeeel. It might be,” Johnny says apprehensively. “But I did my research, sir. She’ll be perfect for ye, ye’ll see.”

“She’s a good girl,” Ghost adds. “Sweet as can be. Won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Already moved her in and everything.” Gaz gestures around the room, looking rather too proud of their work.

The captain nods slowly, taking in the new additions to the space. “So you did. And did this pretty little thing agree to having her life upended, or did you lads just decide for her?” His arms shift around you, and you feel almost protected, oddly enough, even though by the size of him, he’s just as dangerous as the others. Probably even more dangerous, the way they defer to him, standing in a line like cadets, eager for his approval.

“Not… Not exactly,” Gaz admits. “I mean, we didn’t ask. But this’ll be better for her. She was living in a real rat hole before. Tiny little apartment in a shite neighbourhood. Was only a matter of time before something bad happened. We’re just looking out for her.”

Johnny shuffles his feet. “Dealt with a few neds while I was doin’ reconnaissance, even. Poor lass coulda been in real trouble if I hadna been there. Bawbag employers would ask her to stay past the last bus to watch the bairns an’ no’ even offer her a ride or ta pay fer a cab.”

“It wasn’t that far a walk,” you protest, glaring at Johnny. As if it’s any of his business. “And they did offer to drive me, I just wasn’t— It doesn’t matter! You had no right—”

The captain shushes you, and your words wither on your tongue, your cheeks turning hot under his stern blue gaze. He cups your jaw and turns your head to face him again, the rough pad of his thumb stroking your cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you and I will talk in a moment. Soap’s right about that not bein’ safe, and you know it.”

Your stomach flutters nervously. He gives you a little smile, and his crow’s feet deepen, the lines fanning out further. There’s a moment where you’re tempted to smile back, but his legs shift under you, and you wince sympathetically instead. “Sorry, I should get off of you,” you say quickly. “I’m heavy.”

“I won’t stop you if you’d like to sit somewhere else,” he says, that cheeky smile deepening more. "But you’re not heavy, and I'd like it if you stayed put."

"Told ye he'd like her," Johnny whispers, loud enough that it shatters the isolated pocket of reality that, for a moment, housed only you and the captain. "Hasna even introduced himself an' he's flirtin' like mad."

"Soap!" Gaz hisses back. "Shut up."

Ghost scruffs them both. "Let's finish getting dinner on. Give 'em a minute to talk."

Johnny grins at you and gives you two thumbs up as he circles around to the kitchen, as if you’d actually been a willing participant in all of this.

"I'm John, by the way," the captain says, calling your attention back to him. He drops his hand and settles it on your knee, his fingers curling around the joint. "You alright, doll?"

A loaded question. "Well. Not really."

"You're keepin' it together real nicely, all considered. Wouldn't blame you if you were hissin' and scratching."

"I'm not much of a fighter," you admit. "And even if I was, I don't think it would do me much good."

John chuckles, squeezing your knee lightly. He's gentle, but there's power in those hands, the kind that comes from years of hard work. There's scars all over it, from his the tips of his calloused fingers up to the leather band of his watch, etched in evidence of violence. If there are scars further up his arms, their hidden by the buffalo plaid flannel. "No, it probably wouldn't."

"Are you going to let me go home?" you ask.

He sighs. "The thing is, doll, the boys have put me in an awkward spot here. If I let you go on home, you're going to get them in trouble, and I don't want to see that happen."

"I promise, I won't say anything, I just--"

He shushes you again, and you shut your mouth, biting your lip. "Let me finish, sweetheart. You're being so good right now because you're scared. But that's not gonna last, is it? And worse, it sounds like you don't really have much to go back to."

"I'll find a new job. I always do."

"With another family who doesn't appreciate the work you put in? That doesn't make you feel safe?" His fingertips toy with the edge of your skirt absently, but his eyes are on your face, studying your reaction with rapt attention. This is how a rabbit must feel, pinned under the stare of a grizzly bear, frozen in place and hoping that no claws come down on top of it. "I can read between the lines, doll. That man you were workin' for made you feel so uncomfortable that you'd rather walk through a bad neighbourhood at night than get into a car with him alone."

You can't dispute it, although you're surprised he can glean so much information from half an outburst. "It wasn't like that-- He wasn't that bad."

John hums. "You're tellin' me you've had worse?"

A dozen jobs with a dozen managers or coworkers that took your silence as permission to stand too close, or put their hands on you flash across your mind. Mr. Kinsey was just the latest of many. You know that the thought is displayed on your face, from the way his eyebrows pinch together just slightly, not angrily, but concerned. You try to deflect with a little laugh. "Oh, well. I suppose I have. But hasn't everyone?"

"Soap had a bad lieutenant once and locked the man in his own car when he was just a private. Just because you have a bad boss doesn't mean you have to take it." He looks at you so seriously as he speaks, his fingers dancing distracting circles against the top of your knee, rough fingertips catching on the nylons just slightly. The heat from the arm curled around your waist bleeds through the fabric of your dress, his hand twitching slightly, like all he wants to do is take a handful of soft flesh. “You should speak up when you’re not comfortable, doll. You just need some practice standin’ up for yourself, don’t you?”

If a statement could have teeth, this one would, and you’re not sure if agreeing or disagreeing will have him closing his jaws around you. He’s probably right, you do need to do a better job of standing up for yourself. But you’re certain that he doesn’t want you to start by standing up to him, or his three attack dogs either. “I’ll work on it,” you say meekly. You test his commitment to the statement by gently picking his hand off of your knee, although there’s nowhere to really put it either.

“We’ll work on it,” he agrees, lacing your fingers together. When he rests your now-entwined hands, it’s a little further up your thigh. “You want a drink, darlin’?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You wouldn’t mind another tea, but you don’t think that’s what you’re being offered.

The scrutiny he puts you under is intense, like he’s determined to figure out what every microscopic shift in your expression might mean. “You sure, doll? You gotta ask if you want somethin’, or you won’t get it.”

“I would like a tea. But I can make it, I don’t want to be trouble.”

“Nonsense. Lads?” he tips his head back slightly.

“On it, sir,” Gaz replies cheerfully.

Ghost leans over the back of the couch to hand John a tumbler. Whiskey or scotch, by the sharp smell that hits you. John pulls his hand away from yours to accept the glass. “Thank you, Simon,” he says pleasantly. "Good lad."

“S’your party, sir. An’ you’re busy, ain’t you?” Ghost rests his hands on the back of the couch and studies the pair of you, dark eyes gleaming with pride. The man has the demeanour of a cat that’s brought in a helpless little bunny to his master, while it’s still alive and struggling.

“Gettin’ to know our pretty guest.” John smiles at you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Isn’t she just?”

“Could I, um, sit over there?” you ask, glancing at the chair. Somehow John had managed to distract you from the idea of moving for a while, but you were still eager to get a little space from him, especially with Ghost looming over both of you.

“Of course, sweetheart,” John’s arm loosens, and you quickly get up and move to the chair.

You almost feel cold, without the heat that radiates off of his body. His attention feels weightier now too, or maybe it’s just that his body isn’t shielding the stares from Johnny, Gaz and Ghost, and you’re subjected to all four of them watching you, like you’re either fascinating or delicious (or both). You cross your arms over your chest and shrink into yourself as much as possible, eyes wide.

"Here's yer tea, hen. And may I just say, ye've go' a fantastic rack from this angle." Johnny hands you the mug and sits on the arm of the chair, leaning over you. "Weel. Ye've go' a nice rack from any angle. Nice arse too. Captain's lucky I like him so much, or I'd've gone for you myself."

You breathe in steam, wrinkling your nose slightly. It doesn't smell quite right. "Did you put something in this?"

"Aye. Finger of whiskey. Ye look all stiff and peaky still. Need a pick me up, don't ya?"

You look at him reproachfully. He sighs and plucks the tea from your hands and takes a big sip. "There's nothin' else in there, if that's what yer askin', ye suspicious wee daftie. A little whiskey ne'er hurt no one." He hands the mug back to you, smile crooked, doing his best to be charming, but he's too intense, too fervent, to be anything but unsettling.

“Got Johnny checkin’ everythin’ for poison, do you?” Ghost asks, chuckling. “Can’t say I blame you.” He nudges John with the back of his hand. “She’s smart, worth keepin’ an eye on that. Know’s ‘ow to ‘old ‘er tongue, but she’s listenin’ and payin’ attention.”

“Of course she is! Wouldna choose a lass withoot a brain in her head. Wouldna be worth the captain’s time. Weel, maybe worth a wee bit of time.” He winks down at you. “But no’ wife material, ye ken. Chose her because she’s delightful, no’ just ‘cause she’s bonnie.”

The few times you’d spoken to Johnny before you’d thought that he was so nice. Laughing and joking with you in the pick up line while you waited for the children you were respectively responsible, greeting his niece and nephew with big smiles. And Finn and Rory were always so excited to see him, you’d chalked him up as harmless. Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention then, too focused on the Kinsey kids and your job, maybe. You hadn’t noticed that he was appraising you like a piece of livestock, judging your value like you’d been put up to auction.

The whisky-fortified tea is a bit on the strong side, but you take a few sips anyway. Getting drunk would be unwise, but you’re so tense that your whole body is starting to ache, and that’s not doing you any good either.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gaz announces, untying his kiss the cook apron and setting it on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry. Soap made a cake earlier too.”

John raises an eyebrow. “You can bake?” he asks, surprised.

“Aye, picked it up while I was gettin’ rehabbed for the big fuck-off hole in my head,” he replies airily. “Was goin’ mental putterin’ around Kirsty’s waitin’ for the bairns to get out of school, so Ah picked it up. Isnae so hard. Just chemistry, aye?”

“He did make a big mess,” Gaz says. “Had to wash about fifty dishes before I could get started on dinner.”

“Everyone’s a fuckin’ critic,” Johnny complains. “See if I bake ye a cake for yer birthday, Garrick. Ye’ll be sorry then.”

“Oh no, how will I survive?” Gaz clutches his chest like he’s deeply wounded by the statement, laughing. “I have two mums, I’m still pretty much guaranteed a cake.”

“Always braggin’ abou’ that. Thinks he’s more evolved than the rest of us just because his da’s a woman.” He hovers next to you as you get up, and sticks close as you walk over to the table. You don’t choose a seat, in case there’s an order to things you’re not aware of.

“Pretty sure the whole point is that he dun’t ‘ave a dad,” Ghost says. “Now sit down, mutt. Yer not sittin’ next to the bird. You’re botherin’ ‘er.” He points at a chair, and Johnny sighs and slinks into it.

“Here, sweetheart,” John says, putting his big hand on your back to guide you the last few steps and directing you to a seat. He slides the chair in for you too, masquerading as a gentleman, and sits next to you.

Gaz settles in on your other side, all smiles. “Feeling better?”

They keep asking you how you are, as if the answer is going to change. Like all you need to adjust to the reality of being kidnapped and relocated to some stranger’s house in the country is a little time. Like you’re going to be just fine, if you just get a few more minutes to adjust. “Not really.”

"Ah, don't worry, doll. Captain's gonna be real good to you. You'll get there soon enough. Probably'll feel better once you've had a proper meal."

At least they don't try to make you talk much at the table. They fall into easy conversation between them, and let you eat roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots with some kind of sweet and mildly spicy glaze. Ghost pulls the mask down to eat, so you're able to watch when he goes slightly pink from what barely qualifies as spice. Gaz gives you a little side-long glance, and you almost laugh. There's some solidarity to be had, even in a situation like this one, something funny about how a little more spice could probably straight up kill the other three men at the table. Maybe that would be the key to you freedom: Murdering John by feeding him something full of chilies.

Admittedly, you do feel begrudgingly more charitable towards them after eating. You could maybe blame it on the tea too, which, against your better judgment, you do end up finishing.

John stops you from helping clean up when you stand automatically and try to stack Gaz's empty plate with your own. "No, sweetheart. C’mere." He guides you to the door and out into the chilly evening air. You wish that Ghost had let you put on a sweater over your summery dress, but he had been so keen to show you off, and you’d been too scared to insist. You curl your arms around yourself for warmth, and keep quiet, watching as John trims and lights a cigar, looking out into the darkness beyond the porch.

Fear has morphed from pressing terror to something that gnaws at you from the pit of your stomach. You could try to run for it, but you’d probably roll your ankle wearing the stupid red heels, and you have no real idea where you are, or how far you are from someone who could help you. Outrunning John would be a feat anyway. He’s older than you, but he’s in better shape, nearly perfect shape, broad and strong, that long military career not yet forgotten.

There’s a bench by the door, so you sit down to take the heels off. You’re not used to wearing them, it’s so rare that you have anywhere to go that calls for spicier footwear than your comfortable, worn in trainers.

“Here.” John slides his flannel shirt off and drapes it over your shoulders, and kneels down in front of you, cigar clamped in his mouth, pulling your heels off for you. Smoke curls around you for a moment, thin and blue in the scant light, before a breeze carries it away. He leans on his one leg and studies you, but he doesn’t stand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You put your arms through the sleeves of the flannel, humming noncommittally. You know you’re pretty enough, by most standards, but you feel like his interest— And the interest of the other three— is disproportionate, too intense.

“I’d like you to stay a while, doll,” he continues. “I won’t force you, I’m not that kind of man, but I’d have a hard time letting you go back to living paycheck to paycheck in a bad nieghbourhood, workin’ for creeps that don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. You deserve better than that.” It’s as though he doesn’t even hear his own words though, or imagines himself better, because he absently runs his hands over your calf, squeezing the tense muscle gently.

“I have to work,” you protest, biting back a moan. You didn’t need to encourage him, even if you weren’t quite brave enough (or willing) to stop him. “I have student loans, and I send money to my lola in Vigan. I can’t afford to just disappear off the face of the earth.”

He nods thoughtfully. “How much?”

"Three hundred pounds a month to Lola. I know it might not seem like a lot, but it goes a lot further there."

"And the student loans?"

"Sixteen thousand. Not that much, I worked through my degree, and I inherited a bit of money from my parents. But I still have to--"

"I'll pay for both. You'll stay until you find a good job, and a safer apartment." He says it like it's a final edict, no room for argument.

You pull your leg out of his grip, tucking both further back under the bench. "No, John, I don't want to owe you either--"

"You won't. My boys kidnapped you and disrupted your whole life. I'd pay a lot more if it keeps you from going to the police over it. Least I can do is make sure you're better off when you do leave here, hm?"

You bite your lip. Starting over with a clean slate is tempting, but you're not sure you can trust John. He seems so earnest, blue eyes clear and guileless, but he can't be much better than the other three. Unless he was just holding their leashes tight as their captain, and had to let them loose when he retired.

"Can I think about it?" you ask.

"Of course." He puts his hand on your knee to steady himself as he leans across to ash the cigar in the ashtray that sits on a little table next to the bench. "But I think you'll say yes. You're a smart girl, hm?"

You're tempted to say no, just to test weather or not he's being honest about not forcing you to stay, but there's a niggling worry in the back of your mind that the veneer of civility will evaporate if you push him on it. He's nice enough now. And maybe that niceness isn't a show, maybe he has no darker side, maybe it's all just paranoia on your part. Perhaps the worst thing about him is his predilection to protect his "boys", even though all three are clearly insane.

Military is like that, isn’t it? The whole brotherhood thing? Maybe fighting for your life beside someone changes how you see them forever.

“How long did you all serve together?” you ask. “Johnny mentioned that he was SAS before— I asked about the scar once.” You tap the side of your head, the same spot where Johnny has a nasty bullet scar.

“Long time. Hand-picked Gaz and Soap for my taskforce about ten years back. Simon and I served together longer. He’s a captain now, even if the lads still call him LT. They’re both lieutenants, and Gaz’ll be a captain himself before long. Probably would’ve been already if he’d transferred out of the 141.” He gets up with a grunt and settles onto the bench beside you. “Don’t think Simon’s long for it. He’s only still in because he wants to keep an eye on Soap. Man’s a bloody romantic. Live together or die together.”

“I didn’t realize that they were together at all.”

“The way Soap’s been droolin’ all over you, I’m not surprised.” He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “But Simon’s just like that, as far as I can tell. The world’s divided into three categories. Enemies, his people, and everyone else. Enemies ‘n’ everyone else can’t touch what’s his, but he’s never given a damn about Soap sleepin’ with Gaz, or me.”

“I’m not his people.”

John looks at you and shakes his head. “Course you are, doll. You’re one of our people now. They might’ve gotten a bit overzealous, bringing you here the way they did, but those lads would do anything you asked of ‘em now.”

A bit overzealous. You laugh, but the sound comes out bitter.

"Relax, doll. I know you're determined to hate them, but they're good lads. Their hearts are in the right place." He pets a big hand over your head and rests it on the back of your neck, warmth seeping into your bones, relieving some of the ache from all the tension of the day. John has a way of soothing that terrified little animal in your chest that would otherwise threaten to kick it’s way free from your ribs and flee into the dark trees. “Lookin’ out for me, in their own way. Lookin’ out for you too. If your situation was a better one, they wouldn’t’ve plucked you out of it like that.”

There’s hope in his eyes when you look up at him, hope that you’ll forgive and forget, that you’ll come around to some kind of understanding in time. His thumb brushes a sensitive spot behind your ear, sending an awful, irrefutable thrill through you.

You’re worried that he might be right.

My favourite John Price to write is the sneakiest, most charming, manipulative bastard on the planet. I definitely take a lot of inspiration from 391780 's portrayal of him. The Rear Window and Neighborly have been forefront in my mind while working on this (Largely because I think my John would have taken a similar approach if the lads hadn't jumped the gun. The Rear Window is dark, so be warned! Early writes delicious dark fics, but that may not be everyone's cup of tea, so mind the tags.)

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

[tightjeansjavi]

Sunday Scaries

(Pre!outbreak Joel Miller x female reader)

A/N: this is for my darling, @loquaciousferret as she deals with her ‘Sunday Scaries’ after a fun weekend out (;

Summary: after a long night out with your girlfriends, you’re suffering through the worst hangover of your life. Your boyfriend Joel is there by your side taking care of you all day long.

~word count: 2.7k~

Warnings: mentions of drinking, established relationship, soft! Joel, he’s so sweet your teeth are going to rot out! Joel, comforting themes, caring for you while you’re hungover, light teasing, praise kink, nicknames, very very light smut, whole lot of fluff! It’s so stinkin cute. (+18) minors dni !

You weren’t sure what time it was exactly when you sent your boyfriend Joel a text message with zero context. You knew by now that he wasn’t the best at reading between the lines. Your text to him was one word: dying. You must have not even realized you had hit send before your head flopped back down on the pillow. You were out late last night with your girlfriends out drinking. You had a few too many vodka-crans, and by the time you had gotten home, you were too drunk, and too tired to even bother taking your little skimpy dress off.

You were rudely awoken by someone banging heavily on your apartment door the following morning. Unbeknownst to you, behind the door was your incredibly concerned boyfriend. When Joel woke up to your text, he didn’t waste any time with quickly getting dressed and snatching his keys to his truck and driving to your apartment. He was definitely driving way over the speed limit but did he care? Not one fucking bit.

You let out a groan as you pulled your pillow over your head to block out the incessant banging. When it didn’t cease, you wrapped yourself up in your thick quilt and forced yourself out from under the covers. You nearly tripped over your discarded strappy heels from the night before as you trudged out of your room. You looked, and felt like the living dead.

After reaching your apartment door, you unlocked it with a grumble and you stepped back slightly as it swung open, revealing your worried out of his fucking mind boyfriend.

“Jesus fuck, Joel. What are you doing here?” Your voice was raw from all the singing you had done with your friends as you rubbed your temples with the pads of your fingers. Your brain was pounding painfully in your skull.

Joel had let out a visible sigh of relief when he saw that you were very much alive in front of him. “What am I doin’ here? Baby, you texted me at like the crack ass of fuckin’ dawn, sayin’ you were dyin’! I raced over here as fast as I fuckin’ could. Thought somethin’ terrible had happened..”

“Oh fuck. I’m so sorry baby I don’t even remember sending you that message honestly. I’m sorry. I was super fucking drunk when I got home last night and I must have sent it around that time. I’m okay, Joel. Just suffering through the worst hangover of my life is all.”

Joel took in your full appearance then. He saw the makeup streaks under your eyes and the smeared left over lipstick. Your hair looked like an absolute rat's nest. Despite looking like hell, you were still the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

“Oh, honey..it’s okay. You don’t gotta apologize, okay? I just wanted to make sure that you were alright..did the vodka crans get to ya again?” he teasingly asked as he leaned against the doorjamb of your apartment door.

“Shuddup Joel. My head is pounding and I really wanna just curl up and fucking die in a hole somewhere..” you grumbled as you turned on your heel and started to head over to the couch. You wasted no time to plop down, face first, with your head buried in one of the pillows.

Joel let out a soft sigh as he watched you plop down onto the couch. He stepped inside your cozy little apartment, closing the door behind him softly as he hung his coat up alongside yours. “I’m sorry you’re havin’ a rough time right now baby. Hangovers can be real fuckin’ nasty.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. I’m regretting all of my decisions right now.” You grumbled into the pillow

You could hear his footsteps approaching where you laid on the couch as he slowly sank down along the corner of the cushion. He gently placed his hand along the small of your back, through the thick quilt that was wrapped around you. “I’m gonna take care of ya, okay? Will you let me do that my sweet girl?” He spoke softly.

“That sounds wonderful. I’d love it if you did.” You turned your cheek to the side so you could see his face before you slowly sat up and brought your arms around him, hugging him tightly with your cheek pressed against his warm chest.

“Let’s get your makeup off first, yeah? You don’t wanna go walkin’ around with raccoon eyes baby.” He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you as he held you close and kissed the top of your head.

“Don’t make me punch you in the fucking balls right now cowboy.” You warned him.

“Shhh. Don’t go sayin’ stuff like that okay honey? Where are your makeup wipes, my love? Bathroom..under the sink yeah?”

“Mhmm..”

“Alright, sugar. You sit tight, okay? Gonna go grab them. You still in your clothes from last night?”

“I was too drunk to take them off. I don’t even know how I got my heels off either. They were an absolute bitch to take off.”

He chuckled softly as he gently rubbed soothing circles against your lower back before he reluctantly released you from his grasp. “M’proud that you made it home in one piece and took them off by yourself. Good job baby.”

You let out a huff when he was no longer holding you and you kinda just flopped back down against the side of the couch like a dead fish.

“Gonna take your makeup off, and run you a nice hot bath. Kay? Then we’re gonna get you out of those clothes and into something much more comfortable.” He gently patted your exposed knee from under the blanket before he walked over to your bathroom.

He easily found your makeup wipes from the cabinet under the sink. He returned to you minutes later, setting the bag of makeup wipes on the coffee table before he was gently grasping your thighs in his warm hands and coaxing you to sit up. “You gotta work with me a ‘lil here. Okay honey? Would it be more comfortable if you sat in my lap?”

“How the fuck did I get so lucky?” You mumbled as you sat up, scooting over so you were close enough to wrap your legs around his waist. Your arms draped around his back, interlocking your hands together as you held yourself against him.

“Mmm. Shouldn’t that be the other way around sugar? I’m the lucky one here. Wouldn't want to spend my Sunday any other way than here, takin’ care of ya.” He said with a small grin creeping onto his lips as he looked at you lovingly, with those big brown puppy dog eyes that you loved so tenderly.

You watched as he pulled out a couple makeup wipes, and he grasped your face in one hand, gently holding you still as he began to wipe away at leftover residue of your makeup along your skin. “You’re such a fucking sap, Miller. I love you.”

“Ditto, honey. Now close those pretty eyes for me, okay sugar? I don’t wanna get this stuff in ‘em. That would really fuckin’ hurt.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes at his request because he was just too damn adorable right now. Your lashes fluttered shut as he gently wiped away what was left of your eyeshadow. His tongue was poking out between his lips slightly as he was extremely focused on the task at hand.

Once he finished getting most of your makeup off, he pressed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. Nibbling on it lightly as he elicited a sweet giggle to slip past your lips. “Does that feel a little better baby? Man, that stuff is a pain to get off huh? Let’s go run that bath for you now sweet girl.”

He was gently scooping you into his arms, carrying you to the bathroom while you clung to his strong, broad frame like a koala.

He set you down on the edge of the toilet seat and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before he started the water for your bath. He checked the temperature periodically to make sure that it wasn’t too hot for you.

You watched him with complete adoration in your eyes. Joel Miller was what any girl would want in a boyfriend. God, you were so lucky that he was yours.

“Can feel ya starin’ at me.” He looked over his shoulder at you and shot you a playful wink. “Enjoyin’ the view darlin’?”

“Absolutely. I love seeing my man bent over my tub like that.” You giggled.

“You’re adorable.” He mused as he straightened his back and walked back over to where you were sitting. He gently unwrapped your thick quilt from around your body. “Gonna get you out of the dress okay? It’s so pretty..but I can imagine it was uncomfortable to sleep in all night.”

“I couldn’t get the damn zipper down, Joel. I tried multiple times and it wouldn’t fucking budge.”

“I know honey. It’s okay, I’m here now, pretty girl.” He spoke as he gently coaxed you to your feet. He reached around you, grasping the zipper between his fingers before he slowly dragged the metal down, as the material pooled at your ankles, along with your panties. He had you step out from it before he bent down and picked it up, hanging the dress along the hook on the back of the bathroom door.

“Will you hold me in the tub please?” You asked him softly.

“Of course honey..I was gonna be a gentleman and ask. I didn’t wanna go and assume y’know?”

“Are you trying to make me fall in love with you more than I already have? Cause if that’s the case..it’s totally working.” You watched as he effortlessly pulled his shirt over his head.

“Gasp. You really think I’d do such a thing like that?” He chuckled.

“Don’t lie Miller. You absolutely would do something like that baby.”

“Yeahh, alright. You got me there darlin’”

He scooped you up once more as he carried you to the tub and gently set you down into the soothing water. He discarded the rest of his clothing in a pile before he climbed in behind you. He gently wrapped his arms around you as he brought your back against his chest so you were comfortably laying between his strong thighs. “This alright for you baby?”

“This is perfect.” You let out a content sigh as you rested your head against his chest and placed your hands over his under the water, where they rested comfortably along your stomach.

“M’happy to hear that my sweet girl.” He spoke softly as he rested his chin along your shoulder. “You want me to wash your hair for you as well or just hold you?”

“Oh, please. That would be wonderful, thank you.”

He hummed in response as he reached around you and grabbed your favorite bottle of shampoo. Shortly after, you could feel his fingers working the suds into your hair. He was giving you a full on scalp massage as your eyes fluttered shut.

He had continued to softly hum as he gently scraped his nails against your scalp. He loved these little moments of intimacy that he got to share with you.

Once your hair was washed, he gently tipped your head back into the water before he washed the shampoo suds out of your hair.

You were in a state of complete bliss with your boyfriend taking care of you like this. It was wonderful to have him here with you. Your head still pounded painfully but it was nothing a little aspirin couldn’t fix. “Hey, Joel?”

“Yeah baby? What’s up?”

“Never let me go out drinking like that again.”

“Baby..you said the same thing last weekend..” he chuckled.

You muttered something incoherent under your breath as you turned around between his legs to look up at him. “Shhh. I know what I said last weekend but I’m serious. Don’t let me do that again because I feel like dog shit.”

He was gently grasping your chin between his fingers, brushing the pad of his thumb across your plush lower lip. “M’sorry you’re still feelin’ like shit baby. You and I both know your girlfriends are gonna be textin’ you next weekend and askin’ you to go out. Maybe just don’t drink as many vodka crans next time?”

“Hmm..next time I’ll bring you out with me. You can be my moral support..” you said with a grin, leaning in for a kiss.

“Ohh I’d love that. I’ll make sure you’re being good. Still want you to have fun though..Kay sugar?” He removed the pad of his thumb from your lips and replaced it with a kiss.

His kiss was sweet, warm, and comforting.

“If your head is still hurtin’ real bad..I think I might have a solution for you baby. Only if you’re interested..”

“What did you have in mind, baby?” You mumbled against his lips, kissing him languidly.

“Considerin’ I’m a real gentleman and don’t wanna see my girl in any pain at all, I can ease your mind off of it..”

You breathed a soft sigh against his lips as you relaxed against his warm chest. “You wanna get my head spinning in a different way?..”

“Yeah. I’d love to if you’d let me.” He breathed out as he gently cupped your cheek in his warm palm, stroking his thumb against your cheekbone comfortingly.

“Yes please.” You whispered

“Sit back between my thighs, baby. Get nice and comfortable, okay? Gonna take care of you..” he whispered as he broke away from the kiss.

You slowly turned back around so you were resting against his chest once more. You could feel his breath tickling the shell of your ear as he pressed a soft kiss to your pulse point.

Your eyes slowly fluttered shut as you felt the pad of his fingertips dip down between the valley of your breasts and over your navel. Your thighs instinctively fell open as his fingers brushed over your clit, eliciting a soft sigh to slip past your lips.

His fingers began to move in gentle circles against your clit as he continued to press soft kisses along your neck.

He didn’t apply nearly as much pressure against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he usually would. His movements were gentle, tender as he coaxed you into a soothing orgasm with just his fingers alone. “Shh..that’s it. That’s my good girl. I’ve got you baby, it's okay. You’re such a good girl for me.” He whispered against your skin as your hips bucked up against his hand as you chased your impending orgasm.

“Joellll.” You let out a sweet, soft moan as your eyes rolled back into your skull.

“I know baby..I know. Feels good doesn’t it? I love playing with your pretty little pussy like this..always know how to get her purring for me..”

“You’re the devil..” you breathed out as he continued to gently ruin you with his fingers. Once the sensation became too much and your thighs were trembling, you grabbed his hand, interlocking your fingers together as you came down from your high. Your mind was all fuzzy and didn’t hurt nearly as much now.

“Too much?” He let out a soft chuckle seeing that you were spent in his arms.

“Just a little..but I loved it. Thank you baby.”

“Anything for my girl.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Once the water was no longer comfortable, and yours and Joel’s skin was pruning up, he gently helped you out of the tub and wrapped a nice fluffy towel around your body.

He had some comfy sweats and a hoodie waiting for you as he helped you get dressed and carried you back to the couch. He let you sit between his thighs once more while you used him as your own personal pillow. You napped together for the rest of the afternoon. He made sure you drank water every now and then and when you were feeling a little better, he even made you some soup.

Joel Miller made your hangover, and the Sunday Scaries, not so scary anymore. Despite this, you still called off work the next morning, and your boyfriend happily spent the night at your place with you between his arms.

[brewed-pangolin]

I love to cook. It's stupid. I hate it sometimes because I feel like I fall into the stereotypical cliché of women in the kitchen. But I can't help it. I just love to cook.

-

And you love to cook for him.

Especially when he comes home looking malnourished and gaunt from yet another lengthy deployment.

You make him his favorite dishes. Bake the most delicious pies. Spoil him with lavish flavors and recipes he's never even heard of as he devours every last morsel you plate in front of him.

And it doesn't take long to see the fruit of your labors slowly beginning to appear.

A soft lining of fat growing just beneath his skin. Accentuating the contours of his musculature as he walks around the halls of your home in nothing but his sweatpants and a ratted t-shirt.

Yet your favorite arrives a few weeks later when you gaze upon him in the soft morning light.

It's faint. Small, compared to the deep the curves and divots of his abdomen and nestled between the defined plateau of Adonis belt.

A soft pillow of fat, showcasing your efforts to plump him while on leave in preparation for his next venture over seas.

You lean over. Slowly. Gently as to not wake him as you caress his flesh with your lips, peppering him with tender kisses as he ever so slowly pulls himself from deep slumber.

"What'ya doin, hen?" Soap asks, voice wrapped in sleep and eyes barely fluttering open.

You hum against him in response at first. Pursing your lips to place a few more sacred kisses across his lower stomach.

"Just admiring my handiwork."

"Aye. Ya do know how t'fatten me up, lass."

You part your lips against him, pulling the faintest growl from his chest as you lightly bite down on his supple flesh.

"What you want for breakfast, Johnny?" You asked, tongue lightly lapping against his skin. "Steak and eggs? Belgian waffles? English breakfast?"

"Hm. Steak and eggs sounds good." He replies with a throaty groan. Hand finding the back of your head as he ruffles your hair with his thick fingers.

"But I got somethin ya might want to try first." He adds with a wicked smirk curling into his lips.

"Yeah. What's that?"

"Got a Lorne sausage callin yer name, bonnie. Maybe try takin that on first before moving to th'main course, yeah?"

Drabbles Masterlist

[heart-of-a-rebel16]

“Zeb?”

The Lasat blinked what little sleep he had found from his eyes.

“Yeah, kid?” he replied. Karabast, the kit had to pick the middle of the night for his big questions. Just when he was about to nod off to boot. “What’s wrong?”

“…can I sleep with you? Just for tonight?”

“Another one of those nightmares?” Zeb asked, more alert now. They’d been happening more and more since his final showdown with the Grand Inquisitor. Call it a blessing or a curse, but Zeb didn’t miss out on the small whimpers Ezra often made in his sleep.

The boy above him hesitated, then mumbled out an affirmative.

“Alright then,” Zeb sighed. “Get down here. Only so many hours to catch a few winks.”

The bunk above him squeaked, then fell silent as a small body slipped next to his. Without a second thought Zeb curled his arm around Ezra, tucking him into the crook of his arm. Most people were small compared to him, but karabast, he felt ginormous next to Ezra’s slip of a frame.

“You doin’ alright, kid?”

“Yeah,” Ezra sighed sleepily, throwing his arm over Zeb’s stomach. “Sorry for bothering you so late.”

“It’s okay,” Zeb replied, and it was the Ashla’s truth. The little loth-rat might annoy him to no end, but he was family now, and there was nothing more important to Zeb than that.

Ezra nodded, then shuffled closer, tossing his leg over Zeb’s. The kid was half on top of him; the contented sigh that came from Ezra killed any protest that could have come out of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Zeb.”

“Night, Ez.”

[urfavnegronerd]

agape- nicholas britell

summary: miles is takin down ur braids 

published: july 27, 2023

warnings: Grammarly hates me, the patriarchy, a dash of toxic masculinity, miles being a product of that grrah grah boom type masculinity, aave (no im not translating shit for you yall got access to urban dictionary and its not really a warning), i edited it myself so lmk if there are any mistakes

sueñito- little dream, bonito- handsome/ pretty boy, no me importa- i don't care/ it's not important to me

w/c: 1.5 k

reader's black coded cus im black so deal w it <3

i think this something every black boy be needin deep down

“Stop movin, ma” 

“It’s knotty,” 

“You had these in for how long?” 

Silence. 

“There's your answer right there, mama,”  

“Sorry,” 

“Nun to be sorry for, just hold still,” 

Currently sitting on the bathroom floor criss-cross apple sauce, Miles was sitting on the toilet, your head between his knees, while he was taking down the frizzy lemonade braids that barely hugged your scalp anymore. 

“Miles?” 

He hums in response, rat tail comb in one hand, a tub of coconut oil in the other, threading the tail of the comb through the extensions down your back  

“You’re the prettiest boy in all of Brooklyn,” 

“Shut up” 

“Prettiest boy I’ve ever seen,” 

“Nuh-uh,” 

“Fuck you mean ‘nuh uh’? The little freckles all over your cheeks? Cutest things I’ve ever seen, especially how they’re all slightly different shades, like lil polka dots all over your face, gives me a map a’ where to kiss. The little tiny dimple on the left side of your face? Adorable, 10/10, no notes. Also very kissable." He's still now, staring at the back of your head, using bundles strewn over his shoulder, mouth agape. “Them thick and long ass eyelashes? I could stare at ‘em all day, they look like teeny tiny butterfly wings when you rest your eyes.” 

“Shut up,” he whispers, still unmoving, the little dab of coconut oil on his fingers slowly dribbling down his wrist 

“Your mind pretty as hell, too, I like listening to what you have to hear when you let me,” you mumble, pressing tiny kisses into his cargo pant–clad kneecap. 

“Stop doin that shit, ma” 

“What?” 

“Talkin all crazy like that,” 

“I’m not talkin crazy, miles I’m being honest,” 

“You makin me out to be some weak ass lil boy,” 

“Miles.” you turn around abruptly, staring at him dead in the eye. “I’m jus being honest wit you. What's going on?” 

“It’s nothin, ma, turn around”  

“Sueñito. Lemme know what's up,” 

“It’s nothin,” 

You huff, turning around to face the bottom of the sink again. Silence bellows throughout the bathroom, Miles rubbing oil on your braids to detangle them to later drag the comb in once again and throw the discarded hair extension over his shoulder. The only sound between the two of you is the Marvin Gaye spinning on the record player, rooms away, dull basslines thrumming through the apartment. 

“Ion like this,” 

“What?” 

“Whatever jus happened, we talk about what's bothering us,” 

“Ain't nothin botherin me, ma,” 

“Then why you start buggin' the second I get to complimenting you?” 

“Cus ian wit all that girly shit,” 

“Fuck you mean girly shit, I’m jus tryna love up on you Miles,” your nostrils flare as you stare ahead of you.  

“Baby, I’m all for that but–” 

“Miles, did someone tell you boys can't get that?” 

A silence. 

“Baby.” 

“What?” 

“Jus cus you a boy dont mean you don't deserve love,” 

“Aint nobody say allat–” 

“Shut up Ian done,” you say, swiftly turning around and snagging the oil and comb from his hand “jus cus you a boy doesn't mean you don't deserve to feel shit miles. Ion know what it was like wit your last girl, but Ian her. Okay? You allowed to be a person wimme, you know that right?” 

“Ma–” 

“Shut up I still ain't done yet. Miles I’m real, I’m right here. real like you, I promise you I’m not goin nowhere right now,” 

“You done?” 

“Yeah,”  

“C’mere,” he motions to his lap, taking the comb and oil out of your hands and setting them on the tiled floor, laying out the discarded bundles.  

“ ‘s oil all up on my hands” 

“No me importa ma, come up on here,”  

Obeying and wiping the excess coconut oil off your hand, you do. Straddling his lap, and looking into his eyes, examining the twinge of sadness in his eyes. 

“Talk to me, mama,” 

“I want you to know that you deserve love and that you’re allowed to feel some typa way. I want you to talk to me, Miles. I care about you so much and I wanna make sure you’re good. I love hearing you talk, but Ion like havin to beg you to talk to me. I love jus bein in your presence, but I hate feelin like that Miles. I don’t know who told you whatever's going through your head right now but they dead wrong. I wanna know how you be feelin, I wanna know.” 

“Why you even talk like this to me?” 

“Cus I’m your girl, n I like to kiss up on you and love all up on you,” 

At this, he averts his eyes, trying to escape your gaze, his breath audibly speeding up. 

“Mm mm, don't do that Miles. Please breathe,” 

You plead, subconsciously pressing your middle three fingers under his jaw trying to measure his heart rate. Almost as a reflex to hide from you, he shrugs your hand away from under his jaw and pulls his hoodie over his mouth.

“Nah nah, don't hide from me neither,”  

“Ain’t nobody hidin from you,” 

“Jus cus you a boy don’t mean you don't deserve them random ass cuddles, or someone to tie up your durag or wash your hair. It don’t mean you shouldn't get flowers or hugs or them lil hickies behind your ear. Don't mean you not allowed to be sad or mad or wanna cry. Now Ion know who told you or made you feel that way but they dead wrong Miles. You allowed to feel with me,” 

“Ian some lil boy runnin around though, that shit ain't for me,” 

“If you wasn't supposed to feel and acknowledge your feelings, why would you be able to feel them? They there for a reason,” 

Still straddled on his lap, he looks up at you with the tiny leverage you have on him. His eyes are big and doe-like, almost as if he’s scared to make this next step, say this next sentence.” 

“Ion know why,” he mumbles, voice soft and scared. suddenly he’s kissin up on you, gripping anything he can get his hands on, like he’s making up for lost time, lost feelings. It's urgent and a little rough, though his lips are soft and velvety, a twinge of menthol chapstick on them.  

“Yo yo yo, slow down. Ian goin nowhere” you whisper into his mouth, nails gently raking across his neck “ ‘m right here Miles, see?” you ask, guiding his hands to feel on the left side of your chest, right above your heart. “ ‘s my heart under there, I'm right here okay? I’m real, Miles I swear,” 

“You’re real?” he whispers, breath shaky and uneven fisting the thin fabric of your camisole under the evergreen zip-up, in an attempt to feel more of your heart. 

“You allowed to feel your feelings the same way you feel my heart,” 

He still looks astonished, scared, and frozen. suddenly it wasn’t him you were talking to anymore. it was the scared little Brooklyn boy who had all these feelings stored away inside him, unsure of what to do or who to show them to.  

“ ‘m sitting right here miles. I’m your girl, okay? This is real, and you are real,” 

“I’m real?” tears begin to swim in his eyes. 

“You’re real miles. and those feelings in that big heart of yours? Those are real too. And if you let me, I wanna hear all of 'em.”  

His body stills once more against you, a small tear gliding down his cheek. 

“I love you,” 

And then he’s sobbing. 

“Sshh, hey it's okay” you whisper, holding him close to your chest. “I love you so much I can’t hardly breathe when I'm around you. It’s okay and you're okay, Miles. I’m real and this is real and you. You are real.” you mumble into his braids, holding him with the protectiveness of a mother with a small child. 

He just sat there, his head buried in your chest as he cried quietly, letting everything out. You just sat and let him cry and vent through his tears. All the things he had bottled up, discouraged to show to anyone. Sooner or later the tears slow to a stop, his face puffy and hot. 

Gently tugging the ends of his braids, he looks up at you. 

“You feel better sueñito?” you ask, dragging the cuff of your sweater to dry his face and pressing butterfly kisses to his cheeks in its wake. He did nothing but nod lazily, seemingly lighter, and nuzzling his face into your chest. 

“Lemme finish wiping up your face n then you can be all up on me, bonito, okay? 

He just nodded, dropping his head back to rest against the bathroom wall, the half-taken-out braids on your scalp no longer th task at hand. Reaching behind him you grab a baby wipe and swipe the tears and snot off his face, leaving his skin with a glossy finish. Holding his chin up, you look dead in his eyes. 

“You so beautiful Miles.” 

And this time, he nods. 

🩷 reblogs are always appreciated for reach <3

[a-crumb-of-whump]

Content: Alcohol, addiction, recovery, relapse, experimental whump, lab rat whumpee (kind of), non-con drugging (kind of), mentioned withdrawals, mentioned multiple whumpers.

"Have you been drinking?" Caretaker asked as they sat down their bag beside the living room couch. Much to their disappointment, Whumpee's slurred speech was enough of an answer without even having to listen to what they were saying. "Whumpee..."

"I've heard it all b'fore," they mumbled. "I don't care anym're."

Caretaker crouched down in front of them, resting a hand on their knee in an attempt to gain their attention. "Hey, we're gonna get through this, okay? It's just a little setback. That's to be expected."

"Shouldn't have t'get through it." Whumpee's voice broke as they said it. "Was doin' well. Had a job, 'n' friends 'n' family. Then- then they had to ruin it."

They knew it was wrong to ask. Whumpee had been so secretive about what they'd gone through, it was hard to pinpoint why they'd developed a lot of the behavioral habits that they had now. They clearly didn't want anyone to know, and yet Caretaker couldn't help it.

"How did they ruin it?" they asked gently. "What did they do to you?"

There was a small pause as Whumpee seemed to have an inner fight with themself over what to say. For a moment, Caretaker thought that they might refuse to answer, like they'd done so many times before. However, the words eventually started to tumble out one by one before they could stop.

"They gave me this f-fucking addiction." They held the half-empty beer bottle close to their chest, staring down at the floor beneath them. "Kept usin' me as their little lab rat. Feeding me different alchohols t'see how I reacted to it. There were three of 'em... They only wanted me gone when my withdrawals b'came too much t'handle."

Caretaker remained silent, gently stroking Whumpee's knee with their thumb as they waited for them to continue. The weight in their chest was getting heavier, the moisture in their eyes getting more noticeable. They hated the vivid images that played in their mind. It was hard to tell whether they regretted asking or not.

After a few long moments of obvious consideration, Whumpee sniffled and shakily placed the bottle down on the side table closest to them. "I can't sleep without it. I can't feel anything without it. It's- it's not that I w'nna be dependent on it, b't..."

"You don't have to keep talking about it," Caretaker whispered. "Thank you. Thank you for telling me, and I'm so, so sorry that you had to be there for so long before someone found you."

Whumpee rested their head back against the couch, shutting their eyes for a moment as a few tears fell down their cheeks. "I w'nna try again tomorrow. To- to stop, I mean."

"We can do that." Caretaker took a deep breath, as though trying to rid themself of the weight of the conversation. "I don't think you're going to remember a lot of this tomorrow, though."

They gave a sluggish head shake. "Y'can tell me all about it when I wake up."

Caretaker nodded. "I will."

[rowarn]

desperately need to know ur thoughts on soap. some deep rat part of my brain just wants to overstim him until he breaks with hiccuping sobs. havin him all embarrassed by the way his body reacts all hypersensitive and wound tight, maybe hes real loud and cant help it. i Love thinking of the boys being all strong and protective and dominant but smth abt just breakin one of them… if this aint ur thing feel free to ignore! im literally just batshit and consistently thinking about johnny in any way shape or form :3

im not rlly into sub men but i think soap is really into layin back and watchin the show.

hes absolutely always in charge, if the strong hold he has on your hips is any indication. but he lets you hump yourself against his cock until you're completely delirious off of pleasure. and god, he has a fat fucking cock. he's not the longest but he's got that Coke Can Cock Syndrome u know what i mean?!?!?!?!?

he loves watching u struggle to sink down on him and he won't help you, just watches with a cocky little grin as you tearfully whimper and dig your nails into the firm muscle of his chest where you're supporting yourself.

omg omg and he absolutely loves when u cling to him. when he sits up and you're sat nicely in his lap, speared on his cock with your arms wrapped around his neck.

and he adores when you bury your face in his neck, moaning and panting against his skin as you shyly hide away because it feels so fucking good to be stuffed and stretched on his lap

and he coos the sweetest praise and rubs your back and BRO HIS REASURRANCE IS OUT OF THIS WORLD. man thrives on encouraging you and whispering soft praise to keep your confidence up !!! even when you falter and slow your pace bc your thighs are burning !!

"that's good, just like that, you're doin' so well," he'll whisper, sweetly rubbing your back as you cling to him, hugging him close to you in that cute way he adores, "jus' take it nice and slow, you can do it. you're okay, i know it's a lo. just a little more an' you'll take all of me."

im SICK

[toournextadventure]

movie nights iv

Summary: You gather the Woodsboro survivors to go over your suspect list. Maybe you're just trying to impress Tara. That's for you to know and no one else to find out.

Word Count: 6.1K Warnings: swearing, Scream levels of violence Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader (pt.i) (pt.ii) (pt.iii) (pt.iv) (pt.v) (pt.vi) (pt.vii) (pt.viii)

The door was open. It was wide open, all that rat bastard had to do was walk right through it so you could kill him yourself. No fire escape, no hideaway, only the door. Why hadn't he walked through the goddamn-

"-You're not listening to me."

You blinked once before looking back over to your Aunt Sherry. By some miracle - it was still unclear if it was a good miracle or not - she had been the paramedic on scene. She hadn't truly questioned you yet, but you knew it was bound to happen. Your family was nothing if not nosy.

"What did you say?" You asked, fighting against the natural slip of an accent that would mimic Aunt Sherry's perfectly.

She gave you a pity-filled look. "Did he get ya anywhere else?"

"No," you instantly replied with a shake of your head. "That's it."

"Then you're all set," she said as she went to pat your shoulder. Thankfully she caught herself in time and patted your back instead. "And you don't want to go to Mercy?"

"Absolutely not," you mumbled as you hopped out of the back of the ambulance. "And don't tell Ma or Pop!"

"It's already on the news, kiddo," she said with a shrug. "If they know, they know."

"You're good for nothing," you shouted as you backpedaled to where Tara and her bunch were still standing. "See ya at mass."

Aunt Sherry waved at you and shook her head, but otherwise let you go. You looked down at the stitches now keeping your bicep together. Only five; it could've been much worse. If that was the bastard you were up against, he wouldn't be much of a challenge. Couldn't even swing a knife properly. Talk about pathetic.

You mouthed a “hey” at Tara when you finally got closer. It was cold now that the adrenaline was wearing off and you were finally feeling the cold autumn air. Would have been nice to have some sort of jacket. Or your shirt that Tara was still wearing. Well, you supposed everyone could enjoy seeing you half-naked. You would just freeze to death, it was fine.

“You okay?” Tara asked quietly, her eyes darting to the stitched up wound.

“Course I am, sweetheart,” you said with a shrug. You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was starting to sting like a sonofabitch.

“Are you hurt?” Sam asked, and both you and Tara turned to look at her. If you were cold before, you were frozen under her icy stare.

“I mean… I’ve been worse,” you said as you did your best to avoid her gaze.

“Good,” she said. You didn’t have time to brace yourself before she slapped your uninjured arm. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Ouch!” You complained. “The hell are you getting mad at me for?”

“I told you to stay away from my sister,” Sam continued. “You could have gotten her killed.”

“You think I called your stupid little serial killer?” You asked; you could feel the accent coming back in full force. All it did was make you more frustrated. “Isn’t he supposed to call me?”

“Guys-”

“-Nothing happened until you got Tara alone,” she interrupted Danny. “And that’s just a coincidence?”

You scrunched your face up and shrugged your shoulders. “Yes?” You said. “Why would I want anything to do with your psycho killer?”

“Hey, that’s enough,” Tara said, moving to hold Sam’s arm.

It didn’t stop her. “We were doing just fine until you came along.” Sam jabbed her finger into your chest.

“You really think the two ‘a youse were doin’ fine?” You asked. “You’re trust issues and repressed trauma in human form.”

“Hey,” Tara scolded, her eyes now on you.

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I’m right,” you said, holding your hands up in mock surrender. “And you can be suspicious all you want, but why the fuck would I interrupt myself finally gettin’ laid for the first time in months?”

“Oh my god,” Tara whispered to herself as she turned her back to you.

“I have priorities too,” you defended.

“Fine,” Sam said quickly. “If I say I believe you, will you please shut up?”

“Yes,” you said.

You all finally fell silent, Sam still giving you a look that meant she did not believe you, but at least she had stopped arguing. Danny was giving you that stupid “I’m not mad, just disappointed” look, and Tara still wouldn’t face you. What was going on in the world? You were just supposed to get laid, you weren’t supposed to be dealing with… whatever the fuck all of this was.

“So,” you finally said as police continued to mill around you. “What do you guys normally do now?”

“Seriously?” Tara asked, finally turning back to look at you.

“I’m no Ghostface expert,” you said defensively, again. “Do we just… go on as normal?” A chorus of groans followed your question. “Because I still need to go clean up the kitchen.”

“I do too,” Danny said, looking at Sam for a moment before turning back to you.

Unfortunately for him, Tara noticed and she stood up straighter.

“What was my sister doing in your apartment anyway?” She asked him. His mouth flopped open and closed like a fish out of water.

“Oh how the tables have turned,” you said as you crossed your arms over your chest and cocked your hip. “About damn time.”

“I was helping him carry up groceries,” Sam said with a slight shake of her head.

“Oh, so you can go into a stranger’s apartment and I can’t even have someone I know over?” Tara asked.

“Okay, hang on,” you said, somehow turning into the middle man. This whole night was turning into a disaster. You needed a drink. Or five.

“No, she doesn’t get to accuse you when she’s acting suspicious,” Tara said with a shake of her head before looking at Sam and Danny again. “So do you know him or not?”

“Tara-”

“-no, Sam,” she interrupted. “What is he to you?”

You locked eyes with Danny at the same time Tara and Sam locked eyes. Part of you wanted to just break the awkward tension and say Danny was with Sam. It would get Tara off his back and you could all go about the real problem; finally getting you back into a shirt so you wouldn’t freeze your tits off.

Sam sighed. “He and I are… a thing.”

“I knew it,” Tara said softly.

“Tara-”

“-I would’ve been happy for you,” she said. “If you hadn’t accused my partner of being Ghostface.”

“I’m your partner now?” You asked, perking up immediately.

“Shut up,” she said quickly.

“Yes ma’am,” you said, snapping your jaw shut. God you loved when she was mean.

“If I may-”

“-You may not,” Tara said, turning to face Danny. “I don’t want to hear from any of you right now.”

“How about from me?”

All four of you shut your mouths and looked around, finally seeing Detective Bailey walking toward your little group. You sighed and looked around. The last person you wanted to see at the moment was him. Well, okay, the last person you wanted to see was Ghostface, but Detective Bailey was a very close second.

“Why am I not surprised to see you here?” He asked, clapping you on the shoulder of your hurt arm. Oh fuck it hurt.

“Always a pleasure, Detective,” you said politely through a forced smile.

“You sound just like your old man,” he said.

“Bet I do,” you mumbled as you turned your head away.

“I’m going to need the two of you to come down for a talk,” Bailey said, pointing to you and Tara.

“Not us?” Danny asked.

“I’m coming too,” Sam said without waiting for Bailey to answer.

“You’ll be waiting in a separate room,” Bailey said. You didn’t blame him for not even arguing; if anyone knew Sam, they knew to just roll with the punches. “Come on.”

You followed him, Tara quick behind you. With a glance, you saw Danny and Sam talking for a moment before he backed away toward the apartment. She, on the other hand, caught up in only a few strides and forced herself in between you and Tara. If it hadn’t been for the whole just-nearly-getting-murdered thing, you would’ve teased her about her territorial tendencies.

“Don’t put me back there with her,” you said quietly when Bailey tried to put you in the back of the squad car. Right beside Sam. “She’s not my biggest fan.”

“Neither am I,” he said with a smile before pushing your head down and shoving you into the car. “Get in.”

You practically fell into the car, your knees banging against the front seat. It was still cold as hell and now your arm was strained. A quick glance down showed a few little spots of blood. Great. Now that was split again too. Why couldn’t anyone just let you grab some clothes?

The entire ride to the station you could feel Sam’s gaze on you. No, not a gaze, it was a full-blown glare. If you had died in that apartment, you didn’t think she would’ve been too upset about the fact. And Tara was being diplomatic and keeping her mouth shut, looking out the window as the city passed by. It was smart.

“So,” you started, “did you and Danny have a nice night?”

“Shut up,” Sam mumbled.

“Okay,” you said quickly.

Well, at least no one could say you didn’t try.

It was a short drive to the station, and you felt like you were going to combust under Sam’s eyes. The scrutiny didn’t stop when you pulled into the station, and it certainly didn’t stop when you walked in. If looks could kill? Yeah, it was a real thing. It might not kill, but it definitely made you want to die.

“Hey, Y/N,” Linda at reception said when you walked in.

“Hey, babe,” you said with a wink, walking over to lean on the desk. “How’re the little rascals?”

“They’re good,” she said, leaning forward on her arms. “Found you a girl yet?”

“Think so,” you said, fully putting on the charm. “Right over there,” you gestured your head behind you.

“I’m guessin’ it’s not the one givin’ you the “eat shit and die” look?”

You both turned your head to look at Sam, who had now crossed her arms over her chest. Tara wasn’t even trying to stop her; you didn’t blame her. Samantha Carpenter was a force of nature that no one wanted to fight against. Tara had probably learned that after the first Ghostface attack in Woodsboro.

“Good guess,” you mumbled.

“Keep moving,” Bailey said as he walked past you with Tara and Sam hot on his heels.

“We’ll catch up another time,” you said, sending Linda a wink and smile.

“Countin’ on it,” she replied before blowing a kiss in your direction.

Your brother was going to kill you for flirting with his wife.

It was a familiar walk back to Bailey’s interrogation room. While Sam was directed to a separate room, you walked in ahead of Tara and sat down in the seat that you had secretly designated as your own. At the rate you frequented, you might as well just carve your name into the wood. Just so Bailey would always have a reminder of you whether he wanted it or not.

“Here,” he said when he walked in and threw something at you. You flinched, but caught it. “Put that on.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you pulled the NYPD shirt over your head. You sneezed. “Sorry,” you said when you wiped your nose. “I’m allergic to pigs.”

“Stop,” Tara whispered to you.

“What can you tell me about tonight?” He asked, completely ignoring your comment.

“We were just having dinner and watching a movie,” you said with a shrug. “Bada bing, bada boom, little rat bastard interrupts.”

“Did you find him?” Tara asked. Why was everyone ignoring you? You were the one with the injuries, right? Shouldn’t you have more of a say than anyone else? Maybe you had a lot more to learn about this whole Ghostface thing than you had thought.

“We didn’t find anything,” Bailey said with a shrug. “Got anyone who has it out for you?”

They both turned to look at you after the question had been voiced. You looked between the both of them. Oh for fuck’s sake, now it was just getting insulting. There was no winning for you, was there? First you’re interrupted, then you’re attacked, then interrogated by not only Sam but now Bailey too? Well, fuck you, you guessed.

“Why are the two ‘a youse looking at me?” You asked. “I stay out of trouble.”

They both gave you exasperated looks.

“I mostly stay out of trouble,” you corrected.

“Was your sister accounted for?” Bailey asked.

“She was across the alley with a guy,” Tara answered with a shake of her head.

“Danny,” you filled in. “He didn’t do this.”

“And neither did Sam,” she said.

“Did he target one of you more than the other?” He asked.

“He turned to face Tara,” you said as you recalled the event. Most of it was a blur, but you could pick out one or two pieces. “But he didn’t have enough time to really target anyone.”

“Then you need to stay safe,” he said directly to Tara. “I would guess he’s going after your Woodsboro crew.”

“Typical,” Tara huffed, falling back against her chair.

“What do we do?” You asked, doing the opposite of her and leaning forward on the table. “Twiddle our thumbs until you maybe catch the guy?”

“Are you calling us incompetant?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “I am.”

“You’re going to go home and let us do our jobs,” he said.

“And if you don’t do your jobs?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“You’re still going to stay out of it.” He wasn’t even looking at Tara anymore. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” you answered.

You kept your eyes locked on his. It wasn’t your first stare down with Bailey, and it certainly wouldn’t be your last. You knew you were on his permanent shit list, but quite frankly you didn’t care. His group of piss poor detectives had let you all down time and time again, you weren’t going to trust him with your life.

And you certainly weren’t going to trust him with Tara’s.

“You’re both free to go,” he finally said. “We’ll be in touch.”

“I bet you will,” you said, but stood up anyway.

Tara left the room before you, and you sent one more glare at Bailey before following suit. To no one’s surprise, Sam was already waiting. She checked on Tara and gave you a once-over before starting the walk out of the station. You gave Linda a smile and a little wave before walking outside.

Where the news stations were waiting.

It was absolute pandemonium. Too many voices, too many flashing lights, you were amazed the Carpenters weren’t fazed. Well, you were amazed but not surprised. You knew all the shit they had to deal with since Woodsboro. They were probably used to all the commotion that came with being survivors of a brutal series of killings.

“Don’t talk to them,” you said as you quickly got between them and the reporters. “Keep walking, I’ll take care of it.”

You turned around and held your arms behind you to keep a hold of Tara and did what you knew would work. As your godmother had taught you, you started swearing up a storm. Every word you could think of to form the most colourful string of curses you could come up with. The looks of pure agitation and frustration on the reporters’ faces was enough to make you smile.

“That doesn’t work on me, sweetheart.”

Your smile fell when Gale walked into your view.

“Now’s not the time,” you said with a pointed look. “We can talk later.”

“An exclusive?” She asked, following behind you as you pushed Sam and Tara down the sidewalk and away from the station. And the reporters.

“Without your cronie,” you said.

Gale gave you a look of pure exasperation, but only a moment later waved for her cameraman to leave. You waited for him to be out of earshot before you gestured for her to follow you, and she instantly fell into step with you as you both caught up to the Carpenters. They didn’t seem as impressed, but at least they knew her.

“Are you okay?” She asked you. “I heard you got hurt.”

“Just a scratch,” you said with a shrug. “Far less than you lot have gone through.”

“I had wanted to keep you out of all of this,” she said.

“Well,” you sighed. “Seems I’m in it now.”

“What are you doing here, Gale?” Sam asked, turning around quickly and stopping the four of you in your tracks. “I think you know we’re not too happy with you.”

“No one is ever happy with me, sweetheart,” Gale said with her News Smile. “I’m actually here to check up on Y/N.”

“With your cameraman?”

“How do you know Y/N?” Tara and Sam asked at the same time.

Everyone turned to look at you, who was in the process of biting your fingers off. You froze under the scrutiny, your hands slowly falling back down to your side where you shoved them in your pants pockets. It seemed like you were just going to be interrogated for the rest of your life.

“I’m their godmother,” Gale said when it was clear you were a little too frazzled to talk.

“Excuse me?” Tara asked.

“My Pop went to college with her,” you finally managed to say. “Suppose he liked her enough to make her part of the family.”

“And you just failed to mention that little fact?” Tara asked, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. Oops.

“Didn’t think it mattered,” you said with a shrug, “I’m not Woodsboro.”

“Can we focus?” Sam asked. “What do you want, Gale?”

“What happened?” Gale asked. “No recorder, no camera, just tell me.”

The three of you looked at each other and sighed. They might not trust Gale - which was understandable, she had written a book when she said she wouldn’t - but you did. She might not be blood, but she was family. You gave the Carpenters time to stop you before turning to face her and telling her what happened.

You ommitted the little detail that you were mid-lay.

“I’m going to go do some digging,” she said with a dazed nod of her head. “You do the same?”

“Yes ma’am,” you said with a shrug. “I’ve got a few things to go over.”

“Good,” she said before looking back at Sam and Tara. “Stay safe.” She looked at you. “All of you.”

All of you nodded and mumbled an agreement before bidding Gale goodbye. You watched and waited for her to be gone before turning back around to face the others. Now that everything had mostly calmed down, you were starting to focus on the real issue at hand again.

“What now?” Tara asked, her eyes flicking between you and Sam.

“We need to meet up with Chad and Mindy,” Sam said. “Fill them in.”

“I’ll head to my apartment,” you said. Tara opened her mouth to protest almost instantly. “I need to go over a few things.”

“We need to stick together,” she said.

“We can all meet up at my apartment tomorrow night,” you said with a gentle voice. “I’ve got some digging of my own to do.”

“No one even knows where you live,” Sam said. She looked at Tara and waited to see if she knew. Thankfully, she didn’t, and Sam let out a barely noticeable sigh of relief.

“I’ll call you from a burner and tell you the address,” you said. Both girls looked at you with raised brows. “Can’t trace a burner, and it guarantees it won’t be mirrored.”

“That’s some sketchy shit,” Tara said. “How do you know this stuff?”

“Got a few tricks up my sleeve,” you shrugged. “Still not Ghostface,” you defended when Sam gave you a judgmental look.

“Then we’ll see you tomorrow,” Sam said. “Come on.”

She turned around to leave, and you stood there watching her go. Tara hesitated, looking between you and Sam. As much as you wanted her to stick around, you knew she needed to be with her gang. No one could understand them the way they understood each other, and one little half-hearted attack didn’t make you one of them. You knew that.

“Go on,” you said softly with a gentle smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She looked at you for a little too long, long enough to have you shifting your weight from foot to foot. You inhaled deeply, trying your best to calm your racing thoughts and pulse. Tara stepped forward slowly and grabbed the front of your shirt, pulling you down just enough to plant a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Stay safe,” she said. “I mean it.”

“Yes ma’am,” you said with another smile.

Tara took that as good enough and turned around, jogging to catch up with Sam. You could see the both of them talking, and Sam’s arm wrapped protectively around Tara’s shoulders. It was sweet. You couldn’t even imagine what all they went through on a regular basis. All the chaos was enough to make anyone insane. They were lucky to have each other.

You shook the thought out of your head and started the long walk back to your apartment. If they were all coming over tomorrow night, you would need to have all your ducks in a row. No way were you inviting veterans into your home only to look like a fool.

—---

By the time everyone showed up at your apartment, you were running on 43 hours of being awake, your seventh espresso, and your 13th RedBull. Were you going insane? Yes. Could you smell colours? Absolutely. In fact, red smelled like black pepper. Or maybe that was the disgusting takeout you had been munching on for the past nine hours.

Damn, you needed to clean. Thank god Garret wouldn’t be back from his parent’s house until next weekend.

The knock on your front door pulled you back to the current situation. Right. You were going to show everyone what you had discovered. Which, not to brag, but it was pretty impressive. You managed to sweep the majority of the trash into a trash bag and put it off to the side before tripping over papers on the way to the door.

“Hey,” you said with a frazzled smile when you threw the door open and saw the entire gang standing there.

“When was the last time you slept?” Anika asked.

“Or showered,” Chad chimed in.

“Just get in here,” you said as you stepped aside. “I’m definitely on to something.”

“Good, because I have my own theories,” Mindy said with a smile. She was the first to enter.

You said hi to every one of them as they came in. Anika gave you a chaste kiss on the cheek and Quinn patted your unhurt arm. When Tara finally walked in, at the very end of the line, she gave you a look that you… couldn’t quite describe. She didn’t look sad. You supposed “worried” was a much better descriptor.

“You didn’t even change out of the shirt,” she said, pulling lightly on the NYPD shirt that you were still sporting.

“Shit,” you mumbled, “you’re right.”

“Go change,” she said, and you nodded before shutting and locking the door behind her.

“Get settled,” you told everyone as you walked into your room. You left the door open as you dug for something to wear. “All ‘a youse stayed safe, right?” You called.

“Safe and sound,” Anika called back.

“Good,” you said, tossing the NYPD shirt onto the bed. You were still trying to orient the new shirt as you walked back into the living room. “I’ve got some information you’re all going to love.”

“Who is that guy staring at us from across the alley?” Chad asked.

“What?” You said as you finally pulled the shirt over your head. You walked over to the window to see who he was talking about. “Oh, that’s Tony.”

“Who?” Sam asked.

“My older brother,” you said, shooting a wave at him. He waved back and smiled. “After the other night, I asked him to keep watch. His bedroom window watches the fire escape outside my room.”

“How many brothers do you even have?” Quinn asked, mostly to herself.

“Five,” you answered anyway, “and two sisters.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Tara asked incredulously.

“What can I say,” you shrugged. “We’re Catholic.”

“And you trust Tony?” Mindy asked. “Like really trust him?”

“With my life,” you said. “Now, everyone sit down, I’ve got a few things to show you.” You looked around. “Where’s Ethan?”

“Econ,” Chad answered.

You looked around for a moment, collecting your thoughts. “Alright then,” you said. “Mindy, would you like to enthrall us with your theories while I get my stuff situated?”

“I would love to,” she said with a smile as she stood up in front of everyone.

You listened to Mindy’s talk about sequels and remakes and upping the budget and yada yada. It was all very flashy, very out there, but you could respect it. If anyone would know what was going on, it would be Mindy. And she managed to fill more than enough time while you finished pulling everything up on your laptop and hooking it up to the projector on the ceiling.

“Now we shall hear your theories,” Mindy said as she practically handed you the floor.

“Not necessarily theories,” you said, “but I dug up some dirt.”

“And how did you manage to do that?” Chad asked as he leaned back against your couch.

“Well, Chadwick,” you said, ignoring the glare he sent you, “I learned from a very reliable source.”

“Gale is their godmother,” Sam explained.

“And my sister Martha is a tech guru,” you said as you pulled up your powerpoint presentation, “so I learned from the best.”

“Did you turn this into a TED Talk?” Quinn asked with a tilt of her head.

“Why yes I did, Quinn, thank you for asking,” you said as you pulled up the first slide.

“How long is this presentation?” Tara asked.

“Long,” you said with a smile, “so buckle up.”

You went over everything you had managed to dig up for the past 18 hours. From all the Reddit conspiracies, to possible motives. You pointed out how all the theories of Sam being the killer had all managed to come from different sock puppet accounts, which all connected to two different real accounts, which shared IP addresses.

“And you learned how to find that out from your sister?” Anika asked as she leaned forward on her thighs.

“Yes I did,” you said, “and she’s never wrong.”

“Who do the two accounts belong to?” Tara asked.

“Now that I don’t know yet,” you sighed. “But we got our two potential Ghostfaces right there.”

“Two?” Sam asked.

“There’s almost always two,” you said. “Except for, uh, what’s his name,” you shuffled through some of the papers on your table. “Ah, that Roman guy.”

Everyone looked at you with a mix of shock, confusion, and amazement. And maybe a little bit of fear.

“I told you I did my research,” you defended. “Unlike you guys, I didn’t grow up with Ghostface as part of my school curriculum.”

“So you did all this just to tell us you still don’t know who it is?” Chad asked.

“I’m not a detective, I’m doing my best,” you huffed. “It’s more than that pig Bailey ever did.” You instantly looked at Quinn. “No offense, doll.”

“None taken,” she said with a shrug.

“But I do think this means he’s going after you, Sam,” you said. “He painted a bullseye on you with the Reddit bullshit. Must’ve pissed someone off.”

“Seems that’s all I ever do,” she said with a huff.

Everyone got to talking, going over what you had managed to find out. You continued shuffling through your papers, seeing if there was anything else you had left out. All the adrenaline and caffeine was starting to wear off and your eyes were fuzzy, but you could focus long enough to read. Mostly.

Your phone vibrated on the table, and you looked down. From the area code, the call was from the Bronx. If anything, one of your siblings got a new phone and was calling you to let you know. It had happened far too many times anyway, you shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Quit breakin’ your goddamn phone,” you said immediately after answering.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You froze.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “Cat got your tongue?”

Everyone was still talking amongst themselves. You didn't know if you were supposed to tell them about the call or not. No one was looking at you, so you walked over to the window. When Tino looked over, you signed for him to watch.

"You and your buddy showin' up tonight?" You asked. "Or are you both a couple 'a pussies?"

"You're bold," he said. "Have you learned much from your research?"

"A bit," you said. You were eying the streets below. Surely he was somewhere close.

"Then I'll ask you the single most important question," he said. "What's your favourite scary movie?"

“Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure,” you said. “Large Marge will haunt me till I die.”

“You think you’re funny.”

“My Ma told me I’m a natural comedian.” He wasn’t in the alley. Where was he?

“You ever seen Stab?”

“Not really,” you said. You were vaguely aware of the fact that everyone had fallen silent. “I think they're insensitive."

"Insensitive?" He chuckled. "How chivalrous."

"You gonna play your game or not?" You asked, finally turning back around to see everyone staring at you.

Oh no.

"Did you check Garret’s room when you got home last night?"

Your eyes darted to Garret’s closed bedroom door. No. No you hadn’t checked it last night. The phone fell from your hand as you vaulted over the armchair in your way. Someone was calling to you, but you couldn’t hear what they were saying. Without any hesitation or sense of self preservation, you threw the door open.

No one was in there.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Don’t go in there!” Mindy shouted at you from the living room. “Have you never seen a horror movie?”

“Just shut up,” you called back. “Get out,” you said when you grabbed one of the baseball bats you kept in every room of the apartment. “Tony’s apartment number is 413, it’s a four floor walk-up.”

“I’m staying,” Tara said.

“Come on,” Chad said; you hoped he grabbed her and forced her to leave.

This is a stupid idea, you thought as you stalked your way to Garret’s closed closet door. Sure, you had a bat, but you had no idea what you were going to do if that fucker was in there. What, you were going to just bludgeon him to death? Yeah, that would look great on your rap sheet.

“Here goes nothin’,” you mumbled as you turned the doorknob and threw the door open, the bat primed and ready.

No one was in there either.

“What the-”

-screams came from the front door.

Shit. 

You tripped over Garret’s duffel bag that he had left and hit the floor with a hard *thud*. The stitches on your bicep pulled tight. You could hear your pulse racing in your ears as you pushed yourself back up to your feet and ran out of the room.

Just in time to see Ghostface pulling the knife out of Anika’s stomach.

You saw Mindy not too far away holding her bleeding arm, but you couldn’t find anyone else. That was probably a good thing.

Ghostface lifted the knife again.

The wood of the bat rubbed harshly against the skin of your palms as you swung. It hit his head with a hollow *thunk*, and he groaned and fell to the ground. You didn't recall crossing the living room.

“Go,” you shouted as you pushed Anika and Mindy into your room and slammed the door behind the three of you.

Mindy helped Anika onto your bed and pushed against the wound that you could now see went all the way from her sternum to her stomach. Your own stomach twisted at the sight. The muscles in your legs were frozen even as your mind ran rampant.

Something grabbed the doorknob.

You dropped the bat and lunged, slamming into the door right as it opened. Your hands wrapped around the doorknob as it twisted erratically. The metal started to heat up from the friction and you could feel it burning the skin on your palms.

"We're going to die," Anika cried.

"Try to stay positive," Mindy told her even as she was looking around the room for… you didn't know what.

The doorknob twisted again. The door opened slightly, and you slammed your shoulder into it again. Why didn't you fix the fucking lock when you had the chance last week?

"If we get out of this alive, I'm fucking strangling you-"

-The gleam of a knife shut you up and took over everything in your sight.

You followed as it pulled out, leaving a hole in your door right beside your head along with a light smear of blood.

"Get out," you said, your eyes still glued to the blood smear on your door.

"What?" Mindy asked 

"Fire escape leads to Tony's room," you said.

"Tara will kill me if I leave you-"

-the knife drove through the door again. You jumped back but felt a sharp sting in your hip.

The door tried to fly open again. You yelped, but pushed against it harder. Your bare feet dug into the carpet and you could feel the strain in your thighs.

"Give me the chair," you ordered, waving your hand vaguely in the direction of a metal folding chair.

Someone shuffled around the room, and in seconds you felt the chair in your outstretched hand. You placed it underneath the doorknob.

The knife pierced the door again.

And again.

And again.

"Come on," you heard Mindy say to Anika. At least you assumed that was who she was talking to.

Anika groaned, but the sounds meant they were moving. Hopefully to your window. Your pulse was rushing in your ear.

The doorknob jiggled again.

"Grab my hand!" Okay, that was Sam, the window was open.

The knife came into your field of view.

Oh god this was so stupid!

"Y/N, come on!"

Tara?

The doorknob quit moving and the room was enveloped with a deafening silence.

You let go of the doorknob slowly and took a few hesitant steps back. The heel of your foot hit the bat, and you reached down to pick it up without taking your eyes off the door.

"Just get out here!"

The grain of the wood rubbed your palms raw as you tightened your grip on the handle. It hung in the air above your shoulder, ready to swing.

I dare you to try it.

"Tara wait!"

Someone stepped onto the fire escape before climbing into the window. You didn't dare turn from the door. A familiar hand touched your ear. It stung.

"You're bleeding," Tara said softly.

You didn't answer.

There was banging in the living room. You twisted your hands around the bat and planted your feet. So help you god, if Ghostface even so much as sneezed you would-

"-It's Bailey!"

Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe two.

"We have paramedics downstairs," he continued, "open the door."

Your eyes stayed on the door even as you toed the chair, pulling it until it fell to the ground with a *clang*.  Your grip on the bat tightened as you watched the doorknob twist.

Detective Bailey stepped into the room, hands held up in surrender.

You exhaled sharply and felt all the muscles in your body relax.

The bat fell to the ground as your vision went fuzzy. Tara's hand fell and rested on your hip.

You supposed you had just survived attack number two.

[southern-gothic-comic]

Page 30

Next 💜 Back 🖤 First

(Author Notes)

Panel 1: (wide establishing shot) A small-town harvest festival. Tents and wooden booths are set up offering seasonal treats, trinkets, sillgoat rides, etc. Children are exclaiming over a pen of fluffy sheep available to pet. Laudna, though delighted by her surroundings, looks down attentively at Imogen, who has withdrawn into herself. Assorted townsfolk are giving them a wide berth or nasty looks, while their thoughts float around her. In the foreground a protesting half-orc child is being led away by her disgruntled family.

Laudna: Ooh, I haven’t been to a Harvest’s Close festival in so long! Do you think they have cider doughnuts? Oh, the sheep! Imogen look at the sheep!

Imogen: I see ‘em!

Half-Orc Father: Let’s go, punkin. We’ll come back tomorrow.

Half-Orc Child: No faiiiir!!

Townsfolk Thoughts: ugh my feet — goddamn witches, can’t even have a nice day out with the family — think I got cheated — what’s that Temult girl doin’ here — peculiar smell, that one — what’s goin’ on, is it them witches? — fluffy!

Laudna: What’s the matter, darling? Is it the crowds? Are their thoughts distressing you?

Imogen: Yeah they . . . don’t seem to want us here.

Panel 2: She looks down at Imogen, noting her discomfort.

Townsfolk Thoughts: That a zombie? weird mind stuff was bad enough now she’s raisin’ the dead?

Laudna: Do you want to leave? We could go elsewhere.

Imogen: No, I’m fine.

Laudna: Are you sure? I could get rid of them all if you wanted. We could have the whole fair to ourselves.

Imogen: No, that’s not necessary . . . (wait, how . . .?)

Laudna: Well, all of these gawkers should be ashamed of themselves. Panel 3: Imogen turns beet-red as Laudna addresses the crowd.

Laudna: Yes, you all heard me! You should be ashamed, every one of you!

Imogen: Laudna. Laudna, no . . .

Laudna: Imogen is the sweetest, cleverest, most talented person in this whole town, and every one of you has your nose too far in the air to notice! Shame on you!

Imogen: Laudna . . .

Laudna: You don’t know how lucky you are to have had such a treasure in your midst all these years!

Townsfolk Thoughts: well I never — the youth these days I declare — what in tarnation — Pelor’s shinin’ britches, what is that?

Panel 4: Imogen is now holding her head, still blushing furiously, but smiling a little in spite of the pain.

Laudna: Oh, I’m sorry. Did that make their thoughts worse?

Imogen: Well . . . they’re mostly thinkin’ about you now.

Laudna: Well, I stand by everything I said. Come on. Let’s try to have a good time today.

Townsfolk Thoughts: that a dead bird on her belt ugh no it’s some kinda rat?? — goodness me gave me a fright I thought that was a dead girl for a minute there — Temult know his girl’s walkin’ around town with a corpse? — how come she’s purple

Panel 5: Laudna sees something off-panel and starts off in the direction of it, dragging Imogen.

Laudna: Oh, look at the fluffy chickens!

Nearby Child: wow, a vampire!

[emmyrosee]

doodoo fart pt2! what are we up to AGAIN to break Rin's composure in front of the olympic team? LOL

doodoo fart 🦨 pspspsps

SENT oh god

doodoo fart 🦨 come home 🥺💔

He’s been gone maybe two hours tops.

It’s not like he had intentions to leave you so early, but he had no choice! It was boys night, and while he’d fully expected to drive himself to the bar, Komori and Aran pulled up almost two hours early to grab him.

Kidnapping, as you’d so eloquently put it.

And for the first few hours, you’d left him be. He felt relaxed knowing you were probably doing your own thing, barely thinking about him.

Until now, of course.

SENT baby I’ll be home soon, okay

You can be good for me, yeah?

doodoo fart 🦨 no :(

SENT damn near saw that coming

doodoo fart 🦨 bro i know right

why would you even ask tf

He chuckles before he sends one more assurance that he’d be coming home soon, but it takes merely four minutes after that for his phone to start buzzing in his pocket.

doodoo fart 🦨 is calling…

“Sorry guys; boss of me is calling,” he says dramatically, turning his head slightly to pick up the phone.

“Hey stink.”

“HI BABY!” You cheer happily on the other end, and he chuckles in the receiver. “What you doin?”

“I’m with the boys, booger,” he says softly, smiling at your excitement. “About to wrap up dinner, you want me to get you anything?”

“You,” You whine, and he sighs in defeat. “I mith you…”

Shit. Baby voices. You dirty rat.

He swallows back a snicker, “I’ll be home soon. I promise.”

“Nnngh, I miss you!” You repeat, more dramatic than the last time. His eye twitches. He knows what you want, and he hates you for it.

“I can’t do that,” he groans lowly, turning his head away. “I’m out. In public!”

“Mmm! Bubby!! I miss you!” You whine, and there’s an absolute conflict in his head right now. “Miss your face, and I miss your nose, and I wanna bite your fingers… wanna sniff your hair, wanna live in your skin.”

Because yeah, okay, he could absolutely say no and hang up the phone. But he’s not going to, because clearly you’re getting his attention and a reaction you wanted and your persistence is admirable, at best.

“I love you too, baby-“

“Nnng LOUDER!”

He sighs in defeat at your adorable- albeit heartless- pestering, all the while he feels his teammates eyes boring into the back of his head; he lowers his voice enough for the other restaurant patrons, but there’s no escaping the judgement of his teammates.

“I mith you too, baby!” He coos back, and you giggle happily on the other end. The surrounding table goes completely silent, and he can feel the multiple pairs of eyes boring into the back and side of his head. “I gotta go.”

“Okay,” you say, and he can hear the pout over the phone.

“Okay- I love you, I love you! I love you.”

“I wuv you too.”

“See you soon, baby.”

“Okay… bye Rinnie.”

“Buh-bye.”

He clicks the red hangup button. Then, he screws his eyes shut before he slowly turns to the booth of athletes, who are absolutely silent and looking at him with cocked, confused brows.

“What’re you looking at?” He snaps, and no one says anything before Sakusa clears his throat.

“Nothing… but we sure did mith you, Rinnie.”

The rest of the team absolutely explodes in laughter, all in jest and no real judgement, and Rintaro can’t fight the smile as he hangs in his head in faux shame, his cheeks hot and face burying in his hands.

“I’m gonna break up with them. Swear to god,” he grumbles from behind his hands.

Aran claps him on the back, “tell that to the fat rock in your drawer.”

based on this video bc I’m unoriginal and Michelle and Andy are my parents

[strang3lov3]

Massage Chair

Summary: Joel teaches you to massage him, then takes advantage of your new skill. After, he shows his gratitude.

Tags: Lots of joel teasing, malicious compliance, light arguing, smut, fingering, teasing, romantic massaging, creampie, slower and more emotional, joel comforting u after boning.

a/n: thank you for your patience with me! I wanted to have this done last week, but I ended up in the ER which slowed me down a little. But, that gave me more time to write and @papipascalispunk time to beautifully edit this <3 she's such a babe.

(mall rats 5, though can be read as standalone. find more mall rats in my masterlist)

A brown leather chair is flipped on its side, and Joel’s tinkering with the parts inside, cursing and hissing expletives. It’s a broken massage recliner that came with Joel’s house, and he spotted the same model at Macy’s back in the old mall. So he stole bits and pieces, and now he’s attempting to fix the chair. It’s not going too well. 

“God bless it,” Joel grumbles at you, “Quit shinin’ the flashlight on the damn floor. Shine it inside the chair.”

“I am shining it inside the chair, Joel,” you argue, “Why don’t you make Ellie hold the flashlight for you?”

“‘Cause she can’t hold it right either. You girls suck at using flashlights,” Joel grimaces as he sits up off the ground, then reaches for your hand that’s holding the light. He manipulates your position, adjusting the way you’re sitting and how you hold the flashlight and says, “There. Stay like that.”

You smirk, “Oh Joel, it makes me so hot and bothered when you take control of me like that.” 

Joel sighs, frustrated with you. Like always. “Was that really necessary?” 

“Of course it was,” you reply. Moving gingerly, he lays back down on the carpeting. The chair makes small, metallic clanging noises as he works, and you’ve got a perfect view of his ass. So tight and plump in those jeans. What a treat. 

Joel turns on his side, twisting his torso to reach for a different screwdriver. This time, he grunts in pain. He works a little longer, then tosses the screwdriver aside before hoisting himself up. His knees crack and ache as he slowly stands up, carefully pulling the chair upright and plugging it into an outlet. You watch as he sits in the chair, lifts up the armrest to press a few buttons, and the chair comes to life. He keeps his eyes squinted shut, his chest rising and falling heavily with every labored breath he takes. He fidgets with the buttons as the chair makes different mechanical whirring noises, vibrating and pressing into his back. 

“Can I try it?”, you ask. 

“No,” he deadpans, “S’not massagin’ too good anyway – kinda just vibrates. And before you ask – no,” you smirk as he glares at you, “It doesn't vibrate like that. So don’t even think about doin’ that to my chair, you horndog.” He knows you so well.

When Joel is done speaking, he sighs and closes his eyes again. It’s a little awkward, watching Joel sit in his massage chair. He doesn’t seem very comfortable, and it’s making you feel sort of sad. His back has been killing him for weeks. He doesn’t talk about it much, but you can tell it’s getting worse. As he squeezes his eyes shut, those two little lines between his brows grow more prominent than usual. He inhales through his nose and exhales from his mouth, like he’s trying to breathe away the pain. 

Before the outbreak, he found things like heated massage chairs and beds that move up and down to be frivolous and unnecessary. In his twenties and thirties, if his back hurt he’d pop a few Advil and tough it out. Not exactly an option now. So, an old massage chair it is. 

“Have you been icing your back, Joel?”, you ask but Joel opens just one eye and glares at you. You take his silence as a no. “You need to ice it.” 

“My back’s fine,” Joel lies as he rolls his eyes at you, “Go away. Go play in traffic.”

“Are you keeping yourself hydrated?”, you continue.

“Yes.” You look at Joel, then you look next to him. The full glass of water on his end table says otherwise, condensation pooling on the wood. Joel looks there too, then back at you as you stare at him, unimpressed, “Yeah, I drink enough water, dammit. What’s with the third degree?” 

You ignore his question, “Are you getting enough rest?”

“What do you think I’m tryin’ to do right now?” Again, you stare at him with an unimpressed expression. Joel sighs, exasperated, “For the love of god, I rest plenty.” Out of all the ways you could annoy him, this is the most brutal. It’s torturous. He continues, “I’d rest easier if you weren’t here, y’know. So get gone. Quit naggin’ me.”

“Charming, Joel. Like always,” you tell him, your tone sarcastic. Lifting yourself up, you stand in front of him and take his hand in your own. You pull with all of your might to lift him up, and drag him to his feet. He groans the entire time.

“Oh, come on,” Joel complains. He knows that look you’ve got on your face, knows that you’re on a mission and he’s coming with. Of course he’s coming with. He’s always stuck with you, somehow. “What are you signin’ me up for now?”, as you lead him to his room, matching his slow pace as he takes heavy steps, so as not to overwhelm his ancient bones.

“Bed,” you tell him. 

Oh. Joel gets it now. You’re forcing him to take a rest. Could be worse, he supposes, but he always has a flair for the dramatic, so he sighs heavily as he lays down, making sure you know he is not happy that you’re putting his ass to bed. You untie his boots and pull them off his feet, then toss them aside. 

Just as Joel settles on his back, you move to his side of the bed and put your hands under his torso and thigh, then roll him onto his stomach rather harshly. He yelps in pain, “Jesus Christ–”

“Sorry,” you mumble sheepishly. You join him on the bed, straddling his butt, careful not to put too much pressure on him. 

Joel is confused beyond words. Before he can process what you’re doing, he feels you bouncing the sides of your hands down his shoulders and spine, and then you’re pinching and smushing his body haphazardly. “Uhh, what are you doin’ to me?”, he questions now. It is a deeply uncomfortable sensation. 

“Massaging you, because your chair doesn’t work,” you tell him, continuing your work on his back, “It’ll help you rest. I’m feeding two birds with one scone, Joel.”

“That – that’s not how the phrase – fuck, never mind,” Joel relents, baffled as you “massage” him. He lets you continue for a few moments longer before deciding he’s had enough. “Sweetheart, it’s very kind of you, but you are terrible at this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, no, this is god awful. You’re gonna break my damn spine in half,” Joel pauses before speaking again, thinking to himself. There’s no way you’ve had or given a massage before now. “Am I your guinea pig?”

“Kinda,” you answer quietly.

“I could tell,” Joel taps you on the leg twice, “Alright, get off and switch me spots.”

“What for?”, you ask. 

“So I can teach ya how it’s done and keep you from committing a fuckin’ felony assault on my back,” he says, “What you’re doin’... it’s inhumane, darlin’.” He’s being very Joel about this. Harsh, a little rude. Dramatic. You climb off him and he scoots off of his bed. “Take off your shirt,” he tells you, “S’rule one of a good massage. You’re supposed to massage a person, not their clothes.”

“Noted,” you say. Joel leaves then, maybe to give you privacy or something, not that you need it. If Joel wants you to strip naked, you’ll strip naked, no questions asked. You’d lay yourself on a silver platter for him, cherries on your ass and an apple in your mouth. Though, you do think it’s sweet he’s trying to keep you feeling comfortable. Joel Miller, always the gentleman.  

You strip nude, then lay on your stomach on the bed, right where Joel was. His sheets feel warm from his body heat and they smell like him too, warm and musky and woody. You’re facing his window, where outside it’s overcast and gloomy. On his bedside table sits his book of crossword puzzles. 

The stairs and floorboards creak as Joel returns to you. He stops dead in his tracks at the sight of you naked and face down in his bed, rolling his eyes at your lack of modesty. Joel places a few things on his dresser, then a little glass container full of oil on his bedside table. “Only had to take your shirt off, hon,” he says. 

“Oh. I thought you wanted me naked.”

“You’ve got selective hearing,” Joel lowers the curtains by his window and lights a few candles on his dresser, “I think you wanted you naked.” In the darkened room, he moves behind you and you hear the sound of fabric moving before he’s draping a blanket over your bum. You shrug, “Sorry, Joel. Guilty as charged.”

“Uh huh,” he mumbles. Joel rolls up his sleeves before beginning. “You ready?”, you nod, and so does he. He takes the container of oil and drizzles it down your spine. It’s warm, a little sweet and fragrant. You feel relaxed already. Joel then pours some of oil into the palm of his hands and rubs them together. “First thing, you always wanna be mindful of any painful or sensitive areas. Anything you need me to be careful about?”

“Uh, no. My back doesn’t usually hurt,” you tell him. 

“Must be nice,” he mumbles. After rubbing his palms together, he places them on your back. He spreads the drizzled oil from your lower back up to your neck and shoulders in long strokes with his palms, so big and strong and warm. You sigh in relief. “The oil makes it easier to glide your hands. Don’t wanna use too much, though. And you’re gonna spread it out, nice and even.” 

You nod, your eyes closed, “What about the candles?”

“Candles don’t make a difference. Just thought you’d like ‘em,” Joel whispers. 

“I do.”

He spends the next couple minutes using wide, gentle strokes of his hands to completely spread the oil over your body. Once he’s satisfied, he places his hands at your shoulders.  He works his thumbs into your traps and up your neck, pushing and sliding them up your skin. “How’s the pressure?”, he asks, “Too much? Not enough?” 

“Little too much,” you tell him. 

Joel lightens the pressure and continues the motion, “Feel nice?”

All you can do is hum in response. It feels incredible. His hands are so firm and gentle, so careful. Your skin is warm and his touch is comforting. He works his way down your body, massaging and rubbing your muscles. He alternates between circular and back and forth movements. 

“Good. Remember that. Be nice and fluid when you massage me,” Joel whispers, “None of that karate choppin’ shit.” 

“None of that karate choppin’ shit,” you repeat, matching his tone. 

Joel massages you everywhere for the next ten minutes. Instructing you to stay away from the spine directly, but focus your pressure next to it. Focus on the muscles. You can dig your thumbs in, use your knuckles, even the heels of your palms. He tells you he’s being more gentle, but he’s gonna need you to use your body weight. 

“You writin’ this down?”, he asks. 

“Mmm, yeah. Got my pen and paper right here,” you murmur. He massages a sensitive spot on your back and you moan softly. 

“Hey,” he warns, “Don’t be enjoyin’ this so much. S’for my benefit, not yours. I’ve got ulterior motives for massagin’ you.”

“Oh?”, you whisper.

“Yeah, oh. You volunteered yourself to fix my back, so I’m gonna take advantage.”

“Joel?”

“What’s that, hon?” he asks quietly. 

“I’m not, fuck, right there,” you breathe, “M’not learning a whole lot. Need some more pointers.”

“Always workin’ an angle,” he retorts, “But I don’t have nothin’ else to tell ya.” Joel massages you quietly for a couple more minutes, generously giving you more massaging than he anticipated. But he likes it, likes knowing you’re feeling good. The soft noises you’re making, how smooth your skin feels. He loves watching the candlelight dance across your skin while he runs his palms up and down your hips, your sides, pouring over your curves. You’re lost in the sensation for a few moments longer before Joel taps your hip, “Alright, time’s up.” 

“No, Joel, come on,” you whine, “Not yet, don’t stop now.” 

“Move it,” he says, tapping your hip harder, “S’my turn. My back hurts, not yours. You said so yourself.” 

You whine again, “Please? Just a little longer.”

“Mmm, nope. Let this be a lesson to ya, don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish.” Joel leaves to go to his bathroom then, turns on the hot water in his sink and returns with a warm rag. He gently scrubs your back, removing the excess oil. 

Finally, you sit up in defeat. “Give me that,” you grumble, reaching for the rag. You take it to the bathroom and rinse it out for Joel as he begins undressing. When you return, Joel is shirtless face down in his bed, a blanket draped over his ass, just like how he had you. 

“Alright hon, I’m ready. Show me whatcha got.” 

Standing next to him, you step a little closer to the bed and survey Joel. He’s on his tummy facing you, his eyes shut gently. He looks gorgeous like this, his hair messy, his shoulders thick and broad. You trace the curve of his back with your eyes, curious when you look at his ass. So plump under that blanket. Reaching forward, you lift the blanket. 

“What’re ya doin’,” Joel asks in an annoyed tone. 

“I’m just…”, you trail off, admiring the swell of his ass cheeks. Joel doesn’t seem to mind when you touch his bum, squeezing the flesh gently and watching it move beneath your fingertips.

“You’re snoopin’,” he answers his own question for you. 

“Yeah,” you breathe. You look at Joel again, and he’s still got his eyes shut. A small smile on his face that you know wouldn’t be there if he knew you were looking at his face.

“Why don’t you snoop a little higher, dirty bird.” 

“Okay,” you murmur, draping the blanket over his ass. “Can you remind me of step one again?”

“Ah, someone wasn’t payin’ attention,” he teases, “Sure. Ya gotta ask me where it hurts.” 

“Where’s it hurt?”

“Everywhere.” 

You sigh, “Thanks, Joel. That’s helpful.” 

“Wouldn’t hurt to give my neck and shoulders a little extra lovin’, though.” You nod, then reach for his shoulders. “Nuh uh,” he tuts, “Oil first.” You reach for the oil and hover it over Joel’s body. “Easy does it. Little goes a long–”, but Joel is interrupted when he feels a large splash of oil on his back, dripping over his sides and onto his sheets. Definitely gonna stain.

“Ah, fuck,” you curse, “My bad.”

“God bless it,” Joel grumbles, “S’alright. Get the rag and clean me up a little.”

Doing as you’re told, you get the rag from the bathroom and wipe away the oil you don’t need. Then you spread the oil on Joel’s back, using your palms to drag it from the area just above his ass cheeks to his wide shoulders. Joel hums in satisfaction. You lean over him to begin massaging his body, but you’re finding it uncomfortable. “Do you mind if I straddle you again?” you ask, “To reach your back easier.”

“Go for it.”

You hold onto Joel’s shoulders for stability as you straddle yourself over him, sitting on his ass and settling your knees at his sides. This way, you have much more mobility. You place your palms at his lower back, thumbs on either side of his spine and press into him hard, then work your hands up his body. He sighs softly. “How’s that?”, you ask.

“Jury’s still out,” he replies, “Do that again, little harder this time.” When you do, Joel sighs deeper, “S’it. Much better.”

You repeat the general motion, but vary your movements. Sometimes letting your hands explore his sides, making big and small circles, large sweeping motions. Joel groans when you walk your thumbs up his spine. “Yeah, very nice,” he praises. 

Once at his upper back, you focus pressure on his shoulders and neck. You curl your fingers inward and use your knuckles for added pressure. “Little more,” he tells you. You press harder, but his muscles are so tight. “Harder,” he says, “C’mon, use some elbow grease.”

“I’m gonna hurt you, Joel,” you argue. 

“You ain’t gonna hurt me,” he says. “In fact, I want you to try.” 

“Huh?”

“Yeah, hon. Hard as you can. Like you’re tryna squeeze the life outta me.”

Shaking your head, you try it. You squeeze his traps, digging your thumbs into his flesh as hard as you can. You watch his skin turn white under your fingertips. 

“Fuck,” he moans, “There it is. Good girl, doin’ such a good job.” 

Oh dear lord. His words go straight to your pussy. You continue to work his neck and shoulders, listening to Joel breathe and sigh, moan and groan. You admire his back, his freckles and moles and stretch marks here and there. “Good girl,” he praises you again. He whispers it over and over and over. Good girl. 

He’s making all sorts of sinful noises, cursing all kinds of obscenities, and you’re falling to pieces just listening to him, feeling his hot skin. You picture his face, contorted in pleasure. 

You feel warm, your core beginning to ache. You didn’t quite expect to get so worked up over this. As you lean forward over Joel to massage him, you tilt your hips into his back, pressing yourself against him for some sort of relief. Maybe repeating the motion once or twice. 

“I can feel that,” he says. 

“Feel what?”

“You. Drippin’. Rockin’ those hips on me. You’re makin’ a mess all over me, dirty bird.”

Your cheeks heat up and you’re feeling a little bashful at the accusation. 

“Ya gotta finish my massage before we take care of that, hm?”

“Yeah,” you agree. Not like you have much left to do anyway. You’ve been massaging him for half an hour at this point, paid special attention to each area of his back. After massaging him for a few minutes longer, you tap his shoulder blade to let him know you’re done. Joel lifts himself up and begins to twist over, so you lift up to your knees to make room. “Wait, Joel, your sheets–”

“You ruined ‘em already.” He’s right. Oh well. 

Once he’s settled, you sit down on his lap. His cock is half hard already. You reach for it, and he swats your hand away. You balk in confusion. “Ya ain’t done yet,” he tells you.

“What are you talking about?”

“Massage tax,” he says plainly, as if somehow you should have known that’s a thing and you roll your eyes, “It’s the law.”

“That is not a law.” 

“Is now,” he says, taking his cock into his hand. You watch him work himself, swiping his thumb over the blushed tip a couple of times before holding it tightly, restricting your access. 

“Joel,” you whine, “This isn’t– come on, man.”

“I know. I ain’t happy about it either,” he says, though his mischievous smile says differently, 

“Government’s just rife with corruption, ain’t it?”

You can’t say you didn’t have this coming. You’ve tormented Joel for months in a myriad of ways. You deserve this. 

“I don’t deserve this,” you tell him. 

“‘Course not,” he says softly, still holding his member tightly. You try to wriggle his fingers away, but he’s got an iron grip. You sigh in defeat, annoyed. Joel looks all too proud of himself.

“I hate you, Joel.”

“You wound me sweetheart, really. It hurts,” he inhales sharply through his teeth, extending an arm to you, “Hurts almost as much as my arm, you know that? S’been so sore, my hands an’ fingers too.” 

Yeah, yeah. You get the picture. 

Glaring at him, you watch him shimmy into the pillows and wiggle his arm at you again. You’ve still got some oil on your hands, so you don’t bother with the bottle on his nightstand. 

“Start up top,” he instructs you.

You move a little closer, taking his upper arm into your hands. You squeeze the muscles of his biceps and triceps, and as much as this is bothersome, it’s nice too. His muscles are strong, big, and firm. You’ve never really seen them until now. You admire the contours of his arm, the soft lines his muscles make. “And work your way down, down,” he says. And you follow, massaging his forearm. He sighs when you reach his hands, “S’my favorite part,” as you massage his palm, each knuckle of his digits. His hands are worn and calloused. 

You drop his hand once you feel like you’ve done enough, “Done.”  

“Really?” 

“Yep.” 

“Hm,” Joel hums before offering you his other arm, holding his cock now with his other hand, “I’ve got an entire arm you haven’t touched yet.” You stare at him with a blank expression. Joel pouts and acknowledges your disappointment by saying, “I know, hon. I’m so sorry.”

You roll your eyes, taking his other arm into your hands. “No, you aren’t.”

“Yeah, I’m not sorry,” he says, “Not one bit.”

And so again, you repeat the motions, first massaging his biceps and triceps. The hand that holds his cock rests between your thighs, and you begin grinding into it. Eyes shut, he raises one brow in amusement at your arousal. You’re soaked. 

Finally, he lets himself go. His cock springs free, rock hard with protruding veins, and you inch forward so that it sits between your thighs. 

As you massage his forearm now, you rock your hips slightly. Joel surely notices, though he doesn’t mind. You rock yourself quicker, chasing that sweet friction on your clit. Your hands are at his palm now, thumbs urgently rubbing circles into the flesh. You need to be done with this.  

“Slow it down,” he tells you, “S’not a race.”

You groan, but slow down anyway. You screw your eyes shut as you massage his palm sloppily, your focus now concentrated on what's happening between your thighs. Your pussy is slick as you roll your hips, grinding against his hard cock. That familiar coil in your gut is back. “Joel,” you cry, “My hands are sore.”

“Now you know how I feel,” he retorts, and you whine impatiently. “Ya never do any hard work in your life. C’mon, you’re almost done,” he taps your ass, “Lift up a little. I like watchin’ you get yourself all worked up on my cock.” 

As you work Joel’s hand, you lift yourself, hovering just inches above him. With his free hand, he takes his cock and drags himself through your dripping folds, collecting your slick on his tip. It feels good, your pussy is sensitive. He nudges his head against your clit, back and forth and periodically notches himself at your entrance, playing with you, achingly torturing you. “Joel,” you whine as he teases you, “My thighs are aching, hands too, ca— can’t do this anymore.”

“Sure ya can,” he coos. It feels like you’ve been massaging him for hours, way longer than he massaged you. This isn’t fair in the slightest, even with his back pain. 

Truth be told, the hand and arm massage stopped feeling good for Joel a long time ago. You’re aching and tired, and so are your hands, not giving him the proper pressure he needs.  But he’s taking advantage of this opportunity to tease you, drive you insane. He feels it’s warranted. 

And then finally, finally, he pulls his hand away from you. You’re done. 

You flop next to Joel and take his hand back in yours, guiding his fingers to your center. “Please,” you beg him, “Touch me. Do something.”

Joel clicks his tongue, “No can do.”

“What?”

“Yeah, think I just wanna rest now.” You stare at Joel, confused. He shrugs, “And I’m just parched. Need some water. And I’d go and get it, but I don’t want ya to yell at me again. I’m supposed to be resting, like you said.”

“You want me to get you water,” you confirm, annoyed. 

“And some ice, too,” he adds. 

Joel watches with a smirk on his face as you shove his hand away from your thigh and huff, then stomp out of his bedroom and all the way downstairs. After Joel hears the sound of running water and the slamming of cabinets, you return moments later with a glass of water and some ice wrapped in a towel. You mumble, “You can shove this ice right up–”

“Right up my ass, got it,” Joel takes the ice in one hand and the glass of water in his other. Joel drinks a sip of the water, then makes a disgusted face, “You gave me warm water? What is wrong with you?”

“You didn’t specify the temperature.” 

Joel rolls his eyes and sets both the ice and the water on his nightstand. “Fuckin’ psycho,” he mumbles. Even when he thinks he’s one step ahead of you in the never-ending quest to piss one another off, he’s not. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

You smile, “Thanks.”

Joel stares at you for a moment, admiring the mischievous grin on your face and that look in your eye. And then faster than you can blink, he takes your arm in his hand and pulls you back into bed as you giggle. You hear him laughing too, and then he’s situating himself above you. Hovering over you with one arm by your head, he takes his fingers into his mouth and sucks on them before bringing his hand between your thighs. 

You breathe a sigh of relief. You’re so sensitive and he’s finally fucking touching you, fingertips dragging through your slick folds, circling your clit before dipping one, then two fingers inside you. He finds your clit with his thumb, rubbing tight circles into you. “Quit teasing,” you plead. 

Joel laughs breathlessly above you, “M’not teasin’—”

“More,” you interrupt him, “I need more.”

“You got it,” he says, then inserts a third finger. He curls them repeatedly inside you, your pussy gushing and soaking his fingers, making all sorts of wet, sticky noises. 

But it’s still not enough. You’re so fucking needy, so ready for Joel to just fuck you. You push his hand away and reach for his cock, wrapping your legs around him and using your feet on his ass to push him down closer to you.

“Ah, fuck,” Joel hisses when he feels your hand touch his member, “Hey, easy, sweetheart. Let’s slow it down.”

“Slow it down my ass,” you argue, “I want you now, Joel.”

“Now?” 

“Need you now,” you repeat, tilting your hips and bouncing your heels on his ass, “Now, now, now, now–”

Joel smiles at your desperation, at the way he’s managed to torture you. “Didn’t quite catch that, bad hearing and all that. You want me to fuck you when exactly?”, you cry in pure agony and Joel says, “Gotta mark my calendar, set my alarm clock...”

Your groans of frustration quickly turn into a soft sigh of pleasure as Joel takes you by surprise, pushing his cock inside you deeply, inch by inch, in one fluid motion. The stretch feels incredible and you’re so perfectly full of him. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close with one of your hands resting on his shoulder and the other tangled in the soft curls on his head. 

“Been needin’ this, huh?”, Joel asks as he settles inside you, letting you adjust to the stretch. 

You nod, your cheek brushing against his scratchy, salt and pepper facial hair. “You’re such an asshole,” you whisper, “You make me so mad.”

“Ditto, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he kisses your cheek. That’s become a regular thing, now. Always kissing your forehead, your cheeks. It always makes you blush. Joel pulls out of you nearly all the way before pushing back in. Over and over, building to a steady pace, and he makes soft grunts as he fucks you. 

You love how he cages you in, surrounds you, the low light of the candles dancing on his face as he fucks you passionately. And he’s watching you, big brown eyes full of something you can’t quite read. He pulls your hand from his hair and pins it next to your head, his fingers interlaced with your own. It’s sweet and it’s intimate, almost too intimate.

You can’t take this right now. Can’t deal with the way it feels, to be treated so specially by Joel. 

You untangle your fingers from his, and he watches you with a confused expression on his face. Reaching low, you slap his ass, “C’mon, fuck me harder. Use some elbow grease,” you mock his words from earlier, “Or does your old ass back hurt too much?” 

Joel stills and stares at you. You stare back, challenging him. “Why are you bein’ like this?” he asks, “Do y’always have to instigate?”

“Think I just heard your hip crack, too,” you tease, but it gets no reaction from Joel. 

“Quit while you’re ahead,” he warns, then composes himself before speaking again, “Have some faith. You trust me?” 

There’s something different about the way he’s looking at you, watching you. You’re apprehensive, but you nod anyway. 

“I said, we’re gonna slow it down this time,” he whispers, “Gonna go nice and slow.”

Joel pulls out of you then, and you groan in disappointment. He silences your displeasure with a quiet shhhh, then moves lower down your body. He runs his hands over your tummy, up your sides, tracing each and every curve. Kisses one hip bone, “I know I was teasin’ ya,” he says, “And I really put ya to work with that massage. That you offered t’do, mind you,” he adds as he kisses your other hip bone, “Really didn’t think that you were gonna get me ice and a glass of water. Wasn’t surprised when you told me to shove it up my ass, but I wasn’t expectin’ to drink warm water. Was a nice touch, trouble.” 

You begin to speak, but you stammer, struggling to find the right words. You squirm under his touch. He’s being so gentle, so sweet that he’s got you all flustered now. 

“Yeah, I know, sweet girl,” Joel mumbles against your skin. Pressing soft and wet kisses on your body, his fingers leisurely dragging through your dripping folds as he looks up at you, “I want you to know that I appreciate you. I appreciate all the ass backward things you do for me. I really do.”

“Joel, I–fuck,”, you moan. He’s pumping his fingers inside you again, now licking and kissing your nipples, swirling his tongue over the soft skin, worshiping every inch of your body.

“Yeah, don’t let it go to your head. Y’still drive me fuckin’ nuts.” You laugh breathlessly, voice caught in your throat as Joel kisses up your neck, up your jaw, your chin, and stopping just before your lips when he hears your breath hitch. He searches your eyes, sensing your apprehension. He knows the weight of the intimacy that kissing your lips holds, especially since it’s been put off so long.  He’s gonna kiss you. Just not yet. “Now can we try this again?”

When you whisper a quiet yes, he enters you for a second time, burying himself inside of you. He begins to fuck you again, slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of him, parts of him you don’t usually feel. His quiet breaths on your skin, the thick vein of his cock, his soft tummy, so warm against yours.  Usually he fucks you hard, fast. But today, he’s savoring you. You dig your heels into his ass, faster. It has to be faster.

“Don’t fight me on this,” he says, “We can just be nice, pretend you like me and I like you. Just this once. We don’t always have to argue.”

“Joel,” you whine, “Please. I can’t–I want–” 

“I know what you want, ya want what we’re used to. But s’not so bad, I promise,” he purrs above you, “Tell me– fuck, tell me how you feel.”

Exposed, but good. Really good. It’s new and unfamiliar, but so fucking good, but it feels like a crime to admit that. “Joel,” is all you can say, “Joel.”

“I know,” he murmurs, rolling his hips against yours, one hand on your waist holding you tight as he fucks you, “Doin’ so good for me.”

You still can’t bring yourself to say anything, don’t know how to respond to him. You’re at a loss for words, feeling him like this. How warm and protected and loved you feel. Your skin is on fire and you can’t help but close your eyes, retreating inward. But as different as this is, you don’t want him to stop, so you hold him tighter, pulling his face down to yours and burying yourself in his neck. 

Joel fucks you like that for a while. Just like that, with every thrust being intentional, feeling devastatingly good. You lose yourself in the feeling and Joel seemingly does as well. Words are left unspoken as he savors this moment with you. 

Hours could have passed, you wouldn’t know. Joel’s movements are becoming erratic, quicker. “Come with me,” he begs, resting his forearm above your head and moving the other to your center, as he paints tight circles around your clit, “I want you to come with me, sweetheart. Please.” 

It’s not long after that when that familiar heat in the pit of your stomach is back, fluttering and intense. “Oh, god,” you moan, “M’close.”

“That’s it, just let yourself go,” he breathes, “With me, now.” 

His words are all it takes. Your orgasm washes over you slowly, intensely. It’s powerful, the way lava flows from the earth, setting your skin ablaze. It’s overwhelming as Joel fucks you through it, chasing his own release. He makes broken moans and grunts as he comes with you, painting your insides with his hot seed. 

He pants on top of you, catching his breath before pulling out of you, not caring that you’re now dripping his spend onto his bed. He lays next to you, pulling you into his side with your legs tangled between his and your head resting on his shoulder. 

You’re crying, quietly. That’s never happened before. Joel feels your tears dripping down his skin, and he looks at you with concern.

“M’fine, Joel, I was just–It was just–”

Joel speaks to you soothingly, “I know, I know,” he whispers, “I’m right here.”

He just holds you like that, his fingertips trailing over your skin in lazy patterns. When he chuckles to himself, you look at him. “What?” you ask. 

“Warm water,” he says, amused, “You amaze me.”

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Good Cop, Bad Cop

pairing: Joel x Tess x Reader

(AO3 mirror)

summary: after a drug run goes bad, you all find a way to let off steam.

warnings: 18+ minors dni. smut, mff, threesome, dacryphilia, (light) sub/dom dynamics, degradation, slight breeding kink. Joel is a little mean and Tess is even meaner. fluff at the end <3

a/n: Tess does not get enough love imo!

wc: 1.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The air after a run was never this bad. But this time; everything that could go wrong, did, and it's a miracle the three of you make it unscathed.

"That fucking rat!" Tess spits as soon as you get into the apartment. She's almost shaking with rage. "That so-called plug doesn't know his right from his left. What a joke…"

Joel puts down his gun and unpacks, eerily quiet. You know his silence is deceptive; he's just as pissed off as Tess. "Should'a known FEDRA's been keepin' tabs. Shit was too easy 'til then."

He slams a switchblade onto the wood of the dining table, gruff under his breath. Tess grunts in agreement, running a shaky hand in her hair. "We're fucked."

You peel off your parka with your back to both of them. It was your fault they were in this mess, you were sure of it. You weren't like them - haven't been in the business for as long as them. Floundering, and failing upwards all the time. So you were quiet, chewing your lip as you put your things away. In the hum of fluorescent lights, they both look at you and then one another.

Tess' dangerous like this, sauntering up to your side and putting a hand on your shoulder.

"And this one-" She squeezes, a little cruelly, "-wouldn't stop flirting with the fucking guy."

"Don't be mean, Tess,"

She grabs you by your chin, arm around your waist to pull you close. "She's a slut. A fucking slut.

You blink away tears. Joel comes up to you to wipe away one that falls onto your cheek.

"You did good, doll." He says softly.

You can't breath, all of a sudden. They both crowd you: whilst Joel holds your hand, Tess rubs slow circles into your waist. She's close, and pretty, and captures your mouth into a deep kiss.

Its rough and tumble and messy. She pants as you separate. Joel slots his lips into your mouth immediately after, just as hungry. You're light headed as he leads you to the beat up old couch and puts you on your knees.

With a hand in your hair, Tess yanks, pushing you closer to the seat of his trousers. You place your hands on his thighs and paw at the denim.

"You're gonna suck his dick, baby. No hands. M'gonna watch." Tess orders, unbuttoning her jeans in anticipation. You're looking up at Joel with big, innocent eyes and he almost cums right there. Hooking your lip under your teeth, you unbutton his jeans, and palm him through his underwear. He rocks his hips into your touch, head back and lost in bliss.

"Fuuuuck. That's it darlin'..." He sighs. Tess' got a hand in her underwear, humping her hand as she watches, but she gets impatient. Roughly, she wrenches your head towards her, and growls in your ear.

"Hurry the fuck up. Haven't got all day."

You rush to take out his cock and kiss at the tip. His head weeps with cum and you lick it up demurely. The older man writhes on the couch, his hips jumping up to meet your soft lips. When you engulf his head in the warm heat of your mouth, Tess pushes you down as far as you can go. He fucks into your mouth roughly, as you choke and splutter around his pretty dick.

"T-tell her, how pretty she is, Joel,"

"That's it darlin', you're doin' so good f'me. Fuck, aren't you the prettiest thing…."

You're bobbing up on down on his length, tears in your eyes at the sting. He's big, hitting the back of your throat with ease, filling you up so you can barely breath. Tess is relentless, fucking you against his cock as you moan and whine sloppily. You hump the floor desperate for any friction at your clit.

You're pulled off with pop, gasping for air with lidded eyes. Joel desperately pumps himself, head almost touching your plump lips.

"He wants you to strip, hun. Wants to see those beautiful tits when he cums all over you…" Achingly slow, Tess motions to take off your shirt. It comes off, and then your jeans follow. Blushing now, you're left in a lacy black bra and no panties, with both of them fully clothed.

"See Joel? No panties…" She gives your bare pussy a slap. You're soaked when she dips a finger into you, her tits pressed against your back.

Joel's possessed at the sight, both of his girls on their knees, your tits shuddering as Tess fingers you. All of a sudden he's cumming, ropes of white on your chest. God, you're close, hands in a bruising grip on his thigh, chasing the snap of a coil at the base of your stomach. So, so close… and Tess wrenches her hand out of your pussy.

"Not yet," she lilts, licking your wetness off of her hand. Joel pulls you up into a kiss and helps you straddle his lap. He's sucking at the skin at your collarbone, at your tits; obscene as he licks up his own cum.

When he turns you around, facing Tess, you can't think straight. He rubs the head of his dick against your pretty pussy, smearing your wetness with the flat of his big palm. The older woman is on her knees in front of you both, helping to guide Joel's fat cock into your hole. You swallow him up and groan.

"Tell her how pretty she is, Joel." She's pulled her hair back and plants a wet kiss at your clit.

"You're so, so beautiful; on my cock like an angel, darlin'. F-fuck, look how good she takes me," Tess moans into your heat as you writhe on Joel's dick. He hasn't even started to move and you can feel yourself almost over the edge.

His grip is punishing when he starts to fuck into you, and you're babbling cock-drunk and blissful. "Maybe this time, I'll fuck a baby into you. You wan' that Tess? Our baby plump 'nd round'n pretty?"

It's too much. It's all too much. Tears stream down your face. Tess cums with a moan and you follow; gushing into her mouth as she laps it up eagerly. Joel bounces you up and down through it; chasing his second orgasm of the night. The sounds of him fucking into you relentlessly are graphic; and so she sits back on her heels to watch him slam into you, his hands hooked under your knees and spreading your legs as far as they'll go. You tumble into another orgasm just as quickly, when he finally stills and spurts into you.

Joel moans into the crook of your neck as he comes down from his high; softening inside of you. Where you meet, there's a creamy ring around his dick. Tess kisses you, gentler this time, brushing your hair behind your ears.

"Wasn't your fault today." She says softly. Sniffling, you nod.

"Want you to say it for us, darlin'. Wasn't your fault." Joel croons behind you.

"Wasn't my fault."

With that, you can feel Joel smiling into your skin. Tess kisses your forehead, and laughs.

_

_

_

[cosmicjoke]

Hurt

The kid’s got lice.

Well, Kenny guesses he shouldn’t be surprised. Comin’ from that fuckin’ shit-ass, rat infested hellhole Kuchel’d given herself over to, ‘course the kid had lice. Probably had a whole buncha’ other shit wrong with him too. No doubt.

For one, the little bastard hadn’t said more than two words to Kenny in the whole time they’d been together. Quietest, unfriendliest kid Kenny’d ever met, and that was sayin’ somethin’, round here in the Underground.

He looks practically dead, sittin’ over there in the corner, gnawing on a piece of stale bread.

He ain’t wearin’ more than a ragged, threadbare gown that Kenny’s guessin’ was the boy’s only real piece of clothing. He’d ransacked the room in the brothel before takin’ the kid and leaving, lookin’ for somethin’ else he might be able to wear, but there wasn’t nothin’. Only some larger gowns, similarly worn thin, which he reckoned had belonged to his sister. And since she was dead, wasn’t no point in takin’ those.

The kid’s got nothin’ on underneath his gown. No kinda’ undergarments or nothin’. He’d made the kid go out ahead of him when they’d left that room, and the hem of the gown had ridden up, exposing the boy’s backside. Kenny’d seen what looked like bedsores, angry red welts, inflamed and painful lookin’ over wrinkled and filth ridden butt cheeks, and he’d wondered just how long the kid’s been sittin’ there, starin’ at his mother’s corpse. Had to have been a fuckin’ week, at least, for that kinda’ shit to happen. It was a damned pitiful sight, is what it was.

Just like it was now, lookin’ over at the boy, sittin’ there in the corner, chewin’ his bread and barely alive.

The collar of his gown sits stretched and too big on him, slippin’ off one shoulder entirely, dippin’ past his collarbone and revealing a milk white chest, bruised and mottled in spots. The kids ribs poke grotesquely through the skin, pronounced enough that Kenny feels a little sick just lookin’ at it, same as he feels lookin’ at the kids sunken face, eyes too big and set back deep and horrible, like a damned skull with nothin’ but skin stretched too tight over it, lips cracked dry and bleeding fresh each time the boy takes a bite of his food.

He’d fuckin’ told Kuchel, he’d told her, down here wasn’t no kinda’ place to try and raise a child. Tried to tell her there wasn’t no way she’d be able to provide for the two of ‘em. And now look. She was dead, and the kid wasn’t doin’ much better. He didn’t have no shoes or socks either. His feet and hands are filthy, black with grim and soot and dirt and who the fuck knows what else, toes and fingers all cut up. He keeps reachin’ up, scratchin’ at his tangled mop of jet black hair.

Just like Kuchel’s, Kenny thinks.

Thinks, if the kid got some meat on him, he’d look awfully like his mother.

He tries not to think too hard on that, somethin’ ugly and violent shiftin’ in his chest when he does.

Kuchel wouldn’t appreciate it, Kenny don’t think, if he let the rage get him around her son. That’d be low, he guesses, even for him, beatin’ on a boy who looked one stiff breeze away from collapsin’ dead.

“Oi, brat!” Kenny snaps, and he don’t miss the way the kid flinches hard back before he freezes, his eyes goin’ impossibly wider for a moment as he looks up, starin’ scared shitless at him. Kenny sneers. Wasn’t like he’d hit the kid yet or nothin’, but here he was, actin’ like he was expectin’ it. Wouldn’t surprise him, if he were to find out some of Kuchel’s John’s took to beatin’ him. That’s how those types were. Lookin’ to hurt someone who couldn’t fight back. Made ‘em feel big and strong, hurtin’ someone who couldn’t do nothin’ about it. “Slow down there, would ya? You’re gonna’ make yourself sick if you eat too fast. I’m guessin’ you already feel stuffed, huh?”

The kid… Levi… he’d told Kenny his name was Levi, just stares at him, not movin’. Kenny can see his skeletal fingers round the bread, trembling and weak.

“Can’t you say nothin’? I know you can talk. You talked before.”

Still nothin’, and Kenny sighs.

“Well, shit, I hope you ain’t simple. I’m gonna’ have to take ya’ out back and drown ya’ if you are.”

That gets a reaction. Somehow the petrified look on the kid’s face only grows more so, and then those cracked lips of his start wobblin’, and the bread slips, sad and pathetic, from his grasp, fallin’ against the ground.

“… S-sorry. I’m sorry.” He rasps, and jeez, Kenny almost wishes he hadn’t said nothin’, his voice so dry and weak and broken, it sounds like it should belong to an old man, not a seven year old boy, or whatever. It’s fuckin’ unnerving, is what it is.

Though, if Kenny didn’t know when it was his sister got herself pregnant, he woulda’ thought Levi was 3, maybe four years old at the most. He was so fuckin’ small.

He shakes his head, nudging the brim of his hat up higher.

“Welp, seems like you’ve had enough for now. Let’s go.”

Kenny pushes himself to his feet, and the kid shrinks back from him as he comes round the table and toward him.

Kenny rolls his eyes, grabbin’ hold ‘a the boy’s wrist and yankin’ him up to his feet.

“Quit actin’ so jumpy, brat. I ain’t gonna hit ya ‘till you give me a good enough reason to.”

He can feel the boy stumblin’ after him as he pulls him along. It’s his problem, though, if he can’t keep up. Kenny ain’t gonna’ slow down for him, with those short ass legs ‘a his.

Kenny can feel the eyes of ‘a the tavern’s other customers on ‘em as they leave, but none of ‘em say shit, too concerned with their own skin. That suits Kenny just fine. Stinkin’ cowards though, the lot of ‘em. For all they knew, Kenny was gonna’ do somethin’ awful to the kid, but none of ‘em cared enough to even try and find out.

Well, Kenny wasn’t gonna’ do nothin’ awful, though he couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t hurt the kid in some way. He knew himself too well for that.

“Are you gonna’ drown me now?” He hears that low, cracking rasp somewhere below him.

Kenny stops, glancin’ down.

Levi’s standin’ there, lookin’ up at him with those too big eyes in that wasted, skeletal face. Kid barely comes up to his fuckin’ knee. He looks at Kenny, stricken and resigned, and Kenny lets go of his wrist.

“No, I ain’t gonna’ drown ya! Don’t ya know when you’re bein’ fucked with?”

Levi just keeps starin’ up at him, and Kenny sneers, disgusted.

“Maybe you really are simple.” He mutters low, turnin’ away. “Well, come on. Ya can’t keep up, it ain’t my problem.”

He starts walkin’, and a moment later, he hears the kid’s bare feet slappin’ against the pavement as he tries to catch up.

Maybe this’d been a bad idea, Kenny thinks as he makes his way to the latest shithole he’d found to occupy. Keepin’ some kid around, even if it was his sister’s, was gonna’ be nothin’ but a pain in his ass. ‘Specially one as ratty and fucked up at this boy was.

Maybe he really should just drown the brat.

Ah… but he couldn’t do that. Just thinkin’ about it had Kenny feelin’ sick inside. Guts all twisted up when he imagined the poor bastard’s little face, scared outta’ his mind, cryin’ and pleadin’ not to die.

Fuck…

Kenny couldn’t do it to some poor kid.

He glances back, and sees the boy still struggling after him, his face bent toward the ground. He keeps stumbling, like his legs just can’t keep pace with what he want’s ‘em to do.

Kenny’s not surprised when the kid finally trips and goes crashin’ to his hands and knees.

He half expects the brat to start wailin’, the way he’s seen the little shits up on the surface start up when they hit the ground, screamin’ bloody murder for their mommy’s.

But Levi don’t make any kinda’ sound.

He sits there for a second, not movin’, before struggling back to his feet, and startin’ forward again.

Kenny can see his knees scrapped raw and bloody. Knows the boy’s palms are no doubt the same. It must hurt.

He frowns, shakin’ his head. ‘Least he wasn’t a whiner.

“You ever hold a knife, boy?” He asks as the kid nearly reaches him.

Levi stops, blinking up at him. As usual, he doesn’t answer.

“Tch. Here.”

Kenny pulls the blade he keeps in his hip holster, flippin’ it round and catchin’ it by its tip.

Levi’s eyes watch the motion, almost mesmerized, and Kenny smirks as he holds it out to him, handle-first.

The boy only stands there, starin’, like he don’t know what he’s supposed to do.

Kenny rolls his eyes.

“Take it, you dumb shit. I wanna’ see how you handle it.”

The kid’s hand shakes as he finally reaches out, bony fingers wrappin’ round the knife’s handle.

It looks absurdly oversized in the boy’s grasp, palm failing to come all the way round the circumference, the blade nearly big as his whole head. He stares at it like he don’t know what it is, holdin’ it up, his arm trembling with the weight.

“Well?” Kenny presses, a lick of annoyance uncurling in his chest.

Levi keeps lookin’ at the knife, liftin’ it higher, an almost fascinated look in his flat eyes.

But it’s plain as day the kid’s got no fuckin’ idea what to do with it, and finally Kenny snatches it back, Levi’s eyes goin’ wide at the suddenness of it, stumbling back, his backside hittin’ the dirt.

Kenny watches his face screw up in pain, those sores on his ass no doubt.

He huffs, turnin’ away and beginning back down the street.

He don’t know why he thought the kid would know how to handle a blade. He was too young, and Kuchel never did show the strength of the Ackerman bloodline. Skipped right over her like a stone over water. It only made sense, it would skip over her son too. Lookin’ at him, Kenny don’t know if the kid’ll even make it. If he’ll even survive past another year, another two. He’s weak and frail and pathetic. Smaller than he should be. By far smaller. He doubts he’ll ever get that strength.

It’s too bad, Kenny guesses.

Well… he could still try to learn the kid. If he ever found the strength, well then, maybe he’d survive. No skin off Kenny’s back, either way, he gathers.

The boy follows dutifully behind, somehow keepin’ sight of Kenny despite his refusal to slow, and pretty soon they’ve made it to the worn down shake Kenny’d found empty a few weeks back, deciding to take as his own.

“Alright, in ya go.” Kenny ushers the brat through the door.

He dumps his hat and coat on a worn out table he’d scrounged up someplace, before he goes about lighting the lanterns he’s got set up, washing the room in a low light.

The kid stands there in the middle of it, lookin’ lost and wide eyed as he gazes about. His tiny hands fidget nervously in the hem of his gown, unaware or unconcerned how he’s pulled it up past his hips. Kenny gets an eyeful of the boy’s penis and bloated out stomach. Malnurioushed. ‘Course he is.

Kenny shakes his head.

“Wait here. Don’t move from that spot.” He tells him, before headin’ back out. He’s got a big, wooden bucket hangin’ on a hook outside the front door, and he grabs it up before trudging off to a well about a quarter mile down the street. He fills the bucket with water and takes it back.

The kid ain’t moved, only sat down on his bottom in the same place Kenny’d left him, knees pulled up against his chest and arms round his legs. Just like how Kenny’d found him back in that brothel.

Kenny don’t say nothin’, just carries the bucket over and sets it on the ground.

The boy’s so small, he’ll fit in it, easy.

“Alright, get that fuckin’ rag off. Yer takin’ a bath.”

Levi looks up at him, bemused expression across his ugly little face, like he don’t understand what the hell Kenny’s just said.

“You’re god damned filthy.” Kenny snaps. “Go on, take that rag you got on off and get in the water.”

Kenny don’t know what the fuck it is he’s said, but suddenly the kid’s face breaks all apart, his lip trembling, eyes goin’ all wet and shit… shit… he’s cryin’all of a sudden.

“What? What the hell is it?!”

“I tried t-to keep clean. M-Mama… Mama told me it was… it was good. I tried, I cleaned every day. Every day. I tried, I… I’m sorry. I’m sorry…”

The kid’s blubberin’ all over the place, a spew of words from his mouth that Kenny can’t make no damned sense of. All he knows is the kid’s freakin’ the fuck out, for some reason, and he’s got to get him to stop.

“Alright, alright, calm the hell down. Come on.” He tries, but the kid just keeps cryin’ and moanin’, somethin’ about Kuchel and keepin’ their room clean and Kenny’s about had it.

“HEY!” He screams, and the kid gasps, harsh and ragged, collapsing onto the floor and coverin’ his head with his arms like he’s sure Kenny’s gonna’ hit him. Well, he’d been about to, if he’s bein’ honest with himself. If the kid’d kept up that mewling, he was gonna’. But he’s gone quiet as a mouse now, sittin’ there with his face pressed to the dusty floorboards, shakin’ all over.

Kenny stares at him for a long moment, tryin’ to figure out what to do.

Damn, he ain’t used to this kinda’ shit. Normally anyone blubberin’ and carrying on like that in front of him just got a bullet to the brain, and that was that. But he couldn’t very well just off the kid. Not after he’d gone to all this trouble.

He flicks at his nose, tryin’ to think.

“Now you listen here, boy. None ‘a that sissy shit around here. You start cryin’ and hollerin’ like that again, all you’ll get for your trouble is a slap in the mouth. Ya hear?”

Levi nods frantically from where he’s still splayed on the floor.

Yeah, the kid’s taken plenty ‘a beatings, Kenny thinks.

He sighs, reachin’ down and haulin’ the boy to his feet. He don’t weigh shit.

“Come on already, get undressed and get in the bucket.”

The kid listens this time, and Kenny watches, a kind of gnawing pit formin’ in his gut as Levi strips, pullin’ the gown up over his head and revealin’ the most pitiful little body in the world.

He’s bruised all over, varying shades ranging from deep blacks and blues to mottled yellows and greens, washing over skin pale as milk. He’s sickeningly, painfully thin, arms and legs like sticks, shoulders pathetically narrow and bony. Every one of his ribs presses visible and awful against his skin, his chest a sunken, tragic nothing, little nipples hardly darker than the rest of him. His stomach stick out, round with bloating.

Kenny knows what starvation looks like.

The kid’s starvin’ to death. Another week alone in that room, and Kenny’s got no doubt he’d have been dead.

The kid looks up at him then, holdin’ the scrap ‘a cloth he’d been usin’ to cover himself in trembling fingers, wide, scared eyes uncertain.

Kenny rolls his eyes again.

“In the water, kid.”

He watches as the boy hesitates, head swiveling back and forth a moment, like he’s lookin’ for somethin’. And then he takes the rag in his hand and starts foldin’ it up, all neat like, before shufflin’ over to the table where Kenny’d dropped his coat and hat. The kid has to stand up on the tips of his toes to reach the surface, where he places his gown, before turnin’ and hobblin’ back over to the bucket.

His back’s just as bruised and hideous as the rest of him, shoulder blades juttin’ out like the peaks of mountains, every ridge of his spine a large, visible bump. He really ain’t more than skin and bones. And those bed sores Kenny’d spotted before, he’s gonna’ need to do somethin’ about those. Red, angry welts. A few of ‘em were seepin’ out puss too. Fuckin’ disgusting.

Kenny stares at him, watchin’ as he climbs in. Water sloshes over the edges as he lowers himself down.

The water comes up just beneath his chest, and he stares down at it like some kinda’ sad, kicked dog.

Kenny huffs, steppin’ forward. No use standin’ around, he guesses.

He reaches down, pullin’ a smaller blade from his boot, and sees the kid’s face lift.

For a moment, the dull, listless expression wipes away, and his eyes go wide with fear.

He recoils as Kenny takes another step closer, sloshin’ more water onto the floor, and Kenny pauses.

“What’s all that about?” He snaps, rollin’ his eyes. “I ain’t gonna’ do nothin’. That rats nest ya got on your head needs cuttin’, is all. You got lice, kid.”

That seems to get the boy to relax some, though he still watches Kenny with wary, mistrustful eyes as he closes the rest of the distance and kneels down.

“Now just hold still while I cut yer hair. Alright? You squirm around too much, and I might slip and slit yer throat.”

There’s those wide, frightened eyes again, and Kenny laughs to himself at how still the kid goes as he takes a big clump of gnarled and matted hair in a fist. Black as midnight, he thinks, just like Kuchel’s.

He shouldn’t think ‘a her now, though, Kenny reckons. Not ‘less he wants to get real mad. And Kenny knows himself. Knows when he gets mad like that, he’ll take it out on whoever’s most convenient. Right now, that’d be the kid, and Kenny ain’t too particularly wantin’ to lay his hands on the boy. Not when he’s already more skittish than a scared rabbit. Kenny hits him now, he figures, the kid’ll roll right up and never come out.

It’s hard, though, when he looks at Levi’s face, and sees Kuchel’s lookin’ right back. Even starved and wasted as the boy is, he looks just like her. Even his eyes. Those same, thin eyes, a blue so soft, they look more gray.

Shit…

A soft whimper pulls him outta’ his thoughts, and when he comes back to the present, he sees the kid tremblin’ in his grip, a sad, pitiful keen slippin’ past his dry, chapped lips.

“Whats’a matter?” Kenny grumbles. “Didn’t I tell ya to hold still?”

Levi don’t answer, his whole body shakin’ like a leaf, and Kenny realizes suddenly how hard he’s grippin’ the boy’s hair.

Well, fuck…

He loosens his hold.

“Hey, sorry ‘bout that. I got lost in my thoughts a minute. Ya know how it is, huh? I didn’t mean to hold ya so hard. Now quit that whimperin’. What are ya, a dog?”

Levi shakes his head, his face turnin’ away.

Jeez, but he’s a timid little bastard, Kenny thinks, frownin’. That kinda’ shit wouldn’t do. Not down here. Kid’d get eaten alive, if he kept on bein’ so wiltin’ like that.

“Now just hold still.” Kenny tells him again, and begins slicin’ through clumps of thick hair.

It takes a while, but Kenny eventually manages to get it trimmed down ‘till there’s nothin’ but a short fuzz coverin’ the kid’s noggin’. He even manages to stop tremblin’ so bad about halfway through, and Kenny thinks he almost feels proud ‘a the little sucker.

He rinses him off with just straight water after that, (ain’t got no soap), before pullin’ him from the makeshift tub.

“Feels better, huh?” He asks as he dries the kid off, rubbin’ him down with some old rags he had lyin’ around.

Levi nods, not sayin’ nothin’ otherwise.

Once Kenny’s through rubbin’ his head dry, the boy keeps liftin’ his hands and runnin’ his fingers through what’s left of his hair, seemin’ fascinated by the way it feels.

He looks even uglier with like this, Kenny thinks. Somehow even more skeletal.

“I ain’t got no clothes that’ll fit you ‘round here, so you’re just gonna’ have to keep yerself wrapped in this here blanket for now. Alright?”

Kenny hands him some worn out old thing he’d found stuffed in a drawer, ridden through with moth holes. He thinks it might’ve been a possession from his childhood with Kuchel. From before they were run off their land, their house engulfed in flames at their backs, gun shots peltin’ down into the earth around ‘em, loud, whizzing cracks in their ears.

He shakes his head of the memories, shakin’ the blanket when he realizes the boy still ain’t taken it.

Tiny hands finally reach back, fingers foldin’ into the offered material, and Kenny watches the kid struggle with its weight as he wraps it clumsily round his pitiful little body.

He regards the kid a moment longer.

“Alright, well, I gotta’ go out and get us some supplies. So you just stay here and I’ll be back in a few hours. Don’t go runnin’ off nowhere while I’m gone. Not ‘less you wanna’ get yourself killed or picked off by some freaked out pervert. Ya hear?”

Levi nods, clutchin’ the blanket around him like his life depends on it, squattin’ there on the floor.

“If ya gotta’ take a piss or shit, there’s a bucket out through the back door there where ya can do your business. Don’t you go messin’ on the floor in here, or I’ll beat you upside your head. Got it?”

Another nod.

“Y-yes Sir.” He actually talks, voice nothin’ but a cracked whisper.

Kenny frowns.

“Don’t go callin’ me that. Kenny’s just fine.”

Again, the boy nods, and Kenny huffs.

“Alright, well… I’ll be seein’ ya.”

He turns to go.

“… Th… thank you.” He hears behind him, that weak, rasping voice.

He stops, lookin’ back over his shoulder, and sees Levi lookin’ up at him. His eyes too big for his face, overbright.

“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, boy. I ain’t gonna’ be soft on ya, if that’s what yer thinkin’.”

The kid’s head shakes no, and he falls back onto his bottom, curlin’ away.

Kenny sniffs, flickin’ at his nose.

“Good. Stay put and I’ll be back.”

He strides from the hovel he’s been shakin’ out in, slammin’ the door shut behind him, back out onto the streets.

Somethin’ ugly twists in his guts, then. An awful, sinking mire in his brain. The boy’s face in his eyes, wasted and tragic.

He thinks he wants to put his hands round the pathetic animal’s neck. Squeeze and squeeze and squeeze ‘till those sad eyes ‘a his pop right outta’ his skull.

Thinks what a rotten bastard he is, and somethin’ pained lances in his heart, a hideous weight.

The boy’s hurt seared into his mind.

[curvykittyyssmutfics]

Jason momoa is dating his shy hairstylist! reader who really really wants but shy to ask him to eat her or fuck her up XD sorry

In the mood for somethin sweet

'Christ, his hair is a freakin jungle!' you think as as you stick the rat tail comb between your teeth and reach around ya man for the detangler. His eyes unknowingly watch you in the mirror, appreciating your curvaceous figure, but your too busy trying to unsnare his luscious blonde tipped locks. It's a real challenge to not huff out your irritation for him never brushing his damn hair. As his personal hairstylist you know it's factual information that if you don't do it then it doesn't get done.

Moving from behind Jason, you part his hair and start on the front. You're so concentrated on holding his hair from the root as you comb to avoid hurting him, you fail to take in his eyes raking over your juicy brown tits in his face. He licks his lips and continuously stares as you lean closer for better access.

You get a whiff of his cologne and its some effort from you to not nose his neck. Dammit, why does this fine ass man seduce you every appointment without even trying. How many times had you left the shop with an achy throb between your legs, just wishing he was going home with you instead.

Hell, it didn't make a damn lick of sense that guys still haven't fucked yet. This taking it slow nonsense was gonna be the death of you. But the way he petted your pussy always took you to another dimension, made you wonder what else he was good at. You've woken up from too many bomb ass wet dreams of what that mouth might do.

"Geez, Jase.. Why don't you just cut this all off. It's obvious you don't want it." Your irritation at his blatant disrespect for his hair comes out without your permission.

"Now why would I do that when it gives me excuse to come see you, sweetheart?" Jason responds with a hearty chuckle.

You feel absolutely pathetic that the nick name makes your tummy churn and heat bloom in your cheeks. Your so damn glad you can't blush. Your ok with your usual routine of avoiding eye contact during appointments but then rushing home to rub at your sticky little puss after he leaves.

"You can't possibly love coming in my shop every Friday evening, it's the weekend! Don't you have plans?" You ask, as you move on to comb and style the front of his hair.

"Yeah, I got something reeeal fun in mind for tonight actually." He licks his lips as he speaks, voice dangerously low while he continues to gaze at you through the mirror with piercing eyes.

Your mind races as you wonder what he could be about to get into. Maybe plans for a solo night? It's hard not to imagine him alone in bed, body glistening with sweat as he pumps at his fat dick desperately. Does he moan loud when he's all alone? You wonder if he likes to tease and edge himself.. Naw, you think, he seems like the type to go straight for that nut. Fuuuuuck you know he must cum buckets. The thought makes your thighs involuntarily squeeze together repeatedly hoping for some relief. You just KNEW he had a monster cock that could fuck you into oblivion. Your hands move in his hair instinctively, as you day dream about your sexy beefy ass client.

This doesn't go unnoticed by Jason. He watches you in the mirror as your chest rises and falls a bit faster, a light perspiration starting to cover you. You're nibbling your lip in a way that makes him wanna pounce on you, still rubbing those thick ass thighs together. He KNOWS the center of your lollipop is fuckin sweet.

"... Sweetheart?"

You only catch the end of his sentence thanks your nasty ass imagination. Fuck, your embarrassed. Never have you ever been so ready to get dicked down.

"Sorry, what was that?"

You still refuse to meet his eyes in the mirror as you move to finish styling the back of his hair. If you did peek, you would have immediately recognized his knowing smirk for what it was. He might as well have the power to read your mind.

"I said what are you doin after our appointment?" He repeats, hoping like a muthafucker that you'll be doing him.

"No plans, jus gonna go home and chill alone I guess."

"Why don't we grab somethin to eat? Fuckin starvin, princess." He suggests.

"Ok-kay, what're ya thinkin?"

You're a bit nervous. This was sudden. You've been out a few times in public together already AND it wasn't like the world didn't know you two were dating. But you guys had manage to stay in your own private little bubble and as introvert, it's been the best feeling in the world for you. Still, you crave any time you can spend with Jason, especially considering his hectic schedule for his upcoming movie.

"I'm thinkin somethin sweet... Maybe a little juicy? I don't usually do this but I'm tryna skip to dessert tonight." He says, smiling lewdly.

With your y/e/c eyes trained on his hair, focused intently on the small section you have left, you're missin all the cues. He thinks he might just have to lift up your snug little jean skirtand pin you down; start to eat so you finally understand he's tryin to feast on that pussy for dinner.

"From where? Oh! There's this cute little place, I think it's close by-"

"Woman.." He interrupts, and you recognize that commanding, dominant tone.

That's Daddy's Voice. You had hesitantly joked about it with the Jason the first time he unintentionally but successfully used it while he fingered you till you gushed on his sheets.

You fix your gaze to his, setting your hot pink comb down as you finally finish. You know what he wants to eat in an instant as he leers at you lewldly. As much as you want, no NEED this, you can't help but take a step back reflexively at his wolfish grin. Boy lookin at yo ass like he gone eat you alive!

Jason notices your retreat and in no way in fucking hell is he letting you get away that easy. He stands quickly, glancing at the mirror in appreciation, and runs his fingertips from the front back of his hair. He absolutely destroys your middle part, per usual, but somehow his sexy careless style looks far better than yours.

He then stalks your way and this time your steps backwards are intentional. Your horny ass boyfriend catches you easily though with firm hands on your waist as your back hits the wall. You look like a deer in headlights as he pulls you close, meshing your pelvis to his. His half hard chub feels thick as fuck against clothed mound, makes you close your eyes with quiet stuttering gasps of pleasure. Jason bends a bit to speak softly at you ear, watching you closely as to not miss one reaction from your shuddering body.

"You gone finally let Daddy taste his pussy or what?"

Your ears ring, his question on loop in your head. His thrusts increase in pressure but he keeps his snail like pace. The slow drag of his hips muddy your mind and you find it hard to focus on an answer.

Jason's okay with that though. He'll let your body speak for itself then. Kneeling in front of you, his large warm hands caress your denim covered ass, your soft warm thighs, and smooth cocoa brown legs. Reluctantly breaking eye contact, he silently taps on your furry black platform Ugg slippers and you lift each foot so he can remove them. You watch intently, as Jason lifts your left leg at the ankle and lays a soft kiss right below your gold dangling ankle bracelet.

"Pretty." He comments on your toes painted blood red nail and a matching 14K gold toe ring.

You wanna say 'thank you' but his lips continuing upwards, after he puts your leg up on his shoulder, render you speecheless besides your quiet moans. He leaves a molten hot trail that spreads warmth through your body and has you bucking your hips impulsively.

"Don't worry. Daddy's gonna give you what you want sweetheart, what I NEED. Cant wait to taste this pretty little puss."

Jason glances up your body, looking briefly at the diamond necklace he gifted you resting on your heaving chocolate tits. He notes how pretty you are in your sky blue tube top, as he lifts your skirt up and pulls your black lacy little thong to the side. He can tell you want this but still sees that hint of shyness in your gorgeous eyes and he can't have that shit! Doesn't mind suckin it out of you through your pussy if he has to.

You get no warning as he attaches his lips to your clit, reapeatedly sucking forcefully on your sensitive little button. The feeling is so intense you wonder if he's trying to inhale your poor quivering pussy. Even when your head smacks against the wall, the thud booming, there's no repreive. You stare blankly, mouth open wide, emitting loud panting pleasured whines as you gasp for breath.

"Daaaddy, aaah aaah Daaaaaddy." You've never moaned his title during him pleasuring you before but it's like he pulls it out of you.

His rigid dick jerks every few seconds in his black jeans from the way you grip his freshly styled hair, pulling it while crying and dripping all over his mouth. He wants so badly to slide his cock into you, knows for a fact that his pussy would be hot, wet and welcoming to him. Is more than positive you'll be his good little princess and let him breed you to his hearts content.

His fingers trace your soaking wet opening before teasingly pushing the tip of his index finger in and out with leisure. It may not be his monster cock but his finger is fuckin thick and is just what you need. He's glad he's got the wall to help him hold you up because he's losing concentration as you flutter frantically around his digit, trying to suck him in further while he licks at the pink of you vehemently. He wants so bad to feel you clutching at his dick like this; It's maddeningly to Jason not being able to fuck into you and drain his balls into your little puss. He can't wait till get his chance to overstimulate you till you beg and plead for him to stop.

Jason's middle finger joining his index snaps your back in a mean ass arch as you wail and try to push him away by his forehead. But your strength is nothing compare to his. He leans into you, snatching both your wrists in one hand and holding them tight as the other continues it assault on your insides.

"Ohfuckohfuckohfuckoh fuckmeeeeee Daddyyyyy!!" Your screams bounce off the walls of your salon in echos and your more than glad you locked up and sent everyone home early for the night.

His leaky cock spasms in his snug black briefs, twitching to the same beat of your rapidly clenching pussy unbeknownst to either of you. He hopes to God he don't bust his nut in his pants right now.

"You knoooow what I want princess." Jason moans against your clit.

He serves you a harsh suck while moving his head back, pulling off your clit with a loud SMACK of his lips. Your eyes rolling back as you convulse and lustfully hump at his mouth. That tells him all he needs to know as he repeats the action again.. And again.. Again.. Then once more. He doesn't get to do it a 5th time as you unexpectedly start creaming against his now swollen lips.

"Daddydaddydaddydaddydaddy!!" You can't scrounge a single ounce of embarrassment at your desperate pleas for him.

His stare is penetrating as he continues to nurse on your contracting little puss. You shake and shiver, trying to yank your wrist from his grasp with no luck. Your body twists and turns while Jason holds you between the wall and himself easily. With creased brows and your cute button nose scrunched, you squirt and spray in little gushes. Fuuuuck just what he expected from his perfect girl. You cum loud, long and hard for him.

Only when Jason's beard drips of your essence onto your salon floor does he relase his grip and cease his mind blowing torture. His big dick tents his pants but he stays kneeled before you. A wet patch of precum on his pants is easily visible.

You're eyes meet his in an instant, entire body vibrating with euphoria from your orgasm, you know what you want next. So you tell him, licking your plump lined lips sensually.

"My turn, Daddy.."