#the explicitness is confined to chapter 2

[roaldseth]

Each age birthed men of legends. Despite all of his own feats and trials and their tales, Z'aanta was not one to put himself amongst such rank intentionally, but he did know of someone who could be: a valiant soldier that came from a far away land who wielded a massive shield as he rode upon a gallant hawk.

【The Man From Beyond the Frostlands】

an Octopath Traveler × Triangle Strategy crossover

Flanagan/Z'aanta

Explicit Rating, Fluff

15,019 Words, 2/2 Chapters

COMPLETED

Refer to AO3 for exact tags. Fanfic linked directly below ↓

[wheresarizona]

but I would die for you in secret

Part 2

summary: The relationship you have with Joel Miller is less complicated now that he’s going to tell Ellie that you’ve been secretly seeing each other for months. You thought their discussion would go well, but when you get home from work to a note on your front door from Joel that reads, ‘Come over, we need to talk,’ it has you immediately thinking the worst—up until he answers his door in nothing but a towel and drags you inside to fuck your brains out for the first time in his bed.

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, explicit smut, age gap (unspecified, reader is an adult), Possessive Joel Miller, Dominant Joel Miller, Joel Miller has a big dick, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating (he tells you to choke on it (in a good way)), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk (so much), spit mention, biting, spanking, whatever the kink is where you’re turned on by good dads, Joel in just a towel, pregnancy discussion, fluff, the last 3k words in Ellie’s pov (truly delightful), Good Parent Joel Miller, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, Joel giving Ellie shit, Ellie and Joel having the best discussions, TLOU AU where Joel doesn’t lie to Ellie and they’re good when they get back to Jackson)

word count: 11.1k+

a/n: Yes, I did make my own gif because I was too lazy to try and hunt for it. I really, really wanted to write about what happened after the last chapter, and here we are. I think this will be the last one. Thank you to the love of my life @juletheghoul for betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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The sun hadn’t risen when Joel Miller left your bed this morning.

That's how it usually was, him coming and going in the dark so no one sees him leave his house to come to yours across the street—the nights you spend together are bathed in secrecy, the two of you inhabiting your own little world, confined to the space of your home.

Why the sneaking around?

He didn’t want his daughter, Ellie, to know of his relationship with you. Over the many months you’ve been together, he’s let you in on much of what she had gone through before they got to Jackson. You understood that he’s all she has, and he’s worried that if he started openly dating, she’d think she isn’t as important to him as before or feel like Joel’s abandoning her. That’s the main reason he didn't want her to know, but with how often he brings up you being so much younger than him, and all the times he’s said you should be with someone your own age, you felt that he’s also ashamed of how old you are.

At least, that’s what you thought until the night before when he revealed his feelings for you and told you he wasn’t ashamed of you or the large gap in your ages.

When this all began, Joel was clear that all he could give you was his body—he was emotionally unavailable because he was too focused on taking care of Ellie.

Amazing sex with no strings attached? You were okay with that.

Except it wasn’t something casual, and there were strings attached.

You don’t just occasionally hook up with Joel; no, he’s at your place most nights and some days without his daughter knowing. You also can’t go out with anyone else, not that you want to—he doesn’t share or like when other men are interested in you. You aren’t any better, hating when women flirt with him, especially his next-door neighbor Sandra, who refuses to acknowledge he doesn’t want her.

Why does she, specifically, annoy you so much?

Not only does she shamelessly flirt with Joel any chance she gets, but she also touches him, her hand always ending up on his arm that he shrugs off, making him growl at her not to touch him. Does she listen? No, she still does it every time she runs into him, and it pisses you off that she doesn’t respect his boundaries. Plus, there was an incident a couple of months after he moved to Jackson where she got him over to her house under the false pretense of needing something fixed and then basically jumped him—she kissed him without his permission and came onto him, which he was not into and had him leaving immediately. He can’t stand her, and he’s been very firm with her that he’s not interested. If what she does to Joel isn’t bad enough, she creeps the fuck out of Ellie, and that pisses you off even more. You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve saved the kid from talking to her; the look on Ellie’s face that screams she wants to be anywhere other than with Sandra makes your hackles rise, and a need comes over you to get the girl out of there as quickly as possible.

Has anything ever happened between Joel and Sandra to make her delusional enough to think if she keeps harassing him and his daughter, he’ll eventually want to be with her?

From what you understand, Tommy and Maria tried to set them up when he first arrived, but he declined; it truly was a case of right place, wrong time. He was polite when he rejected her and explained that his daughter needed him and that he had zero interest in starting a relationship with someone. Back then, he was completely occupied with taking care of Ellie, and dating was out of the question; it didn’t even cross his mind or was something he wanted. He was content with his fresh start in Jackson, alone with his kid to help her heal.

Why did Joel accept your advances the first time you met?

Right place, right time.

Once you moved to town, the father and daughter were settled to the point that Ellie was doing great in adjusting to life in Wyoming, and Joel felt he could finally do something for himself; you were tempting enough that he wanted to be selfish. He liked that you didn’t reek of desperation or made him feel pressured, neither of you doing anything that made the other uncomfortable. Obviously, there was a mutual attraction between you two, and the flirting went both ways; his head was already leaning toward yours when you went in for the first kiss, which he happily reciprocated.

What it came down to was he trusted you, and you were willing to do things on his terms.

And, of course, as it usually happens, feelings did develop—as his kid got better and more comfortable with living in Jackson, Joel opened up to you little by little, offering a tiny bit more of himself with each passing day and your relationship became confusing; it wasn’t only sex anymore; hasn’t been just that for a while, and it took you both over eight months to admit you’re in love, and for Joel to decide it’s time to tell Ellie, so he could actually be with you out in the open.

So, he left your bed before the sun had risen in order to be home before she woke up—that way, she wouldn’t be confused by his absence. He also planned on talking to her about what was going on between you two.

There’s this ritual he does before he leaves each morning that you’ve chalked up to him being from a different time and big on manners; your two previous sexual partners were closer to your age and nowhere near as courteous as him.

The slightest sounds will wake you, a side effect of surviving, and the moment the mattress springs squeak as he gets up, hours before you need to, your consciousness is coming back to you to assess if there’s any danger. Your ears perk at the rustle of him dressing in the dark, and you’ve learned not to spook when the blankets are pulled up to cover your bare body that gets tucked in. The kiss pressed to your hair always makes you smile at the sweetness, and you expect the whispered goodbye he says before he goes.

This morning, you didn’t expect the added ‘Love you’ at the end, which had your eyes opening and hand shooting out from under the covers to grab his, tugging him toward you. He knew what you wanted, chuckling as he leaned down to kiss your lips. You told him you loved him, too, when he straightened and started to leave, and he stopped at the doorway to get one last look at you under the dim light filtering through the gaps in your curtains from the street lamp outside, then headed home.

It’s safe to say your morning started off pretty great, and even though you didn’t see Joel after he left, the rest of your day wasn’t half bad either; it took a little turn when you got back to your house after working your job teaching at the school to a note from him on your door that read:

Come over

We need to talk

A romantic partner saying you needed to talk was never good, and worry knotted up in your belly like a ball, thinking things with Ellie didn’t go well when he told her about your relationship, and now he’s going to break up with you.

The first time you stopped by his place, you’d made the mistake of knocking; he was home alone and hadn’t known you were at the door until you rang the doorbell. It was adorable how he’d been a little embarrassed he didn’t hear you and pointed at his right ear to explain he had hearing loss. From then on, you always made sure to ring the doorbell, and you did so again, standing on his porch in the freezing cold with your winter coat on and worrying your lip between your teeth.

There’s the faint sound of him yelling from inside, “One minute!” thinking he’s upstairs, which is confirmed when you hear his heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. The deadbolt clicks as it’s unlocked, and the door is cracked open; Joel’s face appears, the rest of his body hidden.

He looks relieved to see you, and that’s a good sign. “Thank Christ, it’s you,” he says, opening the door some more to take your hand pulling you inside. The front door gets slammed shut, and your back is suddenly pressed against it, a surprised sound leaving your throat when his mouth crashes into yours, kissing you hard.

This is an even better sign that everything is okay.

He’s never kissed you in his house before.

One of his big palms cradles your face, the other locking the deadbolt beside you before it glides up your jacket-covered front to squeeze your breast. Your lips part to allow his tongue to delve inside and tangle with your own, looping your arms around his neck automatically. This kiss has your brain fritzing out, unable to think about anything except how he’s claimed you with his lips and tongue so fiercely and possessively while his large body cages you in. It’s embarrassing how long it takes a coherent thought to come through, and when it does, you’re lightly pushing at his chest, the surprise of bare skin under your hand causing you to break your mouth away to look at his body immediately.

A disappointed noise comes from him, and your eyes go wide at what you see.

“You’re naked,” you whisper.

His hand lightly holds your throat as he starts kissing along your jaw. “I’m not naked—I’m wearin’ a towel.”

That’s true. The faded blue towel is wrapped tightly around his waist, stopping just before it reaches his knees. His upper body is entirely bare, with pink and silvery scars etched all over his skin. No matter how many times you see him naked, you’re always so surprised by his broadness—it’s not a trick of his clothing or lighting that makes him appear big; he is that big.

“Still pretty naked.” You remember the thought you had. “Is Ellie home?”

“No,” he says into your skin. “She’s with Cat—” Her best friend. “—and they’re meetin’ us for dinner later.” His mouth is at your ear, feeling his hot breath, and shivering when he rasps into it, “Now, stop worryin’ about her, and let me take you up to my room so I can finally fuck you in my bed—I’ve been dyin’ to break it in with you.”

The proposition makes your cunt clench, and you’re interested in seeing his bedroom—he’s never invited you upstairs.

“Is this why you really wanted me to come over, to christen your bed?”

He pulls back to meet your gaze. “Didn’t want to scandalize the neighbors by puttin’ it in writin’, but yes.” His eyes darken as he slowly unzips your coat. “You comin’ up with me?” His voice deepens, nudging his nose against yours. “Since you’re my guest, we’ll do whatever you want.”

Joel always considers what you want, but he also seems instinctively aware of what you need—that’s the great thing about being with someone so much older and experienced; he knows how to play your body and make you feel so good that you’re happy to go along for the incredible ride.

With him saying you’ll do whatever you want, he’s letting you call the shots.

Your eyebrow raises. “Anything?”

“Within reason.” He kisses your chin, your skin tingling under his lips.

“Is there anything we did last night that’s not within reason…?”

The previous night, you weren’t expecting to see Joel because he’d been taking care of a sick Ellie for the prior few days. When he arrived at your place unannounced, he found you trying to make yourself come on your fingers and ordered you to finish as he jerked off, watching you. Then he fucked your brains out until your limbs were jelly and surprised you by asking if he could come inside you—something he avoided in the past and had only accidentally happened a handful of times.

His head moves to look you in the eyes.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s all within reason.”

That sentence excites you. “Let’s go,” you say quickly. He chuckles and helps you remove your jacket, hanging it on the nearby coat rack, which only has a few other items.

He grabs your hand and leads you up the stairs, the third step from the top creaking loudly under each of your weights.

You’re not entirely sure what you’re expecting his bedroom to be like, but when you walk into it, you take a moment glancing around at everything; there’s his queen-sized bed that’s neatly made, he’s got a record player over in the corner with a stack of vinyl records next to it, a couple of landscape paintings of pastures decorate his walls, there’s a walk-in closet not even close to full of clothes, his own private bathroom, and on top of his dresser is a few framed photos—one of Ellie playing guitar, beside that, Joel and her standing next to each other laughing. The third has you walking over to pick it up.

“Joel?”

He’s shut the door, and his bare feet pad across the floor, moving toward you.

“Yeah?”

“If you didn’t want Ellie to know about us, why do you have a picture of me and her in your room?”

It was taken at the town party celebrating the harvest and shows Ellie sitting beside you at a table, leaning into you with her head against your shoulder as you both smile at the camera.

“She doesn’t come in here.”

He’s next to you, and you look over at him.

“But what if she had?”

“Wouldn’t have mattered.” He shrugs and takes the photo from you, setting it back down in its spot.

You turn to face him, crossing your arms over your chest, and his eyes lock onto your bosom.

“What do you mean it wouldn’t have mattered?”

It takes him too long to answer, and you realize he’s distracted, so you wave your hand in front of his face. “Focus, Joel.” His gaze goes to yours.

“What?”

“What do you mean it wouldn’t have mattered if Ellie saw the picture?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t have mattered; it wouldn’t have revealed anythin’ she didn’t already know.”

“How long?”

His face pinches in confusion. “Huh?”

“How long has she known about us?”

His hands sit on his hips, and his weight goes to one side, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“I don’t want you gettin’ mad at me when I tell you ‘cause I had no idea she was aware; if I’d known, it would’ve been made clear long ago to everyone you’re mine. Understood?”

It’s said with such conviction it leaves zero doubt that it’s the truth, and it feels like your skin is vibrating at the fact he’s really going to make sure all of Jackson knows that you’re together now.

You smile. “God, that’s hot—yes, I understand.”

“Good—she clocked us pretty much from the beginnin’.”

“Of course she did,” you reply. “I had a feeling she’s known for a while, but since the beginning? I am both impressed and very annoyed. Why didn’t she tell you she knew?”

He grimaces. “She thought it was a subject we avoided...” He scrubs a hand over his face and sighs. “I guess I’m cagey when Tess comes up, mostly ‘cause I don’t even know what that relationship was, and since I never said anythin’ about you, she figured we don’t talk about our romantic partners.”

Your eyes round. “Our? Is Ellie dating someone?”

His hand lowers, and he smiles, nodding. “She said I could tell you—Ellie’s way better at the secret girlfriend stuff than I am.”

“Cat?”

His eyebrows dip down. “How’d you know?”

“Ellie looks at Cat the same way you look at me.”

A long sigh leaves him. “So, it’s true.” He sounds defeated, his shoulders slumping.

“What’s true?”

“When she was pointin’ out how obvious we’ve been, she gave me shit for starin’ at you with, she called ‘em ‘googly eyes,’ whatever the fuck that means.”

You snort and step into his space, wrapping your arms around his neck, Joel’s hands holding your hips.

“It’s this way you look at me, and I couldn’t quite figure out what it was until you told me you loved me last night, and I realized it’s love; devotion—your eyes show the truth of what you’re feeling, and good news, babe.”

“What’s that?”

“You can give her shit for having googly eyes like her father.”

That seems to cheer him up, and honestly, it’s cute.

“She’s gonna hate knowin’ that—I can’t wait to tell her.”

You giggle. “So, Ellie’s really okay with us?”

“She is.” He nods.

“Good—this might sound weird.” You can’t look at him as you say this and focus on a patch of freckles on his shoulder, heat creeping up your neck. “But, um, you being a great dad and loving your kids so much—” He’s told you about Sarah. “—really does it for me. There’s something about it that’s incredibly attractive.”

“Yeah?” He ducks his head to press his lips over your pulse point, peppering kisses up your neck; his hand slides down between your legs where your warmth is felt through your jeans, rubbing over your sex. It makes you gulp, excitement sparking in your tummy.

“Yes.”

His mouth reaches your ear, tugging the lobe lightly between his teeth. His warm breath fans against your skin when he hovers his lips to whisper, “I think I know why.“

Your heartbeat thuds in your chest and pulses in your core to the same beat, feeling your need for him drip into your panties.

“W-why?”

He speaks in a huskier tone, “You know that havin’ my babies means they’d get a good father, and you have nothin’ to worry about when I fill your perfect little pussy with my come.”

Pleasure cuts through you sharp as a knife, and you moan.

“Yeah, I know you like it—is that what you want tonight, sweetheart? Want me to stuff you full?”

What he’s saying is making your skin so hot that your clothes are stifling, and you want him more than anything; you need him to ease the ache in your center.

“God, yes.”

“Then I’ll give it to you.”

You’re wondering what’s changed that suddenly has him unbothered about the possibility of getting you pregnant when he actively tried to prevent it previously—something you’ll have to inquire about later because it seems Joel’s had enough talking as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss, and he pulls your body flush against his.

It’s consuming and exhilarating.

No one has ever made you feel the way he does—the all-encompassing fiery passion that has arousal burning like an inferno in your belly, needing him so badly you think you might die if you don’t feel him inside you.

Wouldn’t that be a way to go? Dying of desperation from not getting Joel Miller’s dick—sounds kind of nice compared to the alternatives in today’s world.

You’ve also never been with someone his age.

There was this girl a little older than you that you met on your travels—you don’t find very many friendly people out in the wilds, and she joined you for maybe a week before she headed west toward Seattle. She told you one evening, as you sat by a fire under the stars together, that hands down, the best sex she ever had was with an older guy who was in his early thirties when the outbreak happened. She went on about how generous he was in actually making her come and that he knew exactly what to do; the entire experience was apparently life-changing. She swore she’d never get with anyone younger again, and you were intrigued.

When you asked her if it was weird fucking a guy old enough to be her father, she gave you a funny look, and you’ll never forget what she said:

“Ain’t nothing weird about two consenting adults having a good time.”

She had a point.

When Joel showed up at your door looking so incredibly handsome soon after you moved to Jackson, the conversation with that girl came to mind, and you decided to see if she was right, and dear god, this man in his late fifties has ruined you for anyone else—he was the first person to go down on you, he was the first person other than yourself to get you off, he was the first person to come inside you; the last one was an accident and it shocked you how much the risk turned you on.

You can’t imagine being with anyone else after him.

The kissing heats up, practically all tongues at this point, Joel’s straining cock beneath the towel pressing against you, and it’s always incredibly sexy the way he knows just what you need without you having to say a word—in less than a minute, he's stripped you of all your clothes, and has you on your back in the middle of his mattress, Joel on his knees between your spread legs, and leaning down, with your pebbled nipple sucked between his lips.

He has both of your breasts in his hands while he laves at one and then the other, the nibble of his teeth on the sensitive buds causing your pussy to weep for him, your fingers clutched in his damp, grey hair.

"Oh my god, Joel," you moan.

He loves worshipping your tits, and if you let him, he’ll play with them for hours; the problem is today, you’re on a time crunch since you have dinner plans, and you want a chance to make him feel good, too.

Your hands tug on his messy waves to get his attention, saying, "Let me suck your dick."

His head lifts, and you're met with dark eyes, his lips shiny with spit. The cool air hitting your wet skin causes goosebumps to rise.

"You want my dick in your mouth?" he asks.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay.” He grunts as he pushes himself up to kneel. He’s still wearing the towel, which is tenting in the front.

You eagerly sit up and get on your knees, shuffling toward him, and when you’re close enough, he can’t seem to help himself, his palms holding your face as he passionately kisses you. Your hands snake between your bodies to unwrap the towel around his waist, tossing it to the side without a care, and you wrap your fingers around his length that’s hard as steel and velvety smooth, feeling hot to the touch.

He nips at your bottom lip when he ends the kiss, and without another word, you’re moving back enough to get on all fours, holding your weight on one arm while your other hand grips around the base of him, and then he’s in your mouth—his girth has you opening as wide as you can, your lips stretching to their limit. He’s heavy on your tongue, taking more and more of him as you bob your head.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans. “Fuckin’ love that mouth of yours.”

Saliva is dribbling down his shaft, lubricating every stroke of your palm over what can’t fit in your mouth, his large hand guiding your head up and down his dick.

“Spit on it,” he commands. You hover your lips over him, gathering saliva on your tongue, and looking up at him through your lashes as you let it drip onto the tip of him—his pupils are blown so wide, there’s hardly any brown remaining, a gorgeous pink flush crawling up his chest and neck to paint his stubbled cheeks.

He’s watching you, his chest rumbling when you take him back into your mouth and fondle his sack in your palm.

When you first met, you were pretty inexperienced when it came to sex—you’d only slept with two men, and it hadn’t been very pleasurable on either occasion. Then Joel came along and showed you how good it could be and let you experiment to figure out what you did and didn’t enjoy. He also walked you through what he liked, which is why you know how he’s going to respond as you suck him off and gently tug on his balls. “Fuucckk,” he says in a drawn-out moan, and it has electricity dancing down your spine that you’re making him feel so good.

You go back to jerking him, your hand moving easily, twisting on the upstroke along his spit-slick cock, while bobbing your head, feeling him slide along the broad flat of your tongue to hit the back of your throat—you’re making appreciative noises that vibrate against his skin, loving him in your mouth, and how vocal he is in his enjoyment, Joel groaning, his breaths getting heavier, and slowly thrusting his hips.

You come off of him, licking a stripe from root to tip, tracing a bulging vein with your tongue, and circling the sensitive edges of the head. His cock throbs in your hand as you hold it out of the way to go lower and suck one of his balls into your mouth, massaging it with your tongue before giving the second the same treatment.

His voice is a deep baritone, the words thick with desire. “You’re so fuckin’ good to me.”

Licking back up, you swirl around the tip and sink down again, hollowing your cheeks.

His hand easily covers yours low on his shaft to keep it and himself still, his other palm going to the back of your head. “Choke on it, baby—take it down that pretty throat.”

This time when he fills your mouth and hits the back of your throat, you relax, swallowing around him, taking as much of him into the tight space as you can, and there’s enough of him that won’t fit for your fingers to wrap around—his other hand clutches your hair as he keeps your head from moving, your eyes watering, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, while his hard cock fills your throat. You’re doing the best you can to breathe through your nose.

He’s panting. “That’s fuckin’ it—so fuckin’ beautiful with my dick down your throat.” His fingers go around your neck to feel it bulge. “You love havin' my cock fillin' you, don’t you? Your pussy, your throat, you're hungry for it and can't get enough 'cause no one can make you feel as good as I do, isn’t that right?” You moan in agreement, his shaft pulsing on the flat of your tongue. “God, you make the prettiest noises for me.”

You swallow around him, and his punched-out groan has your cunt clenching hard on nothing, a layer of slick coating your inner thighs.

“Stop,” he orders, pulling you off of him and causing you to sputter. “I’m not comin’ in your mouth.”

The statement has a sharp spike of arousal erupting low in your stomach because you know this means he’s going to finish inside you, and it has you wanting him with every fiber of your being.

He gets you up on your knees, holding your chin as he smashes his lips to yours, his tongue slipping inside where he sucks on your own. Your heart is hammering in your chest, moaning as the fingers of his free hand pinch and roll your stiff nipple, and you’re trying to convince your lungs that you’ll be okay without oxygen for another minute when his mouth suddenly leaves yours. Your chin is still cradled in his palm, Joel’s breaths coming out hard as he shoves his face against the side of yours and lightly bites the apple of your cheek before his lips are at your ear.

The sides of your faces are touching, his stubble prickling against your skin. “Now what?” he asks. Anticipation has you practically vibrating. “You got to suck my dick, what do you want now? You’re in charge—my fingers? Want me to eat your pussy? Or my cock without me loosenin’ you up so you’ll feel it tomorrow?” He smacks your ass with his other palm, and you gasp. “Tell me.”

Joel is very well-endowed, especially in terms of girth, and he’s aware of this fact; unless you tell him not to, he always gets you off before he fucks you, so it relaxes your muscles and makes it easier to take him. Right now, you need him inside you too much to have the patience for any more foreplay, so be it if you’re a little uncomfortable tomorrow.

You swallow before you answer. “Dick, please.”

“How do you want it?”

“Your choice.”

“You got it, baby.”

He grabs a handful of your asscheek, then gives it a spank and kisses your cheek, letting go of your chin to slide his fingers through the slick lips of your sex, his face coming into your line of sight.

It’s clear in his darkened eyes how much he wants you.

“You get so fuckin’ wet for me,” he says and presses two thick fingers inside you, your mouth falling open when he starts pumping. The tips press into something magical you can never reach, no matter how many times you try. “This needy pussy can’t get enough of my dick,” he continues. “You want it? Want me to stretch you open? Make you feel it tomorrow and come so deep in your sweet little cunt I’m drippin’ from you for days?”

He has you feeling so hot you think you might combust.

“Yes.”

A quick kiss is pressed to your lips. “Hands and knees,” he orders, slipping his fingers out of you.

His way of helping you get into position is manhandling you until your hands and knees sink into the mattress with him behind you—he fucked you hard face down, ass up the night before, and you’re wondering if he’s going to give you an encore.

His fingers dig into your asscheeks as he spreads them and spits on your pussy, feeling the hot saliva start to drip, and hearing him repeat the action on his digits, that he uses to wet his cock. Joel slides himself through your folds and presses to your entrance, your hips pushing back enough to engulf the tip of him—a palm lands on your ass with a loud smack, the sting causing your head to fall forward between your shoulders with a moan, his other hand firm on your waist to stop your movements.

“Don’t be greedy,” he grumbles, slapping your ass again. “I gotta go slow so I don’t hurt you.”

You whine because you want him inside you already.

“You’re real fuckin’ needy today,” he says and slowly begins pushing in. There’s a slight burn as your tight walls stretch around him to accommodate his size, the ache in your core dissipating with every inch he feeds into your pussy. “Jesus Christ,” his tone is strained. “You’re so much tighter when I don’t make you come first—you’re chokin’ me.” Your fingers are clawing at the bedspread, your heart’s pounding, and sweat is starting to bead on your skin. There’s one word repeating over and over in your head: Big.

He takes his time; the seconds that tick by feel like hours, and once he’s fully sheathed inside you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in—the familiar fullness satisfies the overwhelming need you had and has something purring in the back of your mind that this is right; it’s perfect how he fills you. He was right; there’s no one else on the entire planet who could satisfy you like he does.

His large palm slides halfway up your spine. “You’re doin’ great for me, baby,” he rasps. “Takin’ me so well. Now, I’m gonna make you feel good.”

And the fact you know he is has your cunt throbbing incessantly around him.

His hands hold your waist, and he does an experimental thrust, your answering moan encouraging him to start moving—he’s slow at first, rocking his hips and letting you feel every ridge and vein on his thick cock as it moves in and out of you.

He’s pressing into heavenly spots you didn’t know existed before him, loving how deep in your depths he reaches. The waves of arousal he’s coaxing from you is soaking his dick and easing his movements.

“God, I love bein’ inside you,” he says and slaps your ass; you clamp down on him, and he groans. “You feel so damn good—fit me like a fuckin’ glove.”

You fuck yourself back on him as you whine, “It’s yours!”

He grits through his teeth, “Yes. It. Is.” Punctuating each word with a hard thrust that knocks the wind from your lungs. “It’s. Mine. You’re mine.”

His rhythm speeds up, a steady slap of his hips against yours that echoes in the room, Joel grunting with each stroke and your moans coming unbidden. Your ass is jiggling from the onslaught, your head is dizzy with pleasure, and heat is growing at the base of your spine, threatening to explode.

This is how you like it, getting fucked senseless.

You squeak in surprise when gun-calloused fingers grip your upper arms at the bend of your elbows and pull you up, making you arch your back, Joel tugging you back each time he thrusts forward, pounding into you hard enough your eyes roll back in your head, and your mouth opens in a silent cry—his rough sounds are slipping through his bared teeth and obscene squelching is coming from where he’s fucking into you at an unforgiving pace.

You’re quivering around him, your entire body shaking, quaking, as he pummels a spot that’s making stars dance behind your eyelids, the muscles in your belly tightening, winding, building you up higher and higher. Your skin is hot and buzzing like every nerve in your body is lit up, a thin layer of sweat coating the entirety of it.

His breathing is ragged, and he grits out the question, “Are you gonna come for me?” He doesn’t slow down. “I can feel you squeezin’ me—I know you’re close.”

His hands have an iron grip on you. Noise finally leaves your lips in stuttered moans, and you’re losing your mind at how fucking good it feels—you’re not going to last much longer.

“Once you go,” he says, “you’re takin’ me with you, and I’m fillin’ you up.”

The reminder has white-hot pleasure scorching in your abdomen, and you’re coming undone, shouting his name as your climax hits and euphoria takes over every molecule in your body.

A choked sound comes from behind you, and you get pulled back flush to him, Joel’s arm locking over your chest with his hand squeezing one of your tits while the other wraps around your throat, his lips pressing to your ear as he raggedly groans “There we fuckin’ go.” His teeth sink into your earlobe as his hips stutter, and he buries himself one last time as far as he can in your depths, whining as he comes—his cock pulses and twitches hard as he releases deep inside you, spurts and spurts of his come filling your inner walls.

There’s a chance you’ve left Earth with how you feel like you’re floating, your brain completely empty of thoughts—you’re not sure you could think if you even tried, let alone move.

You register being laid down on your side and the warm body curling around your back; an arm is over your middle, and your breast is being held in a large palm, feeling so relaxed you think you might fall asleep.

A minute passes.

Five.

Ten.

There’s a loud snore behind you.

“Joel?” It’s embarrassing how it comes out as a croak.

No response—of course, there’s no response, his left ear is pressed to the mattress, and he can barely hear out of the right. You rub your hand along his arm and lightly tap it.

He goes eerily quiet, and you know he’s awoken, but he’s taking a second to assess where he is. Joel sits up a little. “Somethin’ wrong, honey?”

Your torso slightly twists toward him, looking over your shoulder. His eyes are filled with concern when they meet yours.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you reassure him and pat his forearm. “You fell asleep, and we can’t be late meeting Ellie. Otherwise, she’ll come looking for us, and we don’t need to scar the poor girl with her finding out her dad has a very active sex life.”

He snorts, his lips turning up. “She’s not dumb—she knows why I’m at your place every night.”

“She assumes the reason you come over—it’s one thing to assume and another to know for sure, and the second one, when it happens, will probably make her puke and then look at you with disgust for a while.”

He frowns, and you can tell he’s thinking hard. “I never brought women around Sarah…” he says. “I mean, when she was older, she knew, on the incredibly rare occasions I did, that I was goin’ on dates, but that was all. I never had long-term girlfriends.”

That’s something you’re aware of. He’s told you about some of his previous relationships, including Tess. When he was younger, before the world ended, he only had a few girlfriends that didn’t last long and a lot of one-night stands; Sarah’s mom was a fling in his early twenties who disappeared as soon as their daughter was born—she didn’t want to be a mother at such a young age, and only had the baby because she couldn’t stand the guilt of the alternative.

“Oh, so Ellie knowing me and being aware we’re together is new territory for you. How does that make you feel?”

“Real fuckin’ lucky I found someone she likes and who understands that she’s my top priority—the other women I dated couldn’t stand playin’ second fiddle to Sarah even though I was always upfront that she came first before anyone else, the same thing I told you from the get-go about Ellie.”

“And that makes complete sense to me. I know I’m important to you, but it’s different; she’s your child, who you’re responsible for, so she takes precedence. After all the shit she’s been through, it’s great she found a father who loves and cares about her so much.”

He smiles. “And that’s one of the reasons I fell in love with you—you get it and were more than willin’ to be with me in secret to protect her.”

You smirk. “True, it didn’t hurt that the sex is fucking spectacular, too.”

He chuckles, and you find yourself on your back with him half on top of you, happily kissing you.

Your words are muffled against his lips. “I need to ask you something.”

There’s one last kiss, then his pretty face hovers over yours.

“What do you wanna ask that’s more important than me kissin’ you?”

“Something that I need to know after everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours.”

His mouth downturns, and his eyebrows furrow. “Is somethin’ wrong…?”

“No, no, everything’s great,” you tell him and slide your fingers through the curls above his ears. “Has your feelings on children changed? Like, in terms of having more…?”

From the beginning, he was clear that he didn’t want any more kids, and it stressed him out whenever he accidentally finished inside you; you’d think that would put him off sleeping with you again, but he couldn’t stay away, and told you, when asked what would happen if you got pregnant, that you’d figure it out and you didn’t need to worry about him abandoning you—the last part always made you wonder how he’d be involved in your baby’s life with Ellie unaware you were together, and the only thing you could imagine was out in public, Joel taking on the role of your close friend your child calls their uncle, which is pretty depressing to think about.

He’s got an arm beside your head, holding himself up, and his other palm strokes along your cheek, his eyes softening.

“A lot has changed since I met you—you’ve turned my world on its head, sweetheart.” He smiles. “I know I swore I’d never bring another life into this world after losin’ Sarah, but Ellie came along, and I love gettin’ to be a dad again.” The fond look on his face is proof of that. “I really do. She’s a pain in my ass, but I love her, and now that we’re done hidin’ and can finally have a life with everyone knowin’ we’re together, there won’t be any doubt that it’s my baby if you got pregnant.”

Something about that excites you that he wants it to be clear he’s the father of your kid—for a second, you imagine what a child with him would look like, and it makes your heart squeeze at the thought of seeing tiny versions of his eyes and cheeks; would they inherit his elusive dimple?

“I know I’m too fuckin’ old to be takin’ care of a newborn,” he continues, “but I like the idea of havin’ one with you, and I think you’d love it. You’re so good with Ellie and all those little kids you teach. I can tell you want one of your own, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, you do. You’d be a great mom. When I realized I was gonna talk to Ellie the other day and tell her about us, I thought this was somethin’ I could give you; it’s some kind of future, maybe not what you deserve, but it’s what I can offer. And it’s reassurin’ you’re gonna live a helluva lot longer than I will, so I know that if anythin’ happens to me, my children will still have their mother, along with Ellie, who I think would love bein’ a sister. So, to answer your question, yes, my feelings on havin’ more children has changed, but only with you—you’re the only woman I’d want to have a baby with.”

This revelation has you beyond excited—you’d love to have a child with him.

“It’s crazy that yesterday I didn’t know how to define what our relationship was—I knew I loved you, I just wasn’t sure if you felt the same, and today, we’re officially a couple and talking about having babies. At this rate, I’ll be moving in with you tomorrow.”

“Do you wanna?” he asks, looking completely serious.

Your eyes widen as you stare. “What? I was joking, Joel.”

“And I’m not jokin’, especially about havin’ you here all the time. I don’t want us livin’ separately if we do the baby thing, and you know I’m almost done remodelin’ the garage out back into an apartment for Ellie.”

Joel was pretty upset the night he came over after Ellie asked about having her own living space. It happened two or three months into seeing each other, and he’d been distraught that she was at an age where she wanted more independence and didn’t want to spend as much time with him now that she had friends—something else he never got to experience with Sarah and it really twisted the knife in his gut. There was no way the town council would give a teenager a house, so Joel agreed to convert the garage into an apartment for her.

“Are we moving too fast?” you ask.

When you say out loud everything that’s happened in the last day and your plans for the near future, it sounds like you’re moving too fast, but it doesn’t feel that way.

His eyebrow rose. “Baby, we could die tomorrow. Life these days is too fuckin’ uncertain to be worryin’ about movin’ too fast, and we should do what makes us happy.”

He’s right, and it isn’t a bad idea…

“I’ll only agree to move in if Ellie says it’s okay.”

Your response has Joel chuckling as he kisses you.

“Wait, I have another question,” your words are said into his lips.

His mouth breaks away from yours as he sighs and presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you more than anythin’, but can I please kiss you without interruptions?”

“If you answer this question, we can make out—with tongue.”

His head lifts, and he looks confused. “It’s not makin’ out if there isn’t tongue.”

“Do you wanna make out or not?”

His expression turns grumpy. “Yes, so ask your damn question.”

“What would you have done if you opened the door in just your towel, and it was Sandra instead of me?”

“I would’ve shut the fuckin’ door—now kiss me. I was promised tongue.”

Snow.

So much fucking snow.

Ellie hated winter in Boston, but Jackson? It’s a new kind of hell with how much of the freezing, white bullshit falls from the sky to blanket everything. On the days when she’s assigned the job of shoveling walkways down the main streets of the town, she wishes the bite on her arm had done her in—a dark thought, yes, but that’s how much she despises doing it.

The only positive thing about getting sick was not having to work; the biggest negative was Joel and how he was worrying so much he wouldn’t leave her the fuck alone. Yeah, it’s sweet, or whatever, that he cares so much, but this guy literally watched her sleep—he sat at the window seat in her room every night to keep an eye on her, and if she woke up, which happened a lot from the coughing, he was there at the side of her bed asking if she needed anything, and touching her forehead to check her temperature.

Thank god, his secret girlfriend came by when she did because Ellie was so close to stabbing him if he asked her how she was feeling one more time; her friends kept her sane the next day when they checked in on her, and luckily, by then she was pretty much over her sickness, and Joel had finally started to chill the fuck out.

That night, she thankfully got to sleep alone in her room, and it wasn’t surprising when she heard the third step down the staircase loudly creak—she’d tried everything, and there was no way to step on it without it making noise—a sign Joel was going across the street.

Oh, Ellie figured out something was going on between Joel and their across-the-street neighbor not too long after she moved in.

What tipped Ellie off was one day she was walking home after work and had almost arrived at their house when she saw the two of them chatting at her and Joel’s front door. Nothing fishy about that, right? Wrong. Joel was smiling as he spoke to the woman, and it wasn’t one of his fake, polite smiles he does when he’s trying to make himself look less scary and somewhat approachable; no, this was a genuine smile, with some teeth showing, and a rare sighting of the dimple in his cheek—it makes her gag to even think this, but she’d call the smile, charming.

Yuck.

Who wants to think about the guy that’s basically their dad trying to charm someone?

Disgusting.

If the smile wasn’t suspicious enough, the moment he spotted Ellie, it suddenly disappeared—why wouldn't Joel want her seeing him being so friendly with the new neighbor? Probably because he was hiding something; she’ll admit it also could’ve been so she didn’t tease him about having a crush, but the thing is, she wouldn’t have, which is really fucking surprising with how much shit she gives him.

See, she’s not stupid; she knows Joel’s made taking care of her his life’s purpose since they left Boston and that he loves her as if she were his own kid; not to get mushy, but she loves the grumpy fucker, too, and she wants him to be happy, like she is—he’s the reason her life is so good now, and it was time that he did something that’d make him happy. So, Ellie isn’t going to be a dick about him putting himself out there because she doesn’t want to discourage him.

Once Ellie was onto them, it was so freaking obvious that they were a thing—anytime they ran into the neighbor, Joel actually talked to her, instead of his usual one to two-word responses, he gave everyone else who wasn’t Ellie or Tommy. Joel always watched her if she was nearby and went over to her house the moment she asked him to fix something or help her—Ellie’s pretty sure a lot of the tasks were bullshit, and it was their excuse to see each other. Then there’s the damning evidence of Joel sneaking out almost every night; there was a night she got to a window in time to see him sticking to the shadows as he made his way across the street, and it confirmed everything.

He was pretty hush about his relationship with Tess—they’ve discussed her in general, and Ellie knows they had some kind of relationship; she’s just not sure if they were, you know, dating or in love. So, with Joel keeping quiet about what he’s got going on with their young neighbor, Ellie assumed he was just a private guy when it came to that stuff, and it was something they didn’t talk about, figuring if things got serious enough, he’d bring it up.

And hey, she’s hinted that she knows by inviting his secret girlfriend to eat and do stuff with them; Ellie’s even attempted to get the older woman to admit they’re together, but she wouldn’t break, no matter how hard the teen tried.

Then Ellie accidentally overslept at her girlfriend’s this morning and didn’t make it home before Joel, and now they’re both aware of the other’s love life. She won’t lie; it made her unbelievably happy that he didn’t give a single fuck she was dating a girl—he had more of a reaction to her getting a tattoo than her telling him she had a girlfriend, and she’s glad he didn’t make a big deal about it, not that she thought for a minute he wouldn’t be cool with her being with a lady since he was chill when she told him she didn’t like boys not too long after they got to Jackson; plus, the guy was really good friends with Bill and Frank, after all—he’s told her he’s glad she never got a chance to meet Bill because apparently, they would’ve caused a lot of trouble together and possibly taken over the world, which sounded pretty fucking great to her.

The snow crunches under her boots as she walks down the road on their way to the mess hall, her girlfriend, Cat, beside her, chatting about their days. Since she recovered from being sick yesterday, she had to go back to work today, and thankfully, she was assigned an easy job—animal feeding duty, which is both easy and fun.

“Shit, it’s Sandra!” Ellie hisses, grabbing Cat’s hand, “Hide!” She tugs the other girl behind a giant snow-covered bush. She peeks around it, seeing the bane of her and Joel’s existence walking up the street from the opposite direction, probably heading to the mess hall for dinner, too. The other woman is pretty far away, but Ellie doesn’t want to risk her seeing them.

“Why do we avoid Sandra again?” her girlfriend asks.

Ellie’s head turns her way; Cat’s wearing a purple beanie and an oversized navy blue coat, her dark eyes meeting Ellie’s. “God, where to start,” she says and takes a deep breath. “So, when we first moved here, Tommy and Maria tried to get Joel to go out with Sandra since they thought she was a great match for him—she’s also from Texas, pretty, widowed, and has no kids. Anyways, they tried to set them up, but Joel didn’t want to go out with her or anyone else. He was super polite when he turned her down. I guess Sandra took that as him playing hard to get, and she hasn’t left him alone since.”

“So, you avoid her, too…?”

“Oh, right—she wants to be my mom.”

“What…?”

“Yeah, every time she talks to me alone, she likes to bring up how I could use a mom, or wouldn’t it be great if I had one to take care of me and my dad—” Ellie makes a face. “—it’s always so fucking weird calling Joel that out loud.” He pretty much is her dad and she won’t correct anyone who refers to him as such, but to her, he’s Joel. “I think when she says that creepy stuff, she’s trying to get me to convince Joel to date her, but we both agree she’s nuts. Like, I overheard Joel talking to Tommy once, and apparently, some months after we got here, she came over to our house and asked if he could fix something at hers, and he went because Joel might be a bit of a grumpy dick, he’s still a good guy, and she kissed him and was all over him—you get the picture—and he got the fuck out of there, and isn’t as polite when he tells her to leave him alone now.”

“He’s made it clear he’s not interested, and she still won’t get the hint…? Does she know there are other single men in town…?”

“She only has eyes for Joel. I don’t think she’s used to men rejecting her, so now it’s her goal to get him. I mean, she’s persistent. If she sees me or him together or separately, she always talks to us; it’s awkward, and I have to tell you it’s disturbing watching someone flirt with Joel so hard—she’s not subtle at all. It’s honestly weird, and Joel is completely over it. I just don’t get why so many women in this town are into his old ass.”

Ellie has witnessed many women shoot their shots with Joel and get turned down, which is another thing that gave him and his girlfriend away—they never openly flirted, but there is a lot of friendly touching, which is out of character for Joel. The first time Ellie saw Joel open a door and guide the other woman inside with a hand on her back, she had to bite her tongue to stop herself from yelling, ‘Aha!’

“It makes no sense to me,” she continues. “This dude’s old enough to be my grandpa, he’s only got one good ear, he’s weird looking, and after a few days not showering, his feet smell so fucking bad you’ll want to chop your nose off—I swear the only reason we didn’t run into more infected while traveling is because Joel’s disgusting stench scared them away.”

Cat snorts. “You’ve mentioned how bad he smelled a lot.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t un-smell him, and it fucking haunts me.” She shudders. “Now, back on topic, Sandra creeps Joel and me the fuck out, and I’m positive his secret girlfriend would’ve murdered her by now if she wasn’t a secret.”

“Hopefully, Sandra will back off now that Joel’s relationship is no longer a secret.”

“That’d be so nice, but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

“I know you’ve never said anything, but does it bother you how young his girlfriend is?”

Ellie’s eyebrows furrow. “Why would it bother me?” she asks. “She’s an adult and can do whatever she fucking wants. I mean, I don’t understand why she’d willingly choose to be with such an old, ugly, grumpy man, but that’s her deal, and she’s pretty cool. I’m just glad Joel got with someone I like and get along with.” A horrible thought comes to her. “God, imagine if he had started dating Sandra, and I had to pretend to like her and not be weirded out by her trying to be my mom? Yeah, who gives a fuck that his girlfriend is closer to my age than his, she’s not weird and makes him happy, and that’s all that matters.” Something pops up in her brain, and she smiles. “Oh my god, Cat—” She grabs the other girl’s arm and shakes it in excitement. “—what if they had a kid? I could be a sister!” That’d be amazing. She’s always wanted a sibling. Her hands go still, and her eyebrows pull together; she’s lost feeling in the tip of her nose with how cold it is. “Wait,” she starts, “is Joel too old to have a baby? Like, I mean his stuff—” She gags. “—you know what I’m talking about. Does it go bad with age? He’s really fucking old.” Cat’s trying hard not to laugh, her gloved palm over her mouth, and Ellie shoves a finger at her. “Don’t make fun of me for not knowing! What I learned in school was pretty basic, so I know how babies are made—revolting, by the way—there’s just a lot of shit they didn’t explain in detail, and don’t get me started on the awkward as fuck conversation Joel tried to have with me when I started hanging out with Dina and Jesse.” Jesse was the first boy her age she befriended in Jackson.

“The one where in the middle of him telling you boys will say anything to get into your pants, you shouted that you didn’t like boys?”

“Ugh, yes, and then he asked me if I liked girls, and I wasn’t completely sure, so I answered maybe, and he said—” She lowers her voice to try and mimic his. “‘Well, shit, I don’t know what the sex talk is for my daughter likin’ girls’—” She spoke normally again, “You know what, I’m actually impressed with what he pulled out of his ass.” He ensured she really understood what consent is and walked her through what a healthy relationship is supposed to look like.

“To answer your question, Joel isn’t too old to have a kid.”

Ellie grins. “Wicked.” She looks around the bush to check if the coast is clear. “Looks like she’s gone. Let’s get out of here.”

When they get to the mess hall, the mood is… weird.

There’s a lot of whispering and people sneaking looks in the same direction. It only takes her a second to figure out what’s stealing everyone’s attention, and her nose crinkles at the sight.

“Cat?” She’s still staring, the other girl standing beside her.

“Yeah?”

“Am I seeing things, or is Joel really playing tonsil hockey with his not-so-secret girlfriend at our table?”

“Um, I can’t tell if they’re using tongue, but they’re definitely kissing.”

That’s obvious—the man and woman are sitting next to each other on one side of the table with their coats off, their upper bodies turned toward one another, and faces mashed together, Joel’s massive hand holding the side of her head.

“It’s weird feeling both happy for him and wanting to puke simultaneously.”

“I get it. Wanna see something that will make you feel better?”

She glances at her. “What is it?”

Cat nods her head toward a table. “Look.”

Her attention goes to where she indicated, finding Sandra clearly pissed off and glaring daggers at the couple making out, her hand clutching a fork so tight her knuckles are white.

Ellie is delighted and pulls Cat along to join Joel and his girlfriend.

“Please tell me,” she says, as they get to the table and start removing their gloves and jackets, “that you guys are being disgusting right now for the audience and that this won’t be a regular thing.”

Their mouths detach, Joel’s arm around the woman’s back while resting his other hand on the tabletop. There were trays of food for all four of them at each of their seats Joel must’ve gotten, Ellie noticing it was chili and cornbread night. The man looks at her with a close-lipped smile.

“It won’t be a regular thing—” he replies.

“—thank god,” she interrupts and sits down, Cat joining her.

“—in front of you,” he continues.

“That’s fine by me.”

He grabs his small bowl of dessert and slides it over to her.

“Peach cobbler!” she exclaims. “Fuck yeah!”

Not to be sentimental, but Ellie knows that every night they have dinner, and Joel passes her his dessert so she’ll have two, it’s him saying without words that he loves her—that’s just how they are; they suck at speaking their feelings, so they show how much they care for the other with random things like that.

“Thanks, Joel!” She ignores the chili and slice of cornbread and immediately starts digging into one of the cobblers.

“You’re welcome, Ellie—what took you guys so long? We were expectin’ you to be here before us.”

“We had to hide,” she says around a bite—it tastes so fucking good; peach cobbler is her favorite.

Joel's expression turns to one of concern. “Who the hell were you hidin’ from?”

Their girlfriends had started eating.

She swallows, giving him a look. “Who do you think?” She juts her thumb behind her. “Miss Crazypants over there, who—” She turns in her seat to find Sandra still looking pissed. “—might be Miss Murderpants now.”

“Stop starin’ and pointin’,” Joel hisses, and she faces him again.

Ellie rolls her eyes. “The woman annoys the fuck out of us, and you’re telling me not to be rude to her? A bit hypocritical, seeing as you’re clearly rubbing it in her face that you’re seeing someone.”

His jaw clenches. “That’s different.”

Her eyebrows dip together. “What?”

He adjusts in his chair to lean forward a little and starts whispering, “I want her to see us, so she’ll get the hint and leave us the fuck alone—I also want the whole town buzzin’ about me bein’ in a relationship tomorrow.”

“The first part of that, I get; the second bit, you lost me. It’s not like you to want to be the subject of town gossip.”

He straightens and picks up his spoon. “Don’t worry about it, and eat.”

That’s Joel speak for, ‘I’m done discussing this topic.’

“Okay, you fuckin’ weirdo,” she mumbles and takes another bite.

There’s some talking as they eat between all four of them. Joel seems incredibly interested in Cat’s hobby of tattooing people, which Ellie guesses is because she told him she was getting one. He’s probably just ensuring it’ll be safe and that she won’t have to worry about infections or whatever else could go wrong.

Ellie has completely demolished all the food on her tray and is stuffed, taking a big gulp of her water. She sets the cup down.

“So,” she begins, “how serious is this?” She points between the couple across from her. “Is this a fling? Is she moving in? Are you guys getting married? What can I expect?”

Joel swallows and wipes his mouth with a napkin, which he clutches in his fist as he lays it on the table.

“It’s serious,” he says. “We wanted to talk to you about her movin’ in.”

She figured that would be the case with how much time they spend together at night. Ellie’s not against the idea, but she also does not under any circumstance want to know what they do when they’re alone. She has an idea; she’s not dumb. She just prefers not having any solid evidence.

Ellie pushes her tray forward and crosses her arms on the tabletop.

“Here’s the deal: I’ll be fine with her moving in under one condition.”

He looks curious. “What’s that?”

“Whatever you guys do alone in the bedroom happens when I’m not home; I don’t wanna hear shit, I can’t unhear, and I absolutely do not want to see anything I can’t unsee. It’ll only have to be like that until you finish my apartment.”

He seems to be thinking it over. “Deal.”

“You assholes gonna get married?”

“We haven’t discussed that yet.”

His girlfriend says, “I’m okay with marriage.”

Joel’s head whips her way, and he genuinely looks surprised.

“Really?” he asks.

Ellie snorts because the other woman is looking at him like he’s dumb. “Yeah,” she answers. “What about you?”

“I’m okay with it also.”

“Great.” She smiles.

It’s nice to see Joel so happy and to know he’s found someone. She always worried he’d die alone; sure, he’d have her, but he deserved to be loved by someone and to get good things after all of the shit he’s been through in his long fucking life.

She glances over at Cat, who’s scraping her spoon along the inside of her dessert bowl to get whatever of the cobbler is left. She’s staring at it so intently that Ellie thinks she looks adorable, and it makes her smile.

“Oh, are those the ‘googly eyes’?” she hears Joel ask the woman beside him.

“Yep,” his girlfriend answers.

Cat takes her last bite and asks them while chewing, “What are ‘googly eyes’?”

Joel sounds a little too happy, “It’s how Ellie looks at you.”

Ellie quickly turns toward him. “I don’t have ‘googly eyes’!”

She wants to wipe the smug smile off of his stupid face. “Yes, you do.”

“No, you’re lying!”

He puts a hand over his heart. “God’s honest truth, baby girl, you stare at her with ‘googly eyes.’”

Her cheeks feel hot, and she wants the floor to swallow her whole. “This is so embarrassing.” She doesn’t want to talk about this anymore and remembers something.

Joel’s smiling. “It’s cute.” He starts drinking his water.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m cute, whatever,” she says, swatting away his words with her hand. She focuses on him, leaning over her arms on the table. “You know what would be really cute, now that you’ve got a girlfriend, and I think it’s still possible at your age, you’re pretty fucking old, though, but if it is possible, it’d be really cute if you guys had a baby.” She grins and nods her head.

Joel sputters and starts coughing hard. It takes him a moment to speak, and the look on his face is a mixture of confusion and anger.

“The hell do you mean if it’s possible at my age?!” he rumbles. ”I’m fifty-eight, not dead!”

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[covetyou]

my bright future's behind me

joel miller x f!reader

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pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) chapter warnings: dub con (reader is paying a debt), anal sex, rimming, anal douching*, oil as lube, oral (f receiving), mild spanking, masturbation (f), praise kink, brief sex toys mention, derogatory names (slut), drug reference, unspecified age gap. word count: 5.8k chapter summary: The line between wanting to help your father and wanting to see Joel again blurs, and you find yourself at a familiar door asking for help. You know what's in store for you this time... don't you?

*NO DETAIL reader is given brief instruction on how to do it, and agrees to. no description of the actual event.

A/N: it's lengthier than I intened, but I really enjoyed writing about this in detail okay, let a girl have some fun. Like yeah, our reader is living in a hellish apocalyptic society and is an anal virgin going to a drug dealer to pay a debt with some serious dubcon vibes, but that man is going to be soft and gentle (ish?) af with her butthole and make her enjoy the hell out of it, okay? okay. let's go.

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song: anything but(t) by Hozier dividers: @saradika

Five weeks ago, heavy feet had carried you away from Joel's door in a daze.

You'd spent the first day waiting for your fathers pain medication to kick in. You spent the next getting him up and ready to go find work again. It was like watching a newborn deer finding its first footing; once he was up, a few stumbles and he was off, throwing himself back into work. He'd even picked up his medication himself at the end of the second week - you'd offered to go for him, but he declined. You deserved the rest, he'd said.

He'd come back, pills in hand, proclaiming how much of a "nice man" Joel Miller was. You didn't disagree.

You spent that night, fingers buried in yourself, whispering Joel's name into the dark as you clenched around fingers too small to feel satisfying.

Every night since then you remembered the look of Joel through the haze of the orgasm he'd slapped out of you. The weight of his cock, glistening head leaking precum as he rutted against you, the pressure of being filled over and over. His face, mouth agape, eyes glued to where you joined, mesmerized.

You came every time, whether it was to the thought of the first push of his cock into you, the firm, repetitive slap of his hand against your bare pussy, or his cum spattering across your naked body.

You didn't just grind pillows any more. Not all the time anyway. You bit into them, hard, stifling moans that you didn't dare let echo around the bare confines of your room. You made yourself writhe in sheets on a bed that felt too small, fingers stuffed to the knuckle, unable to reach the depths you craved. You'd even tried spanking yourself, desperate to chase that zinging feeling he'd given your pussy that day.

Weeks had gone by, and you'd spent every one using your own hands to chase the feeling of Joel Miller between your legs.

And now, an opportunity to grab those feelings presented to you all over again and, although your father was in pain, a part of you you'd kept hidden for weeks was glad for it. Five weeks to the day, and you were stood outside of Joel's apartment once again.

You knew what to expect now, you thought. You'd done this before, it was familiar. He was familiar. You knew how he moved, the sound of his voice, the look on his face when he came.

So, arm raised and feeling braver than you had any right to feel, you knock on Joel Miller's door for the second time.

A moment passes. Then another. You hear nothing beyond the door, and think about turning to leave, when there's a sudden click of the latch and the door flies open.

You'd psyched yourself up all day, but standing here you come to the stark realization that you're not ready to see him again at all. You shrink at the expanse of him.

His eyebrows raise as he leans toward the door frame. His dark eyes look you up and down and you stand there like an idiot, staring at him like you've never seen a man before.

"Can't say I expected to see you again so soon," he says, ticking his head to the side, inviting you in.

You walk past him, he doesn't move from the door way again, and you squeeze into his home.

The door snaps shut behind him, his feet thudding on the floor as he walks up behind you. You stay facing into his living room, staring at a deep scratch on the dining table he'd placed his whisky glass on five weeks ago.

"What can I do for you, sweetheart," he says, and you can hear the shit eating grin in his voice. He knew it was a stupid question. There was no other reason why you'd be here.

"My dad. He needs more. He's bad again and we can't..." you trail off, your poverty unspoken but understood.

Your eyes are locked on the table, you're trying not to clench your hands into fists. You weren't nervous this morning when you'd made up your mind, and now, trapped in this room with him your blood hummed with nerves, anticipation, fear, arousal. It was a cocktail you weren't familiar with and it was making you lightheaded.

Joel's footsteps thud again and you hear the nearby open and close of a cupboard door. He rounds back, appearing in front of you holding another familiar packet. He shakes it and you hear the rattle of pills.

"You ain't got any debt to pay off this time, sweetheart. You can take these right now and owe me... or you can pay me off right now."

You were waiting for this, but even so his offer makes your breath stop and your heart pound. You weren't just expecting it, you were wanting it, and you had a feeling he knew and his offer just proved that. He may as well have said do you want me or not. Your answer would be the same.

"What'll it be?" he says, extending the pill packet out with two thick fingers.

You take a deep breath. "I can... I can do right now. I-if that's okay?"

You can practically see the gotcha flash across his eyes.

"S'more than okay, sweetheart," he says, pocketing the pills with a smirk and crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"You know the drill - show me."

You begin to undress for him, stripping off your jacket and simple dress you'd worn to accommodate the dwindling summer heat. You'd worn your best underwear this time, the black cotton bra, faded to dark grey over the years, actually lifted you and showed off the valley between your tits. Equally faded black panties sat high over your hips.

He watches you like someone would have watched a boring TV show years ago - almost disinterested, but watching anyway. You remove your bra, freeing your breasts and dropping it to the floor. Hands come to your hips to shimmy your panties down your legs when he suddenly moves toward you. You stop immediately. He walks past you, around you, circling like a vulture, assessing your nearly bare body. He's so close you can feel the heat radiate off of him, but he doesn't lay a finger on you.

He completes another half circle, stopping when he's directly behind you. He can see the way the skant fabric of your panties parts the cleft of your ass.

"Take 'em off," his deep voice comes from behind you, closer than you'd expected.

You bend - perhaps more than you usually would - and pull your panties down your legs, pulling them past your knees and stepping out of them as you rise.

Warm hands smooth down the plush of your hips and to the swell of your ass, gripping and lifting your cheeks briefly before releasing. Both hands smack back onto your ass before he speaks again.

"It's a damn shame I never got to do this last time."

He kneads your ass some more, the feel of his massive hands foreign, all things considered. He'd touched you in ways no one ever had, in ways that had you reeling and dreaming of them still weeks later, and yet he had barely ever really touched you. He touched your thighs and your wet cunt, he'd tasted you and been inside you, but his hands had barely ventured further than that. You were unkissed, relatively untouched, and totally, utterly, fucked.

You steady yourself just as he withdraws, leaving your skin burning for him to touch you again.

"C'mon, bedroom. Got somethin' for you." You hear a smirk in his voice. You don't think the grin has left his face since you got here.

Once in his room, he pulls open a drawer on the large dresser. You peer inside. Colorful shapes fill it - you know these things, you've seen them before, but not in a long time. The last you'd seen being your own as you frantically stuffed underwear into a bag, ready to leave your home during the first evacuation at the end of the world.

The man is a god damned a sex toy collector.

"Why do you have all that?" Fuck. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. If there's anything you shouldn't do, it's question a strange man about his sex toy collection.

He leans toward you, whispering in mock conspiracy, "I use 'em on sweet girls who come to see me when they can't pay."

He pulls out an unfamiliar object. You had seen the other things in the drawer before, but you'd never seen this.

"You know what this is?"

It looks like a fucking mutant turkey baster.

You shake your head.

"It's an anal douche, sweetheart." He trails a finger down your arm, the skin pimpling in its wake.

"You never seen one before, let alone used one, huh?"

You shake your head again. Your body immediately set on fire with the mention of it. He'd ghosted a finger over your asshole last time and promised you that he'd have it next time. Now, here you were. Next time. You'd be lying if you said you didn't get off from those exact words, if you hadn't tried touching yourself in the same way, going further and breaching yourself with a spit slicked finger, stopping barely a fingernail in, embarrassed even by yourself in the dark.

"You're gonna fill that up. Put that nozzle right in your pretty little asshole. Squeeze," he says softly, squeezing your arm. "Hold it in there for a little bit, and then you go push it out. Okay?"

You stare at him in dumbfounded silence - you'd never heard of this before and felt naive. One hand comes up and clasps your jaw, snapping your mouth shut, as he forces your head into a nod. He hands you the douche, and you take it. It's soft, but the nozzle is hard and unyielding.

"Good. Now you're gonna do that till the water runs clear, you got that? Don't want no messes." He moves to your side, looking between your face and your ass. Your face heats as his calloused hand smooths over your ass, giving another light slap to one of your cheeks.

You don't know what makes you do it, but you start talking. Rambling. Maybe panic at the unfamiliar had taken over, the nerves too much to bare, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"Or we could do the same as last time! I could even -" he cuts you off.

"You'll do this. Don't want anythin' else. Way I see it, I'm the one callin' the shots here. Of course, if you'd like me to do it for you..."

"What?!" you yelp in shock, your embarassement growing threefold. "No, no, please I-"

A dark laugh escapes his lips, he was fucking with you. "Didn't think so. Now, go on. You don't want to make a mess, do you?" You feel your cheeks heat with the preemptive embarrassment of that happening.

"I-I'll do it," you stutter, nodding your head once and looking down at your feet, willing the heat in your face to go away. You wanted what this led to, at least you thought you did. You'd thought about it enough, at least.

A kiss presses into your hair, the unfamiliar action melting your bones, sending you soaring. "Good girl."

A slap to your ass brings you back into the room.

"Get to it then, sweetheart. I'll be waiting outside. I want you clean, so no rushing."

The warmth of him moves away from you, back into the living room. You follow, watching, and he gestures to a partially open door next to his bedroom. You didn't pay attention to it last time, fear and tunnel vision blinding you to most of the details of his home.

You enter, close the door behind you, and take a shaky breath as you lean against the cool door.

You can do this. You just hope to fuck he doesn't hear a thing.

Joel is lounging on his couch reading a worn book when you exit the bathroom 15 minutes later.

"All good?" he says, not bothering to look up.

"Mhm," you nod. You didn't trust yourself with words and honestly, you had no real clue. You'd never done any of this before. You'd had thoughts, sure, but you were not familiar with any of it in practice.

He's up and moving toward you in an instant, the book thrown to his dining table as he passes it. You think you can see a growing hardness in his pants as he walks.

He looms over you, tracing gentle shapes over the bare skin of your upper arm, watching your nipples harden and a shudder run down your spine.

"Let's get you someplace more comfortable," he says with a softness to his voice that doesn't meet his eyes. His eyes are dark and molten.

He leads you back to his room and deposits you at the end of his bed once again. You stand awkwardly, hands and feet flexed in an attempt to push away your nerves. If Joel notices, he doesn't say anything.

"I've never-" you start.

"Oh, I know you've never had anything back here," he says, coming to stroke down your back and over the curve of your backside. "If you did you wouldn'ta jumped away from me last time."

Any humiliation that was bubbling beneath the surface floats away as he strokes gently over your hips and ass. The roughness of his hands against your soft skin makes your pussy thrum. If you were being honest, you'd turned up to his door wet and ready. By this point you were positively dripping.

"Have you ever..." you say breathlessly, closing your eyes. He laughs, it's raspy and deep, the sound of it sending another trickle from your pussy despite the anxious feeling in your belly.

"You ain't even the first I've ass fucked this week, sweetheart."

With that, he wordlessly moves you into place, turning you to face his bed, legs slightly parted. A hand comes between your shoulders to he push you down, making you hinge at the hips to bend over. Joel steps back, leaving you there nude, bent over his bed, and alone.

"Spread yourself for me."

You let out a shaky breath you didn't realised you'd been holding and reach behind you, gripping one plush ass cheek in each hand as you spread yourself for him. He approaches again, only to grip the meat of your ass with his massive hands to spread you wider, exposing both your holes completely to his gaze.

You slam your hands down on the bedsheets to steady yourself, the sound of blood rushing through your ears as you think of how much he's staring and where he's staring. Someone didn't tell your pussy this was meant to be embarrassing though, and you feel your heartbeat in your cunt.

Strong hands knead at you, pulling you apart and pressing you together over and over. You can hear Joel's breath get deeper behind you, enjoying the sight of your ass being manhandled.

Turning, you look around and up at him. His eyes are transfixed, and he's nodding gently, tilting his head from side to side as he drinks you in from every possible angle.

"Fuck yeah," he murmurs, looking up at you as he notices your stare. "Beautiful ass, sweetheart. You gonna let me play with it?"

You already want to moan. As if you fucking wouldn't let him play with it now.

You bite your lip and nod at him.

"Ain't I lucky," he grins, before crouching behind you. You feel a nip of his teeth on your ass cheek, then the same on the other. Your breath catches when you feel his tongue dip down into your folds, catching your clit and swiping upwards through the wetness of your pussy, pushing in briefly to taste you. He does it again, and again, and again. You're moaning softly with each swipe, his tongue moving closer to your ass with each lick. You're pouting, trying not to whine, when he pulls away just before he touches your tight ring.

"Someone's enjoying this," he mutters into your ass, soft lips placing another kiss to your cheek as he circles a finger around your dripping cunt.

Fuck yes I am.

You hear him laugh behind you, the puff of air from his nose fluttering across your spread holes. Your eyes go wide, realizing you'd been so lost in it all that you'd said it out loud.

He moves away from you completely, reaching to drag pillows down his bed. A tap to your ass prompts you to move.

"Get comfortable, sweetheart, might be a while."

Draping yourself over his pillows, you get to your knees and rest your forearms on the bed. He's moving around behind you when you duck your head lightly, trying to be discreet as you breathe in the rich scent of him from his pillow. The smell of him fills your lungs, leaving no space for nervousness now.

The bed shifts as Joel climbs on behind you, a hand stroking up your thigh. You can't help but sigh. You were really enjoying this - your dad and your 'reason' for coming here long forgotten.

Hands pull you apart once again, and he's back to kissing across both your cheeks. He returns to where he's spread you, and you feel the scruff on his chin scratch against your ass, another huff of his breath, and then a warm, wet tongue is finally licking over your asshole.

Your toes curl as he licks you in gentle circles, tasting you. You'd never felt anything like it, the sensation strange and not exactly as exhilarating as you were expecting. And then he moans and you finally get it.

"Oh."

He wiggles his tongue gently into your tight hole, not quite breaching you but adding a pressure that has you pushing back into him slightly, willing him on. A broad lick and a kiss to your hole later and he's pulling away again. He keeps pulling away but you're desperate for him to continue.

"Good girl. Stay nice and relaxed just like that for me, okay?"

"Okay," you whisper into his pillow.

"Just a little longer, sweetheart," he says, stroking a finger up and down over your asshole.

There's a small snick behind you, and the finger stroking you pulls your cheek to the side.

A dribble of something cold, thick, and wet trickles over your asshole, and drips down to your cunt. You flinch and wiggle at the feeling, but a hand clamps down around your calf, keeping you in place.

"What's that," you gasp.

Hand on your calf keeping you steady, you hear another snick behind you. A finger traces the trail the substance took, up from your pussy, spreading the slickness of it around as he gets to your tight hole.

"Cooking oil. Ain't no lube in the fuckin' apocalypse and I don't wanna go in dry. Tear my dick straight off, and I quite like you havin' two holes instead of just one."

The tip of his thick finger, slick with oil, pushes into your asshole. You take a deep breath and the pressure gives way, allowing his finger to breach you. The hand on your calf releases, and traces up to your ass, squeezing.

This is as much as you'd ever managed with yourself, but with Joel doing it, it feels so much more. The tip of one of his fingers so much thicker than yours, and the oil easing his way so much better than your spit slicked finger.

He wiggles and swirls the finger just inside your hole, and you whimper, toes clenching. This is nothing like his tongue. Something like this shouldn't feel so good, none of it should, but the embarassment is long gone and all you want is more.

The finger pulls from you before he can give you what you want, and you feel more oil being poured onto you.

You arch your back, hoping he'll go right back to what he was doing, and he does. Finger to your asshole, he circles gently once, before pushing in again, not stopping at one knuckle this time.

"Nnngh," you moan, as his finger settles deep into you.

"All the way in all in one, good fuckin' girl."

He pulls out half way before pushing back in, fingering your ass with his index finger and holding you open with the other hand so he can get a clear look at your ass taking his finger.

There's no stretch, just a fullness, and goosebumps prickling over you as he moves in and out. You settle into it after a few more pumps, skin calming as you do.

"How's that feel?" he says. He must have seen you relax back down into his pillows, or felt it as his finger moved inside you more easily.

"S'good," you mumble into his pillow.

"You like my finger in your ass?"

"Mm," you moan, as he picks up the pace, fucking you a little harder with his thick digit.

"Let's get another in you, huh? Sweet pussy would like that too, I can see her twitchin'."

He begins to curl his finger, swirling it around and stretching against your hole. Your skin prickles again and you let out a whine, the fullness and added stretch feeling so good.

The finger retreats again but it's quickly replaced with the feeling of two pushing into your ass, one slipping in just before the second starts to spread your hole further than ever.

You groan deep and low, the sound being pulled from your chest without warning. When he's down to the knuckles of his fist, he holds there, twisting and scissoring them deep in you.

You're breathing heavy, whimpering, as Joel plays with your asshole. At one point you hear the snick of the bottle again and feel his fingers withdraw half way before spreading, creating a valley between them and spreading your asshole open for him, when a drizzle of oil is poured onto them. His spread fingers funnel the oil into your ass, and he pushes them back deep into your needy hole.

Over and over, he pulls his fingers completely from you before punching them in quickly, giving you no time to recover as he watches your hole barely wink closed each time.

"Nice and oiled up now, sweetheart. Just a little more. Wanna see somethin'."

His voice is thick and heavy, loving watching the way your ass is taking his fingers, listening to the whimpers and moans you try to hold back.

He's not touched himself, but you can tell he's rock solid and desperate just from touching you. You lick your lips at the thought of his cock, remembering the faint taste of him he'd smeared on your mouth weeks ago, and you feel more slick drip from you.

It was funny, if you thought about it. The attention to your cunt last time such a stark contrast to the neglect it was receiving now. You didn't mind.

Slicked fingers speed up in your asshole, really fucking you now, your ass jiggling with each thrust of his hand. You let out a high pitched whine, and he fucks you through it, before burying his two digits deep in your ass. He keeps pushing against you, never ending pressure making him feel deeper and deeper than he is. As if reading your mind, his other hand comes down to swipe drips of oil across your clit, using the tips of his fingers to rub in soft circles.

He keeps the pressure in your ass, releasing and pushing rhythmically so it feels like he's fucking you impossibly deep. Another wave of goosebumps cascades over you, and you feel your neglected cunt tremble.

"Joel I - fuck - I'm gonna come. Please, I-" you gasp, holding onto the pillow tighter with one hand but scrambling frantically with the other, not knowing what to do. The pressure is so deep, so foreign, but so incredible. You've never felt like this.

"Fuuuck yeah," he grunts from behind you, pushing his fingers deep in you again. Instead of releasing them, he starts shaking his fist, fingers still buried in your tight asshole. His other hand swipes over your clit in tandem, and you feel it.

The crashing wave of it comes for you, and there's no running. You're consumed by him; nothing but the scent of him in your lungs, and his fingers deep inside you. Moans that only he has ever pulled from you. Nothing else exists. The world falling to shit, caring for your ailing father, the years of loneliness at the end of the world. Gone - chewed up and spit out and gone, all at the hands of Joel Miller.

Before you know it, your thighs and cunt are twitching as an orgasm batters into you, knocking the air out of you with a scream you can't give sound to.

"Comin' from bein' ass fucked, thatta girl. Filthy fuckin' girl," he pulls his fingers from your ass as you still twitch, riding through your orgasm totally empty. A slicked up hand slaps your buttcheek, sending another aftershock through you.

Joel rises to his knees and you hear the tell tale clatter of his buckle through the white noise in your head - you'd long forgotten you were nude and he was not.

You look around to see him stroking his thick cock with an oily hand. You whine, you could come again just from watching. Every nerve in your body is on absolute fire.

He slides his slick hard length up your ass, rutting himself against your crack.

"I'm fucking one of your holes today, sweetheart. Don't have to be this one though, but I'd like it to be."

"I want it," you moan without hesitation.

"That's a good girl," he says, sliding his cock between your cheeks a little quicker. "You give me what I want, and I give you what you want."

His solid cock pulls away from you, and he rests a hand on your lower back, pushing down on you gently to hold you still. You feel the tip of his cock drag down through the slick of your pussy before he swipes back upward toward your ass.

Knuckles drag across your ass as he pushes his hips forward, the tip of his cock in line with your hole. A firm press of his thumb to the tip of his cock, and your asshole gives way, letting him slip in.

"Would you look at that," he says, before pulling his thick tip out of your ass. You immediately feel more oil drizzle into your hole, still opened from his slicked head breaching you.

He pushes back in, even easier than before. The stretch of it sends the most ferocious wave of goosebumps over you yet, drawing a babbling moan out of you.

"Jus' look at that," he groans, eyes locked on his cock fucking into your asshole. He fucks his tip in and out of you for a moment, your moans dying down as you adjust to the feeling, before his hips push forward again.

"Fuck, I could just slip all the way in sweetheart," he says, pushing deeper into you. "All the way in." As he says it, he slips his cock further into you with ease, sliding down impossibly far in one smooth thrust.

He stills. You feel so full, so stretched, but you don't feel the weight of his balls against you, or the heat of his warm belly. There must be more to go, but this is already so much. You whimper, almost begging him to pull out, when a hand slips around between your legs and starts lightly caressing your pussy.

"If you want more you're gonna have to ask for it."

"P-please, Joel. I want more."

Finally, he pushes all the way in, his entire dick encased in your oiled heat. He throws his head back with a groan, drowning out your whimpers as he bottoms out, grabbing both of your hips to steady himself.

"Fuuuck."

There's so much of him in you, you try to wiggle forward to relieve the pressure, even with both his hands clamped on your hips.

"Hold still," he shushes you. "Hold still and take it."

You'd do anything he told you right now. You quieten and let him push into you more, his dick twitching in your ass sending a jolt through you. You can feel his balls on your cunt, slicked up from your pussy and the oil covering you.

"Hold that slutty little hole open for me," he growls.

There is no hesitation in you as you reach back with both hands to spread your cheeks for him. Your grip is hindered by the oil, but you hold firmly and pull, spreading yourself and allowing him even deeper into your ass. He was quickly making being spread for him your favorite thing in the world.

He pulls out, leaving just the tip in you once again, before fucking all the way back in in one motion, pushing the air out of you when his pelvis meets your thighs.

Somehow you still hold yourself open, moaning and rocking your hips, and he fucks into you, his large hands on you pulling you toward his cock with each thrust.

Joel's breathing is heavy as he fucks into your ass, grunting softly every so often. He shuffles his legs as they slip away, unable to get purchase on his sheets in the constraints of his jeans.

They slip again and he slams into you, hard, with a growl.

"Fuck," he grunts in frustration and you hear the frantic shuffle of fabric as he pulls his pants down his thighs, his dick still buried in your ass. His belt clatters again, and he quickly pulls out of you. The bed rocks as he moves to discard his jeans, before he climbs back behind you, placing his feet either side of your knees. You try to look around in confusion, but then he lifts your hips, lines himself up, and in one smooth move, he's pushing his entire cock down into you.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, high pitched and desperate.

You let out a keening high pitched scream as he pulls out and slams into you again, and then he's fucking you in earnest.

He's like an animal, grunting as he ruts into you, fucking his cock down deep into you so far you swear you can feel your organs shift.

"That's it, she's likin' it now, huh. She's fuckin' likin' it now," he snarls.

"Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes," you chant with each gasping breath.

Your hands slap down onto the bed, white knuckle gripping the sheets as he pounds into your asshole from above.

"Ohhhh, yes - fuck - yeeaaahhhh," you groan. You can't tell if you're coming, it feels so good that you could be but it doesn't feel the same. You have definitely never felt this before.

"Takin' it so - fuck - fuckin' well, sweetheart," he gasps. "So. fuckin'. well."

He speeds up, pounding faster and faster, his balls smacking against the meat of your ass.

"Gonna come in this fuckin' asshole. Gonna get my cum all up in you."

"Please," you don't know what you're begging for, but his thrusts accelerate and that might just be it. You're screaming around him, his hips stutter, slamming into you. Joel's thighs quiver with the force of his orgasm, rattling the entire bed as he shakes and unloads deep into your ass.

You've deafened yourself. You've maybe came, you can't tell. All you know is your body is on fire and your mouth is dry. You could sob and you don't know anything, you just know it feels so good and so much.

Not knowing what to do with yourself, you lie there, face down, in a daze.

Joel lowers his shaking knees to the bed, still buried in your ass. His grip on your hips relaxes, fingers unconciously soothing you in gentle circles. His breath is heavy, and for a moment you feel him lean over your spent body to press a kiss to your back, before he retreats, pulling out of you and leaving your asshole still full of him.

You don't know how long you're there, ass still in the air, head floating through a million different universes, too fucked out to care you're still naked on Joel's bed.

"C'mon, sweetheart," says Joel, his voice gruff from heavy breathing. "Gotta get you home." You feel his oily hand softly pat you on the thigh, bringing you back to reality.

There's a thump as your clothes hit the bed, and you look around to see him for the first time since he put his dick in your ass. He's fully dressed again already, running a hand through his graying hair, sweat patches blooming on his t-shirt.

You nod at him and sit up - the floaty feeling has escaped your head and is buzzing all through your veins, creating a distance between you and your body. You mindlessly dress yourself, and he watches.

When you stand, your legs are somehow steadier than last time, and you don't even stumble as you pull your panties up the rest of the way.

Joel guides you out of his home, no offer of a hand or a touch to steady you. You slide your feet into abandoned shoes when he unlatches the door and pulls it open. Fishing around in his jean pocket, he pulls out the packet of pills, holding it out for you to take.

You thank him, taking the pills and walking from his apartment. You don't turn, intending to walk away from him before he can close the door on you again.

"I'll make you a deal," he calls out to you. You stop in your tracks. "You keep comin' to collect for your daddy and I'll give you those pills for free."

You frown and turn to look at him. He's standing in the doorway with his arms crossed like you'd just arrived. "That's not free. I won't whore myself for pills."

He lets out a wry laugh, "You already are, sweetheart."

Shaking his head, he closes the door on you once again, leaving you alone in the hallway.

And he still hasn't kissed you.

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[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | series masterlist

Summary: Going camping with your best friends seemed like a brilliant idea when you initially made the plans. But when you harbor secret feelings for one of them, what will become of you being close confined for three months? Trouble, that’s what.

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female, “Y/N”) Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin.

Genre/AU: friends to best friends with benefits to lovers, non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!Yoongi, humor, slight angst, smut and fluff

Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.)

Word count: 110.5K (things got out of hand, lol and it's mainly smut 💀)

Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸

Warnings/tags: will be tagged for each individual chapter. But it does contain smut, almost in every chapter (not the first though).

Taglist: Closed. Status: Completed!

🍃 Chapter 1 Summary: As exhaustion and stress threaten to consume you and your friends at work, Yoongi comes to the rescue with an enticing proposal: a collective vacation—a friendcation. Amid the backdrop of breathtaking landscapes and shared adventures, your feelings for him only deepens more. Yet, his lingering gaze holds secrets you can't ignore, leaving you to wonder if it conceals something deeper—an unspoken connection that may forever alter your friendship. Word count: 11,9K | Read → chapter one 🍃Chapter 2 Summary: When you get a flat tire, you think it’s bad luck, but when you fall flat on your ass and Yoongi offers to massage the pain away, has your luck finally turned? 😜 Word count: 12.7K | Read → chapter two 🍃Chapter 3 Summary: When you and Yoongi visit his family in Daegu, and he introduces you as his friend, it rubs you all kind of wrong. But what are you even to each other, other than best friends with benefits? Word count: 11.9K | Read → chapter three 🍃Chapter 4 Summary: It’s the last weeks of the vacation being just you and Yoongi, and you’re going to savor every last bit of it. You do some hiking, relaxing and discover new sides to yourself that you didn’t know existed. Word count: 17.7K | Read → chapter four 🍃Chapter 5 Summary: Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin have finally joined you on your trip and it’s going great; you have a tremendous amount of fun (some at your expense), laughter and talks about life. Namjoon suddenly asks you where you think this thing with Yoongi is heading, and to be honest you don’t really know yourself – you just know that you love him. Word count: 23K | Read → chapter five 🍃Chapter 6 Summary: Your vacation is coming to an end but your thoughts are spiraling and filled with anxiety as a tiny mishap makes you question your future with Yoongi. Word count: 11.3K | Read → chapter six 🍃Chapter 7 [finale] Summary: Melancholy shrouds you and Yoongi in your last days of vacation – time to get back home to the daily grind. But when you can visit Yoongi in his garage, is it really so bad? Word count: 11.3K | Read → chapter seven

🍃Extras🍃

🍃Winter special Summary: You’re in labor and live outside of the city, and it just happens to be Christmas time, there’s a lot of snow. Will you and Yoongi be able to make it to the hospital before your baby arrives? OR– The one where Yoongi fucks you into labor and crashes the car. Word count: 10.3K | Read → the winter special

🍃TBA (wip) Summary: TBA Word count: TBA | Read → TBA

🍃TBA (wip) Summary: TBA Word count: TBA | Read → TBA

Author’s note: Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I appreciate every like, comment and reblog, and please don’t be afraid to let me know what you think;  your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

The Contract

Aaron Hotchner X F!Reader

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

Summery: She’s reserved, emotionally cut off, and spiraling down a dark path; one she can’t get out of on her own. Aaron Hotchner may be her only help, but at what cost? When he shows up to her hotel room, contact in hand, she realizes it may be more than what she bargained for.

Over All Warnings: 18 + Only, MDNI, SMUT. Language, typical CM violence, childhood trauma, abusive(mentally) father figure, does not line up with a specific time line, flip flops between 3rd and 2nd POV, so use of Y/n. BDSM Dynamics, contract, Dom! Aaron Hotchner, Sub! Reader, emotional detachment, reader is not good at taking care of herself, Age gap (Reader 25 Arron 40), explicit Smut detailed in chapters. This is a series 😅

A/N: listen y’all, Aaron Hot Hotchner has had me in a choke hold, I wish, since the moment I laid eyes on him. It’s only fitting he gets some love.

15 Years Ago

Her hands sting with little paint splinters, their jagged edges imbedding deeper each time her fists connect with the door. She gasps around another harsh sob, her eyes squeezed shut against the blinding darkness surrounding her. “Please daddy! Let me out!” She begs desperately, her small voice cracking. The door violently rattles back with a deafening crack, making her stumble back. She falls into the sink, clutching at its porcelain surface to stop herself.

“Shut the fuck up!” Her father’s guttural voice fills the confined space of the restroom, “The longer you cry the longer you’ll stay in there!” His words are slurred from the deers he’d had with his dinner, combined with the six he’d consumed during the day.

“Please daddy, I-I’m sorry.”

The only reply is the vibration of his heavy boots as he storms down the hall, shaking the old house. She presses her hand to her mouth, muffling her cries as she dares a peek at her surroundings. A pitch black void greets her, no light to be seen, not even from the bottom of the door. Blindly she feels around, the sink to her right, the rusted toilet to her left. Sinking to her knees she wedges herself in the space between them, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping thin arms around them.

She rests her head against the column of the sink, every small noise making her jump and squirm, her young imagination running wild. Hot tears cascade down her cheeks, getting caught in the hairs stuck to her face before sliding down her throat, finally drenching the neck of her night gown.

5 Years Ago

“Congratulations! You have worked extremely hard to get here, and I can see great potential in your future working here with the FBI.” The Superintendent, a short stocky man, who’s suit is a size too big, holds out his hand to the woman across from him. She’s schooled her features into a mask of calm and restraint. She shakes his hand firmly, quick and to the point.

“Thank you, sir. This is an opportunity of a life time for me, I do not wish to squander it.” Just barely, if he had blinked he would have missed it, does her lips twitch up at the corners. She’s dressed very plainly, black blouse with grey dress pants. The nicest clothing she owns in her sparse closet.

“You’ll be stationed close to home, for now. With high marks such as yours though, I can’t see you staying long should you request a transfer.” Turning the older man retrieves a small black badge book from his mahogany desk, her eyes trained on his movements with restrained elation. “Your credentials, Agent Smit.”

2 Years Ago

Jennifer Jareau, or JJ as she requested to be called, brings the young woman into the heart of the Quantico department. Her eyes are bright, turning slowly as she walks taking in every inch of the Bull Pen.

“It can be a little intimidating the first time, but you get use to it.” The blond smiles with a soft laugh, a stack of folders pressed to her chest as she tails behind. “It’s just this way to your desk.” She points towards an empty half cubical, the plain desk void of anything other than a computer and a gold name plate, displaying the name ‘Y/n Smith’.

“Thank you, JJ, for taking the time to show me around.” Y/n turns with a genuine smile, setting her purse and bag down on the small rolling chair.

JJ waves her hand dismissively, shaking her head. “It’s not a problem, I remember how it felt coming in here a bit green behind the ears. I’m glad to help, anytime.” Her blue eyes flicker over Y/n’s shoulder, her smile faltering. Y/n turns around, finding a stoic looking man staring down at them from the landing above. He’s wearing a fitted navy suit, raven black hair styled neatly yet a few strands still fall across his forehead. His brown eyes are hard and imposing.

“We have a case.” His voice is deep and smooth, like a fine whiskey, an air of superiority lacing those four simple words. His stance gives him away, hands resting on his hips and chin held high, let’s her know he must be the one in charge.

“SSA Aaron Hotchner this is Agent Y/n Smith.” JJ begins but he holds up his hand, his face hard and set with an unwavering determination.

“I’m aware of who this is, and what you are here to do. Gather the team and meet on the plane. We will debrief there.” And with that he’s gone.

Y/n turns to JJ, her mouth age slightly. “Is he… always like this?”

JJ forces a sympathetic smile, “Unfortunately, yes. But he means well. Come I’ll show you where we need to go.”

3 Months Ago

“How do you do it?” Garcia blurts the question out in the middle of the room, all eyes turning to look at her at once. Her cheeks grow a little darker under her blush as she realizes just how loud she had been.

“Do what?” Y/n asks back, spinning around in one of the chairs circling the table in the conference room. The team had just landed forty minutes ago, everyone decompressing with coffee and donuts, generously gifted to them by the bubbling blond herself. Y/n takes another sip of her black coffee as she waits.

“I’ve never seen you cry.”

The question startles Y/n momentarily, her mind going on the defense as she tries to come up with a suitable answer. Opening her mouth she closes it again as Reid begins, “Ya know she’s right. We work a lot of hard cases but you stay pretty stoic.”

Turning to the rest of the team she glances over their curious faces, her gaze snagging on Hotch. His eyebrow is cocked, but otherwise his expression is impassive, impossible to guess what he is thinking. He holds her stare, almost with a hint of a challenge and despite herself she drops her gaze first, clearing her throat.

“I-I don’t know. Just got a good emotional switch, is all.” Y/n shrugs her shoulder, tapping her fingers against the side of the mug resting between her palms. The heat is nice, seeing as the weather is turning and winter is right around the corner, the office is cold having been shut down for hours now, the clock on the wall reading 1 am.

“Some say that the reason others don’t cry as often or as much is because they are repressing their own emotions, or have a hard time connecting with them. Some just don’t have tear ducts.” She glares at Reid, that smart brain of his going to get him in trouble. Emily scoffs and turns on him in your defense, hand resting on her hip.

“Spencer.” She says his name drawn out and scolding, making him slouch slightly in his seat, appearing sheepish. Y/n holds up her hands, coming to Boy Wonders rescue.

“It’s fine, really though I’m just good at detaching myself, emotionally, from the situation. Emotions are frivolous things that can get in the way of an investigation.” She shrugs her shoulder, her demeanor convincing them she is uncaring of the topic.

“Titanic.” Derek suddenly pipes up. “I bet she cries at Titanic.”

The group laughs, Y/n forcing out one of her own as her heart starts to pound in her chest. Morgan and Emily turn on Spencer, lecturing him about what is appropriate to state facts about, while JJ and Garcia begin to clean up. Slowly chatter and shuffling turns to white noise, a ringing in Y/n’s ears filling their place.

She stares down at the table, shifting in her seat as she tries to squash the rising anxiety. Memories, harsh and bitter like her coffee, pelt her; her chest tightening uncomfortably. All the whole Aaron’s watchful gaze never leaves her face, her mask of indifference and solidarity cracking the longer she sits across from him.

Present Day

You stare out the window of your hotel room, the city is shrouded in darkness but there’s the eternal glow of the night life that makes the inky blackness not so suppressing. Chewing absently at your thumb nail you sway on your feel, comforting yourself with the gentle motion. Today had been hard, grueling and long, but in the end the good guys came out on top.

A knock at your door startles you out of your thoughts, your body stilling and instinctively your eyes travel to your gun resting on the end table. 3am is a little late for a visitor. Another knock spurs you into actions and you cross the shaggy green carpet to the door. Peaking through the peep whole your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you step back, pulling the door open with you.

Aaron Hotchner stands in the threshold, still wearing his suit from earlier minute the blazer. The off white compliments his complexion and raven hair. “Hotch?”

“You’re awake.” He doesn’t sound surprised, more so relieved.

“So are you.” You keep the door pressed to your body, concealing the thin tank top and sweatpants you’ve dressed in for bed.

“Yes, I am.” He looks past you into the small room before gesturing to it. “May I come in?”

You bite your lip, eyeing around him down the deserted hallway before nodding. “Yes, of course.” He steps in full and you close the door, turning quickly to the chair across the room, grabbing your jacket. You pull it on, zipping it part of the way before turning back to your boss. He’s looking around, that part of his brain he can never turn off analyzing every inch.

“So… what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, going back to the spot you’d spent most of the night occupying.

“I wanted to let you know the hospital called. Jenny is going to be just fine.” He watches as your shoulders sink, a breath blowing through your nose as you visibly relax.

“That’s… That’s great to hear. Thank you.”

Jenny Campell, the 9 year old little girl abducted by her father, who was held hostage for two weeks in a remote part of Boston. She was severely dehydrated and would likely have lasting psychological problems from the abuse her father put her through; but she was alive, and the good guys had won.

“I wanted to talk to you… about the house.” Aaron’s head tilts slightly, as it always does when he’s approaching a subject he thinks may cause someone some uncomfort. You hold his gaze, crossing your arms over your chest, confused by where this could be going. Aaron clears his throat before he begins. “How did you know to look for a secret door?”

6 Hours Earlier

The house was dank smelling, clouds of dust swirled through the rays of light coming from the flash lights of the officers ahead of you. The house has been cleared, but something was missing, Charles Campell said his daughter was here, but where?

You circle back into the smallest bedroom, the voices of Hotch and Morgan floating through the open door as they try to discuss a new plan. The room was littered with trash, a twin sized bed sits in one corner, a large oak wardrobe opposite it. Children’s drawings adorn the peeling walls, and a dusty pink sign hangs above the bed frame, ‘Jenny Girl’.

You step closer to the armoire, newspapers and takeout boxes crunching under foot, as you shine your light over the furniture. It’s new, newer than anything else in the entire house making it stand out against the decay. It isn’t until you’re right beside it do you notice the scratches along the lime green paint.

The realization dawns on your like a bucket of ice water being thrown in your face and before you know it your yelling for your team mates. “Here! Hotch!” Your put your weight into the side of the wardrobe, pushing with everything you have as the two men rush into the room.

Morgan runs for the other side, pulling as Hotch takes up the space behind you, his arms caging you in as he pushes. The three of you move it easily, a small door, presumably to a crawl space, appears in the wall and you rush to pull it open. Morgan covers you with his gun drawn, giving you a nod to go before you yank the door open.

There, curled up in her side, is the little blond girl you all have been searching for. “Medic!” Hotch screams from above you, as you quickly moves towards the girl. She small and light, her hair matted and dirty like her blue night gown. You presses your fingers to the girls throat, a weak pulse answering.

~*~*~*~

“Y/n?” Hotch snaps you out do your thoughts, and you shake your head, clearing yourself of the memory.

“Sorry… I just… I knew there was something there, I won’t say I could sense it but my gut hasn’t lead me wrong, thus far.” Aaron nods, waiting to see if you will continue. “Charles isn’t a lier, his motivation for taking her were simple, revenge on her mother. Make her squirm and give him more parental rights. He never assumed she would get the police involved. Much less the FBI.”

“Jenny’s father is not only a drug user but a heavy drinker. Everything he had done was under the influence and when he was captured, and the substances in his system wore off he had gaps in his memories of what he did with Jenny. Explaining why he couldn’t tell us exactly where she was, just that she was at the house.” Hotch finishes for you.

“Exactly.” You pause, eyeing him over. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, in fact you did amazing in the field today. You worked out the clue no one else could’ve, and if it wasn’t for you there is no telling if we would have found Jenny in time. I’m extremely proud of you.” His praise makes something in your chest stir without your permission. Your clear your throat to speak, but he cuts you off. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did you know there would be a door behind the wardrobe?”

Your palms suddenly feel clammy, nervousness making your spine straighten. “I don’t know what you-.”

“You do realize I am the one that goes through ever personnel file before someone is permitted to work with my team, correct?” His voice doesn’t have that hard edge like it normally holds, in fact his entire demeanor is soft, calming. Almost like he’s trying to comfort a wounded animal.

You are the animal.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I know about your father, Y/n. I have seen the police reports, and I know you take cases with children very seriously and hold them close to your heart.” He takes a step forward and instinctively you move back, a look of hurt washing over his features. “I need you to tell me if you are alright, if this case was to much for you.”

~*~*~*~

The red lights of the ambulance quickly fade away through the woods, leaving the house illuminated only by the head lights of the surrounding cop cars. Aaron is removing his vest as he walks around watching as people file in and out of the house taping and marking things off.

He stops by the van, pulling the door open and throwing his vest inside, when he notices a figure standing off by themselves. He squints into the darkness along the side of the house, the person is hunched over, hands on their knees as their shoulder shake subtly. He scans the people around him, finding Morgan by the entrance to the house, on the phone with the rest of the team and the other 5 officers are accounted for. That leaves only you.

Slowly he moves closer just barely making out the sounds of you muffled crying over the noises of the others. Concern wipes through his body like lightning but before he can move any farther Morgan is yelling his name, startling you in the process.

You straighten up quickly, wiping your face with your jacket sleeves and Aaron retreats towards the others. Giving you your space without the fear of embarrassment of being caught.

~*~*~*~

Your face burns, cheeks bright pink. You open your mouth then close it again, a mixture of emotions tumbling around inside you.

Embarrassment, anger, hatred, regret, longing to finally let it all go. None of which are directly targeted at your boss but he’s the only thing in sight.

“How dare you.” You seethe, letting anger take over because it’s the easiest to roll with. “Don’t come to my room at all hours of the morning, trying to… to… get something out of me.” Your anger propels you forward and you find yourself inches in front of Hotch. He holds his ground, his hands moving to rest on his hips and you break eye contact long enough to glance at them.

“I’m asking you if you are alright.” Aaron’s voice has dropped, the timber low and you can’t help but like the sound of it. There’s no denying Aaron is a handsome man, but there’s always denying your feelings.

“I’m. Fine.” You ground out.

“Your lying to me.”

“Hotc-“

“Sweetheart.” The nickname catches you off guard, your eyes widening with surprise, breath trapped in your throat. Aaron takes the opportunity, his large hands cupping your face, giving you no other choice but to keep eye contact even as your body stiffens and a look of almost pain flashes across your face. “I know you’re lying to me because I am good at my job and so is everyone else here. You think we haven’t noticed your apprehension when it comes to a dark room? Or the way you always stand closer to the other females in the room, even if it’s just Spencer?”

Your hands find their way to his wrists, tugging but he stays firm, he isn’t hurting you but he’s going to make you listen. “Sto-.”

“Youre to comfortable placating than possibly rocking the boat for yourself. You never finish a cup of coffee because you hate it plain, you’d rather wonder around a new building than bother someone to ask where a room is, you dont open up to a single person because of your anxiety.” Hurt is written clearly on your features, hurt mixed with anger but before you can say anything Aaron steams ahead. “With that being said, you are one of my best profilers. I’ve seen you take on men twice your size and never bat a lash. Behavior like this doesn’t just come from nowhere. Something happened to you that made you this way.”

That unwelcoming pressure behind your eyes begins to overwhelm you, much like Aaron’s presence, his cologne infiltrating your nose with each ragged inhale. “What do you care? I’ve done just fine with how I am by myself, I don’t need you digging around for answers that will have no impact on you whatsoever.” Your voice comes out softer than you would have liked, making you hate yourself more.

“I care,” He emphasizes with a stroke of his thumb across your cheek, a foreign feeling on your skin. “Because I can not sit back and watch you hurt yourself like this.”

You scoff, trying again to pull away, managing to take a few steps back only for him to follow. A hand slips to the back of your neck, hot and heavy, holding you firmly in place. “You’re being dramatic, Hotchner.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, you open your mouth only to realize you aren’t sure. “I… I had a snack in the car. On the way here.” It’s a lame excuse, and he sees right through it.

“I want to make you an offer.” His brown eyes search your face, the anger turning into confusion.

“An offer?”

“Yes, I’d like for you to hear me out before you make a decision. Okay?”

“If it means you will let me go, then yes.” You give his wrists one last tug and he relents, but not before giving your neck a final squeeze. You move until your back is against the window, the cold night air seeping through the glass and into your jacket.

Aaron sits down in the only chair before gesturing to the bed, “Why don’t you sit.” It’s more of a command than it is a suggestion, making you root to your spot, giving him your best disgruntled look that rivals his on a good day. Sighing he leans his elbows against his knees, scrubbing a hand across his face. He looks tired, the wear and tear off the job showing more and more. Dark circles from a lack of sleep, a few new greeting hairs You could have sworn weren’t there when this case began.

“Well?” You snap, throwing your hand up before letting it drop against your thigh. Aarons eyes slowly lift to yours, a look you are unfamiliar with lurking under his features as he reaches behind himself, pulling a folded piece of paper you hadn’t noticed before from his back pocket. He tosses it onto the bed and a thousand possibilities run through your mind all at once. Leave of absence? Demotion? Pink slip? “Hotch…”

“Go on. It isn’t going to bite you, honey.” He let’s a little bit of humor color his words and you shoot him a glare. You close the distance, snatching it off of the bed and unfolding it to realize it’s a few sheets stapled together. Your eyes nearly double their size, mouth falling open as you read the header.

‘Consent of Submission.’

Paragraphs make up the first page, the words jumbling together as you try to make sense of where this is heading. The next page is filled with bullet points, titled ‘Rules’. Eat three full meals a day, go to bed at an appropriate time, check in with how you are feeling; to name a few.

As you continue to stare at the paper, confusion and distraught winning the war of emotions on your face, Aaron begins speaking. “It’s a contract, between you and I. It will help you properly take care of your self and I will help enforce it.

“‘Submission’? Aaron… This is… What?” You begin to tremble with a vengeance, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Yes, it will help you learn to regain some control over your trauma and your everyday life. It will help with the anxiety, depression, and emotional detachment you are facing.” He speaks so surely, like he has done this before, and maybe he has.

“You mean it will help you control me.” Your accusation doesn’t phase him, in fact he looks to calm for the situation. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, leaning back in his seat with his head propped on his first. A complete opposite juxtaposition to yourself.

“In a sense, it’s power exchange. Nothing happens without your explicit consent, which gives you the power in what we do. Where I have the power is how we navigate those consents, what we do, where we do it, and how.” He takes a deep breath, giving you a gentle smile. “I’ve found people in your type of situation benefited greatly from being able to let their brains turn off, not have to over think every step of the day. Just exist and let someone else… Take care of them.”

“And if I say I don’t want to sign this?” You slam the papers back on the bed, more to hide your shaking hands than anything.

“Then I will have you go to therapy within the BAU system.” He shrugs his shoulder feigning indifference, even though his heart is thumping wildly. He thought the days of this life style were behind him, no longer needed, but the moment you turned up on the plane, he knew. Your lips were pressed into a tight smile, your body language screaming how uncomfortable you were seated between Derek and Rossi, though you desperately tried to mimic the calm demeanor surrounding you. Something stirred awake in his chest that morning, and he’s just been bidding his time every since.

Your stomach churns, weighing out your options. Somehow the latter seems worse. You run your hands into your hair, blowing out a breath. “I’m not submissive Aaron, you know this. This job requires to much for this to be a possibility. I don’t… I don’t see how it could work.”

“I’m not saying you aren’t, but I think there are things you haven’t learned about yourself yet. As for our job this is not apart of that, this is separate. We will just be ourselves, nothing out of the ordinary.” He says all of this so sincerely, a part of you wants to trust him. But the part of you that says no one is to be trusted squares your shoulders.

“What do you want in exchange? How do I know you won’t use this as black mail, or some chip to hold over my head?

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “Sweetheart, There’s nothing I want in exchange, I’m trying to help you. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” You answer before you can even give it thought. Deflect, shut it down, move on. How you handle any sort of situation that strikes a little to close to home, that tries to dig out your weaknesses like he is doing now.

Aaron prepared for this, knew you would meet him with head on resistance, but also knew with the choices given what you would pick. You’ve gone back to staring at the papers, the wheels in your head turning at full force. He can guess within reason what you might be thinking, he had that same look on his face when he was introduced to the lifestyle all those years ago.

“Y/n.” Your eyes dart up to his, large and uncertain. “Give me a month, just one. If it doesn’t help, if it’s too much, then we call it quits.”

“Just one?” You echo back, Aaron nodding. He stands from his seat, large hand stretched out, palm facing the sky. This is crazy, wrong on so many levels. Not to mention the amount of trouble you both could end up in if someone so happen to come across this. Every fiber of your being screams the sentiment. But it’s your heart, though it bruises your ribs, that makes you place your hand in his. Aaron gently pulls you to your feet, making sure you have your balance before letting go.

“Go wash your face, then I want you in bed. You need to sleep.” Instantly you want to rebel against the order, the phrase ‘you don’t control me’ coming to mind but instead you turn on your heel. “Good girl.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice and your shoulders tense up, but you force yourself to walk into the restroom, closing the door a little to hard. You turn to the mirror, a woman with scarlet red cheeks stares back at you and you huff. What are you doing? Where has your brain gone? Groaning lowly you angrily grab for your face wash.

Coming back out into the room, dabbing at your face with a hand towel, you find the room is lit only by the bedside lamp. Aaron, with the contract in his hands, looks up when he hears you. Your hand tightens around the scratchy white towel as a small smile tugs his lips up. “You look beautiful even without the makeup.”

You roll your eyes, tossing the towel into the small tub behind you. “A very typical male complement, Hotch.” You quip, glancing towards your bed. The covers have been turned down, and there’s a glass of water on the night stand.

“Here.” Aaron holds out a pen, and the paper, suddenly your hands have never been so clammy.

“I thought you said we would just try this for a month. Why do I need to sign?” You skirt around him, fidgeting with your jackets zipper. You can feel your heart beat everywhere, from your fingertips to the bottom of your bare feet.

“To protect us both, either you sign or there’s no deal and you go to therapy.” Skin bristling you spin around, whatever you were about to snap suddenly dissolving on your tongue. His chest is mere inches from your face, forcing you to tilt your head back to look him in the eye. He never seemed this tall from across the room. “You’re wearing my patience thin, little one.” The heady rasp of his voice as he whispers to you makes your stomach clench, for an entirely new reason.

Begrudgingly you take the pen and paper, pressing it to his chest to bear down on as you scrawl out your name on the little line. You notice his signature is already on the other side.“There. Happy?”

He holds your stare for a moment longer, and you think he might say something more before he steps back, taking everything with him. “We will go over everything at breakfast, we have an appointment with Jenny and her mother Clair at noon.”

Your eyebrows come together as he reaches the door, pulling it open. “I thought the teams going home today?”

“They are. I have paper work that needs to be done and you are my only child psychologist. Goodnight, Y/n.” He smiles as he closes the door behind himself, relishing in the shock written on your face.

[yoonia]

the bedroom hymns ● chapter list

⟶ Title | The Bedroom Hymns: a Bluebeard’s twist ⟶ Summary | A threat against your father’s empire has forced him to send you away from the only place you have known to be your home, from the heaven-like prison which you have always dreamed about escaping, only to find yourself in a new kind of confinement. Haunted by the questions about your father’s past and the dark tales that seem to follow him, the thousand mysterious doors and the secrets waiting for you to reveal, and the mysterious Prince that has been following your shadows between realms, you are off to a new adventure in the Land Far Far Away.

⟶ Pairings | Min Yoongi x female reader ⟶ Genre | Fairy Prince!Yoongi, Princess!reader, Fantasy au, Fairy Tale retelling au, Faerie au, Angst, Mystery, Smut ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; this story contains classism, threats of assassination, curses, dark magic, rumours about serial killers, mentions of abductions, mentions of arranged marriages, betrayal, manipulation, depiction of war, fantasy typical violence, mentions of blood and wounds, minor descriptions/depictions of injuries, fantasy weapons (swords, etc), mentions/depictions of death, mentions/depictions of domestic abuse, alcohol use, mentions/depictions of plagues/illness — also includes mature and explicit sexual scenes (...more details will be added as I continue writing this piece...) ⟶ Status / Current word count / Total word count | ONGOING; latest update: chapter xviii. the fairy prince (May 13th, 2023) - 134,975 words of n/a words  ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Taglist | Feedback | Music Playlist | Ko-fi

𝕺𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖚𝖕𝖔𝖓 𝖆 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊, 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝕱𝖆𝖗 𝕱𝖆𝖗 𝕬𝖜𝖆𝖞…

⏤ Written by @yoonia for the Once Upon A Fantasy collab; with @jamaisjoons​​​, @yeoldontknow​​, @inkedtae​​​, @opaljm​​​, @kookdiaries​​​, @kth1fics​​​

⏤ Crossposted on: AO3, Wattpad

⟶ Chapters

⇢ prologue. the bluebeard’s tale

⇢ chapter i. when the stars are aligned

⇢ chapter ii. the wicked king

⇢ chapter iii. dreamers

⇢ chapter iv. in bloom

⇢ chapter v. homecoming

⇢ chapter vi. the castle by the sea

⇢ chapter vii. the secret doors

⇢ chapter viii. chasing shadows

⇢ chapter ix. secrets

⇢ chapter x. wanderers-1

⇢ chapter xi. wanderers-2

⇢ chapter xii. alias

⇢ chapter xiii. red strings-1

⇢ chapter xiv. red strings-2

⇢ chapter xv. crescendo

⇢ chapter xvi. respite

⇢ chapter xvii. divulgence

⇢ chapter xviii. the fairy prince

⇢ chapter xix. serendipity

⇢ chapter xx. masquerade

⇢ chapter xxi. the golden door

⇢ (...more chapters coming soon...)

⟶ References, Feedback, & DIscourse

⇢ visual references ⇢ story feedback & theories

⟶ Patreon specials

⇢ visual moodboard

— © Yoonia, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind is not allowed. unsolicited translations are not allowed.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

8/9 God's Away on Business

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

I'm 20 minutes away. You home?

Sure! You're always welcome.

Simon never told her if he was a minute away. Something was different here.

The key turned on the lock of her front door sharply 20 minutes after he had sent that text, and she went to greet him.

Their hug lasted longer than usual, and she could feel the relief and sadness just pour from him. He embraced her like a 200-pound shadow, then kissed her gently on the cheek, not mouth — that kiss spoke of companionship rather than lust, and her heart melted against his chest.

He looked like hell. Not only drained but like he had been through hell. Something awful must've happened if a man like Simon couldn't conceal the emotional maelstrom he was evidently in.

"You just got back?"

"Yeah."

"How was it?"

She didn't usually ask How was work. It wasn't really work. It was something else.

Simon didn't answer, he just took off his jacket and shoes like he was sleepwalking. He continued that sleepwalk to her couch. It had become some sort of a safe place he had carved out from the world to curl in, even if he never curled in anywhere, simply sat down with a manspread that usually made her mouth water. But seeing him stare off into space like he had just seen a mushroom cloud in the distant horizons didn't make her want to jump his bones. It made her want to close him in a hug and shelter him from all the pain in the world.

"I lost people yesterday."

"Oh. Oh shit."

Something like this was bound to happen at some point. Her first feeling was relief from knowing that Simon had survived unscathed from whatever horror he and his team had been through.

"That's… I don't know what to say."

Now that he had poured some of that exhaustion on the floor of her hallway, she noticed that he was enclosed in a shroud of latent need for revenge. The air seemed to thicken around him: of course he would deal with heartbreak by silent wrath. His eyes reminded her of the Antarctic stare; they just kept staring off into the void while also appearing sharp and aware, like he might burst into action from the slightest little threat such as a sudden sharp sound. Her tiny little home, soft lights, and messy book piles seemed childish and nonsensical compared to the ominous man who had seen too much.

"23."

"What..?"

"23. The number of people I have lost in total."

Shit… Fuck. She tried to remember something useful from the psychology books she had gobbled up not too long ago. But she couldn't turn into a therapist and offer him treatment. He might only laugh at such tries, anyway. Surely they offered counseling services or trauma therapy in his workplace for these kind of situations… But Simon probably steered clear of those, too.

"Is Soap alive?"

"Yeah. Wounded."

Compassion took over, and she finally walked to him, sat down, and reached to place a hand over his.

"Sometimes I wonder if thousands of people are worth one good man," he said with a deepening, impending fury, a tempest barely held in confinement. "Not to talk about three."

Thousands of people…

That meant… Wow. Okay.

He was definitely working on preventing missiles or some shit. Saving the world.

Sweet Jesus… And she had just joked about it.

"This world could use another flood."

The shroud turned into a whole cage that prevented her from comforting him. The hand underneath her palm seemed to tingle and burn as if it was coated with tiny spikes.

He was always so dramatic, but it didn't make him sound whiny or childish. It was actually scary. He was the weapon of mass destruction, an atom bomb in one man, about to detonate and level a whole city with a blast and nuclear winds.

"Have you ever thought about… quitting, you know? Doing something else?" She offered him a choice like someone would offer a doughnut to a murder victim, hoping it would make the pain go away.

"I was an apprentice to a butcher before I enlisted."

"Well, that's… a bit different from what you're doing now."

"Is it?"

Another sliver of information about his past, and she wasn't necessarily surprised. The worlds they lived in were like night and day. She had a safety net, friends who didn't kill or fear being killed, she had a degree, access to education, a promising career in the culture field ahead of her. Simon had a rough childhood and a dark past; he had chopped corpses of dead animals for money and then pursued a career in killing humans. He had lost 23 and killed God knows how many people.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"You got any food?"

"Sure. Um, no. But I'll order something."

She moved to rise from the couch, but he turned his hand and seized her by the palm. The warm fingers closed around hers and gave her a soft squeeze.

"I like that pasta sauce you make."

"The Bolognese?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's what you shall have."

There wasn't much else she could do. He wouldn't, or couldn't talk about it, so she ran to the nearest market to grab minced meat and some fresh herbs because dried ones simply wouldn't do right now. She made him food and seasoned it with as much love as she could while he put up a floating shelf she had gotten for books that didn't fit in her bookshelf anymore.

The scene was domestic, almost traditionally so. She had never thought of herself as a woman who would happily cook for a man. A man who put up her furniture for her. But then again, she had never thought she would date a man like Simon in the first place.

She suggested they watch a few episodes of a new tv show she was binging while they ate. Then he went to the shower, and she soon stood at the door, asking if he wanted to be alone. There was no answer, which in Simon's case meant it was safe to proceed. He was facing the cascading water as she stepped in to hug him from behind.

Perhaps it was the simple things. Even when the world was burning or war was raging or families were being torn apart, it was the simple things even then: some good, homemade food, some distraction, no matter how brainless and meaningless, some skin-on-skin connection and a good night's sleep.

It wasn't much; it wasn't a therapy session or a resurrection or anything life-changing. It wasn't much… But on the other hand, perhaps it was perfectly enough.

She gathered he might not be in the mood right now, but when he grew hard just from her embracing him, she slithered a hand down and stroked him shyly. He didn't stop her from pumping him to a release filled with weary sighs while he merely leaned on the tiles as she tried her best to alleviate his pain. He grabbed her hand after and laced their fingers together, used her hand to hug himself while a single, almost inaudible sniff pierced the sound of running water. It immediately turned into him clearing his throat — Simon didn't know how to cry.

He usually slept with boxers, perhaps a shirt on too, but this time he wore a whole set of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt into bed.

"You got that Glock here somewhere?"

He checked the mag and gave the gun a routine inspection, which seemed more like a comforting procedure than having anything to do with actual necessity. He had left it to her fully operational and with a weighted note to remember to rack the slide before firing.

It dawned on her that his gift served a whole other purpose too. It had been planted in her apartment, and not just for her protection.

A bleak thought passed through her mind about whether she would die that night in the hands of a traumatized, paranoid soldier, but she crawled into his arms nevertheless. He fell asleep right away — a sign of deep exhaustion. She wanted to caress him, hold him, but he rarely let her. Even now, when he was at his most vulnerable, he was the one who spooned her as they drifted off into sleep while there was a knife tucked under his pillow and a gun sitting on the headboard of the bed.

But instead of a possible homicide victim, she felt like a sleep toy when he tightened his grip on her through sleep with a sharp, irritated rumble when she tried to change position only slightly. It was then that she cried the tears he could not.

***

The darkness woke her up with a nightmare. Not a cold sweat one, but the kind where you were free falling and woke with a jolt just before the impact.

It was a familiar dream where she tried to hide from her abuser, the one who was supposed to love her but had turned out to be a grooming hunter. The most nightmarish thing wasn't that she was being chased again. No: the most aggravating thing was that she still felt weak. She was a grown-up now, she had more grit, she should've been perfectly capable of fighting back with words and fists. She wanted to voice her will, shout at him to leave her alone, even hurt that man, find some weapon to stab him with, just fight back somehow — but her muscles never worked, and time was running out: he was getting inside the building she was hiding in.

This time, it was different. With ecstatic thrill, she realized she could call for help. This time, she had a weapon called Simon. But the rotten thing was that he didn't answer the phone. He didn't come to her aid even when she sent distressed texts, and she was alone, weak, nothing but trash to the man about to come and bend her under his will again.

It was just a dream, but waking up was always a relief. She was breathing like she had just been saved from drowning. To her surprise, Simon was fast asleep, probably too spent to stay vigil, which was both unsettling and heartbreaking. He was hard against her, and she realized it must've bled into her dream, adding to its menacing nature.

Still, the relief was immeasurably sweet as she noticed Simon was physically here, holding her. Trauma was a bitch, but it didn't get to her this time. Nothing could hurt her. No one could come and take her away from the heavy, safe cage of his arms. The ripples of the nightmare slowly turned into something entirely different. How she could get wet just from feeling him thick and pulsing against her back after such a night terror was… well, it was new.

What had happened in the shower before they retreated to bed was fucking hot. Despite the evening full of grief and loss, that simple, urgent, shiver-ridden handjob in the shower was so beautiful that she could've cried from that alone. He was so done in that she finally got past the wall that seemed to prevent her from touching him. The connection was so pure that she didn’t quite know where she ended and he began.

She had never felt this kind of bond with another human being before. She hadn't even known that there were men like Simon, and perhaps there weren't. He was one of a kind.

Curling up together amidst a burning world, a selfish world, a world sinking like a ship, was so utterly beautiful that it was breaking her heart into pieces.

She shifted, sure of Simon waking from her turning around, but he only stirred a little and fell back asleep. Her hand seemed to have a will of its own as it found its way under his pants and caressed him. The thick flesh pulled against her palm, calling her to give him more of that stress relief, to drown him in love. Surely he would only be pleasantly surprised if she woke him up with her mouth.

She didn't get far before a hand shot out. Fingers scraped against her scalp and grabbed, yanked her by the hair, then raised her from between his legs.

Fuck… Of course.

How could she be so stupid?

"That's not a good idea, sweetheart," he said with a sleepy, slightly alarmed grunt. "Even though I appreciate the gesture."

He gentled his grip on her as if it had only been something naughty that had accidentally, in the spur of the moment, turned into too rough a treatment. Her scalp was burning, but what shocked her more was witnessing how quick his reflexes could be.

She was dealing with someone who had gotten used to being touched only with violence, with pure intention to cause harm. The darkness was the time for phantoms; they appeared in her bedroom as if she had called them forth with her mouth. The nightmare was still fresh on her mind, giving ground to having another talk about things neither of them wanted to discuss… But she had wanted to ask a certain question from the moment she had seen all those scars.

"Have you ever been tortured?"

The hand caressed her hair now, and she cursed that they almost always made love in the darkness. She wanted to see him, needed to see him, to make sure that that hand belonged to Simon instead of a ghost.

"Just ask how many days."

"How many days?"

"98."

She had expected the answer to be something like two or three days. That Simon had survived full-on torture without breaking for a week, at the very maximum.

98 days covered over 3 months.

He took her hand and brought it to his ribs, on a protruding scar she had seen many times. It wasn't the most prominent, but it was, apparently, one with the meanest memory.

Shouldn't have asked… Shouldn't have asked…

"Got slapped up on a meat hook like those pigs back there in the butchery. You believe in karma?"

"Simon.. Jesus Christ."

"Nah, the hook was the nice part. It's the brainwashing that really gets to ya." He rubbed himself with her hand as if to relieve a long-forgotten pain.

"If the mind breaks, you're done."

Simon wasn't living in the same world as her. He lived in the same realm as Roman slaves who were slaughtered for entertainment in the Colosseum, as soldiers freezing to death on the Eastern Front of World War 2, as political prisoners tortured in North Korean internment camps.

"This is horrible."

"What's horrible is you wakin' me up like this and not finishing the job."

Shivers of ice seeped down her spine. He was so unfazed… and it wasn't just denial or a defense mechanism. He was simply in terms with what had happened to him — what had been done to him. He didn’t turn his gaze away from the abyss. She wouldn't call it healthy or normal, but it was mature as hell, something so profoundly self-sufficient and fearless that she knew she would never meet a man like Simon.

Feeling both scared and aroused, she granted his wish and took him back in her mouth. They had just talked about meat hooks and psychological torture, but he was hard as a rock. The moan that left him as she went deep and flattened her tongue against him was an exhausted and deprived sigh, and she felt tears welling up.

He was broken and perfect and beautiful, he simply wouldn't yield. Not in any storm, not before a hurricane, not amidst a fallout, not in the thick of whatever apocalypse would come and rain upon this world. The least she could do to honor such a man was to make him sigh like that.

The moans that left him were different from when he was fucking her. They sounded fragile, arduous, and brought pain to mind. His enemies had tried to break him for nearly 100 days and failed. She couldn't stop thinking about where all those scars had come from — mutilation, beating, cutting, flagellation, not to mention being suspended on a meat hook…

Had it ended in him being buried alive? Or was that a whole other story? And who had been in the coffin with him? An enemy or a friend?

He said the physical torture wasn't even the worst of it…

She thought about how he always looked so incredibly tired, was so paranoid about someone coming to get him. He had most likely been subjected to sleep deprivation and constant interrogation, other slow methods meant to break someone psychologically. Methods that escaped her imagination.

Tears ran down her cheeks, and she sobbed against him, like a pathetic woman who knew nothing of the world’s darkness. A killer's hand found its way in her hair again, this time with the gentlest caress.

"Dove… C'mere."

Whatever test this was, she felt like a total failure when releasing him and letting him pull her into another staunch embrace.

"I'm sorry," he said softly while petting her hair like she was a child who had had a nightmare.

He shouldn't be sorry for anything. He shouldn't be consoling her for his own torture. Her own past seemed like a walk in the park compared to this, her depression was laughable. Even when she knew these kinds of things shouldn't be compared.

"Sometimes forget that you're a civilian."

How on earth he could forget that was beyond her. What Simon had forgotten, though, was what civilian life was like. What ordinary, day to day life looked and felt like. Why would he want to continue his job after everything he had been through?

Unless he didn't care if he got killed.

Unless he wanted to get away. Had been wanting to get away for years now, just like her…

The tears were running in streams now, and her nose was stuffed, broken sighs passed through her mouth as he kept her in one piece with a simple hug.

"Gotta say it gets me fuckin' hard when you shed tears for me,” he said, amused, while she was crumbling under the weight of their darkness.

"You're always so cocky," she sighed, trying to get air through her mouth because her nose was clogged from the tears.

"Isn't that what you like about me?"

When she wouldn’t speak, he turned her around to lie on her stomach and started to caress her back. Slow and steady, purposeful. He cherished her from neck to waist, rubbed the knots between her shoulder blades, soothed tension in places she didn't even know she had any. It was the gentlest touch she had felt since childhood, a caress of her entire being.

How poetic, that a butcher was the only one to have touched her with such mercy.

She should be the one doing the comforting, but here they were again. All those psychology journals, all those books, all that education, and he was the one who knew what to do, how to handle his shit. And her shit too.

"C'mon... Tell me you like it."

The callous hand cupped her ass, slid down her thigh, beckoned it to lift to gain access to her. It was just an inspection due to her not having said a word, and he must've taken it as a sign of her being proud and stubborn... And then the night laughed at her with a gratified haze as his fingers met her wetness.

"Alright, have it your way. But you're always drippin' for me… That's how I know ya like it."

He relished in what he found, spread the moisture all over her folds, causing her hips to rise up to present her pussy to him — like it was normal that she was soaked after such a sad evening and a fright of a night.

But Simon didn't seem to regard it as perverse at all. To him, it was quite natural, mostly an endearment, as he climbed on top of her like a god of war about to get a taste of bliss after a hard day on the battlefield.

The bulged tip found her entrance with a familiarity that was only sublime. He was such a tease when he wanted to be, coating himself with her before going straight in.

"Got your eyes and your cunt wet for me. If that ain't love, don't know what is."

Words escaped her again as he stretched her wide, and she could feel his hunger, both their hunger. He simply had more patience than she did to not act upon it right away. He set a pace that was sweet and slow, so greedy that it made her grab the sheet in a tight fist.

"You're hopeless," she sighed while her back arched to meet him in perfect sync, the rhythm they had established long ago was the most divine for both of them. Perhaps he wanted to feel alive too, especially on a night like this. His hand found hers, the one grabbing the sheet, and she opened for him, interlaced her fingers with his, and squeezed. The sadness turned into a lazy, warm pool of love and arousal, even euphoria.

"That's it sweetheart… what else? Tell me how much you like me."

It was never straight-shooting with him. She couldn't just say that he was driving her insane. It had been embarrassing enough to spill all that love in the air when she had been drunk, with him between her legs like a bloodhound that had caught scent.

So she told her what he disliked about him. Those things happened to be the ones she absolutely loved about him as well.

"You talk too much," she offered, already out of breath.

"Never hear that at work."

"Probably because you don't fuck your co-workers."

He laughed at that, so uncharacteristic and unbridled that it made tiny bubbles brim all over in her, too.

"Know a few dolls who wouldn't mind if I did."

Jealousy bled instantly. No — it clawed at her insides. Simon had women on his team? He had discreetly left them unmentioned up until this point.

It crossed her mind that maybe he was the lovesick one now. But that couldn't be true… He was just being arrogant, as always.

"Don't worry darling. I'm all yours."

That husky purr drove her only more nuts. He even sent his hands down to her waist and held her steady while making it known to whom she belonged.

"Think you can handle me?"

The next thrust was punctuated, his balls pressed against her clit, rewarding him with a tight moan she simply couldn't hold back. The appeased rumble above her told her that he only got a kick out of this childish boasting.

"I don’t know. Your ego is too big for me," she tried to sound dry during yet another delicious fucking.

"Got somethin' else that's big," he bragged, voice covered in molten gold. "Right? Just for you."

On that, she refused to entertain him. He knew perfectly well just how big he was. Simon didn't do relationships but had surely had his fair share of women who had run into his arms more than gladly. Far more eagerly than her, or at least, with far less dignity. It was despicable, but she was jealous of his past too and envied every single one of them, whether the women he'd had amounted to dozens or hundreds.

"You like big men?" He brushed her hair aside from her cheek as if wanting to see her face to read the answer from her expression, even if it was too dark to see anything.

"I like men who know when to shut up," she blurted.

A laugh, rough but hearty, echoed in the bedroom.

"Marry me."

Her eyes went wide, her jaw opened, a quick gasp passed through…

"Or don't. 'S not worth the pension."

A joke… He was joking.

Her eyes fluttered closed, but her mouth was left hanging open; then it slowly but surely curved into a quivering little smile. This goddamn man would be the end of her.

He caressed her again, then brushed a thumb over her lip in a soft, yearning gesture that told her he wanted to kiss her but couldn't from this position. The gentle lovemaking in the dark thick of night was sweeter than any pain, and she did something rebellious: she reached for that thumb, captured it in her mouth, and sucked.

"Fuck…"

It was a surprised huff. Completely taken aback.

She swirled her tongue around it, gripped it tight, mouthed it like it was his cock — and could feel his hips buck unexpectedly.

"Not gonna last long if ya..-"

The hurried explanation ended in a lengthy groan, and the body above her went rigid, then shuddered. He came without warning, the thumb was pushed even further into her mouth, and he was buried in her to the hilt, hissing and moaning like it caused him pain.

He was always a gentleman when it came to her pleasure, never chased his own before she had gotten hers first. It must drive him a bit mad to spill so soon — especially when it wasn't even the first time today.

It was the softest cataclysm she had ever seen, another stealthy peek behind those high brick walls. His body crushed her, the massive arms closed in around her, he rubbed his face somewhere in her neck… and he was trembling. Perhaps it was his way of weeping since he couldn't cry actual tears.

He was finally speechless, gathering himself after an unusually weak moment. He swallowed, panted, then swallowed again. Struggled to regain control, snatched it back like an injured soldier. But he wasn’t angry, nor was he ashamed, he was pretty damn delighted.

"Now look at what you did," he scolded, but the tone was playful. He slipped out of her mouth, the heavy chest was throbbing against her back, and she mourned the fact that her skin only met cotton.

"You had it coming."

Arousal made her voice thicker than usual, and he buried his face further in her hair.

"Really…"

And again, he wouldn't pull out. She was just gathered in his arms and dragged to lie on her side. Her back met a solid chest, and the hand traveled up her throat, making her expose her neck for him to wolf from behind. It was probably her weakest spot – and as soon as he noticed it, he took advantage of the knowledge. He even used teeth on her, made love bites like they were some horny teenagers. She would have to wear high collars for classes next week…

"Does that feel nice?" The attentiveness was nearing unbearable proportions, his voice so close to her ear that her eyes rolled back. He was big, even when soft, and continued to rub against her after slipping out. Another hand dove down to assist her reach her own peak.

"Judging by how wet you are, it does."

He was right, as always. The tears were dry, but her pussy was not; she was so wet that it was a miracle how he was able to be as precise as he was.

How the hell could one man be so good at everything…

"You're too sweet for your own good," he whispered when she shattered against that chest and those fingers, her own flexing against his arm as she came. She let him carry her to the shore, break on it like a wave. The broken cries were such a signature, the music of them such a tell, that it really didn't matter that she didn't, couldn't use words with him.

This was the best therapy either of them could get, no matter what any book or professional said. They were wildly alive, they had found each other through horrors and blood and tears. Somehow, he had found his way to her orbit, collided with her in that dark, grimy, degraded place where she danced for money for a tortured killer like him. Her job was a good workout, and it paid the bills, but it had also brought Simon to her, and she had never been more grateful for deciding to go on those pole dance classes years ago.

"I have to wear high necks to school again," she said afterward in his arms, all snug and prepared to glide back to sleep.

"Serves you right."

He was hard again while she was feeling sore and puffy and content — and slathered, with both of their juices, which he used to lazily guide himself through her folds.

"Ready for another round if you are," he offered.

That would be his third one already… The ungodly amount of stamina on this man was frightening.

"I- I don't think I can."

It was mostly an acknowledgment of his size, and they both knew it. Simon just tightened his hold on her, appearing quite pleased with this outcome. Won another round, the gloating, lovable bastard.

"Alright, dove. Let's get you some sleep."

***

The next morning, when she was making him an omelette he suddenly began to speak.

"I usually fuck everything up when shit hits the fan, no matter the cost."

She turned off the stove and moved the pan away to stop the hissing sound threatening to drown his voice.

"This time, I just wanted to get back."

It was a confession of another kind… A compliment. Might even be the highest compliment she had ever received from this man. Simon wanted to stay alive and return to her rather than avenge his fallen ones.

Still, there was bound to be recoil, some survivor's guilt — or a bitter self-reflection moment of a superior.

"Are you blaming yourself?"

"I don't know. No, that's not what I meant."

"I realized…" His brows drew together in an attempt to search for the right words. "I realized there that… You might be the only person I can trust."

She was moved, ripe for walking to him right then and there and relieve that tension in his shoulders. Freaking finally give him that massage he had yearned for since autumn. There was something profoundly wrong with her that she hadn't done it yet.

He always attended to her. It was supposed to be a display of authority, but she knew that the best leaders didn't lead with fear; they served. It was high time someone served him.

"It's not a good sign," he muttered.

"I would see it as a great sign," she said with a shy smile, but it died on her lips as she saw how he only appeared to fall deeper into misery.

"Right? Simon?"

"I thought I already dealt with this shit 10 years ago."

That sentence sent ice down her back. Her skin broke into goosebumps, they seemed to travel all the way up to her head. Her palms were already sweating by the time he spoke again.

"You see, everyone I trust either dies or…" Simon was staring inwards into some distant memory she knew nothing about. She went to sit on the small piece of furniture that could almost be called a dinner table. Not necessarily because she wanted to get closer to him, but because her stomach was churning and she feared she might faint in her little kitchen.

"Everyone I love, dies."

She forced a hand reach out to grab his as she tried to call him back to the present moment and back to her.

"That can't be true. I mean, that can't be set in stone kinda true."

"Who knows."

The walls were suddenly so high that she couldn't get to him even when they were holding hands like this.

But this was the most precious thing in her life. She would fight for it if she must.

"I'm willing to take that risk," she said without fear.

"I admire your courage."

He didn't say he was willing to take that risk too. She hadn't quite prepared for that, nor for what came after.

"I can't do my job if I'm…"

"If you love someone?" She offered when he wouldn't continue.

She fucking hated his job at this point. She hated his dead father, and she hated the Manchester slums, she hated everyone who had hurt him and betrayed his trust. But it was like peeling an onion when it came to Simon: there was always a new layer underneath the one that was shed away. Who knew what was hidden at the core, or if she would ever even reach it?

"Well, what about… your mom?"

"Dead."

"You have siblings?"

"Dead."

Holy shit. Things were even worse than she had thought.

"What about friends? Like, off work?"

"Not anymore."

Terror began to swell and roll inside her like a tidal wave. A menacing calm before the storm, an eerie silence a split second before the explosion.

"You have nobody?"

He stared off into space, telling her with that look alone that he had no one. He released her hands, or rather, forced her to release him. Then he dropped the atom bomb.

"I didn't mean for things to go this far."

All her fears, long since lulled to sleep, crawled through the earth to suffocate her.

It was true after all: she had been just a bit of fun, a one-night stand that had turned into a plaything. A plaything who had latched itself onto a man who didn't want extra baggage.

"What a nice thing to hear." Her voice was metal, and Simon wouldn't say anything, proving her worst nightmares true.

He had had enough of her and now wanted to end things. The beautiful dusk had rolled into a knifelike dawn, and it was time to finish the show.

"Then why are you still here?" She finally dared to look up at him, and he looked confused, like he didn't know the answer to that question.

Things spun out of control so fast that she felt faint in the head. It was hard to think rationally when all their shared memories were suddenly covered in a wicked haze of shallow fucking, noncommitment, and her being an absolute fool for having believed that Simon would want her for the rest of his life.

"I get it that you're a super secret soldier spy, that you have to sneak around and give me a heart attack every other week. I get that we can't be together as much as I would like. But if you don't even want this, then what the hell are you doing here?"

His eyes were wide, his throat worked an arduous swallow. He looked more hurt than ever, more in pain than he had been last night due to the death of his teammates.

But to her, it was the look of a poker player who had got caught red-handed in cheating.

How dare he joke about marriage and elaborate on how sweet she was during the night, only to set everything on fire the next morning?

She was just a sweet little stray cat he liked to pet and pamper and fuck when he had the time, a nice little vacation from work filled with excitement. Everything needed to be exciting to him, he needed a dose of adrenaline and knife play and showering bullets to make him hard so he could fly back to grey London to get a go with his pole dancing little school girl.

Putting up shelves, seeing pictures of her spending Christmas with the family, tea and omelette in the morning were too mundane, too boring. She had been another kind of adrenaline shot.. But now she was only a dry syringe with the words I love you spoken in the air.

She got up and took a few steps back, tried to cut off a love that she already knew wouldn’t die, would never, ever die.

"This is so fucked up. If I'm just some momentary lapse in your life, then…" she shook her head at a loss for words. He had been silent for the whole outburst, but at her last suggestion, he cut in.

"No. Never. You're–"

She was so riled that she couldn't even hear his words. "You know what? Go do your job then. I'm sick and tired of waiting for you to come home to me, only to hear something like that. God…"

He snapped his mouth shut after she cut him off and simply raged on, all the longing and confusion of whole months streaming out of her mouth with an annoying high-pitched account. If she hated her voice right now, she could only imagine how it must sound to him. Her irritating hysteria only worsened the situation, especially when Simon remained so fucking calm.

"This is just…" She laughed through tears she didn't want him to see. With sheer willpower, she fought those tears back to the abyss. He would probably just get off on seeing her cry.

After all, she was the sweetest girl there was. Too sweet for her own good. The most gullible, naive piece of shit.

"I don't know how this is gonna work."

He stared at her with chest heaving, then his breath settled into a calm, ordered roll, his expression turned to stone. The rage was directed inwards before it could lash out at her. The man called Simon turned into Ghost, a professional killing machine, so quickly amidst a raging storm that she could hear the eye of it reach them, the whole world around her go silent. Or perhaps she was momentarily deafened by that cold-hearted stare that turned away from her with a final, lingering tinge of sadness. Even that was gone by the time he rose from the table and walked to the hallway.

Her heart was struck with a blade; she bled dry before she could even take a step to follow him. She saw him put his shoes on, then reach for his jacket, which he flung on with heavy shoulders and a broad back turned to her like a shield.

Simon was resigning.

He was fucking leaving.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. He reached for his pocket and drew out a cigarette and a lighter, the flash of cold steel stinging her eyes although there was little sunlight because the day was grey. The Zippo was something she had found for him from a thrift store, and it had the tusked Snaggletooth logo of Motörhead on it. It felt like the perfect gift after noticing Simon had played the band's music from some old, burned cd when he had taken her on that shooting trip. He had ruffled her hair when receiving it, evidently pleased. "Knew you were a keeper," he had said when she told him she loved Motörhead too.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, the cigarette was sent between his lips, and he wouldn't look back, only marched to the door with heavy steps.

The fear wouldn't die even when she tried to tell herself that he was only going for a smoke to calm his nerves from her sudden fit. They would talk things through when he got back.

Which was why she never said anything, didn't follow him.

The door slammed shut, and she swallowed and turned to get a sip of her coffee. Her hands were shaking, the coffee was cold, and she realized she had just basically told him to get out. That cold-blooded stare still haunted her, and she wanted to go check if Simon was truly there, smoking on those steps and being a wall, her wall, against the cold, uncaring world.

She played the conversation over and over in her head, what was spoken, and the frost of horror turned her senses sharp, her ears started to ring from the silence. Simon had told her he trusted her and she had just freaked out — hadn't even let him finish what he had tried to say.

She wanted, needed to tell him right this second that she was sorry for being such a lunatic. She turned for the door, then walked back, forced herself to remain calm.

He needed space, and she didn't want to upset him more than she already had. He was older than her, used to nuclear seasons and warheads and blunt trauma, he was sharp as a whip. He wouldn't get rattled so easily. He would come back, smelling of fresh smoke, he would tell her what to do. That they would make it work no matter what. Flesh out a plan.

Because that’s all she wanted to hear. That he was serious and wanted this to work as much as she did. That it was just some miscommunication.

But her instinct told her that something was terribly, horribly wrong.

Minutes passed, and she finally went to open the door, and there was no one there. The streets were silent, the grey clouds even darker still, hanging over her like doom. She was feeling nauseous, a shudder went through her whole body, then her teeth started to rattle.

She closed the door and turned and tried to take a step, but her knees gave in and she slumped somewhere on the floor of her hallway filled with shoes and dirt and emptiness.

#simon riley x oc#ghost x oc#ghost smut#simon riley smut#simon ghost riley x oc#mw2 smut#ghost fanfiction#simon riley fanfic#cod fanfic#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x female oc#simon riley x female reader#ghost x female reader

[iamjucie]

A History in Lessons

Chapter 2: Light Reading

He grabs the book from your hand.

*SMACK*

He slaps you across the face. The stinging shoots right to the sinking feeling in your gut.

"What in the HELLS do you think you’re doing?!" He hisses.

Tav learns the lesson of not touching things that don't belong to her.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3.6k CW: Domestic Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Physical Abuse AO3 link(it is chapters 2 and 3 on there)

Tags: Overstimulation, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual orgasm

(thank you @itsthatpearl for beta reading and my friend mert on twitter for inspo)

@velvolktra photo credit

After a short but successful hunt out in Lower City, you strut down the streets making your way back toward the Crimson Palace. You feel so suave and confident, as you tend to do when you have a fix of blood. Your vampiric powers are so fueled, so enhanced. You feel so- happy. 

And it’s still early! You have even more time to spend with your love before going to sleep for the night. 

You’re antsy to see Astarion and tell him about the time you had. You did so well, he will be so proud of you. He loves to hear about your excursions, sometimes he even tags along with you. Even though he doesn’t necessarily need to feed anymore, he still finds he enjoys the sport of it. Especially being though it’s for him and you alone. You have no master to answer to. 

But tonight, he decided to stay back at the house. He said he has business to attend to. 

You walk up the stairs and go through the entrance to the grand palace you get to call home. Skipping down the hallway, you make your way to the office.

Astarion tends to spend most of the time you’re not in the palace in there reading books, writing letters, signing documents; whatever an all powerful Vampire lord would need to be sitting at a stationary desk for. 

You don’t tend to spend time with him there, though. He usually will have made his way to the bedroom or the den awaiting your arrival. But, being though you had finished your hunt so early you expect him to be there.

The door is open a crack, leaving just enough room for you to catch a glimpse of him intently reading a book. 

You should surprise him. He’ll be so glad to see you home so early.

Based on the spine of the book, it appears to be one of the research journals Cazador had within the confines of his massive library. His eyebrows are furrowed, his hand is on his chin, and his posture is relaxed in his chair with his legs spread apart. 

He only has a face like that when he’s trying hard to retain and understand something. You find that in his new role as the Vampire Ascendent, he is more intrigued to learn about his and your kind. To know the secrets his vicious master knew and kept from him. He must be reading one of the vampirism studies Cazador had in his archives.

Perfect- he is totally distracted.

You sneak your way in, tapping into the adventurer you once were. Tip toeing slowly, being sure to remain in the shadows of the room as to not alert him. Eventually, you manage to stand directly in front of him without him noticing. 

Wow- he must really be concentrating.

You quickly snatch the book from his hands.

“What are we reading?” you ask cheekily. 

Your mood shifts dramatically as you begin to read from the middle of the page it is open to.

“-essentially a meat puppet for its creator to take full control and advantage of. Over time, its mind shall diminish. A spawn will learn be to be utterly devo-”

He grabs the book from your hand.

SMACK

He slaps you across the face. The stinging shoots right to the sinking feeling in your gut.

“What in the HELLS do you think you’re doing?!” He hisses.

You stand with your mouth slightly agape and your hand resting on the point of impact. Your eyes dart from the furious look in his eyes to the cover of the book he was reading.

“The Uses of a Spawn for its Maker: A Vampiric Study”

You look into his eyes, horrified. Still in shock, you dart out of the room. 

“Darling, wait! I-”

You barely hear him calling after you. His voice trails away with the increased distance away from the office. 

You run into your chambers and dive onto the bed and begin to sob. You’ve never seen that side of him. He has a temper, sure, but he had never taken it out on you like that.

He is eloquent enough to talk through his emotions instead of being so reactionary. At least, he was.

You know him, that’s not him. At least, you thought you knew him.

You’re not sure you’d ever seen that look in his eyes. If you had, it surely wasn’t directed at you. He was… scary. He made you feel afraid. You’ve never felt so small. Even the hundreds- no, thousands of challenges you faced in your adventures leading up to taking down the Netherbrain, you never felt so helpless. 

How could he do this? He’s meant to be your protector. Your lover. He is supposed to keep you from harm. He promised he would.

Oh gods- was this all a mistake? Should you run? What if everything you know is a lie? What if you never knew him at all? What was in that journal? What is he capable of? What if it-

Your spiral is interrupted by a light knock accompanying an opening door. 

He’s here. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You feel so many emotions that you can’t even begin to try to express them to him. Not now. Right now, all you feel is anger. Rage. Disgust. Fear.

He slowly makes his way in, approaching where you remain motionless laying on your side facing away from him. When he gets to the bed, he sits on the edge close to your back gently, as if to not disturb a scared animal. As if any sudden movement would cause it to bite or run. 

He’s not entirely wrong to assume that to be the case. 

Slowly and softly he places a hand on your back, rubbing it in a soothing circle motion. You don’t move. You lay stiff as a board, other than a slight tense at his touch.

“I know there’s nothing that I can say to make it better. To make it so it didn’t happen…” he begins talking to you without looking at you. 

“I am so sorry for hurting you dear. I didn’t mean it. I-I don’t know what came over me.” he gulps. “The rage I felt in the moment- it seemed so… unbearable. I don’t know what came over me… I-I’m… “ his hand leaves your back and goes to his face as he begins to sob into his hands. “…I’m a monster.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion and you whip your head toward him and see him slouching forward crying. Instantly, like a switch was flipped, you feel guilt rush over you. How could you make him cry like this? You were so dramatic. He needs you to be understanding, not the silent treatment. You sit up and wrap your arms around him and lean your head onto his shoulder.

“Shh, it's okay love.” You begin to run your fingers through his silver curls the way you know soothes him. “You didn’t mean it.” you stop petting his hair. “See! Look at me.” You put your hands on his wet cheeks and pull his face so it’s facing your’s. “It didn’t even hurt!” You turn your head side to side to show him your blemish-less skin. No sign of injury to be seen.

Despite your effort, the sadness in his eyes remains. He turns away from you and looks down.

He closes his eyes and tears continue to slowly run down his cheeks. “I’m no better than him. I will only end up hurting you.”

Him. The reminder of him and what he did to your lover is enough to send you into a rampage.

Your posture becomes straightened and serious, and your voice becomes stern. “You will never be like him. I will never let you be like him. You know that.” his head remains low but he turns toward you, eyes looking into yours. Like he wants to believe you, but something inside is stopping him.

You take his hands in yours and continue gazing into his eyes. “Besides, I shouldn’t have taken something from you like that without knowing what it is. That was foolish of me, I know that now. Lesson learned!”

He looks away from you again and sighs. “No, you deserve to know. We are partners, yes. But, our relationship has a power dynamic that is very imbalanced.” He turns back toward you and places his hands on his lap. “As soon as you’re capable and strong enough, you will be able to be a full vampire yourself. But until then, I will have the ability to have complete power over you. To connect our minds. Insert myself into your consciousness like the tadpole had never been removed.” His lips quiver slightly. He takes your hands into his. “You can trust me though love, I would never do that to you. I understand it can feel… violating.”

“I know that.” You caress his face. “I trust you. I’ve trusted you so far when it’s been objectively the foolish thing to do. Why would I stop now?”

He smiles gently and pulls you in for a kiss. 

“I’m surprised you even stayed.” your foreheads are pressed against each other. “I half expected you to bolt out the door and never look back.”

“Never, Astarion. You said it yourself, aetherna amantis. Remember? I’ll always be here for you. Besides-” you chuckle “couldn’t you just command me back?”

He rolls his eyes at you and with a light laugh, pulls you into an embrace.

“I don’t deserve you.” he says quietly into your shoulder.

“And I you.” you pull away and place your hand on his cheek, admiring his beauty. “But how lucky are we to have each other anyway?”

After a few seconds of getting lost in his scarlet eyes, your mouth is drawn to his like a magnetic pull. You begin kissing gently, but gradually the connection of your lips becomes more intimate. 

The hand on the back of your head begins to lightly grip your hair, stirring the heat in your core exponentially. The weight of him increases as he begins to shift from a sitting position to being entirely on the bed, your lips never disconnecting. You both lay down and continue exploring each other's mouths, his body on top of yours. The closeness of your bodies fuels your desire tenfold. 

Your tongue penetrates his lips and licks the roof of his mouth. Grazing the back of his teeth, you knick your tongue on his fang. He ferociously licks the slight injury, trying to get any taste of your blood. Once he’s sure there’s no more to taste, his tongue returns the favor by exploring the inside of your cheek. Your kisses grow to be feverish, leaving you both craving more of each other's body.  

He pulls his mouth from yours and looks at you with sinful intent. “Darling, let me make it up to you.” he purrs as his hand slyly grazes your cunt through your clothing. “Anything you want, we can do.” 

Fuck- you can barely think, your lust is flowing from his hand directly to your brain. You remember something that had sparked your interest in the dirtiest way while he was confiding in you before.

“Well I- There was something you said earlier…” you begin “...about how you can enter my mind? Like the tadpole?”

He leans down and starts kissing your neck, unable to resist touching you. “Mmhmm…”

“Well I was actually thinking recently…” he licks your collarbone. You groan, trying to ignore the way he is making you feel in order to continue your thought. “-That I regret not utilizing that connection more. Sexually I mean…” you gulp.

He lifts his head up from his advances and looks at you with a gaze drenched in seduction. “Are you saying you want to feel what I feel when filling you up with my cock?”

You shudder at the image in your mind. Fuck, it’s too much. You need to relax your vivid imagination to remain composed.

“Y-yes. And I want you to feel what it’s like to be full of your cock. At the same time. I want to combine our pleasure…”

He looks at you for a moment, squinting. Thinking about what you’re suggesting. Thinking of the logistics. When suddenly, it clicks- it’s possible. A grin spans his face and he latches his mouth to yours playfully.

He pulls away for just a moment. “I love the way your mind works, pet.”

With unnatural speed, he pulls his shirt over his head and dives into kissing you again while untying your corset top. As if purposefully prolonging the process, he slowly unbuttons your undershirt. 

You can’t handle it anymore, you need him. Your pussy is aching with desire. You push him off you and rip your shirt and the buttons fly in all directions. He kneels where he landed after your recently-fed-strength fueled shove and looks at you adoringly.

“I positively love when you’re feral for me darling.” he growls. 

You lean forward and stalk your way to the bottom of the bed where he resides. You press your newly exposed skin against his, kneeling so that your tits are in his face. “Let me feel how much you love it-” you lean down and your hand drags down the bulge in his pants “...and you can feel how feral I really am.”

The giddiness he feels at your words is palpable, no matter how composed he pretends to be. This must have been a shared fantasy between the two of you, because based on how he is acting you’re sure he has thought of this before. With a smile spread across his face he concentrates on establishing a connection between your minds and bodies, interlinking your senses.

Like a bolt of electricity strikes you, your entire body feels a jolt of- sensation. Pure sensation. Every nerve ending from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet are feeling so much. Twice as much. Double the lust. Double the desire- No. Double the need to be touched. You sit in shock, taking a minute to adjust to the new feeling. Judging by Astarion’s face, he is feeling the same. From this moment forward, you are only feeling the same. You’re both so utterly overstimulated in the most beautiful way possible.

He looks at your body up and down. You can feel what his gaze upon you does to him, you feel what he wants to do to you. You reach your hand to touch his face. His mouth is open slightly in shock, still trying to adjust to the foreign doubled sensations. Once your hand reaches his skin, you feel a wave of heat shoot through your own cheek.

A grin spans across your face. Oh, this will be fun.

He can feel your excitement and lust. And like an infinite undying echo between both your minds, it grows until neither of you can contain it anymore. You reach your hand to begin to undo his pants and he does the same to yours. A wave of pleasure rushes through you as you graze your hand over the throbbing member through the fabric of his pants, making you both moan simultaneously.

Once you’ve finally managed to take both your pants off, you can’t keep your hands off one another. He’s laying on top of you and both of your hands are touching every part of each other; everywhere but the sources of your carnal lust. Eventually, your hands go from his hair to rubbing down his back. You can feel the sensitivity of his scars piercing into your own back like they’re your own.

He brings his hand to your dripping cunt and languidly strokes the outside of your folds making his way to gently rub your clit. He shivers and lets out an airy laugh with delight, you love knowing it’s your pleasure he’s feeling. There’s something so intimate about having the exact same experience.

As he continues to play with your pussy, you bring your hand to his cock. You can feel the pressure he is feeling and you need to see it relieved. Your fingers slowly rub his length, starting at his head and making your way down the bottom of his shaft and stopping at his balls.

You are so utterly overstimulated, you can barely think. No- you can’t think. This is too much. Knowing he is feeling the exact same way enhances the pleasure tenfold. Your hand grasps around his cock and you begin to slowly pump. At the exact same time his fingers enter your cunt, rubbing your inside walls in a way that makes you scream. And you do.

You’re both moaning and riving in pleasure, you’ve never felt so connected to one another. This is more than the tadpole could ever have done, you’re connected by blood. Every nerve, every cell in your body is synced with one another. Every action is synchronized as if you had rehearsed it a million times before. Every desire is shared. You feel his want to dominate you, he feels your want to be dominated. You feel his want to have you full of his cock, and he feels your need to be filled with it.

You share a knowing glance. Nothing needs to be expressed verbally, any need for dirty talk is gone. No need for words when you can feel. He puts a hand around your throat and you position his cock at your entrance. He slowly pushes into you. He needs to adjust to the alien feeling, but quickly gets used to it. Once you’ve both become accustomed to the feeling, you both smile gently at one another. He pumps in and out of you, hitting the spot that fills your mind with light..

This is the single most beautiful sensation you have ever experienced. You can feel the pleasure of your tight walls wrapping around your- his cock. You clench slightly, and you feel the increased grip around him and you both moan. If this continues to feel this breathtaking, this won’t last very much longer.

You feel the pressure building in your- and his core. 

You look like virgins having sex for the first time. Just looking at one another with your mouths agape, him pumping in and out of you. But with the increased sensation, it’s all you’re able to do. It’s hard to concentrate on doing anything special when you’re so overwhelmed with double sensations, the infinite echo of your lust and desires. It doesn’t matter, though- you don’t need anything more than this.

He breaks the silence that has been maintained since your connection was established. “I-we are going to come. Ready?” He manages through pants and hisses of pleasure. All you can manage is a nod.

And like he was awaiting your acknowledgement, he explodes in you. You simultaneously come, your mind and body is filled with otherworldly light. It’s as if you see colors that don’t exist. You’re both screaming and moaning through your shared orgasms. The feeling of his cock spurting inside you, the feeling of your walls pulsing around his cock, it’s too much. 

You’re starting to think you’ll never stop coming. You’re both holding one another, shaking and moaning. He’s still inside you, any movement required to pull out would be way too overwhelming. After a few beautiful minutes, the feeling fizzles out. He’s laying on top of you and you’re both basking in the afterglow of the most incredible orgasm of your lives.

Astarion severs the connection of your minds before pulling out of you and laying beside you. You’re both staring at the ceiling.

“That was…” you say after prolonged silence. “A lot.” 

“Yes it was. I would ask if you enjoyed yourself, but I already know the answer.” he says cheekily.

You chuckle, “You’re right. I can’t even lie to you, you can be inside my head at any time.”

“That’s right love.” he says in a facetious patronizing voice. “You can never lie to me, I will always know.”

You both laugh. 

You roll over onto your side and prop your head on your hand. “So what else can you do to me as my ‘maker’?”

“What ever do you mean, darling?” 

“Like, what other powers do you have over me? You must have learned something in that journal.”

“Well…” he says “I am able to be granted control of you. Command your every movement while you sit in the passenger seat.”

 A pregnant silence follows. You recollect when you grabbed the book from him. 

‘-a meat puppet for its creator to take full control and advantage of.’

He breaks the silence and continues, “I would never do that though, of course.”

You sit in another moment of silence until you ask, “Even if I asked you to?” 

His brows furrow. “I- I’m not sure I understand.” he stammers. “Would you… Like that?”

“I don’t know, it could be hot.” You lay your head back on the pillow. “Giving up complete control to you, you know?”

It’s like a fire was lit inside of him, the soul behind his eyes fueled with desire for power over you. He attempts to act unfazed by your confession, but it does something to him. He looks at you differently. Not negatively, just… differently.

“If you’re sure-” he purrs, “...how could I say no? Of course that experiment will need to wait.” He rolls over to wrap himself around you, cuddling you as you both fall asleep. “I am positively exhausted from tonight's experiment.”

“Next time, then.” you say, eyes closed and drifting to sleep.

He kisses the top of your head. “Next time.”

You both drift to sleep in the warmth of each other’s grasp.

Next chapter: "Your Most Prized Spawn" pt. 1

[astarionmademewriteit]

Ch. 2: My Forbidden Lover

MDNI. 18+ ONLY. Blank bios will be blocked.

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3.4k

Tags: Pure smut; Oral (female receiving); Face fucking; Dom/sub dynamic; Bondage; PIV rough sex; Blood kink; Cum Play; Praise and degradation kink; Bodily harm (in a sexual context); Orgasm denial (kinda? But not exactly); Choking; Biting; Durgetash is switch-coded; Subby Gortash; Minor jealousy; Brief mention of Astarion's background with non-consentual sex; Really graphic depictions of sex.

Summary: After having come to an agreement with Astarion and plotting to kill Cazador, the dark urge goes home with her lover Gortash where they engage in filthy sex.

A/N: Please refer to the first chapter to set the scene. This is pre-tadpole days where the Dark Urge has an established relationship with Gortash and befriends Astarion while he is still in the clutches of Cazador. The story will follow her eventual amnesia and Illithid kidnapping where she will fall for Astarion, who doesn't reveal the fact that he knew her from before the Nautiloid crash.

I meant for this chapter to spill over into the next day when Durge meets up with Astarion, but I'm a simp for Durgetash and it just got away from me. Please enjoy!

Ch. 1 | AO3

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵

We walk through the brisk night air, the stars spatter the sky–holding their ancient secrets close. I hook my arm through Gortash’s as we stroll through the streets. We are sporadically approached by admirers of Enver, offering their gratitude for all he has done for the city.

“I assume our new friend was receptive to your requests?” Enver murmurs once we catch a moment alone.

“He’ll warm to the idea. He is understandably terrified of Cazador,” I stroke his broad arms, contemplating my conversation with Astarion, “I sweetened the deal. In return for information, I promised to provide him with blood and a victim for Cazador. I assume that won’t be a difficult request to fulfill.”

Enver nods, “We can supply him with a thrall. They should comply willingly,” He stops and moves to face me, “As for the blood, dear assassin?” His question does little to hide the concern underpinning his tone.

“Enver, you wound me,” I close the little distance between us, pressing my body flush against his, “I have access to plenty of blood. Why are you concerned?” I cock an eyebrow, waiting for him to confess.

He chuckles darkly, recognizing my playful banter, “I do not relish the idea of sharing you. Especially your delectable blood,” he lines the column of my throat with gentle nips at my flesh, “I would hope that was just reserved for me,” he growls.

I run my fingers through his dark hair, pulling away to look into his eyes, “You have the exclusive privilege of spilling my blood, Enver,” I place a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, “In any case, Astarion and I are kindred spirits. I recognize myself in him,” I contemplated the thinly-veiled terror that he had tried hard to mask, but I recognized it for what it was immediately. His volatile environment wrangled him into submission, and he was forced to do things that I believe he was unwilling to do–completely severed from his own autonomy.

It was similar to my condition, although I still had the freedom to make choices–choices that Astarion was completely robbed of. It was my hope that our new agreement would help him regain some of his autonomy, no matter how little–even if it was to my advantage, at least for now. I felt a small pang of guilt, wondering if he felt used in other ways instead. I would have to ask him tomorrow.

“Indeed,” Enver agrees after a moment, “But, do not lose sight of the grand design, my love. We are no heroes”

A smile plays on my lips, “If I didn’t know better Enver, I would think you were jealous,” I hook my arm through his once again and we begin our tread back to his waiting palace.

Once we are safely inside the confines of his home I rest on the edge of Enver’s desk while he writes correspondence and runs through the list of powerful targets that threaten our plans. Next on our list was the beloved Duke Ravenguard–he could be a powerful asset should we enthrall him with an Illithid tadpole. I offer to send Orin, my bloodkin, to complete the task so that we may focus on other things.

“That’s enough work for tonight, my dear,” I caress his cheek with the back of my knuckles and he watches me with a darkened expression. I lift myself from his ornate mahogany desk and move towards Enver who still sits in his chair. I turn and sit on his lap, peering over my shoulder and watching him expectantly.

He sweeps my hair to one shoulder and slowly begins to pull the zipper down the back of the evening gown I wore to Cazador’s ball–taking great care to ensure the delicate fabric does not catch in the zipper.

I stand and let the soft fabric slip from my shoulders until the garment pools at my feet. His eyes rake over my exposed body, drinking in my frame with hungry eyes. I drive the heel of one of my shoes into his chest, waiting patiently as he nimbly unbuckles the straps around my ankle. He places small kisses up the calf of my leg, nipping at my flesh–hungry to taste me.

I kick off my heel and repeat the same gesture with my other foot. He glides his hand up my calf to my inner thigh, digging the claws of his gold filigree gloves into my flesh. His hard grasp dimples my flesh until he draws blood and a sigh escapes my lips. He places small kisses along my inner thigh as he works to unbuckle my shoe.

Once I have discarded my shoe, I watch him with eager eyes as he works his way towards my upper thigh, savoring the way his lips feel as they bite and suck at my flesh–tasting my blood. I intertwine my fingers through his dark hair, willing him to focus his attention at the apex of my thighs.

His agonizing slow pace up my inner thigh has me growing impatient, “Enver,” I growl in warning, tightening my grip on his hair until a satisfied groan falls from his lips.

“Far be it from me to keep my favorite assassin waiting,” he murmurs before swiping his tongue up the seam of my dripping cunt. I instinctively pull at his hair more aggressively as he tongues and sucks at my sensitive clit. My legs immediately begin to shake as pleasure undulates through my body.

Enver repositions my leg until it is resting on his shoulder, providing him with a new devastating angle that practically sends me into a frenzy. I hold his head against my aching cunt and throw my head back as I hear his stifled breathing. “Be a good boy for me, Enver,” I growl, “You may only draw breath once I’ve been satisfied, or you can suffocate. Whichever comes first.”

He moans as he slips his tongue into my slick entrance, nosing my clit in the process. His warm tongue fucking me expertly until I’m panting uncontrollably. He hums into my pussy, sending tantalizing vibrations straight to my core.

He hooks his arm around my thigh, pulling me closer as he hungrily services me–his golden filigree claws drawing more blood as they dig deliciously into my flesh. The pain brings me such pleasure that I can feel myself building to a dizzying crescendo.

Enver continues to drag his tongue in slow concentric circles around my clit, sucking and nipping at it until I’m losing myself–spiraling into an intense climax that has me writhing underneath his tongue. I grind myself against his face–his stubble adding another layer of overwhelming sensations that has me coming undone just for him. He growls against me as I drag my sensitive cunt against his face, relishing the way I use him for my pleasure.

Once I’ve come down from my orgasm, Enver pulls away–his face gleaming with my slick. I pull him up by the collar of his robe, and we collide into a feral kiss. The taste of my arousal and the coppery aftertaste of blood fills my mouth as our tongues slide against one another.

I finger at his robes, clumsily unlacing the clothes that separate me from his flesh. He assists me in removing his clothes, our lips crashing back together with a ferocity that could buckle my knees. I push him hard until he is falling on the bed behind him, my eyes scanning his exposed flesh, devouring him completely. I circle the bed before grabbing his wrist and binding them to the bedpost with barbed wire that cuts deeply into the exposed flesh beneath his golden lattice gloves. I repeat the gesture with his other wrist, and watch as blood flows freely from his wrists–dripping down his arms in crimson rivulets. I drag my tongue up his arm, drinking in the taste of his life-essence, and ecstasy thrums through my body at his flavor.

“You taste so good, my love,” I murmur before making my way to the foot of the bed and crawling up his body until I’m straddling his waist.

“It’s all for you, my assassin,” he croaks, his voice gravelly and thick with lust.

I drag my nose up his throat, sucking and kissing at his salty skin. I sink my teeth into the soft flesh where his neck meets his broad shoulders, and Enver cries out in pleasure as blood rushes to the surface. I can practically hear his heart beating against his ribcage as blood fills my mouth–his wrists pulled taut against his restraints, causing more blood to flow freely from his veins.

“I love when you bleed for me, Enver,” I growl into his ear. His heavy panting rings like music through the bedroom, and I savor the way his body writhes impatiently beneath me, “You’re doing so well,” I praise, which only spurs his need to be inside me.

“Please,” he whispers, begging to feel my cunt wrapped around his leaking cock.

“Oh, Enver,” I whisper seductively, cupping his face with my hand, “How I love to watch you squirm.” I line myself up with his throbbing cock, already leaking with pre-cum.

His swollen head immediately stretches me wide open, and I cannot stop the moan that falls from my lips as he fills me completely. Enver whimpers beneath me as my pussy slides down his length at an agonizingly slow pace until I am sitting flush against him. I clench around him instinctively, forcing another moan to escape his lips.

I lean over and crush my lips to his as I begin to rock my hips seductively against him. I bite hard into his lip, drawing more of his sensational blood–relishing the coppery taste as it fills my senses completely. My nails dig into his hairy chest and welts immediately begin to form, marking him as mine.

I lift myself up and begin riding him slowly, savoring the way his cock spears into me–threatening to split me in two. I clench my pussy around his length every time his cock withdraws from me, effectively massaging his swollen head.

“Gods below,” he moans underneath me, “You’re so perfect, my dear assassin.” He instinctively bucks his hips, brushing against my cervix and causing me to cry out in shock. He drags his cock slowly out of me before forcefully thrusting back inside, hitting my sweet spot with agonizing precision. The barbed wire confining his wrists continues to pull blood from his flesh, painting him like a beautiful masterpiece.

I lean back, propping myself on his thighs as I continue to ride him relentlessly–allowing him to watch as he pierces me with his throbbing member. My arousal rings like a symphony throughout the room, only spurring me to ride him harder. My nails dig into his thighs, bringing more blood to the surface. I watch as his body slowly trickles with blood and images of our own demise flit through my mind.

I knew I wanted to keep him until fate intervened and I was forced to kill him and myself in Bhaal’s name. It would be incredibly beautiful, slicing his flesh open until he had been drained of blood completely. I would die a beautiful death next to my lover–and I would be free of the carnage I was meant to exact on this world. And it would all be by his side.

As the images flit through my mind, my desperation becomes more prominent. I can feel myself nearing the edge of no return. My body begins to quiver as he continues to meet me thrust for thrust until I am exploding into a tantalizing climax–falling over the edge into a depth of pleasure that I could only ever experience with Enver.

His name falls from my lips and echoes throughout the room like a haunted hymn as he coaxes the pleasure from my body. Enver’s breathing becomes ragged and I can tell he is chasing his own release. I cannot help the sadistic tendencies that wash through my body in moments like these.

I wrap a shaky hand around his throat as I continue to ride him with newfound ferocity born from my own ecstasy. He watches me with a dark expression as he nears his own climax, biting at his bruised bottom lip as I apply pressure to his throat, cutting off his blood flow momentarily.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and a dangerous smirk plays on my lips when I think about how desperate he sounds. Just when he is on the verge of climax, I pull myself off him completely and watch as thick ropes of cum spill from him and onto his stomach. He bucks his hips desperately searching for any kind of friction that will ride him through his climax–to no avail.

I release my grip from his neck and he eyes me with unfiltered frustration when he realizes the game I’m playing. His wrists are pulled taut against the barbed wire–the metal digging into his flesh as he struggles against them, desperate for some satisfaction as his hollow orgasm washes through him.

He lets out an animalistic growl as I remove myself from the bed, a dark grin gracing my features as I watch him struggle. “Oh, Enver,” I chuckle sadistically, “You never learn, do you?” I inch towards a bar cart and pick up an expensive decanter, leisurely pouring myself a glass of rich dark liquor. I seat myself in his chair, and watch as he grows more desperate by the minute.

“Please, my love,” he eyes me with wild anguish, pulling against his restraints harder than before–ignoring the stinging pain that travels through his arms. I cross my legs and lean back, taking another sip of the strong liquor. It burns my throat as it goes down, and the satisfaction I feel as I watch him squirm is delectable. My body welcomes the warmth of a roaring fire nearby and I sit and watch as he fights against his restraints–admiring the way his crimson blood paints his flesh.

“Gods, you look so pathetic, Enver,” I chuckle, “It’s utterly adorable.” I throw back the rest of the liquor–it’s rich burn soothing my throat and it’s warmth washing through my body completely.

Enver has settled down slightly, but I can tell he has found no satisfaction in his climax–just as I had hoped. “My beloved assassin, this hardly seems fair,” he grumbles–his voice perfectly diplomatic.

“When have you known me to play fair, my love,” I shoot back playfully, gripping the arms of the chair, “Besides, I’ve decided that you haven’t begged nearly enough for my liking.”

He glares at me from the bed, and a satisfied smile pulls at my lips as I wait patiently for him to convince me that he deserves his own fulfillment. Plea after plea begins to spill from his lips, his body continuing to fight against his restraints as he grows more and more desperate. I tap my foot impatiently as he continues to beg.

It isn’t until a tear of frustration falls from his eye do I stand, effectively quieting his supplications as he watches me closely. I move to the foot of the bed and crawl over him once again, and I can hear as his breath catches in the back of his throat. I drag my tongue across his stomach, licking up his spent–savoring its unique taste. I smack my lips when I’m done and note that Enver is hard once again as he watches me clean up the mess he made.

I pull away from the bed and move to release him from his restraints–kissing his wrists and sucking the blood that paints his skin in a rich crimson. I repeat the gesture once again with his other wrist. As soon as he is free from his constraints, he charges forward, pouncing on me like a wild, untamed animal.

“My turn,” Enver growls in my ear as he tangles his rough fingers into my hair and pulls back hard until I’m looking up at his looming form. He forces me across the room and throws me into the edge of his desk, the hard wood digging into my hips deliciously.

I whimper under his hardened touch as he bends me over his desk and presses my face into the desk with aggressive strength. He forces himself inside me without a moment to lose, desperate to feel my wet cunt wrap around his cock once again.

He begins a punishing pace, rutting his hips into me with unrelenting force that causes uncontrolled moans to fall from my lips. He places a large, rough hand on my waist and forces me down, causing me to arch my back until he is hitting my sensitive spot over and over again.

The force with which he fucks me into his desk causes papers to fall from the table top–teetering to the floor. Ink splatters across his desk as it tips over with every thrust. My cries rip through the air as he spears himself into me, allowing his frustrations to spill over into his movements.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he growls as he slams into me–the desk digging painfully into my flesh with every cant of his hips. I dig my nails into the desk, trying to steady myself, but it is useless as he continues to abuse my dripping pussy.

The force of his hips slamming into me sends me over the edge once again and I cry out with unfiltered ecstasy as I fall from grace–my orgasm rocking through my body causing my cunt to spasm wildly around his length.

“There you go, my dear assassin,” He growls, “Just like that, baby.” He talks me through my climax, and the rush of adrenaline courses through my body as his claws dig into my flesh, bringing blood to the surface.

I whine underneath him as he uses me for his own pleasure–our roles effectively reversed in a matter of minutes. His breath grows ragged as he watches his arousal spear into me over and over again with such force that I fear the desk will tip over.

Once I’ve recovered from my orgasm, I feel his thrusts becoming sloppier as he chases his own, deserved release. “Cum for me, Enver,” I beg as his breath grows heavy with ecstasy. He thrusts into me violently a few more times before he is spilling into me–his cock spasming wildly inside me as he cries out my name. He whimpers out a string of expletives as he is awarded with his own pleasure.

He leans over me, his body flush against mine as he continues to fuck through his orgasm–savoring the feeling he was so cruelly denied just minutes earlier. I moan loudly, his name falling from my lips like a prayer of devotion until he finally stills inside me.

We catch our breath, neither of us daring to move until we have regained our strength. Enver chuckles darkly above me before pulling out of me completely. I whine at his sudden absence but gather myself as much as possible. I will my shaky legs to move back to the bar cart and pour us both a drink while Enver rests in his chair, sweat dripping down his dark features.

I offer him a glass before curling into his lap and nuzzling into his shoulder, noting the dried blood streaks that mar his body. I bite back a satisfied smile as I replay the events of tonight in my mind.

After a moment, Enver sighs, “We have made a mess of things, my dear,” he ruffles my hair with a rough hand before chuckling under his breath. “I think a warm bath is in order.” I nod my head in agreement, suddenly too tired to speak. “We have a great many things to accomplish tomorrow, my lovely assassin.” He throws back his drink and polishes off his glass in a few large gulps.

I wrap an arm around his waist as I continue to nurse my drink–memorizing the way his body feels against mine. I laugh to myself, realizing that I could never forget how his body feels against mine. I turn my thoughts to what lies ahead, already calculating more plans for the grand design.

I couldn't imagine doing this without him–My forbidden lover.

[prolix-yuy]

Decoherence

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: It's only been a year since your trip into Westworld. Only a few short months of settling into your newer, happier life. And when you think back on Jack, he's a fond memory confined to a fantasy world. Only...he's not. Not anymore.

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, themes of infidelity, heavy angst, graphic smut, mild body horror as it relates to being a host, death and dying, implied character death, some liberties taken with how Westworld works. Specific warnings will be listed at the beginning of each chapter.

Sequel to Cognitive Dissonance

Original commissioned artwork by @miranhas-art. If you are interested in working with the amazingly talented Mari, please head to her Tumblr page or check out if her commissions are open. While this art depicts the reader in a finite way, the character is written without descriptions of physical attributes. You are the reader, the reader is you, and this is one possible version of that.

Chapter 1: I Once Had a Different Path

Chapter 2: Then I Heard a New Voice Inside

Chapter 3: That Was the First Time I Lost Her

Chapter 4: I Had to Face the Journey Before Me

Chapter 5: They Destroyed the Man I Was

Chapter 6: You Gave Me the Strength to Keep Going

Chapter 7: You Saw Me for How I Really Was

Chapter 8: And I Was Reborn

Epilogue: The Other Side of Death

Cross-posted on AO3

Chapter titles are taken from Akecheta’s monologue in Season 2, Episode 8 “Kiksuya.”

Decoherence is a term in quantum mechanics defining the loss of quantum coherence, the process in which a system's behavior changes from that which can be explained by quantum mechanics to that which can be explained by classical mechanics. It can be viewed as the loss of information from a system into the environment. As a result of this process, quantum behavior is apparently lost, just as energy appears to be lost by friction in classical mechanics.

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[oftenwantedafton]

Kismet - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 2

Rating - Explicit

Word Count - 6k

CW - none for this chapter

Also available on AO3

Dave Miller sinks lower into the bathtub.

Contemplating. Reminiscing. Thinking about the events that have led him to collide with you not once, but twice now. Seeming coincidences. But he doesn’t really believe things are that incidental. Everything has purpose. The challenge was figuring out what that purpose was. Taking advantage of it.

The first encounter had been after he’d taken care of the security guard.

A useless employee from the start. Bothersome. Woefully inept. He’d been pitifully easy to dispatch. But messy. So much blood. An industrial level washer was needed to take care of things. He hadn’t thought anyone would be at the laundromat at that hour.

But there you were. Catching him off guard. Only for a moment. Your eyes on him. Not paying any attention to what he’d been carrying. And why would you? What reason would you have to suspect the laundry he was carting around so casually was in fact saturated with another man’s lifeforce? Simply watching him. Trying to be surreptitious and subtle about it and failing miserably. Amusing. You’d bolted like a frightened rabbit when he’d finally spoken, bidding you goodnight.

The Kawasaki Ninja is a newer purchase. A reward for himself. Not something he would have imagined himself operating even a year ago. But times are changing. He’s changing. Entering the next phase. Camouflage. Difficult to detect. Blending chameleon-like. It’s how he’s managed to avoid getting caught for any of his crimes. Elusive and stealthy.

Except when he’d literally almost run smack into you. Distracted. A lapse in judgment and a last minute decision. The weakness for animals forcing him to maneuver away. The scratches on his hands are already mending. He looks at them beneath the surface of the water. Thinks about you on the back of his bike. He’s never allowed anyone onto it before. An impulsive decision he can’t explain. He’d enjoyed it. Feeling your arms wrapped around him. Clinging. It’s not like him to let anyone get close. Yet there he had been, encouraging it.

He slides down further until he’s submerged. Holds his breath. Waits until the burning pressure borne of desperation for air becomes unbearable and then breaks through the surface. Slicking back dark tendrils of hair as the water tracks down his cheeks. He’ll visit you again soon. And then he’ll just let fate take its course.

It hasn’t failed him yet.

***

You step into the darkroom and switch on the safe light, bathing the small, confined space in a red glow.

You’d spent most of the morning taking pictures around your college campus. There aren’t nearly as many people around in the summer, but you kind of like that solitude. Summer classes aren’t bad either. Accelerated, yes, but less work in the long run. A good way to get some required electives out of the way. General Anatomy and Introduction to Psychology are the two you’re currently tackling. At least the first is helpful for drawing. The other, well. It’s easy enough. You’d already taken it in high school. This version was even easier. No exams. Just a paper due at the end of the semester. You have a bad habit of procrastinating, but you’re good at achieving something impressive in the eleventh hour. Working better when you’re under pressure.

This film you’re about to develop, though; this is nothing like a chore. Your true passion. You like digital photography well enough, but there was something about old school picture developing. The hands on feeling of creation. Waiting for the result to develop. More rewarding for the additional effort, you think.

You place the first negative on the enlarger tray. Focus until the depth of field is altered. Photographic paper now laid on the baseboard. Set the timer. Exposure. Covering more and more of the picture as the seconds tick by in increments of ten. You’re creating a test strip to determine what length of exposure works best. Now bathing the paper in the trays of chemicals. Developer, stop bath, fixer. You make sure the box of photographic paper is sealed before switching on the regular light. Clear demarcations on the test image ranging from bright light and a fainter print to the final column that’s deeply shadowed and darkly printed. Eighty seconds seems to be the best of the lot, somewhere in the middle range. You repeat the process again, adjusting the timer countdown and letting the entire sheet of photographic paper be exposed. Studying the result. Perfect. Rinsed and hung up to dry. That’s your first image done. Safely set aside as you begin again. The afternoon wanes. You glance at the clock. Time for a quick bite to eat and then you’re due back at the shelter.

Your university is mentioned on the five ‘o clock news you switch on for background noise when you return home. You’d heard some girls talking about it during class earlier. Someone attacking women. You’ve got mace and a concealed self defense weapon on your keyring. You’re not quite as worried since all of your classes are during the day, but still. You suppose that doesn’t give you immunity. Anything could happen.

Case in point, your run in with that strange man Dave Miller. Two run ins, no less.

You’d trusted him enough to go for a ride on his bike. After he’d nearly run you down on it. Maybe not your sanest idea. You’d intially felt like he was dangerous. Just something in the way he’d carried himself. After actually holding a conversation with the stranger, you’d found that feeling dissolving. Maybe not really dangerous. Just aloof. A little odd. Intriguing, though. Difficult to explain. You hadn’t really spoken all that much. He’d invited you to ride with him again. You’d accepted. Now you were just in limbo. Waiting for another visit. Or a chance encounter. Another late night rendezvous at the laundromat, maybe. You really should be more careful. Maybe going out alone in the wee hours wasn’t the best idea, even if it was so close to home. Who’s to say the campus stalker wouldn’t broaden his target range? Or some other psycho. Either way. You should be more careful.

No new animals for the intake today. The kittens are growing rapidly. You make sure the back door is always firmly shut now, lesson learned. Sweating inside the building. Making sure the animals have plenty of fresh water. You’re getting used to the routine. It’s much earlier when you leave. You might have time to get some homework done before attempting sleep.

You find yourself driving in the opposite direction of your apartment. Heading to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.

It’s a dumb idea, admittedly. There’s no guarantee that Dave will be there. And even if he is. He’ll be working. Hardly free to entertain you. But you’re kind of curious about returning even without the security guard’s presence. It’s been so many years since your last visit to the establishment. It would be an interesting site to take pictures of.

Pulling into the parking lot, you realize just how run down the place has become.

No effort made to clear the lot of the weeds and other vegetation that have reclaimed their territory. The exterior of the building in disrepair. Smashed lights. Pieces of the wall tiling missing. Graffiti spray painted all over every surface. A far cry from the cheerful, colorful pizzeria you remember from your childhood.

You don’t see the motorcycle anywhere but you suppose the employee might have parked elsewhere. There’s a buzzer by the front door. You press it, waiting. It’s difficult to see inside the building. Minimal lighting. Now something moving in the shadowed interior. Someone. Walking forward. Tall, slim. It’s Miller.

You hear the sound of a lock turning before he pushes the heavy glass door open. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Sorry, I know I wasn’t invited. I just was heading home and I thought…” Well, what could you say, really? That you’d decided to head in the complete opposite direction on a whim, on the off chance that he’d be there? You had no idea how many different employees guarded the building. Maybe he was the only one? Did anyone safeguard during the day? You somehow doubted it.

“I was actually planning on visiting you soon. So this worked out well. Welcome back to Freddy’s.” The older man smirks and you feel something flutter inside you. He was attractive, you had to admit. Maybe slightly harsh features, but they were growing on you the more you looked at them.

He doesn’t move from his position holding the door open and you’re forced to squeeze by, brushing against him. Deliberate? There’s a strange smell inside the restaurant that assaults you as soon as you enter the dining room. Chemicals. Strong. You bring your hand to your face to cover your nose and mouth.

“Floors were washed recently,” he offers, letting the door swing shut before he pulls a heavy keyring off his belt and fits one into the lock. “It’s not as potent by the offices.”

You nod, looking around. Another cascade of deja vu spilling over you. There’s the prize counter, next to the arcade. The infamous ball pit. A small curtained stage and its much larger counterpart. “Are they still up there?”

“Yes. You can have a look, if you want.”

Morbid curiosity gets the better of you. You ascend the short set of stairs to the raised platform. A place you weren’t allowed to go as a child, for employees only.

The drapes are heavy. It takes a lot of effort to shift them. A hand on your shoulder makes you jump.

“Sorry. Want a flashlight? It’s dark back there.”

You accept the offering, switching it on. Nearly jump again when the beam falls on a large blue rabbit right in front of you. Bonnie. Still clutching his red electric guitar. A little dirtier than you remember, but surprisingly intact otherwise. You pan the light around. Freddy front and center with microphone in hand. Chica with her bib and oversized cupcake companion sitting on a plate. You remember the pirate fox occupying the smaller stage nearby.

“Did you have a favorite?”

You duck around the curtain again, handing the flashlight back to Dave. “Not in particular. I just remember having fun. Until, you know.”

“Such a shame.” He thumbs the switch off and slots it back in his belt.

“This place would be amazing to photograph.”

“You’re a photographer?” He sounds surprised.

You nod. “It’s what I’m studying at the university.”

“What do you take pictures of?”

“Anything, really. Whatever inspires me. I love prints still. Physical media. Black and white especially. There’s something special about images captured that way. People dismiss it so readily now. But there are so many levels to it. It’s not just black and white. There are colors in between that. Degrees of darkness and light that you’d never notice otherwise. I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“A bit. But I don’t mind. You’re passionate about this.” He tips his head to one side thoughtfully. “Do you have your camera with you now?”

“In the car, yeah.”

“You want to take some pictures?”

“Am I allowed to? I’m not even sure I should be in here. I kind of feel like I’m trespassing a bit.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t have invited you in otherwise. I don’t think the owner would appreciate just anyone in here snooping around, but…you’re not one of those people looking to exploit this establishment’s remains. There’s a genuine kind of reverence. Nostalgia. I know for a fact he appreciates that kind of sentimentality.”

“Do you know the owner well?”

A faint smirk. “You could say that.”

“What’s he doing now that this place is shut down?”

A heavy sigh. “As you’re probably aware, the media did not paint him in the kindest light after the allegations. Even though he was cleared, the damage was already done. Name tarnished. Reputation demolished. Difficult to come back from in a small town like this. So he’s just trying to lead a quiet life now. Trying out a new existence. Not quite willing to let the past go…” His voice trails off.

“I’m going to go get my camera, then.”

Dave’s gaze sharpens, whatever odd reminiscing he’d found himself lost in dissipating. “I’ll unlock the door for you.”

You return with a fresh roll of film loaded into the camera, another tucked into the pocket of your jeans. You’d been glad to get a little fresh air. That chemical smell really hits you as soon as you enter the building. Your initial enthusiasm to begin taking pictures wavers a bit when you realize a fundamental problem.

The security guard sees you hesitating as he finishes locking the door again. “What’s wrong?”

“The lighting.”

“Is that all? Easily fixed. Give me a moment.”

The tall man disappears back through the employee restricted area. Nothing. Then, everything happens all at once. The center stage curtains slide back. Rows of luminaires suddenly glow. A blossoming rainbow of bright primary colors. Neon signs on the checkerboard patterned walls humming. The arcade games switched back on. Digital music. Bright red scoreboard displays on skeeball lanes. A wave of nostalgia washes over you. This was more like what you remembered from your childhood. Staring open mouthed. Your gaze finally landing on Dave, leaning against the wall near the stage with his arms folded across his chest. Looking almost smug. Proud. Something.

“It all still works?”

“For the most part, yes.”

“It’s amazing.” You’re genuinely impressed. It takes you no time at all to fill the roll. Part of another. You’re excited. Wondering how they’ll look.

You settle into a booth near the stage across from Miller. Pop music from the eighties playing. The animatronics moving jerkily in time to the sound. You’re still taking it all in. Feeling your male companion’s eyes on you. Maybe it’s not impressive when you’re surrounded by it every day. You just think you’d be awfully tempted to play in the arcade if you worked here.

You glance down at the camera. Several shots left. You lift it to your face, focusing on Dave’s. He immediately blocks his features with his hand. “No. Not me.”

“Why not you? You have an interesting face.”

“I don’t like having my picture taken.”

“But you’re so photogenic,” you protest, lowering the camera. “They’re just for me, anyway. It’s not like I’m showing anyone else.”

He lowers his hand, scowling. “Fine.”

“Really?”

“Hurry, before I change my mind.”

“Okay, can you just turn your face. There. Like that. Lean back a little.” You can feel his impatience wafting across the table. You’ll have to rush it a bit. “And…done.”

“I need to shut things down. Get back to the security office.”

“Awww. Okay, I get it.” Of course he was here to work. Guarding the property. Still, you wouldn’t have minded a little more time basking in the glory of retro Freddy’s.

“Are you coming with me?”

“To the security office?” He nods. “Am I allowed to go back there?”

“I won’t tell if you don’t.” That little secret smile again. You follow him back into the restricted area.

“Let me finish giving you the grand tour.”

The security guard leads you to a panel with the controls for all of the lighting and equipment, switching them all off. Past this there are several offices. Storage rooms. One massive section labeled Parts and Service that’s cluttered with equipment. Broken animatronics. Shapes that are hard to make out in the dim lighting and the older man makes no offer to brighten your view any further.

The tour ends in the security office itself.

Dated looking technology. Several monitors stacked on a battered desk. Yellowing plastic controls. Something about the flame retardant they’d used in old computers and other electronic devices, you remember reading somewhere. A poster of the lead animatronics and some children’s drawings tacked to the wall, including a trio of animals created out of construction paper and paper plates. A steel filing cabinet. A large clock that reminds you of the kind in your elementary school. A hardbacked chair tucked into the corner that he drags closer to the swivel one in front of the desk for you to sit on. A desk fan hums as it attempts to circulate the stale warm air around. He’d been right, you couldn’t really smell the cleaning solution back here. But the place was cramped, dreary. You can’t imagine spending eight hours stuck in this room. He sits in the office chair, that lean figure draping over the structure, spinning the chair slightly. Clearly waiting for you to sit.

You find yourself doing so stiffly. Close to the edge, as if you aren’t intending on staying long. Ready to bolt. You have this strong feeling that you don’t belong here. You’re definitely intruding. Trespassing, no matter what Dave says.

“So. Now you’ve seen what most visitors never get to. A behind the scenes peek.”

“It’s cool.” The nylon strap of your camera pulls at your neck. You’d never been overly fond of keeping it there.

“You know, it’s interesting. When we first met, I thought the animals were your vocation.”

“Oh, you mean the shelter? No, that’s just a part time gig I enjoy doing.”

“How is the rabbit?” The guard lifts a paper cup bearing the logo of a local fast food joint off the desk and takes a sip from the straw. Grimacing a bit. Probably watered down by now.

“Still there. Doing fine. We haven’t gotten anyone new. No one’s found a home, either.”

“How far along in your studies are you?”

“I’ve finished my first year, taking summer classes before heading into sophomore.”

Dave sets the cup back down. Looking at you. That perpetual look of amusement tugging his lips into a not quite smile. You don’t know what to make of it.

“You don’t look comfortable. You can sit back, you know. Nothing’s going to reach out and grab you.”

“I know.” You push back further into the chair. The movement makes the metal legs scrape the floor and you wince at the harsh sound. “How long have you worked here?”

“Not long. This place has a bit of a high turnover. I had to fill in rather last minute.” A more defined smirk now. Almost sinister looking. Deep shadows under his ash gray eyes. He really is an insomniac like yourself.

“What did you do before this?”

“Oh, this and that,” Miller replies vaguely, stretching. First his long legs straight out in front of him. Then each arm, twisting to rotate both shoulders. Finally his neck, which cracks loudly.

“Do you get bored? I mean, I can’t imagine there’s that much excitement just staring at the monitors. Doing rounds in the dark. Unless you switch things on regularly…”

“No. That was a special occassion. Normally things are…yes, I guess they are quiet.” He’s hiding something. Changing what he’d been about to say. You’re certain of it.

“Must be lonely.”

Dave leans forward slightly, his hands clasping together. “That problem’s been solved, though, hasn’t it?”

A little somersault in your stomach. Not once since you’ve entered the restaurant has it occurred to you that you’re locked inside a building with a virtual stranger. In an establishment that had been shuttered because children had gone missing. Yet here you were, chatting it up in a restricted area. The man seated very close to you. “I can’t stay all night,” you say quickly. “Just so you know. I only stopped by to say hi.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves a hand in the air breezily, leaning back again. He really had such elegant hands. Speaking of which.

“How are your hands, by the way?”

“Oh, they’re fine. Healing quickly.” Holding up a palm for you to see the red lines that are already fading. “What’s your schedule like? We should go for another ride soon. Maybe get something to eat.”

“I don’t work at the shelter on the weekends. I do have a class on Saturday mornings, so…”

“Perfect. Anywhere in particular you want to be picked up? I know these days people tend to be…restrictive about revealing where they reside.”

“You have to be careful. There’s a man stalking women at my school.” Not that you were really being careful right now. But honestly, if he was going to try anything unsavory, wouldn’t he have done it already?

Dave frowns. “Really? What about campus security?”

“It’s not the greatest. I can tell you for a fact that…well, maybe it’s just them turning a blind eye,” you amend hurriedly. You’d been about to say you’d heard more than one person brag about getting lucky in the parking lots.

Miller’s not letting you off the hook that easily. “Tell me what for a fact?”

You feel your cheeks flush. “Nothing. Just…kids messing around and no one stops it.”

“Ah.” He folds his arm across his chest. “Well, it’s difficult when you’re young. Troublesome curfews. Nosy adults. Limited places to…engage in activities.”

“Yeah.” You squirm in your chair, wishing he’d change the subject.

“You live on campus or off?”

“Off. Apartment.”

“Hmm. So you don’t really have those concerns to worry about anymore, do you?”

Was he flirting? Suggesting something? It was so difficult to tell. “I guess not,” you mumble.

“Well, figure out what day and where to meet you and let me know. Easy enough since you know where to find me.”

It suddenly clicks that he hasn’t looked at the monitors even once since you’ve entered the room. You glance at them now and he seems to see the direction of your gaze. “Don’t worry. I’m well aware of what’s going on.”

“How? Do you have eyes in the back of your head?”

“Something like that.” Another one of those grins you don’t know how to interpret.

You stand finally, willing some feeling back into legs that were going numb from your awkward positioning. Dave escorts you back to the main entrance. “I’ll stop by again to let you know when I can go out.”

“I look forward to it. And bring the photographs with you. I’m curious to see how they turn out.” You nod, once again forced to press close to the guard when you exit the building. Maybe it was unintentional, but you’re fairly certain he knows exactly what he’s doing.

The question is, do you like it? Do you like him enough to come back again? To go out with him, spend more time together?

You feel his eyes on you the entire walk back to your car.

***

You should be studying anatomy. There’s an exam on the skeletal and muscular system on Wednesday.

Instead you’re back in the darkroom. Developing those film rolls from Freddy’s. The results are not what you’d expected.

The pictures of the restaurant came out fine—great, even. It’s just the ones of the animatronics that are wonky. A strange blurry effect on each that you can’t account for. It’s on every single image of the mascots, directly over their faces, and appears no where else. You just can’t make sense of it, disappointed that the iconic figures weren’t properly captured.

You’re holding a picture of Dave now, the print nearly completely dry. Eyes piercing right through the paper at you. Everything contrasting sharply. Pale skin. Almost as white as a ghost in the photograph. Dark messy hair. Those sooty smudged undereyes. The way his body is positioned, it looks as if he’s recoiling from the stage illumination nearby. Hunching into the shadowed recesses of the booth. The elegant line of his hands resting on the table. Tracking back up over the skinny black tie and silver badge to the epaulets bridging long neck and wide shoulders. Pouting lips. Those eyes demanding attention again.

It’s hot in the room suddenly. Pricks of perspiration on the back of your neck. You gather your things and step outside, squinting against the suddenly bright illumination of the hallway and the sun outdoors.

Back home you’ve got your textbook open. Over two hundred bones to learn. Fingers creeping repeatedly towards the folder beside your backpack. You tell yourself to focus. You keep seeing the blurred mascots. Dave’s eyes.

You’re going back tonight.

***

Dave Miller senses there’s a different energy in the air tonight.

That feeling one gets before the start of a thunderstorm. A charged sort of anticipation. Hairs lifting. A certain scent. One of Hurricane’s rare rain storms approaching. Bringing you with it.

He doesn’t waste his time in the security office. He’s outside by the entrance. Leaning against crumbling mortar. Listening to the hum of insects. The first muttered rumble from the heavens.

Your car engine. Twin lights in the darkness. Your approach slowing when you realize he’s standing there.

“Hi. Is everything okay?” Surprised to see him outdoors, he thinks.

“Yes. Just enjoying the weather.”

“Oh. Yeah, I love thunderstorms.” You halt when you’re still a good distance away.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” As if he doesn’t know. A slim folder that must contain the photos you’d taken the other day. He admits he’s curious to see them. It had been so long since anyone had captured images of the restaurant. Not since the disappearances. Interested to see what you think of them. What the establishment looks like through the lens of your camera. Through the focus of your eye.

“I’ve got the pictures. Um, some of them came out kind of weird.”

“Weird how?” He pushes off from the edge of the building. More thunder now, and a brief flash of lightning. The storm was drawing closer. “You should come inside before you get drenched and ruin those. It’s going to hit any second now.”

You finish your journey to his side. He holds the door open. The first drops of rain fall, sinking into his shirt, his hair. A kiss on one cheek. You hurry inside.

He relocks the door and leads you back to the security office. The sound of the rain is muted here.

You lay the folder on one of the few empty spaces on the cluttered desk.

“Have a seat.” He pushes the swivel office chair and you sink into it. The hardbacked one still hasn’t been returned to its former location. He neglects it, remaining standing. Looking over your seated form.

“The majority of them came out great. But the animatronics…” You withdraw a photograph and hand it to the security guard.

Miller studies the picture for a long time. He knows instantly what the strange hazy effect is. Fascinating that it had been captured on film.

He can hardly reveal what it truly is to you, though. So he shrugs and hands it back. “Something with the film itself, maybe. A defect. The lighting, perhaps. Maybe the motion—”

“—There’s nothing wrong with the film,” you say firmly. “Every other picture is fine. And it’s not the lighting or the movement, either.”

“So what do you think it is, then?”

You sigh and set them back inside the folder face down. “I don’t know.”

“May I see the rest?”

“Yeah, sure.” You hand the stack to him.

He’s certainly not an expert on photography, but he can see you’ve got a good eye for it. It’s not simply a collection of random snapshots. There’s a variety in terms of focus. Attention to detail. Instead of an entire arcade machine, a close up of the joystick controller, the lit screen adding a hazy pop of color to the background. A close study of the artwork on a pinball machine between the levers. The way the lighting shines through a long vacant glass sitting forgotten on one of the tables. A kind of eerie beauty to it. Haunting. And it was haunted. You’d captured it. You just didn’t know it.

The images of himself are at the end of the pile. These he doesn’t linger on. He’s thinking of the press. Nosy journalists invading his privacy. He’d looked different then. Heavier. Known for being cheerful, friendly, approachable. Until he’d lost his youngest son. Until the disappearances. Losing the joy from life. Food tasting like ash. No longer comforting. The smile evolving into what it is today. A smirk over a private joke only he can enjoy.

Dave hands the photographs back to you. “What will you do with them?”

“I don’t know. Put them in a binder, I guess.”

“You’re talented. Gifted, I dare say.”

“I guess.” You seem discouraged. Disappointed that the pictures weren’t what you’d hoped they’d be.

“Nothing is ever as clear as a memory. Nor as deceiving,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He glances at his wristwatch. “You’re here very late. It’s nearly four.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“You struggle with that a lot.”

“So do you.”

“When do you want me to take you out? If you don’t mind hanging around for a couple more hours, my shift will be over. We can go out to breakfast if you’d like.”

“Okay.” You’re nervous. He can feel the energy of it, not unlike that tension that had preceded the storm outside. “What are we going to do for two hours?” This said softly, as if you’re reluctant to voice the query.

“That’s entirely up to you.”

You start to rise from your seat. “You can sit here if you’d rather…”

“No. Stay.” The guard slouches into the empty chair next to yours and hooks one foot underneath the wheeled bar at the bottom, dragging you closer in one smooth motion. A little gasp from you at the abrupt shift in your position. “You spent a long time looking at that picture of me.”

“What?” You’re blushing. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. You know how I know? Because your fingerprints are all over it. Only that one. Not even your…interesting captures of Freddy and the gang have that much attention on them.”

“I just…I just think your face is interesting,” you murmur defensively.

“Interesting how?”

“I don’t know.” Your eyes evade his.

“Suddenly shy when you’ve been bold enough to come here not once, but twice. Why do you think that is?” You shrug, shaking your head. “This is going to be a very long two hours if the conversation continues to be one sided.”

“Maybe I should go.”

His lips press into a thin line. Not the reaction he’d been expecting. “If that’s what you want.” Your eyes finally meet his. “What, did you think I was holding you prisoner? Come. Go. Entirely your decision.”

“I need you to unlock the door.”

“Of course.” He shoves the chair back roughly, watching you hesitate over the folder sitting on the desk. “Keep them. You wanted them.”

“The rain…”

“Fine. I’ll drop them off some other time when you’re working. Or you can come collect them.”

You exit the office empty handed and he walks behind you. You have no trouble finding your way back to the entrance now.

Through the glass doors he can see the rain is torrential. Sheets of moisture that cascade down, the sky weeping furiously. You’re staring at the deluge, wide eyed.

“You’re sure you want to go out in that?”

“Yes.” Your voice wavers but you’re already reaching for the handle.

“The driving could be dangerous,” he cautions.

“I’ll manage.” You shove the door open. The scent of petrichor. Warm, wet air. You inhale deeply. Bracing yourself. Darting into the downpour.

You nearly make it to your car. Turn to look back in his direction and stumble, going down. An arc of lightning illuminates your soaked form.

Dave curses, exiting the building. Instantly drenched, clothing plastered to skin. Lifting you to your feet. A deep, jagged tear in the asphalt nearby causes you to lose your footing again, but he holds you upright.

“My ankle, I think I…”

It’s difficult to hear you, forced to compete with the sound of the storm. Rainwater runs into his eyes. He impatiently shoves at the damp tendrils of hair plastered against his face, scooping you up into his arms before you can even react, carrying you back to the restaurant.

You wince when he sets you down to open the door.

“Can you walk at all? Bear weight?”

You bite your lip, nodding. Limping inside, leaning heavily on the older man’s shoulder. The door hisses shut. The sound of water pattering on the linoleum. He crouches down, moving the hem of your damp jeans and peeling down the wet ankle sock. Gently probing. “Sprain, most likely. Come sit down.” He drags one of the chairs from the nearby tables for you to sit on.

“How can you tell?”

“Because my eldest son had a knack for getting sports injuries.”

“You have a child?”

“Three.”

“Are you married?”

“Was.” He yanks another chair over and sits next to you. “What?”

“I didn’t know you had kids.”

“They don’t live with me. They’re…grown now. Gone. Why do you look so surprised?”

“I just…I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I don’t really know anything about you.”

“You could have started learning. You know, over breakfast today, for example. Except that idea seemed unacceptable to you, so, here we are.” He rakes a hand through his damp tresses again. “Why were you in such a hurry to leave?”

“I got scared.”

He scoffs. “Of what? Of me? What did I do?”

He watches you tentatively stretch your injured foot out, grimacing. “Nothing. I just…I don’t know. I got nervous all of a sudden. I don’t really know you,” you repeat again.

“So get to know me, then.”

“Alright. I’m sorry you got wet.”

“Wet is putting it mildly,” he mutters.

“Okay. Drenched.”

“Mmm-hmm. Let me go grab the first aid kit. I can wrap your ankle, stabilize it. Get some ice from the freezer. I always keep some made. And you should keep that leg elevated,” he adds, standing and moving his chair so you can rest your foot on it.

Miller returns shortly with the supplies. Kneeling down. Unlacing your canvas sneaker. Pulling off the shoe and sock as gently as he can. Winding the elastic compression around the swollen joint, then setting a plastic bag full of ice chips on top of it.

“Thank you. You’re good at that. Gentle.”

“Like I said, a lot of practice. It’s the exact treatment you’d get if you went to urgent care.” He straightens.

“Are you close with your kids still?”

A long pause. “No. Not by choice, just…it’s complicated.” He notices you staring again. This time at his arms. The single layer of the shirt can’t conceal the scars beneath, the red patterns peeking through the damp material. “There’s a lot to unpack. With me. It’s going to be an investment. A commitment. This isn’t some teenage romance. You’re with an adult. An entirely different playing field. So you should be certain that’s what you want.”

He sees you swallow. Hears it, even. “Okay.” Your voice cracks a little. “Okay,” you repeat more firmly.

“Not going to run again?” Shifting some of your damp strands of hair now. Grazing your cheek. Your gaze still holding steady.

“No.”

“You know if you hadn’t looked back, you probably wouldn’t have tripped and fallen. But you couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“I felt bad.”

“Why?”

“For leaving you behind.”

“You’re not going to make that mistake again, though, are you?” His thumb drags against your lower lip. “Because you want to stay. You want this.” You nod slightly, your face moving against his fingers.

Dave smiles.

[atinycafe]

LIME SORBET — ch 03 [studio.log]*

PROMPT; reader finally comes back to s. korea as she finished her training in los angeles, ready to debut as a solo artist under kq ent! exciting right? well her sunbaes seem to like that idea too.

FEAT; alpha!ateez x omega!idol!reader

IN THIS CHAPTER; reader spends her night in the studio, only to wake up 2 a room filled w alphas who r intrigued by her.

WARNINGS; suggestive!! the gang is horny, visualization of what they want to do to reader, but it's not really explicit

WRD COUNT; 8.4k

NOTES; reader is so cute when she's sleepi + mingi princess fans arise + we see her in a bra like okay girl.. + san is so delulu he got me cryin + woo is an ass man in case u don't get it; the boys get HORNY, like embarrassingly so + absolutely no second proofreading cuz im lazy

TAGLIST; @marievllr-abg @cookiechristie @sugarrush-blush; lmk if you want 2 b added 2!

In the depths of Maddox's abode, nestled within his personal studio, the girl found herself immersed in the world of musical creation. The clock struck 3am, yet time seemed to lose its grasp as she surrendered to her insatiable passion. Six hours had effortlessly slipped by, as if fueled by an unstoppable force of excitement that refused to be tamed.

Within the dimly lit space, her senses were heightened, every fiber of her being attuned to the melody that flowed from her lips and echoed through the soundproof walls. The room hummed with energy, a symphony of musical notes and the intoxicating aroma of freshly brewed coffee and vibrant cans of Red Bull. The fusion of caffeine and adrenaline created a swirling concoction, at times threatening to overwhelm her, yet she reveled in the exhilarating rush it provided. It was as if the very essence of her anticipation had taken flight, dancing on the precipice of euphoria.

With each take, her voice soared, effortlessly embracing the emotions etched within the lyrics. Fatigue attempted to wrap its heavy arms around her, but she stubbornly resisted, fueled by an unwavering determination and an unwavering belief in the music she was creating. Sleep became an inconsequential concept, a distant memory overshadowed by the sheer thrill of her craft.

The studio walls bore witness to her transformation, adorned with discarded drafts and crumpled sheets of paper, testaments to the countless iterations and refining of her art. She was a vessel of creativity, pouring her heart and soul into every syllable, weaving a tapestry of sound and emotion that would soon captivate the world.

As the hours slipped away, her mind swirled with a variety of emotions. Excitement coursed through her veins like a surging electric current, occasionally flirting with the edges of nausea. The very thought of her forthcoming album ascending to new heights sent a rush of adrenaline to her head, causing her heart to beat in perfect harmony with the rhythm of the music. It was a heady mixture, a blend of exhaustion and exhilaration that mingled in the depths of her being.

In the stillness of the night, surrounded by the symphony of her own creation, she became a conduit of artistic expression. The merging of sleep-deprived delirium and boundless passion resulted in a raw, untamed energy that propelled her forward. With each passing moment, she grew more resolute, refusing to surrender to fatigue or doubt. This was her moment, her chance to etch her mark upon the annals of music history.

As the night wore on, and the world outside slumbered, the intimacy of Maddox's modest abode revealed itself. The walls, though not grandiose, seemed to hold secrets within their confines. The space was small, cozy even, and the proximity to Maddox's sleeping quarters made every sound he produced perceptible. Amidst the melodies she crafted, she found solace in the faint symphony of his snores. His rhythmic breaths became a comforting backdrop, grounding her in the reality of their shared creative sanctuary.

'Cause if the water dries up and the moon stops shining

As she poured her heart into the lyrics, a cascade of thoughts and emotions tumbled through her mind. The words she penned held a deep longing, an unspoken desire for a connection that had eluded her. In the depths of her creative sanctuary, she allowed her imagination to roam freely, conjuring up visions of what it might feel like to be truly loved.

Stars fall, and the world goes blind

Memories of past relationships flickered briefly in her mind, wisps of summer love that had faded like distant echoes. They were fleeting encounters, mere glimpses of what could have been. But now, with the pen in her hand and the music in her soul, she yearned for something more profound, something that would transcend the boundaries of time.

Boy, you know I'll be savin' my love for you, for you

Closing her eyes, she surrendered to the ethereal realm of her imagination, letting her thoughts drift towards the three alphas she had met just a week ago. Her mind painted vivid portraits of their potential, each one possessing unique qualities that stirred her curiosity. In this realm of boundless possibilities, she allowed herself to explore the untrodden paths of affection and romance.

'Cause you're the best mistake I've ever made

But as the melodies swirled around her, her shyness began to creep in, shattering the enchantment she had conjured. Her mind swiftly delving into vivid and provocative imagery. In a sudden rush of self-awareness, she tossed her pen aside and removed her headphones, as if needing a physical break from the whirlwind of emotions. Her face, now cupped in her hands, she rubbed away the traces of her daydreams, attempting to chase away the lingering images that had captivated her.

But we hold on, mm, hold on

She knew that these reveries were a temporary escape, a fleeting moment of vulnerability and exploration. Yet, they fueled her artistic expression, infusing her lyrics with a yearning that seemed almost tangible. The lyrics became a mirror of her deepest desires, a plea for honesty and authenticity in love. With each word she crafted, she hoped to find someone who could treat her with tenderness, touch her with intention, and unlock the door to her heart.

There's no pot of gold in the rainbows we chase

In that very moment, as she sat there, her mind whirled with a blend of anticipation, hesitation, and a hint of excitement. She couldn't help but wonder if her words held the power to beckon the love she craved. Her song became an invitation, an open door to a future that existed solely in her dreams.

But we hold on, mm, hold on

With a sigh, she took a deep breath and let the thoughts dissipate, like morning mist evaporating beneath the sun's warm rays. She knew that her journey toward love was just beginning, and these words were her declaration, her manifesto of hope and vulnerability. The pen may have been discarded for now, but the fire within her burned brighter than ever, ready to ignite the flame of love when the time was right.

In the hushed confines of their dorm, bathed in the soft glow of dawn's gentle light, the boys stirred, their sleep interrupted at an unusually early hour. It was all thanks to San, the charismatic force among them, who had roused them from their slumber with unwavering determination.

The previous day, as they lounged together in the comforts of their shared abode, their big-eyed alpha, adorned with a magnetic charm, had caught sight of a story posted by his cherished omega (he claimed her as his omega, unyielding in his conviction, regardless of their limited interaction. Though their connection remained one-sided, he refused to falter in acknowledging her as his own!!). In her endearing shyness, she had requested their social media accounts, an invitation for simple communication that sent a wave of adoration rippling through the alphas. Overwhelmed by her captivating allure, they had almost instinctively wished to whisk her away, to shield her from prying eyes within the sanctuary of their dorm, for fear that others might glimpse the untamed beauty that resided within her.

With their own private accounts, meticulously curated to shield their true identities from all but their trusted inner circle, the three boys ventured into her digital realm. Concealing his true identity, Wooyoung ingeniously employed one of his selcas as his profile picture. Under the pretense of running a Wooyoung fan account, he skillfully masked his own involvement, ensuring that only a select few would recognize his true affiliation. San, donning the visage of Kai from EXO, his own idol, and Hongjoong, his profile pic a simple yet enigmatic all-black image. Each detail meticulously planned to ensure that their presence remained concealed from the wider world.

As San chanced upon her story—a selfie snapped within the familiar confines of Maddox's studio, she accompanied it with a concise caption: "pullin' an all nighter, fighting, 1st album coming soon bb!!!", a cluster of petite emoticons adorned her visage, adding a touch of whimsy to the frame— he sprang to his feet in a whirlwind of excitement, his head narrowly missing a collision with Mingi's chin as he propelled himself forward. The image of her pretty face filled the screen, delicate locks cascading around her visage, while her glasses, whether a fashion statement or an aid to her vision, delicately perched upon her nose, lending her an air of innocence that stirred something profound within San. Unable to resist, he discreetly captured a screenshot, already having crafted a dedicated folder solely for her in his photo app.

Summoning Wooyoung from his place in the living room, San began to passionately recount their newfound opportunity to meet her in person. The trio of alphas, who had previously crossed paths with this captivating omega, yearned for the chance to be in her presence once more. The distance separating them felt like an unbearable chasm, their hearts aching with longing, yet they understood the necessity of patience. Having learned of her recent settlement in South Korea and her contract with KQent, they recognized that she needed time to unwind and find solace after a demanding week.

The remaining members found themselves irresistibly drawn to their uncharacteristically high-pitched squeals, converging in the living room. Some opted to nestle on the floor, forsaking the available seating options. In the midst of the excited pair's animated discussion, Yeosang's dulcet voice, with its unmistakable baritone undertones, gently broke the fervor.

"What's all the excitement about?" he interjected, his words carrying a blend of curiosity and soothing melody.

"Our omega," San exclaimed, unable to contain his glee. His smile widened to such an extent that his eyes involuntarily closed, plunging him momentarily into darkness. Within the fleeting blackout, a vivid image materialized—a radiant smile from her—only to dissipate as he opened his eyes, leaving San flushed with a warm blush. He was obsessed. He blinked, he saw her.

Jongho, ever the skeptic, rolled his eyes at San's exuberance. "Oh my God, not again. Spare me for just a minute, my head is already throbbing," he lamented. The youngest alpha had already glimpsed at her pictures from San's instagram account, having surreptitiously explored the depths of his brother's phone. He sought to put a face to the enigmatic individual captivating San's attention. Even though the pictures were candid, their unpolished charm revealed glimpses of her unadorned life. Jongho couldn't deny her beauty, but his weariness was palpable. San's infatuation was understandable, and Wooyoung's as well, but Hongjoong? It felt like an overwhelming influx of emotions for him. It was just too much. And they never shut up about her!

"Guys, I truly couldn't care less right now. We're waking up at 5am, and we must be at Maddox's place in less than ten minutes. It's an urgency, I feel like I'm gonna die," Wooyoung declared, his arms crossing defiantly over his well-defined chest. The gravity of his words was evident, as he foresaw the reaction of the other alphas who hadn't yet encountered his beloved.

"NAHHHHHH, YOU MUST BE OUT OF YOUR MIND IF YOU THIN—" Yunho's outburst was abruptly quelled by the eldest alpha's measured intervention.

"Okay."

"Yeah, exactly. Seonghwa, tell him—" Yunho turned to him, an air of bewilderment etched across his face, "What?"

Seonghwa, the composed and sage-like oldest of their pack, emitted a weary sigh as his fingers delicately threaded through his tousled locks. "Okay first, let's all acknowledge that a mate bond is quite intricate when it happens to an already formed pact," he began, his words carrying a profound weight that resonated within each individual present. Hongjoong's all sat them down, as soon as they got home that day, talking about how she could be their destined mate, having spurred the need for this crucial conversation, a topic that demanded their collective attention. San and Wooyoung, their faces alight with uncontainable joy, illuminated the room as they reveled in the tantalizing prospect of the ethereal girl potentially becoming their soulmate.

"Are you not even slightly curious about what she's like? After all, she could be our soulmate—that's a connection far from trivial," Seonghwa concluded, his voice carrying the wisdom of countless ages.

A deep and contemplative silence blanketed the room, as each alpha weighed the implications of his words, even those who had already crossed paths with her. It was clear that surface-level attraction alone would not suffice; a deeper understanding was essential. And so, with resolute determination, they reached a unanimous decision—on the morrow, they would convene to embark on an unforgettable rendezvous with this captivating omega, unmasking the layers that shrouded her essence.

"Hurry up, bro! If you don't open that door, I swear I'll kick it down myself," Woo exclaimed, frustrated by the tremor in his leader's hands preventing the key from entering Kyungmoon's door. Joong was stressed okay?? It had been a week since he met his lovely girl, he needed to take some time to breathe and Wooyoung's high pitched voice wasn't making it easier for him.

Jongho swiftly delivered a sharp slap to the back of Woo's head, reprimanding him for his lack of proper and polite language.

At last, the door swung open. Surprisingly, Yeosang was the first to step inside, forcefully making his way through. He paused in the hallway, taking a deep inhale.

"H-holy shit," he whispered, his voice barely audible. The alluring scent of the omega permeated the apartment. His eyes rolled back momentarily as he dropped to one knee. Being exceptionally sensitive to smell, the euphoric sensation coursing through him was beyond imagination.

"It seems she's asleep," Hongjoong murmured, savoring the tranquil but sharp pheromones that floated gracefully above him. It was a scent he could easily grow accustomed to.

Omega scents differed from those of other biological "genera" such as alphas and betas. Their fragrances were more potent, designed to attract as many potential partners as possible. In the past, it had been one alpha per omega, a long-established tradition. However, the mistreatment and endangerment of the omega species had altered the dynamics. Now, it was an omega for an entire pack, comprising alphas and betas. As time passed, scientists discovered that omega scents grew more concentrated, and their pheromones had a stronger effect on individuals than their predecessors.

Upon presenting, omegas began wearing specialized collars to mitigate the strength of their scent. However, the collars merely served as a display, indicating whether an omega was unmated or not. Mated omegas proudly discarded their collars, showcasing the mark left by their partners.

To address the issue of scent control, omegas learned to subdue and manipulate their pheromones as if it were second nature. Alphas possessed a similar ability, using their own pheromones to demonstrate dominance or provide comfort to a distressed omega. This control was entirely conscious and deliberate, except in moments of extreme emotions or, as one might guess, during sleep.

Yeosang's delicate nose began to bleed, a trickle of crimson staining his upper lip. His eyes dilated to such an extent that the coffee brown hues vanished, replaced by a captivating abyss. Sensing his distress, Seonghwa swiftly positioned himself in front of Yeosang, retrieving a tissue from his pocket. Placing it firmly into Yeosang's trembling hand, he offered a comforting pat on the back before moving past him.

Leaving Yeosang to catch his breath at the entrance, the others knew he would eventually regain composure. They recalled moments when he would become overwhelmed at fan meetings and concerts, the amalgamation of scents triggering debilitating headaches that rendered him unable to function once the events concluded. However, with time, he had grown in both self-control and the utilization of a specialized gel that he carried with him—a tube always at the ready.

After carefully wiping his nose with the tissue provided by his hyung, Yeosang uncapped the tube. Squeezing a generous amount onto his index finger, he proceeded to apply the gel beneath his nose. Settling amidst the abundance of sneakers, he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, allowing the lingering essence of her scent to envelop his senses. Though not as potent as before, it still lingered, a tantalizing presence that left a trace on his tongue, reminiscent of a refreshing concoction of freshly squeezed lime and sweet condensed milk on a scorching summer day. And he hadn't even laid eyes on her yet, but the yearning to feel her beneath his fingertips, to taste her lips, was already fervently alive within him.

Leaning his head against the adjacent wall, Yeosang attempted to suppress the torrent of thoughts cascading through his mind. How was this even possible? Was this the sensation of having a mate? His cheeks flushed a rosy hue, a thin layer of perspiration forming upon his brow as he fought the overpowering urge to rise, rush to her side, and whisk her away to a world of eternal seclusion.

The vulnerable alpha dreaded the impending moment when his eyes would finally gaze upon her, aware that his self-control would crumble in an instant. He needed to regain his composure swiftly. Clasping his head in his hands, he tightened his grip on his hair, silently growling at himself for the inevitable embarrassment he believed awaited him in her presence. Awkwardness plagued him when meeting new people, an innate characteristic he couldn't help but succumb to. Now, envisioning the sweet, enchanting omega who had captivated his senses with her unbeknownst allure, he found himself on his knees for her even before her awakening.

Unable to bear the weight of her presence, he rose to his feet and deliberately veered left, contrary to the path his pack brothers took. He made his way towards Kyungmoon's location, deciding that focusing on the task of rousing his slumbering friend was a far more productive pursuit than wallowing in overthinking within the confines of the bathroom. The mere thought of clawing at the door for even a second of her attention seemed inconsequential in comparison.

"Wait Joong-ah don't wake her up yet, I wanna take a pic," Wooyoung whispered sharply, his words resonating within the intimate connection of their pack's shared mind.

"What the fuck Woo that's so weird," San grumbled, feeling an undeniable urge to retrieve his phone and do the exact same thing as his brother. Sure, he had taken a screenshot of her story, but she had posted it willingly, and she even requested his Instagram account! It was as if she knew he would come across her story and find her utterly adorable. Perhaps she had intended to send him the picture privately but hesitated out of shyness. In the grand scheme of things, taking a screenshot of her story didn't seem like such a significant transgression.

"San in his delulu era," Yunho chuckled, his laughter reverberating through the backchannels of their shared connection. San blushed, realizing that he hadn't closed the pack link before indulging in his overthinking. He whined and pouted at his older brother, grumbling about how he knew nothing and that he shared a profound connection with the slumbering omega in the room that none of them could possibly comprehend.

Approaching her with utmost gentleness, San took in the sight of her petite figure draped in an oversized black ESSENTIALS hoodie. The soft fabric of the hood cradled her bangs delicately, accentuating her endearing presence.

San's eyes lingered on the ethereal beauty that graced his sight. Her delicate features, bathed in the soft glow of morning light, seemed to possess an otherworldly radiance. Her flawless complexion was akin to the finest piece of glass, adorned with a natural flush of warmth that accentuated her captivating charm.

A cascade of silken tresses framed her face, tumbling in gentle waves that danced with each breath she took. The strands, so dark, like a moonless night, glimmered softly. They caressed her cheeks in a tender embrace, further enhancing the angelic grace that she embodied.

But it was her smile, that tender curve of her lips, that bewitched San the most. It was a smile that spoke of innocence, of genuine happiness found in the simplest of moments, such as the dream she must have been in at the moment. A smile so small yet so impactful.

As San's gaze intensified, he became acutely aware of her scent, a delicate and intoxicating fragrance that filled the air around her. It was a scent that captivated the senses, a symphony of citrus notes intertwined with a hint of warmth and sweetness. The gentle waft of her pheromones mingled with the morning breeze, leaving a trail of enchantment that lingered in the room.

The other alphas present in the room found themselves in a state of awe and disbelief. They were stunned by the sheer beauty before them, unable to comprehend how someone could possess such breathtaking allure. The collective breaths in the room seemed to catch, as if the air itself was held captive by her presence.

They couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort as they observed her slumbering form, tightly wedged in front of the studio equipment. A wave of concern washed over their hearts, causing a sense of unease to settle within them. How had she ended up sleeping in such an uncomfortable position? It was evident that she had been working tirelessly, pushing herself beyond her limits. Their poor little omega, not even a day in, and she was already overworking herself.

The sight of her cramped posture tugged at their heartstrings, fueling a deep sense of protectiveness within the alphas. They exchanged worried glances, their brows furrowed with genuine care. This was not how they had envisioned her first day, and they couldn't bear the thought of her sacrificing her well-being for the sake of her goals.

Gently, they tiptoed closer, careful not to disturb her peaceful slumber. Soft whispers filled the air as they debated on the best course of action. Should they wake her and offer her a more comfortable place to rest? Or should they let her sleep, knowing that she needed the rest?

San gently shook her shoulder, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through his body. The sensation coursed from the point where their skin made contact, making his knees weaken momentarily. "Bunny, wake up," he whispered, his voice filled with affection and longing. Crouching down before her, he softly nudged her crossed arms on her chest with his nose, yearning to rouse her from her slumber but careful not to be rough with her delicate form.

As his nose brushed against the black fabric of her hoodie, a low growl rumbled deep within San's chest. The others turned to him, their confusion evident in their faces, their bodies poised to react if they sensed any danger or harm befalling their omega. The only fear that gripped their hearts was the possibility of her being injured.

"What is it?" the leader asked impatiently, his gaze fixed on San, trying to comprehend the sudden shift in the usually gentle alpha's demeanor.

"Her scent is so overwhelming, I didn't notice the other man's scent on her," San snarled, his voice laced with possessiveness and anger. The room grew heavy with tension, and a nauseating feeling settled upon the others. Their little omega, in the embrace of another? It was unfathomable, a concept they refused to entertain, for it threatened to shatter the fragile equilibrium within their pack. The surge of jealousy and anger fueled their pheromones, causing the air to be saturated with an intense energy, growls echoing throughout the room.

"Oh calm down, I gave her my hoodie, after all those years, I'd think you'd recognize my scent," a familiar voice chimed in lazily. Maddox entered the studio, his presence diffusing the mounting tension. He yawned and stretched, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

The room breathed a collective sigh of relief as the tension dissipated, making way for a blush to color the alphas' cheeks. Their omega remained blissfully unaware, still peacefully asleep. "You guys imprint on her already or what" Maddox yawned again, this time covering his mouth with his hand, his gaze drifting to the MacBook resting next to San on the table.

San, feeling thoroughly embarrassed by his earlier outburst, turned his attention back to his omega, determined to wake her gently without further disturbing the delicate balance within the pack. However, Maddox interjected, his focus still fixed on the files the omega had been working on the night before. "That won't work," he muttered, his eyes scanning the digital pages. "She sleeps like she's in a damn coma. You need to use that big alpha voice to wake her up. I remember only her father's voice could actually rouse her for school." A nostalgic smile played upon Maddox's lips as he recalled the image of the formidable alpha attempting to wake his soft daughter with the utmost care, eventually resigning himself to growls and stern commands.

The rest of the pack chose to overlook Maddox's uncanny knowledge about her, realizing they had already embarrassed themselves enough. Yunho spoke up, his voice gentle yet firm. "We can't do that. It's disrespectful to her if we use that voice without her consent." He understood the power alphas possessed, the ability to command any omega with a certain tone of their voice. Some alphas saw it as natural and didn't hesitate to employ it for various purposes, but the younger generation recognized the discomfort it could cause an omega and refrained from using it without their agreement.

Maddox grumbled in frustration, closing the multitude of pages she had opened. "Cute, but I really need her to wake the fuck up. I have so many questions about what she did," he grumbled, a tinge of exasperation in his voice. "How many songs did she record yesterday? What the fuck..."

Realizing that none of the alphas had budged from their positions, Maddox turned to them, his expression deadpan. "It's either that, or I throw her off the damn chair," he stated flatly. A low snarl inadvertently escaped the youngest alphas' mouth, resulting in a swift slap from the elder pack members. Kyungmoon, being older than them all, demanded their respect, and they were quick to comply.

Rolling his eyes, Kyungmoon approached her chair. As soon as San caught sight of his movement, he instinctively tightened his embrace around his beloved omega, enveloping her baggy jeans-clad thighs with his massive arms, as if shielding her from any harm. With a frustrated huff, Mingi stepped forward, gently nudging Maddox aside.

Bending down to be at eye level with her, Mingi hesitated for a moment before parting his lips, a firm yet tender command slipping from his mouth. "'Mega, wake up."

At the sound of his voice, tinged with a hint of authority, the adorable omega finally blinked her eyes open, still groggy from her meager three hours of sleep. Mingi's face was so close to hers that she could feel his minty breath against her skin. She locked eyes with him, her own still halfway closed, and with a radiant smile, she murmured, "Princess," before drifting back into slumber, soft snores escaping her lips.

Mingi found himself overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions, his heart pounding so fiercely that it felt as if it might burst from his chest. Every fiber of his being trembled, and his cheeks burned with an intense blush that seemed to consume him entirely. He stumbled out of the room, his mind in a haze, unable to form coherent words. In the pack link, his thoughts raced, replaying the precious moment when she had gazed at him with such tenderness, her doe-like eyes filled with affection, as she whispered his nickname. The intensity of his feelings was so potent that it felt as if he could spontaneously combust from the sheer weight of his emotions. Mingi now understood the profound infatuation his pack brothers harbored for her. She had an undeniable power over them, and he realized with both joy and trepidation that she would undoubtedly be the cause of his eventual downfall.

As Mingi stumbled out of the room, his face flushed with embarrassment and his heart in disarray, Maddox turned to the other alphas, only to notice that they were all equally affected by the endearing moment they had just witnessed. Yunho and Seonghwa had their hands pressed against their faces, their fingers trembling with the sheer adorableness that had unfolded before them. San buried his face in the omega's thighs, his ears and the back of his neck turning a vibrant shade of pink, betraying his own overwhelmed emotions. Wooyoung and Jongho averted their gazes to the ceiling, trying to distract themselves from replaying the scene repeatedly in their minds, though a small, subtle smile played on the youngest alphas' lips. Hongjoong sat on the couch, seemingly unfazed as he lazily scratched the nail polish on his pinky, but Kyungmoon, ever perceptive, couldn't help but notice the growing bulge in the leader's pants. Maddox, taken aback by the sight, accidentally spit out the water he had been drinking, managing to turn away just in time to avoid drenching the electronic devices, but unfortunately showering the poor omega in the process.

The room erupted with the omega's whines, her voice piercing through the previously silent atmosphere as the cold water splashed against her skin, instantly capturing the attention of every alpha present. Their hearts ached at the sound of her distress, their protective instincts urging them to offer comfort and reassurance. Their alpha instincts compelling them to provide solace and make things right.

"What the fuck, Maddox?" she wailed, her frustration evident. "Can't even sleep properly in this damn house."

Standing up and shaking off San, she didn't his lingering grip on her sleeping form, her focus solely fixed on Kyungmoon, her expression a mix of annoyance and desperation. She swiftly removed her hoodie, leaving her clad only in her bra and jeans, oblivious to the way every pair of eyes followed her every move, their gazes locked on her with a mix of surprise and raw need.

The emotional rollercoaster they just went through had been like no other. First the jealousy, then how she was adorable, and lastly pure horniness.

The curve of her stomach, gliding effortlessly from under the confines of her bra, ensnared the attention of Hongjoong, the esteemed leading alpha of the room. His experienced eyes, like a connoisseur of beauty, were drawn to the elegant contour that beckoned his gaze. The delicate lace of her undergarment, while intended to provide a sense of allure and sophistication, unintentionally exacerbated his already heightened state of arousal.

A twinge of discomfort gnawed at Hongjoong as he struggled to find a more suitable position, seeking respite from the undeniable physical reaction that her captivating form had stirred within him. With meticulous care, he shifted his weight, his eyes never straying from her mesmerizing figure. Yet, try as he might, the discreet adjustments failed to provide the relief he so desperately sought.

In a valiant effort to compose himself, Hongjoong focused on the intricate details of the room, mentally recounting the soothing hues of the decor and the subtle patterns etched into the furniture. However, the tantalizing presence of the omega before him proved too formidable a distraction, commanding his attention with an unwavering grip. He found himself caught in a precarious balancing act, yearning to sate his desires while mindful of the propriety demanded by the situation.

The enchanting sight of small moles adorning her soft skin captivated Seonghwa's discerning gaze, weaving a spell that rendered him momentarily breathless. Each tiny mark seemed to possess its own unique story, an intimate secret shared only by her and the heavens above. His yearning to explore those delicate spots with tender kisses overwhelmed him, imagining the intoxicating sensation of his lips brushing against the canvas of her skin.

In his mind's eye, Seonghwa envisioned a gentle dance of affection, as he traced the path of those enticing moles, leaving a trail of feather-light pecks in their wake. He could almost taste the sweetness that lingered on her flesh, relishing the imagined flavor that would be unveiled with each loving touch. Imagining the soft strokes of his omega's fingers gently caressing his hair, he reveled in the anticipation of the tingling sensations that would ripple through his scalp, a testament to the depth of their connection.

Yunho's attention was drawn to the striking contrast between his own veiny and robust hands and the delicate frame of the omega standing before him. In that moment, he couldn't help but imagine the possibilities of their union, envisioning the way his substantial hands would envelope her waist with a possessive grip, his fingers seamlessly finding their place in the contours of her perfect love handles.

His mind became a canvas of fantasies as he pictured himself leaving trails of electrifying sensations in his wake, exploring the territory of her body with a blend of strength and tenderness. Yunho recognized the power he held, knowing that his size and stature were capable of delivering overwhelming pleasure, yet he remained acutely aware of the need for care and respect in his actions.

In his musings, Yunho marveled at the way her petite form seemed to fit flawlessly against his own, as if their bodies were destined to intertwine in a passionate embrace. The thought of their connection, of his hands guiding her and igniting a symphony of pleasure, stirred a fire within him that burned with both intensity and reverence.

In a moment that transcended the boundaries of mere perception, San was struck by an electrifying realization that sent shivers cascading right through his very dick. The delicate tapestry of her soft and innocent aura, an ethereal essence that had captivated him since their first encounter, now bore a captivating mark of temptation—a seductive black lace bra that adorned her form with a beguiling allure. It was a revelation that set his heart ablaze, igniting a torrent of desire that coursed through his veins with an irresistible intensity.

As his gaze lingered upon the intricate details of her lingerie, a mix of sensations and emotions unraveled within San's psyche. The contrast between her angelic visage and the provocative undergarment created a mesmerizing dichotomy, a collision of purity and seduction that stirred a primal yearning within him. The soft caress of lace against her supple skin seemed to beckon him closer, inviting him to uncover the secrets concealed beneath those delicate layers.

With each passing second, San's fascination deepened, propelling him into a realm of uncharted desires. He yearned not only to explore the physical contours of her body, but to embark upon an intimate odyssey, delving into the recesses of her mind to unearth the forbidden thoughts that lay dormant. Like a moth drawn inexorably to the flame, he longed to unravel the enigma she embodied, to partake in a journey of discovery that would leave no hidden desire unexplored.

Wooyoung was spellbound, unable to tear his eyes away as the oversized hoodie slipped off her slender frame, unveiling a breathtaking sight. The subtle arch of her back, accentuated by the fabric that clung to her every curve, left him in a state of awe. It was as though her very presence commanded attention, demanding admiration for the sheer elegance she exuded.

The allure of her figure, embraced by the snug embrace of her jeans, stirred a deep desire within Wooyoung. The contours of her backside, a tantalizing glimpse of sensuality, held an irresistible appeal that he couldn't resist. With each movement, she seemed to glide effortlessly, casting a hypnotic spell on anyone who had the privilege of witnessing her graceful presence. Wooyoung found himself rendered speechless, his eyes fixated on her, as he yearned to explore the depths of her enigmatic allure.

In that suspended moment, the world faded into insignificance for Wooyoung. He was completely consumed by her magnetic charm, unable to resist the pull she exerted over him. The urge to reach out, to trace his fingers along the contours that beckoned him, surged through him with an undeniable intensity. It was a silent plea, a longing to unravel the mysteries hidden within her captivating form.

Jongho stood in the corner, his eyes transfixed on her collarbones, captivated by their delicate prominence. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as he imagined marking her skin with tender love bites, leaving an indelible imprint of their passionate connection. Her collarbones, a testament to vulnerability and strength, held an irresistible allure for Jongho, who yearned to leave his mark on her like an artist etching his masterpiece.

As he observed her, his mind painted vivid images of their intertwined bodies, fueled by a primal desire to possess and protect. Jongho's fingers twitched with an unconscious longing to explore every inch of her, to trace the contours of her skin and map the pathways that would lead them both to untold heights of ecstasy. He imagined the intoxicating scent of their mingled sweat, the rhythm of their breaths syncing in a symphony of desire.

Jongho's gaze, intense and unwavering, revealed his unspoken intentions. The fire within him burned bright, threatening to consume everything in its path. He yearned to be her sanctuary, the one who could unlock the depths of her desires, and together they would traverse a journey of untamed passion. In his mind, he had already claimed her, and with each beat of his heart, the intensity of his longing grew stronger, leaving him unable to resist the primal call that reverberated through his veins.

Their momentary thoughts were abruptly interrupted as she turned towards Maddox, her expression filled with annoyance, and flung his damp hoodie at him. "You're such a cunt!" she pouted, her dissatisfaction with her own attire apparent. "Give me one of your t-shirts. I don't want to wear my corset. It's uncomfortable, and I still want to sleep," she declared, her eyes fluttering open and closed, evidence that she hadn't completely shaken off her sleepiness. The boys, momentarily distracted from their wandering thoughts, found themselves savoring the sweetness of the moment, allowing themselves to imagine a scenario where she would come to them, begging for a shirt.

Just as Maddox was about to suggest that she take one of his own, his gaze met Hongjoong's, positioned just behind her. Maddox, being older than Hongjoong, knew it and held him in high regard, respecting him as a perfect colleague. Yet, he couldn't deny the effect of the rapper's lingering stare, which left him feeling somewhat uneasy. Recognizing the biological underpinnings of such a reaction, given his alpha nature, Maddox tried to brush it off with a sigh. "Stop taking my clothes, they reek of your scent. Go ask someone else," he lied, offering an exaggerated eye-roll, assuring the omega standing before him that he wasn't entirely serious but allowing her to believe there was a kernel of truth to his words.

She tilted her head and stared at him, her confusion evident. "Who else?" she inquired. Just as she finished her question, Yunho gently touched her shoulder, stepping forward to retrieve his hoodie from the lower front of his chest, revealing a black t-shirt that made his milky collarbones shimmer against the silver chain adorning them. If the omega had been well-rested, she would have blushed uncontrollably, her heart racing within her chest. However, exhaustion had claimed her, and she simply accepted the hoodie from his outstretched hands, her fingertips grazing his longer ones, causing a faint shiver to run through him. She offered a soft bow before turning towards the door. Just as she was about to depart, she glanced back at the room and inquired about the time. "It's 7:36 am," San cheerfully chimed in. She nodded and directed her gaze to Maddox. "Wake me up in 30 minutes. I'll be in your bed."

With the tall alpha's hoodie in her grasp, she made her way down the hallway, heading towards his room. Along the way, a thought crossed her mind to stop by the kitchen, which was conveniently adjacent to the room. As she ventured forward, the soft glow of daylight streamed in through the windows, casting a warm radiance throughout the space. Eager to don the borrowed garment, she began pulling it over her head, only to find it stubbornly clinging to her neck, momentarily obscuring her vision. Undeterred, she continued to tug at the fabric, inadvertently veering off course.

In her haste to envelop herself in the hoodie's comforting embrace, she struggled momentarily, the fabric refusing to yield, momentarily obscuring her vision. Undeterred by this minor setback, she persisted, unaware of the subtle shift in her surroundings. Lost in a drowsy haze, she collided unexpectedly with an unfamiliar obstacle—a solid wall that seemed out of place in her mental map of the house. Confusion clouded her fatigued mind as she fumbled for an exit, desperate to find her bearings.

But before she could make further progress, her hands were gently seized by another, guiding her with practiced ease. Startled, she raised her gaze and found herself locked in the enigmatic eyes of Mingi, his expression unreadable. Intimidated by his presence, she hurriedly offered her apologies, expressing gratitude with a respectful bow, and swiftly made her way to Maddox's inviting bed. As she glanced down at her petite frame swallowed by the oversized hoodie, she realized it cascaded down to her knees, enveloping her like a protective cocoon. Anticipating the comforting solace that awaited her beneath the covers, she resolved to shed her confining jeans, unaware of the two sharp intakes of breath behind her. With a haphazard pull of the zipper and a deft maneuver of her legs, she discarded the denim, allowing it to fall away as she gracefully slipped into the plush sanctuary of the bed. And there, in the soft embrace of warmth and dreams, she succumbed to the sweet embrace of slumber.

She stirred from her peaceful slumber, roused by the melodious strains of music that filled the air. Blinking her eyes open, she found herself in a state of half-consciousness, still tethered to the realm of dreams. The melodic notes wafted through the room, their gentle vibrations resonating within her soul, beckoning her to awaken fully.

As she gradually shook off the remnants of sleep, her senses heightened, and she recognized the familiar tunes that now danced around her. It was the unmistakable sound of the last song she recorded the day before. Each note and lyric seemed to caress her being, whispering promises of inspiration.

Eager to immerse herself in the enchantment of the music, she cast off the drowsiness that clung to her like a fleeting memory. With a sense of renewed vitality coursing through her veins, she reached for her phone, hoping to catch a glimpse of the time that had conspired against her precious sleep. The digits illuminated the screen with a damning truth—9:04 am—an unwelcome reminder of the hour she had been robbed of.

Oh this fucker.

Indignant at the intrusion of her slumber, she snatched the pillow she had rested upon and sat up, her gaze scanning the room for her unwitting accomplice in this temporal crime. To her right, amidst the symphony of sizzling pans and culinary artistry, she spied Wooyoung and Seonghwa, their culinary passions interwoven with a graceful dance. Further down, Jongho and Yeosang engaged in a hushed exchange, their words cloaked in mystery. Oblivious to her presence, they sat at a regal marble table, absorbed in their discourse. San and Yunho, on the other hand, found solace in the digital realm, their camaraderie evident as they maneuvered through virtual landscapes, softly nudging each other, wishing the other to lose. Meanwhile, Hongjoong and Mingi, tethered by the ethereal notes streaming through their AirPods, bobbed their heads in perfect synchrony, their attention fixated on the music that enveloped their senses, coming out of the familiar MacBook Pro.

Behind the rappers, Maddox remained captivated by the luminous glow emanating from the computer screen. With both hands planted firmly on the armrests of the couch, his gaze traced an enigmatic pattern, his thoughts ensnared by the digital world unfolding before him. The flickering images danced across his vision, weaving a tapestry of intrigue and inspiration.

A feral growl rumbled deep within her chest, a primal instinct urging her to unleash her frustration. Gripping the pillow tightly in her hand, she channeled her pent-up energy into a swift and powerful motion, hurling it with all her might toward Kyungmoon. The cushioned projectile soared through the air, guided by a vengeful determination, until it found its mark with unerring precision.

The impact was swift and resounding—a perfect headshot. Kyungmoon's eyes widened in surprise as the pillow collided with his unsuspecting form. Feathered wisps danced in the air, suspended for a brief moment, before gracefully floating downward like ethereal confetti. The room fell into a hushed silence, the weight of the strike reverberating in the space.

A chorus of laughter erupted, a melodic symphony of amusement and camaraderie. The men turned their attention to the impulsive assailant, their eyes gleaming with mischief and mirth. The omega, a glint in her eyes, relished in the spontaneous act of rebellion, savoring the taste of victory. Her lips curled into a playful smile, her spirit emboldened by the cathartic release.

A melodious chirp of delight escaped the young singer's lips, an innocent and joyous sound that pierced through the air, captivating the attention of all the men in the room. Their eyes turned towards her, their senses heightened, as if drawn to the magnetic pull of her presence. Unbeknownst to her, a heady cocktail of pheromones began to waft from her, subtly stirring the primal instincts of the alphas in the room.

In response to her joyful exclamation, a deep rumble resonated in the space, a contented sound that slipped from the alpha's throats. It went unnoticed by the omega, its significance lost in the flurry of activity. Yet, it held a primal meaning, an unspoken declaration of satisfaction and possessiveness.

Within that moment, a delicate dance of instinct and desire unfolded, unseen and unspoken. The room became an arena of subtle exchanges, a microcosm where primal connections and magnetic forces intertwined. Their gazes lingered a moment longer, their hearts quickening ever so slightly, attuned to the unspoken language that pulsed beneath the surface.

Maddox rose from the floor, his hand gingerly massaging the spot on his head where the pillow had made contact. His disheveled hair stood as a testament to the force of the blow, yet a mischievous glimmer danced in his eyes, undeterred by the playful aggression. "What the fuck was that for, you bitch?" he exclaimed, his tone laced with mock indignation.

Unfazed by his theatrical response, she met his challenge head-on, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. "That's for not waking me up, you dick," she retorted, her voice laced with a playful edge. Her tongue darted out in a teasing gesture, a playful taunt that showcased her feisty spirit. "I need to finish what I was working on," she added, her determination shining through her words.

Maddox, still rubbing the sore spot on his head, protested in defense of his failed wake-up attempt. "I tried waking you up, he—" he pointed accusingly at the leader with a mix of exasperation and amusement. Hongjoong, his smile soft and eyes brimming with adoration, watched the playful exchange unfold. His intervention had allowed her precious sleep to continue undisturbed, a decision that Maddox now found himself at odds with. "He forced me to let you sleep more," Maddox explained, his voice tinged with alarm.

The omega's gaze shifted toward Hongjoong, her eyes narrowing playfully at the leader who had orchestrated her extended slumber. His expression betrayed the depth of his affection, the love that radiated from his being. The mischievous spark in her eyes intensified, and she playfully tilted her head. "If you need to throw a fucking pillow, don't hit me," Maddox urged, his voice filled with a mix of jest and mock seriousness. "Aim the weapon at him!" he added, gesturing towards Hongjoong.

As the playful banter continued to unfold, Hongjoong found himself captivated by the sight before him. His gaze lingered on his beloved omega, devoid of makeup, with faint traces of fatigue evident in her puffy eyes and disheveled lips. Strands of hair cascaded around her, reaching toward the ceiling as if attempting to touch the heavens themselves. In that moment, the world around him faded into a blur, and he became lost in the depths of her soulful gaze.

His heart quickened its pace, the rhythm echoing in his ears as if keeping time with his racing thoughts. The intensity of his emotions threatened to overwhelm him, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Her radiant smile, a beacon of warmth and affection, sent a jolt through his being. It was a single moment, a fleeting exchange of unspoken devotion, yet it held the power to still his very breath.

The words of the moody beta went unheard, his attention solely fixated on the enchanting presence of his precious girl.

Her laughter filled the room, a melodic symphony that danced through the air. "Well, if it's the leader, I can't complain, can I?" she playfully remarked, her voice laced with affection and mirth. With a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, she let herself fall back onto the soft bed, the impact causing a satisfying thud.

Hongjoong, caught in the rapture of her infectious laughter, felt his heart swell with adoration. The intensity of his emotions threatened to consume him, and he needed an outlet to release the overwhelming surge of feelings that coursed through his veins. Excusing himself with a faint smile, he retreated to the sanctuary of the soundproof studio.

Inside the secluded confines of the studio, Hongjoong closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.

[agent-cupcake]

Flashbang

Chapter 9  Part 1- August Moon

Spotify Playlist / All Chapters / Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 /Chapter 7/ Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 pt.1 / Chapter 9 pt.2 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Pairing: One Piece Live Action Buggy x f! Reader

Synopsis: Waking up in yet another unfortunate circumstance, your mind strays to thinking of things you would rather forget.

Warnings: Explicit smut, child abuse

Word Count: 8.6k

Notes: This chapter started to get really long really quickly. Rather than postponing again and posting a 20k+ word chapter, there will be a part two. It’s a different format than other chapters, but the show did flashback arcs so why can't I?

“August Moon, laid just for you, steady, ready, smile like his, until it's out of sight. Don't undo the true chance that chooses you Face to face with a new day So simple it seemed, you dare to dream impossibly, risking its rarity of ‘I'll do it now' Black and blissful, tumbling, I wake, I sleep, it feeds me Fate may rule you and heart it fools you to lose your sanity”

xx

It wasn’t the simple process of recalling how you ended up bound on the floor in the dark, or even trying to figure out how to escape the confinement. It was a million memories dancing through your head all at once, an entire lifetime fogged up with anesthetic playing out in your aching head. 

All it took was a little doubt, right? A little confusion. And then you weren’t you, a person who had lived and failed and tried and been hurt over and over. A woman who had done unspeakable things and made unfathomable choices. You were her. A girl too small for her age, a girl whose bones poked out from her pallid skin. Her cheeks weren’t round and rosy, they were hollow and gaunt. She stared solemnly with eyes that seemed too large for her face, as glassy as those of a doll. In stark contrast to the finery of her nursery, she wore dirty pajamas and had unwashed hair. 

That was you. From a life you didn’t want to remember, filled with so many things you couldn’t forget. 

You remembered how cold it always was when Dad was gone. You remembered the feeling of hunger gnawing at your stomach. You were too young to know how to feed yourself or get warmer clothes, you only understood that your tummy hurt and you couldn’t stop shivering and that Mom didn’t want you to leave your room. You remembered sitting on your floor with your doll, quietly playing by yourself. Her name was Peach. She was your sister and your best friend. 

More anything else, more than the fear or the sadness or the longing or the pain, you remembered Mom’s voice. She was singing and you could remember that song so clearly that you dreamed of it years and years and years later. Her melancholic melody floated down the dark, cold hall. The house had been silent since Dad left on a trip. He was a doctor, which meant he had to take care of people. Mom hadn’t been feeling well. She called it morning sickness, even though she seemed to get even sicker at night. She threw up a lot, and she said her head and back hurt. She said she needed to rest, which was why you weren’t allowed to leave your room unless she said. 

But now she was singing.

Thinking about it for a moment, you put your doll Peach into her bed to be comfortable and safe while you were gone, pulling the little blankets up around her chin so she didn’t get cold. The house was always so cold. You left your room, your sock-covered feet making no noise on the wood floors. Mom’s voice was every bit as beautiful as she was, even when it was haunting and sad.

When you peeked around the doorway into the room she and Dad shared, you saw her sitting on the window bench, watching the lifeless gray sky. She was covered in something dark and wet, like she had spilled a drink. It puddled in her lap and coated her hands, dried on the edges but saturated so heavily in the middle that it still glistened like wet ink. You watched as tears slid down the side of her face, dripping from her chin. They kept falling, even as she sang.

“Momma?” you asked softly, suddenly uneasy. “Momma, what happened?”

She stopped singing, looking towards you with hazy eyes. Her face was drained of all color, her cheeks gaunt and hair a mess of flyaways. She held out her hand for you. Whatever was on her lap had dried on her skin, flaking off like rust from her fingers.

Blood. It was blood, you could smell it now. The vile metallic tang nearly choked you.

“Momma, you’re hurt,” you said, crossing the room and taking her hand without a second thought. Dried blood smeared over your hand. Her skin was ice cold.  

Her pale lips parted to say something, her chest swelling with a breath, but nothing came out. She just looked confused, her brow pinching and fresh tears forming in her eyes. 

“Mommy, you’re bleeding,” you insisted, feeling very cold inside. Dad wasn’t home, and you didn’t know who else could help. 

“Why was it you?” she asked, looking lost. “A girl. A daughter. Why are you the only one to make it? If you were a son—if I had a son…” She put her other hand on her stomach. “It was a son, I know it was.”

“Momma?” 

She blinked, her eyes focusing as if only just noticing you. Quick, like you had burned her, she dropped your hand. 

“Draw me a bath,” she said, a sharpness you recognized very well returning to her voice. “I am fine, this is… Fine. Don’t tell your father about this.”

“Yes, mommy.”

There were many things Mom didn’t want dad to know, things about her. Later in life, she told you to hide things about you from him. But that came later. 

From back then, you could remember very clearly that Mom and dad fought a lot. Sometimes it seemed like all they did was fight, and then Dad would leave on a ship, and then it was just you and Mom. When he got home, things would be fine at first, but that peace never lasted very long. 

You could hear them in the den. It was a fight that had been brewing for a while. Mom was shouting in a shrill tone, but Dad only ever talked quietly. His voice came out in a low rumble that demanded absolute attention, like rolling thunder. Just as fearsome too.  

You wanted to go upstairs, but that would mean going through the den and you didn’t dare interrupt them. Instead, you held Peach tight in your arms and covered your ears to block out their voices and waited for the storm to pass. 

She shouted. He spoke. There was thumping. Mom screamed twice. And then a heavy silence fell upon the house. The clock seemed to tick even louder in the absence of their voices.

Did that mean it was over with? You crawled out of your hiding place, softly walking down the hall until you got to the arch leading into the den. Light from the crackling fire within illuminated a little halo into the hall, but there was no warmth to the orange glow.  

Hardly daring to breathe, you peeked inside. Mom laid in a broken heap on the floor. She was bleeding. It gushed out of her nose, pooling on the hardwood. Her eye was already swelling and she cradled her stomach. Her shoulders shivered with little hitching sobs. 

You didn’t see Dad anywhere, so you tentatively entered, walking as softly as you could. 

“Mommy?” you asked, approaching her slowly. 

Dad said your name from the stairs, making you jump. Mom whimpered.

“Leave your mother alone,” he told you as he came down. “It’s time for bed.” 

“But mommy—”

“Now,” he said, his eyes narrowing. 

You knew better than to argue with him when he used that tone of voice. You looked back at Mom, feeling sick. She was in pain, you knew she was. But Dad would help her, wouldn’t he? He was a doctor.

“Goodnight mommy,” you said, petting her head. “I love you.” 

Her only response was a weak sob. 

“Didn’t you hear that, birdie?” Dad said. “Your daughter said goodnight.” 

Mom let out a shaky breath, looking up at you. “Goodnight, baby.” 

“Okay, come on, sweet girl,” Dad said. “It’s late.” 

Nervously, you crossed the room to the stairs where Dad stood. He didn’t look upset anymore, you could almost believe that nothing bad had happened. When you started to pass him, he held out an arm to stop you. 

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked. 

You looked up at him, confused and anxious. 

“I think I deserve a goodnight kiss from my sweet little girl,” he clarified warmly, leaning down to scoop you up into his arms. You stiffened up, squeezing Peach to your chest. 

“Goodnight, daddy,” you said, kissing his cheek. He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“Don’t you worry. Things are going to be better from now on,” he told you. “Right, birdie?” 

“Yes,” Mom answered, her voice pained. 

Dad let out a heavy breath, nodding. “I hate that it has to be like this, but it’s for the best. I’ve been too easy on you girls for too long, and it’s my responsibility to take care of it.” He closed his eyes for a second, pressing his face against your neck. You held your breath. 

“My sweet little girl,” he said, pulling back. “I love you. You know that, don’t you? I love you both.”

“I love you too, daddy.” 

He kissed your forehead before setting you down, ruffling your hair. 

“Alright, mommy and I have to talk. You better be in bed by the time we’re done, okay? I’ll check.”

“Yes, daddy,” you said. 

As soon as his attention was off of you, you went up the stairs. You remembered being too small to take them properly, it was more of a climb than anything. A tiring climb. And then it was down the cold hall into your room, and straight onto your bed. You pulled the blanket up to cover both you and Peach and held the pillow around your ears to shield them.

You remembered many nights just like that, huddled with your doll in the stifled dark, waiting to fall asleep because it was the only escape you had. 

28 Days Earlier

It was your own upset whine that woke you up to something approximating consciousness, and then you became aware of several things in quick succession. You were in Buggy’s bed, cradled in his arms with your back against his chest, you were both naked, he was touching you, and what was most probably his erection was pressing against your thighs. You squirmed, confused, catching a glimpse of his nose and smile when you twisted your head around, before pressing your face back into the pillow with a soft groan.

Your head hurt. Actually, several things hurt. It took you a few seconds to grasp what was real. Last night, going to the Maison Rouge, getting drunk, the bathroom, having dinner, getting carried back onto the ship, and then everything else.

At least that explained your headache.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Buggy said cheerfully. Fitting that the one morning you wanted to sleep he would be awake and in good spirits.

Your only response was a harsh gasp when he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger just a little too hard. 

“You are awake right?” he asked. 

“Mmmhmm,” you agreed.

“Good. I didn’t want to stick it in while you were still snoozin’.”

You made a confused sound. Most of your functional brain was focused on the way he was touching you, one hand holding you against him while the other shamelessly groped your chest. 

“Cap’mm Buggy, what’re you-” 

“Don’t get all weird about it,” he said, releasing you to sit up. Blinking groggily, you rolled onto your back to watch him grab a bottle he’d wedged between the other pillows. His makeup was all faded and smeared because you hadn’t taken it off last night, the sparkles dusting down his cheeks. “I’m gonna be gentle.”  

“Oil?” you asked, confused as he uncapped it with his teeth and poured some onto his palm.

“Yeah, you were fuckin’ soaking last night, you’re probably all tapped out,” he said with a smile, clarifying some things by tossing off the blanket to stroke his cock, coating it in oil. This was a dream, it had to be. Buggy looked at you, his smile exchanged for a look of impatience. “You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” you said automatically, although you still felt like this had to be a dream. 

Buggy rolled his eyes, stroking his cock one more time for good measure. “Quit gawkin’ and lay down.”

You laid back down, too sleepy to argue. Not that you would. Surprising you somewhat, Buggy laid down too, rolling you onto your side so you were spooning again.

You tried to twist around, confused about what he wanted. You thought you understood, but this was different. New.

“Lift your leg up,” Buggy told you. After a second of trying to understand what he meant, you did and he pulled you down enough for him to get his cock between your legs. 

Oh. 

Your breathing immediately picked up. Excitement? Nerves? You couldn’t tell the difference clearly enough to know. You didn’t fight him, your fingers digging into the sheets as he ran the slick head through your folds back and forth until it caught. The feeling made you shudder, your stomach flipping. 

“See?” Buggy teased. “You loooove this.”

“Don’t we,” you began to say, speaking more because you felt like you needed to say something than because you meant it, “don’t we need to get up and… um…” 

“And what?”

You tried to string together a coherent response, but it got lost as Buggy began to push into you, your argument disintegrating around his cock. The oil made it so smooth, he barely had to work it in, just pushing and pushing until you were full. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said, his voice smug even though it was strained and hoarse. 

If you were going to object in the first place, all of your thoughts disappeared when he moaned right into your ear. The sound was almost as potent as the feeling of him inside of you, you couldn’t help but tighten up around him, letting out a little whimper. Buggy laughed, rolling his hips lazily. 

“We’re on vacation, babydoll. Just relax.” 

When you and Buggy finally got out of bed, it was later than was at all reasonable and you were already worn out. Conversely, Buggy seemed to be full of energy. You got a look at yourself in the mirror, shocked and a little disgusted by the sight. There was only so much that could be done to salvage your appearance. Your hair seemed unable to take any other shape than an utterly disastrous nest, and the smears of makeup didn’t respond to water no matter how hard you scrubbed. Your bandana was on the other ship too. Since you were out a pair of very nice panties and the only clothes you had was last night’s red dress, you borrowed a loose linen shirt of his.

It did absolutely nothing to cover the worst of the damage—the bright red marks covering your neck from ear to collarbones. Some were very clearly bite marks with indents of teeth, others were less distinct splotches of red, and a few were just bruises.  

“Sheesh, you look wrecked,” Buggy said, which was a little unfair. His makeup was smeared and he needed a shave and to tame the wild blue mess of his hair, but he didn’t look sickly the way you did. There was a brightness to his eyes, an energy you didn’t think you ever had. 

“‘s not that bad,” you said, covering your neck with your hair. 

“Come here, let me get a better look,” he said, dropping into his chair. You obeyed with halting steps, coming to a stop where you were more or less at eye level. Buggy didn’t look into your eye though, prying your hands from your neck and pushing your hair back to appreciate the work he’d done. “Some of my finest work, if I do say so myself.” 

You couldn’t look at his face, staring off to the side. You didn’t want to think about what you did last night, the things you said and did and agreed to. You are mine. 

How embarrassing. 

Your reaction made Buggy frown. “What’s that look for?” he asked. “You said I could do anything I wanted.”

“‘s embarrassing,” you muttered. “But that… It’s fine, really. Do you want me to-” You gestured to your chin and neck. 

Buggy ran a hand over his face, sighing. “Fine,” he said. “Makeup first, though. Somebody forgot to take care of that last night.” 

You frowned because that wasn’t your fault which made him laugh, his mood smoothed over just like that. 

Taking off his makeup was a very familiar process by now, as was preparing everything to shave his facial hair. You wished that the fulfillment of whatever twisted desires you had would have cured you of your preoccupation with Buggy’s face and neck, yet you found yourself as interested as ever. At the very least, you got through it without incident before wiping the remaining shaving cream off and applying the aftershave, appreciating his smooth skin. Maybe that was selfish.

“I just realized,” you said as you were cleaning the blade before returning the razor to its case. “I can’t cut you, can I? Because of your… your thing.” 

“My thing?” he repeated, holding up a mirror to see if you had done a good enough job. 

“Your Devil Fruit… thing,” you clarified.  

“You just realized that?” Buggy asked. You couldn’t tell if his tone was amused or derisive. Both, probably.   

“I thought the reason you didn’t let me at first is because you thought I would cut you,” you explained, turning around to put everything away. “Because you didn’t trust me.” 

“Yeah, I didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do a shitty job.” 

“I don’t think people would notice either way,” you said. “They’ll be too distracted by-” 

“By what?” Buggy asked sharply. 

“Your cheekbones and jaw,” you said, hoping it sounded like a normal complement and not creepy. “You know? They’re pretty enough that I don’t think a bit of hair or anything would matter.”

“You were going to say they’d be too distracted by my nose, weren’t you,” he accused. You looked over your shoulder at him, surprised to see his simmering rage. 

“I wasn’t,” you told him, frowning. “You don’t even have hair there, it wouldn’t make sense.”

“What you said doesn’t make any sense either.” 

“I, um,” you stammered, confused. “That’s not what I mean, sir. I swear.” 

“Whatever,” Buggy said, standing up and going into the bathroom. You couldn’t tell how seriously he was upset by the perceived slight. Sometimes Buggy got really angry, but sometimes he seemed to forget it as soon as it happened. 

While he was gone, you finished cleaning up the shaving supplies before stripping the bedding. By the time he emerged, you still hadn’t decided if you were meant to apologize or not.

“Do you want me to go get breakfast?” you asked, fidgeting awkwardly. 

“Ew, no,” Buggy said, wincing as he tied a kerchief around his hair. “Never eat ship food if you can avoid it.” 

“Then… Can I stay here with you?” you asked.

He grabbed his makeup case and sat back in his chair. “I doubt anyone else wants you.” 

You sat on the end of his bed. The morning activities really had worn you out in a way they didn’t seem to for him, and you felt a little gross to be sitting there covered in a film of sexual grime, but it was better than being alone. Much, much better. 

“How long will we stay in Lafitte, Captain Buggy?” you asked, looking out the window. It was another lovely day. 

“Until I say we’re leaving,” he answered, focused on his makeup. He was very good at it, painting on the shapes quickly and efficiently. You felt warm while watching him, like you could relax because you weren’t alone, because he wanted you by him. 

“It’s creepy when you stare at me like that,” Buggy said, bringing your musings to an abrupt halt.  

“I’m sorry, sir,” you said.

He smirked, adding the finishing touches to the blue around his eyes before powdering it like Pippa had with your makeup.  

“Okay, new rules!” Buggy declared when he was done, standing up. “You,” he pointed at you, “do not leave the ship without me. You don't talk to anybody that’s not me. Really, just, only do what I tell you to do. Daddy dearest doesn’t have any proof that we’ve got you yet and I’d like to keep it that way. You’re gonna lay low, keep your head down, and not do anything stupid. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir,” you said, nodding, your stomach tied in knots at the reminder. 

You helped Buggy get dressed, but your mind was preoccupied with thoughts of your dad. He wouldn’t be thrown off that easily, not from getting you back and not from pirates. You weren’t sure why you managed to convince yourself he would be. 

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?” Buggy asked with something like bitterness in his voice. “The Surgeon.” 

“I guess.”

“Well don’t. I won’t let that crusty bastard take you back,” Buggy told you, rolling his eyes. “That’d be such a waste, I’ve got your pussy all broken in and everything.” 

Your face scrunched in disgust while Buggy laughed, ruffling your messy hair to make it messier. You wanted to give him a hug before he left, but you couldn’t think of a way to make that seem appropriate. 

“I’ll bring you back something nice to eat, okay, babydoll?” 

“Will you be gone very long?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound desperate and knowing you did. 

“I’ll be back before you know it. If you’re good and you get all your chores done, I’ll get blondie to dress you up so we can go out.”

Once Buggy left, you went to the berth to find a high necked sweater to cover the marks on your neck and get cleaned up. Although it had only been two days and you hadn’t even been on this ship very long in the first place, you had the sensation of being home. Or, being someplace more homey. Whatever your feelings, it was better.

Although it was late for it, people were still hanging around getting a cold breakfast. You wouldn’t have thought so many people would stick around but, apparently, it was payday. Everybody got a split of what had been plundered from the Dolce and those involved got more for the other ship. 

Mohji handed out the money while Richie watched everybody’s bowls very sharply. You didn’t expect anything, Captain Buggy hadn’t really mentioned payment, but you still got a cut. It was strange to get money from a man who had only recently seen you locked up in the brig and called you hostage, but in the absence of the Chief of Staff, it was up to Mohji.

“You look shocked,” Marty said as everybody dispersed. “He didn’t short you, did he?”  

“No, nothing like that. It’s just… I’ve never had this much money,” you admitted. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“You’re a pirate,” he said. “You go out and blow it all on booze and hookers.”

“Captain Buggy said I’m not allowed to leave the ship. Also I…” You frowned. “I don’t think I’d do that anyway. Is that what you do?”  

“Before you think too harshly of me, girly,” Marty said. “Don’cha think it’s better to pay a girl who’s clean than to catch something?”

You nodded like you understood. “That’s true. And I would never, ever judge you,” you told him. 

Marty smiled, shaking his head in amusement. 

“By the way, do you, um, do you know where Mr. Cabaji is?” 

“Captain Buggy sent him off on some mission,” Marty said.

“Oh, that’s good then,” you said, more relieved than you should have been. Cabaji was smart and strong and capable, and if something happened to him somebody would have mentioned it.

It looked like Marty was going to ask you something, but he was cut off by a familiar voice. “Did Mr. Mohji pay you?” Pippa asked, making you jump. She had approached from your left blindspot, and you hadn’t been paying enough attention to check. 

“He did. I was just advising her on how best to spend it,” Marty told Pippa. 

“We’re going shopping, obviously,” she said. 

You frowned. “Captain Buggy said I’m not allowed to leave the ship without him.”

“You can’t keep wearing my hand-me-downs. He must know that. If he doesn’t trust me, then Marty will come along to keep us safe.” 

“He will?” Marty asked. 

“If it’s for a good cause,” Pippa said, smiling and batting her eyelashes at him. He clearly wasn’t charmed by her, rolling his eyes. 

“Maybe another day,” you told her. “I’ll ask him later.” 

She sighed. “Fine. There are things I need to get while we’re here anyway.” 

“Do you wanna go get something to eat first?” Marty asked. “I can’t stomach any more salted meat.”

“It’s too early to start drinking,” Pippa said. 

“Start?” Marty asked, pulling a flask out of his pocket. She rolled her eyes. 

“I’ll see you two later then?” you said. 

“Shame you can’t come along. Sorry, girly.” 

“It’s okay,” you said, smiling reassuringly. “I’m fine here.” 

Neither looked like they entirely believed you, but nobody would argue with rules Captain Buggy set out. That was, if nothing else, the strongest unifier among the crew. 

They left, and you focused your attention on getting your chores done. First, however, you stopped by the clinic, but Crina wasn’t there. 

Without anything else to keep you occupied, you tidied up Captain Buggy’s cabin. In your absence, he had made a mess of it. Even though you were not in an entirely different position than you had been yesterday, you felt peaceful while cleaning. Now that you had a taste of his absence, you knew how dire it was that you did whatever you could to stay with him.  

You weren’t sure how you were going to do that, but you were going to figure it out, and you were going to be very, very good at it.  

The way you were tied up was simple. Hands secured behind your back with plain rope, and your ankles bound in the same way. Your head ached painfully, swimming in the thick fog. A drug? It felt like it. That was the only thing that could separate you from reality so thoroughly. 

You remembered the first time you were ever knocked out with a general anesthetic. It was because you broke your arm, but it didn’t heal right because you weren’t strong enough. Your parents told everyone you broke it because you tripped, but you remembered what happened. You wished you didn’t. You wished you remembered running and falling, that would be so much better. 

But that wasn’t what happened.  

Miss Frizzy was the children’s teacher. Barley was too small to need more than a few teachers, and everybody had to learn together with different books. Dad said it was different in places with more people. You wondered if that would be nice, but you liked Miss Frizzy. She had long, dark hair that was very straight and sleek. She was young like Mom, and very pretty like Mom. You liked that she was nice, and that she smelled like vanilla, and that she gave you lunch when Mom forgot to pack yours. Sometimes, in the most secret place of your brain that you would never tell to anybody ever, you wished that Miss Frizzy was your mom. 

School was over, but you had to stay because Miss Frizzy asked your mom to come into the classroom. Since it was an adult conversation, they set you outside the room in the hallway to wait. They thought you didn’t hear them, but you did. Miss Frizzy gave you a book of hidden object pictures, but you had no desire to find quilted stars or a rocking horse. You sat Peach in your lap so she could look at the pictures while you listened to the adult conversation. 

“I am… concerned about your daughter,” Miss Frizzy said. 

“What did she do?” Mom asked sharply in her ‘be careful’ voice, the scary one that let you know she was getting upset, the one that made your spine tingle. 

“She didn’t do anything. I just wanted to discuss her social development. I’ve noticed a few things that are a little worrisome.” 

“Like what?”

“She’s around the age that we’d expect to see more verbal communication. The difficulty with kids her age is usually trying to get them to stop telling you what they’re thinking or feeling, but she’s the opposite.”

“I’m sorry, are you telling me there’s something wrong with my daughter because she’s better behaved than other children?”

“No, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with her. I wanted to ask for your opinion on what I might do to make her more comfortable—what is her behavior like at home?”

“That’s not your business.”

“It’s just that, with kids like her, it’s important to encourage confidence and self expression.”

“She’s not well, you know that, don’t you?” Mom said. “That’s why she’s shy. There’s nothing wrong with that.” 

“No, there’s not. But I would like to help her socialize, especially with the kids in her class. This is a very important time for social development.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?”

There was a beat of silence before Miss Frizzy spoke. “Social behaviors are learned,” she finally said, “I worry she’s not in an environment that makes her feel comfortable or safe to express herself.”

“Safe?” Mom demanded, her voice raising. “What is that supposed mean? You think she’s afraid to express herself because of me? It is not your business to tell me how to raise my daughter. And you know what? You ought to be careful if you’re going to be making these sorts of insinuations. You know who my husband is.” 

“I’m not insinuating anything,” Miss Frizzy said.

“I am her mother. I know what’s best for her.”

It was quiet for a moment. A very long moment. “I’m worried that’s not entirely the case,” Miss Frizzy said softly.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Ilse Frisby,” Mom said, her voice mean and sharp like a knife. 

Miss Frizzy tried to say more, but Mom emerged from the office.

“We’re leaving,” she told you with the type of look that you knew better than to argue against. You stood up immediately with Peach tucked beneath your arm, accidentally dropping the book. Rather than waiting for you to pick it up, she grabbed your bicep. Too tight. You winced, scrambling along to keep up with her as she dragged you out of the school building. 

When you were out of sight, Mom rounded on you, her expression dark. “What did you say to her?”

“Nothing, momma,” you said, out of breath from having to walk so fast, your arm aching from the way she’d been dragging you. 

“You said something to her, I know you did. You told her I’m a bad mother, didn’t you?” 

“No, momma, no, no,” you denied, shaking your head and fighting your tears. You didn’t want to cry, but you couldn’t help the reaction in the face of her rage. You didn’t exactly understand the adult conversation, but you understood it had upset Mom. Really, really upset her. You squeezed Peach against your chest for comfort. 

“You did, you had to have said something. You’re such an ungrateful brat. Do you have any idea how much I sacrifice for you? For you. And then you go to that-that woman and you tell her that I’m a bad mother? You owe me everything, and instead you just…” 

Tears finally welled up in your eyes, you couldn’t fight them anymore. 

“Oh, you’re gonna cry now?” Mom demanded. “Fine, go tell that woman how bad of a mother I am, go cry to her and tell her lies about our family.” 

“No,” you said, your voice getting all stopped up in your swollen throat. “No, I’m sorry, momma, I’m sorry.” 

“No, go. Go tell her all about what a terrible mother I am!” She used her grip on your arm to push you back towards the school building. Peach dropped first, falling into the dirt, and you felt something give out and there was a terrible crunching cracking noise and then you fell onto the ground too, scraping your knees across the dirt and rocks. Blood roared in your ears and you stopped crying because the pain punched everything out of you. It screamed up from your arm, but you couldn’t make a sound.

Tears and snot dripped from your face and darkened little spots in the dirt and you couldn’t breathe and mom was talking more but you couldn’t hear her. She dropped onto the ground beside you and looked at your arm. It looked wrong. It hurt so much you felt sick. 

“Oh, my baby, no, no no no,” she cooed, gently pulling you against her, her voice so soft. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You know that, don’t you? I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry, baby. I love you, I love you so—” 

Your arm had to be set and put in a plaster. The surgery and anesthetic came later.

“Your mother loves you,” Dad told you that night. “She loves you very much. You know she didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

You nodded, holding Peach even tighter with your good arm. When you dropped her earlier, she broke. There was a faint fissure going down her face, right over her pretty glass eye. That hurt almost as bad as your arm.

“She worries about you,” Dad said. “We both do. What you did is not alright. You do not tell people about what happens at home. That is not appropriate. Do you understand?” 

You didn’t think you had, but why else would Miss Frizzy say those things? Why else would Mom get so upset? You made a mistake, and there was only one answer. “Yes, daddy,” you said softly. 

Those words made you feel hollow inside. The last time you said them was when you were trying to convince him to stay because even if you were miserable, you weren’t sure if you wanted to leave him. 

Yes, daddy. 

In a twisted way, that memory wrapped right back around to your first time with Buggy. Most of your life you thought you would probably die a virgin. Sex was dirty, and gross, and made you feel bad about yourself. How old were you when you came to that conclusion? Nine? Ten? You remembered the girl who told you. Her name was Harper.

Harper’s family lived on a small dairy farm on the edge of town. In a town full of fishermen, you thought cows were cooler, but Harper said it wasn’t much different at all. Just like them, she had to wake up long before dawn and work for hours before coming to school. The only difference was that she smelled like the barn while the boys who worked on the boats smelled like fish. 

She was the only one in your school around the same age as you. Around the same age. Harper was six months older. Months that grew longer when you factored in the height difference, which seemed to get more substantial every week. She used those months and inches as the primary reason for why you had to listen to her and do what she told you to do. Mainly that included letting her take your toys, colored pencils, and hair ribbons and only playing games that she liked. It also meant, probably on account of those six months of extra experience, that Harper knew a lot of grown-up things that you didn’t. 

An overcast sky loomed above, a sharp wind churning up the smell of brine and salty sea air below. You and Harper lived in the same direction from the school, so you would walk together to the big fork in the road. Then you went up the hill and she went around. Both of you were sniffling and bundled up tightly. Made worse by the wind, the cold got under your coat and nestled there, an inescapable chill. 

“We should make a get well soon card for Dawn,” you said. You had heard that afternoon that she would be out of school for a few months, she’d come down with something bad. You knew all about that. 

Harper snorted out a laugh. “Dawn isn’t sick.” 

You looked at her, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Harper looked at you with an expression you knew well. A mixture of pity and superiority, like you were stupid, or at the very least woefully naive. “She’s pregnant.” 

Your eyes widened in surprise. “That’s not true.” 

“It is,” Harper insisted testily. “My sister told me. She said that Dawn’s a slut. She’ll do it with any handsome sailor so now she’s pregnant.” 

“Oh,” you said. 

Harper smiled. “You know what that means, don’t you?” 

You mulled that over, trying to divine her meaning from words alone. Slut was bad, you knew that much at least. But the rest, you weren’t so sure. Harper obviously wanted you to ask her. She liked doing that. You always felt so stupid not knowing all of the grown-up things that she did. 

“I guess not,” you finally allowed.

“She had sex. That’s how babies are made,” Harper said imperiously, like she was teaching you a very important lesson. “That’s where they both get naked and a man puts his penis in the lady’s down-there parts. Boys have different bits, they stick out. It’s like this-” She held up her hand in the shape of a circle, slowly putting her finger through it to demonstrate. “And then the girl gets pregnant.”

Your face screwed up with disgust. “No way.” 

“Yes way. That’s how you were made,” Harper said crossly. “Your mom and dad had sex and then you were born. And that’s what Dawn did.” 

“How do you know that?” you asked her, still reluctant to believe something so gross and taboo. 

“My mom told me in case a creepy pervert tries to touch my privates or chest. I’m starting to get breasts, you know. I’ll need to wear a bra soon, and that’s when boys want to have sex.”

Harper said that a lot, talking about how she would need a bra soon, but you didn’t think her chest looked any different. You didn’t tell her that though, because then she said you were jealous because she was taller and looked older than you did. You weren’t jealous. If having a bra made boys pay attention to you, you’d rather not. And the whole idea of sex just seemed gross. Probably Harper was lying, she did that sometimes. And if she wasn’t, that was worse. 

But you didn’t say any of that, you just agreed, and then you told her goodbye at the big fork and made your way up the hill thinking about lots of icky, uncomfortable things you would really rather not. 

24 Days Earlier

For you, clothes had always been somewhat of an afterthought. It wasn’t a matter of money. Dad didn’t like to see you wearing anything especially ostentatious or too flattering, he said that it would attract attention and make you look cheap. That, combined with your propensity to get cold, meant that you wore a lot of the shapeless sweaters Pippa hated so much.

Not anymore. 

After a shockingly quick run through of the first shop, Pippa sent you into the changing room with several outfits at the ready. You were still reeling from the newness of it all. Without her, you never would have been able to pick out anything, there were far too many options. 

Taking in a deep breath, you started with a white buttoned shirt. It had a sweetheart neckline and long, frilly sleeves. It was paired with a pair of pinstriped bloomer shorts, the kind that were meant to be seen rather than hidden beneath a skirt. Unlike everything you had worn previously—except for the red dress—both items were fit for your size. It was a lovely outfit. And then you looked in the mirror, remembering your problem.

“Pippa, I can’t wear this shirt right now,” you said doubtfully.

“What are you talking about?” Pippa asked, opening the curtain. You immediately covered your neck. She looked you up and down, her eyes relentlessly critical. “What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” you said. “Just…” When you didn’t elaborate, trying to think of a way to explain the problem, she grabbed your wrist to pull your hand from your neck, revealing the marks littering your skin. The ones from the other night had only just begun to fade, and Buggy had decided to add more that morning “So you don’t forget.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean.

“Was he trying to eat you?” Pippa asked, her tone so matter-of-fact you almost weren’t sure if she was joking or not.

“I…” You huffed, shaking your head. “Did you get anything with a high neckline?” 

“I doubt Captain Buggy wants you to cover them up.”

“How do you know that?” you asked doubtfully. 

“That’s how men are.” She shook her head, a little amused. “Marking their territory. He doesn’t want anybody else trying to play with his toy.” 

You frowned. “Don’t say it like that.”

“You don’t need to be embarrassed, I’m not judging you for getting in with the captain. If I thought I could get away with it, maybe I’d try the same thing.” 

“With Captain Buggy?” you asked sharply, your voice raised with the higher bend of defensive jealousy. 

“Relax,” Pippa said, looking a little surprised by your reaction. “He’s clearly got a type, and he’s certainly not mine.” 

“Sorry, that’s not what I…” You fumbled on the apology, unsure of what you were apologizing for exactly. “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re getting that outfit, try on the black skirt with suspenders next,” Pippa told you, unruffled, “it should go with that shirt.” 

She left the changing booth, closing the curtain. You couldn’t stifle your embarrassment about your reaction, and then thinking about the other night, caught on the worry that you may have embarrassed yourself even worse while drunk. What worried you, more than anything, was her motivation for helping you so much. Did it really make sense that she would like you when you behaved like that? 

You thought about that as you rifled through the hangers, finding the aforementioned skirt fairly quickly. It was one of the few black pieces among lots of white and red. 

“Pippa,” you asked while you got out of the pinstripe shorts, relying on the safety of hiding behind the curtain to muster the courage to ask. “Are we friends?” 

“What?” she called.  

“Are we friends?” you asked again, more insistent. The skirt was shorter than you expected, you would have to wear something underneath it otherwise your panties definitely would show. “You’re not just doing this because Captain Buggy and I are… you know.” 

“Oh, that,” Pippa said. “I won’t lie, that’s why I helped you at first, but now… I like you. It’s hard to find somebody who’s willing to let me dress them up, especially someone like you. I could never get away with wearing clothes like this.”

You emerged from behind the curtain, awkwardly tugging on the hem of the skirt. Luckily, there weren’t many people in the store to see your bite-covered neck. 

“See? You look adorable. I can’t pull off the cutesy style,” Pippa said with no small amount of wistfulness. “You can wear those lacy bloomers I gave you under that. You’ll need stockings too.” 

“You really don’t think it’s too short?” you asked. 

She gave you a flat look. “Do you know the luxury of being short?” 

“I don’t think there are any.” 

“If you wear that skirt, nobody’s gonna be even a little scandalized. If I wore something that short, it would be a problem. Enjoy it.”

You weren’t sure that was true, but it was a cute outfit.

The other things you tried on weren’t as successful, but Pippa said that was fine. As soon as you paid, she was dragging you into another shop. Things proceeded in pretty much the same way. While you were busy eying up a dress to decide if you liked it or not, Pippa was compiling an armful of clothes for you to try before shuffling you into the changing room. 

“There’s a few plain cotton dresses, you can pair them with the corset tops or sweaters. Try those first, it’ll be good to have a few on hand,”  

You picked through the hangers, looking for white cotton but finding a mass of white tulle and shiny sateen. You pulled it out, realizing that it was a dress. The skirts and sleeves were absurdly voluminous.   

“What’s this white dress?” you asked.

“That’s yours. For the show,” Pippa said. “Isn’t it beautiful?” 

“It is,” you agreed, although your hesitance was plain. “You said it’s for me?” 

“Yep.” 

“You don’t think… I mean, if I wear this, I’ll look like a kid, don’t you think?” 

“I think,” she said, “you’ll look like a doll. You don’t have to try it on right now, I’ll need to alter it anyway. Just try those cotton dresses.”  

“Oh yeah, right,” you said, trying very hard to not think about why she bought you a dress for the show. 

After that, you visited a few other boutiques, ending the spree with a trip to a store that only sold underwear. As embarrassing as you found that one, it was necessary. Pippa said you had to ‘maximize your assets.’ What that really meant was wearing bras that had padding in them. Although they weren’t comfortable, you were a little excited about it. Now more than ever you were aware of how deficient you were. 

It was late afternoon as the two of you made your way back to the ship. Shopping was oddly exhausting, as was carrying all the bags. 

The question occurred to you while you were shopping for underwear, and now it burned on your tongue. You knew you needed to do it. You had to ask, the only other person you could think to ask was Crina but you got the feeling she wouldn’t react as well. And Pippa said she was your friend.

“Pippa… Can I ask you something and you never tell anybody ever?” 

“Is it about sex?” she asked absently. 

You flushed hot, all the way to your ears. “Yes.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“I know what a, um, a blowjob is, but I don’t know… how.”

“What are you asking me?” she asked, her eyes flicking towards you for a moment. 

“I was wondering if you did, and if you could… I don’t know, do you have any advice or anything?” Hearing your own words made them a thousand times worse. You shook your head fast enough to make the twintails swish, grimacing. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked.” 

“No, it’s okay. I just had to make sure,” she told you. “You know how to give a handjob, right?” 

You blinked, freezing up in the face of that question as you realized that maybe you misunderstood what was meant by that last time you used the term. “Um...”

“Stroking his cock with your hand,” she said.

“Oh! Oh, I guess.” You had definitely misunderstood what that term meant last time you used it. 

“That, but you add your mouth. Lick, suck, bob your head on the end while you jerk him off. If you’re having trouble with getting the rhythm, ask him to help you out.”

You nodded, trying to commit that all to memory while avoiding combusting on the spot out of embarrassment. “Okay, and, um… I can’t fit it all the way in my mouth. When he tried to, I choked.” 

“You’d want to practice suppressing your gag reflex,” she explained casually, unconcerned with the subject or the idea that people walking past could hear her. “Some people can do it, some can’t.”

“What if I can’t?”

“You’re overthinking this,” Pippa said. “If you seem like you’re having the time of your life worshiping his cock, it doesn’t matter how deep you can take it.”

“That sounds… really embarrassing,” you admitted, catching sight of Buggy’s ship. That was good, your arms were burning from carrying so many bags.  

“It doesn’t have to be,” Pippa said. “Sex should be fun.” 

“It is!” you said quickly, defensive. “I just… I’m so… I feel disgusting, you know? And I don’t know what to say or do during and then after it makes me want to, I don’t know…” You shook your head, trying to think of a good way to phrase it. “I wanna peel off my skin or something. Do you ever feel that way?” 

“No,” Pippa said, looking at you with a frown.

“Oh, um, I mean…” You forced a laugh. “I think I’m just being silly, I’m sorry.” 

Pippa nodded. Neither of you brought it up again.  

“I’ve got a special move for taking people down,” Buggy said over dinner that night. He brought it back to the ship for you rather than letting you go into town again. You liked that better anyway, when it was just you and Buggy. “I won’t spoil anything, but by the time I’m done, the sorry sucker’s nothin’ but chunks on the road. I’ll show you one day, it’ll blow your mind.” 

You thought about that for a moment, looking at your plate. “Does it, um, does it bother you at all?” you asked. “Killing people.” 

“Why would it?” he asked out of the side of his mouth, talking through a big bite of fish. 

“I… I don’t know. You’re taking away another person’s life. Everything they were, everything they could be, all of that is gone because—because of you.” 

Buggy rolled his eyes. “Babydoll, it’s not that big a deal. If they die, it was their fault for being in my way.”

You nodded. “My dad used to say that he never killed anybody. He only killed pirates.” 

“Funny, I’ve only killed idiots.”

As desperately as you wanted to be able to think like that, you weren’t sure you could ever excuse yourself in that way. You wished you could be strong like Buggy, that you could adopt such an easy point of view. If you could, you would be better.   

“Okay,” Buggy said, dropping his fork onto his empty plate and leaning back to pick his teeth with his knife. “I’m ready for the show.” 

“Show?” you asked.

“You went shopping today, didn’t you? As my little protégé, the way you look represents me. I gotta know you’re meeting certain standards.”

“It’s just like what Pippa was giving me before,” you said, oddly embarrassed by the idea of putting on clothes just to show Buggy, “but now everything fits.”  

“Didja get new undies?” 

Your lips twisted up in an embarrassed smile, a little giggle bubbling out of your mouth. Buggy had seen you in all states of undress, you weren’t sure how you could manage to still feel so shy.

“I mean,” he said, gesturing towards you with the blade of his knife, “it’s a real shame about what happened to the ones from the other night. You gotta be more careful, babydoll.” 

You wanted to point out that it was his fault for ripping them because he wasn’t patient, but you had a feeling he’d just turn that around on you anyway. 

“I did,” you said. “Get new stuff, I mean.”

“Great,” Buggy said, dropping his knife and clapping his hands together. “Let’s start with that.”  

[cuffmeinblack]

Hold me like a grudge

Leander Prewett x f!reader

Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | ao3 for both parts

Summary: The whole school now knows you slept with Leander Prewett, and you're sure as hell going to own it. What you hadn't bargained for was pesky feelings.

4.5k words

Tags: explicit | smut | Slytherin!reader | fingering | unprotected sex | public sex

A/n: Joint winner of the 'what shall I write next' poll. Unashamedly smutty. Also I added secret Garreth x Imelda because I love the stereotypical brash Slytherin and sunshine Gryffindor pairing 🫶

As much as you enjoyed Leander’s company, you weren’t quite ready to reveal the Room of Requirement to him just yet. That left you with the choice of abandoning the night or putting your money where your mouth was and sneaking into Gryffindor tower. It shouldn’t be hard, given your notorious stealth and the bumbling portrait guardian’s lack of oversight at the late hour—the more worrisome part was potentially coming into contact with other Gryffindors. If you were to run into Nellie Oggspire, it would be awkward, but not something that would usually bother you. Confrontation was all part and parcel of being a brash Slytherin with a sharp tongue. No—fuck Nellie Oggspire—the thought of publicly being involved with Leander Prewett was far more terrifying. 

Dressed again, he stood next to you, waiting for your answer. As your eyes ran up and down his towering form, he turned his head and shot you a shy smile with those damn kissable lips, sending a shiver down your spine and only serving to deepen your arousal. 

"Take me to your dorm, then," you said, resigned.

"Really?"

With a nod of your head, his hand entwined with yours and you were on your way to the lion's den. Every step brought more trepidation and much more excitement, the thought of having him again quickening your step until you were practically jogging. There was no question of turning back—if you were doing this, you would own it. Getting into the common room was easy enough with a disillusionment charm and a quiet step, navigating the room was altogether trickier. You dropped the charm and allowed Leander to lead you upstairs, drawing attention the entire way. Head held high, you ignored them all and kept your eyes on the flaming mane ahead of you.

As soon as the curtains around his bed were drawn and silencing charm uttered, you were in his lap and against those soft lips. It had been all of fifteen minutes since you’d been fucked by him in an abandoned classroom, yet your hunger was nowhere near sated. He groaned as you pressed your weight into him, your eager moan lost in his mouth with fierce swipes of tongues. His roommates went to bed and slept soundly as Leander had you falling apart over and over again within the confines of his bed. His confidence grew and touch became more assertive as the night drew on and you questioned whether there was an inch of your body he hadn't explored. Suffice it to say, neither of you managed to sleep much that night.

-

You awoke early anyway, taking a second or two to realise why you were so warm and adjusting to the foreign feel of the mattress below you. Leander was pressed against your back, his long arm draped over your waist and nose nuzzled into your hair whilst soft breaths tickled your neck. The room was quiet and still dim, only the gentle sound of birdsong an indication of the pending sunrise. It would have been nice to stay a while, enjoy being held in Leander's arms and maybe make the most of the time before breakfast in his bed, but now was the perfect opportunity to sneak back to the dungeons without drawing too much attention. You couldn't pass it up, so regretfully you peeled his arm off you and began a hunt for your clothes. 

Whilst pulling on your shirt, you heard him stir; a low murmur and shuffle of bed sheets that drew your attention back to his sprawled form. The more you looked at him, his lean arms folded behind his head, freckled torso visible as the sheet crumpled around his waist, the less likely you were to leave. You bit your lip and took one last look before sliding off the bed to make your escape. On your way back to the dungeons, you wondered how long it would take for the whole school to know that you'd been seen sneaking off to Leander's dormitory.

The thing about Hogwarts was, there was no stopping the gossip—it spread like fiendfyre, fueled by your own reckless disregard of others' opinions that sent you striding into Gryffindor tower in the first place. Of all the surprised mutterings, most were merely curious or mildly amused at the match. Even Imelda, who'd you'd expected to be furious about sleeping with the competition, seemed only mildly incredulous.

"Prewett?" she asked, for what might have been the third time that morning. "Was it just a one-time thing?"

You sighed and looked at her over your bowl of porridge.

"I don't know, Imelda. Anyway, don't knock a Gryffindor until you've tried it," you smirked back.

She looked over her shoulder to the Gryffindor table looking less than convinced, drawing a few return glances. You watched as she caught Garreth's eye and he grinned back at her, with that wide and bright Weasley smile that had charmed countless witches and wizards. She looked away grumbling but you definitely caught a blush creep over her cheeks before she dipped her head to shovel eggs into her mouth. With an amused chuckle, you returned to your own breakfast, pouring a strong cup of tea as you thought on her question.

Was it just a one-time thing? Truthfully, you didn't want it to be. Whether or not he'd feel the same, you couldn't be sure, but he'd certainly seemed to enjoy himself immensely. You tried not to dwell on the fact that he was missing from the breakfast table. When you saw him next, you'd play it cool, let him come to you. Resolved, you finished your food and dragged Imelda off to your first lesson of the day—Potions. Fortunately, or unfortunately, you knew you wouldn't see Leander there since he'd dropped the subject after O.W.Ls, but of course the potions prodigy himself, Garreth Weasley, was there to grill you for information.

He'd barely spoken to you, yet here he was asking all sorts of private questions in the middle of class, whilst Professor Sharp limped around the tables keeping an eye on their progress. You could usually rely on Imelda to throw a harsh word to anyone bothering you, being the defensive and protective friend she was, but instead she remained silent with her head down, eyes occasionally flicking up to watch Garreth. Regretting your earlier comment that appeared to have lodged itself in her brain, you sighed and turned to the redhead whilst cutting up your beans.

"Nellie and Leander had an argument, I asked if he was alright and then we…"

"Ended up sleeping together?"

"Yes," you hissed. "Why can't Prewett tell you this?"

"I haven't seen him this morning."

"Oh, right."

"What are you up to?" he asked, eyes narrowed whilst idly stirring his cauldron.

"What the hell, Weasley? I'm not up to anything."

"Girls like you don't sleep with guys like Leander."

You felt a flutter in your abdomen whilst thinking of all the reasons why girls like you should sleep with guys like Leander. He could be a bit of a goof and cripplingly insecure, but you'd seen another side to him that intrigued you. The way he'd been so confident in bed, surprisingly so…and sweet, attentive…

"That's a horrible thing to say about your friend, you know," you commented, banishing the memories until later.

"I think he'd agree with me. Not that I like to tar all Slytherins with the same brush, either…"

"So don't," Imelda said from beside you, finally breaking her silence.

"Right…"

The bewildered and slightly awestruck murmur from Garreth signalled the end of his interrogation, and you could finally get on with your assignment whilst your two table partners made eyes at each other all lesson.

When you finally saw Leander, it was in double Charms that afternoon. Professor Ronen had decided to have everyone practice a basic summoning charm, with the added complication of doing so without speaking the incantation. The lesson was oddly quiet, with uttered frustrations and occasional whispers between the students as they all tried to pull books towards them. To say you were distracted was an understatement, and judging by Leander's flushed cheeks you'd guess he was aware of your eyes on him. He'd not approached you, or even acknowledged you since you'd walked in, and your resolve to let him come to you was slowly crumbling with every passing minute.

Suspicion and confusion devolved into panic, and the book you'd been summoning almost knocked you out as it flew haphazardly across the room. Why was he ignoring you? You couldn't bear not knowing and decided to corner him after the lesson, annoyed at how he managed to make you look so damn desperate all of a sudden.

"Leander," you said, catching up to him as the class filed out of the room.

"Hey," was all he had to say, and your stomach twisted.

"Where have you been?"

Leander shuffled his feet, finally meeting your gaze with those deep brown eyes that drew you towards him.

"Oh, you mean breakfast? I overslept…I didn't think you'd notice."

"Why wouldn't I notice? After…after last night," you asked, glancing around at the passing students as you lowered your voice.

"Well, you left this morning. I thought you regretted it."

You had the impulse to hit him right then, to smack the stupid out of him, but he had a point. You should have said goodbye, and an odd and unwelcome guilt settled over you. He was far too sweet, and it made you want to run as fast as you could.

"I didn't. Don't. Not one bit," you sighed.

"Oh," he said. "I had a conversation with Nellie afterwards. I told her about us. You."

"So she's out of the picture, then?" you asked.

"Definitely."

"Good."

"Is it?" he asked, apparently surprised.

Nodding, you stepped forward and gripped the front of his robes, guiding him down to your level to whisper in his ear.

"Well I can hardly sleep with you when you have a girlfriend. I'm not a harlot, Prewett."

"You want to do it again?" he mumbled, a hand finding your waist.

"What part of last night made you think I wouldn't?"

The heat from his face was so apparent now and his fingers flexed against your skin, tips digging into your flesh. He loomed over you with his head dipped, the smell of his aftershave reminding you of being nestled against his neck whilst he fucked you so thoroughly. Everything reminded you, truth be told—just being in his presence seemed to send your libido skyrocketing, a mad craving to have him buried inside you taking over all rational thought. That part of your brain was apparently long departed as you tugged his tie to pull him into a kiss in the middle of the corridor. 

You expected him to pull away and mumble something about going somewhere more private, but he once again surprised you by pinning you against the wall and reciprocating the kiss with a fervour that took your breath away. Those soft lips sent your head spinning and body screaming out to be ravished. His hands didn't dare roam whilst in such a public place, but he gripped you tighter and pressed himself against you regardless, his obvious arousal almost making you cry out in desperation. The moment was interrupted by Professor Ronen stepping out of his classroom and tutting loudly until Leander stepped away, clearly mortified.

"Can I see you later?" Leander asked quietly, watching the professor skip away down the stairs

'Please, Gods yes' would have been your truthful response but you settled for an 'okay' and flirty smile that sent him on his way merrily.

-

To say you couldn't keep your hands off each other was a stretch—you still had some modicum of self control, but it wasn't too far from the truth. For weeks, you slept in his bed or he slept in yours if the hour was late enough that the Slytherin common room wasn't packed with aggressively territorial snakes. Leander had already had to endure Sebastian's unpleasantness and Imelda's disbelief; the Gryffindors were slightly more accommodating, yet still baffled. 

The opinions of the rest of the school didn't stop you from enjoying every minute with him, even if whatever you had was just sex (it was just sex, right?). Though if that were true, it didn't explain the tightness in your chest and nervous fidgeting as you watched him change into his Quidditch kit that afternoon. He'd be playing Ravenclaw in less than an hour, and you hoped you hadn't worn him out too much before lunch.

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"You. You look damn fine in that uniform, Prewett," you replied, eyes skimming over his torso, admiring the way his jersey hugged his lean muscles.

He gave you a soft smile that hinted at his anxiety and before you knew it you were in his arms, giving him a final kiss goodbye and muttered 'good luck'. You knew then you'd be cheering for Gryffindor, even if the rest of your house were supporting Ravenclaw.

You made your way down to the pitch soon after parting, meeting Sebastian and Ominis on the way. Whilst the latter couldn't truly enjoy Quidditch, he did come along for Sebastian's commentary and to kill some time—he said the atmosphere alone was enough to draw him to the stadium. As you settled down next to Sebastian amongst excitedly chattering students, a roar came from the far side of the stadium—the Gryffindor team had just walked onto the field. Some boos erupted around you but your attention was elsewhere, namely on the tallest member of the team striding alongside his captain. 

You'd so far not had the privilege of seeing Leander in action, but as soon as he'd swung his leg over his broom and soared towards the goal hoops you knew you'd be watching nobody else. There was that unexpected confidence again, the way he handled the broom so sure and graceful. It made sense that he was a keeper with those impossibly long limbs, but apparently he was much more than just a conveniently tall player. Your face must have been burning as Sebastian tutted beside you, muttering to Ominis about how you couldn't tear your eyes away from Prewett.

Fuck it.

"Come on, Leander!" you shouted.

It wasn't likely he'd heard you over the hubbub, especially as the Ravenclaw team made their way onto the grass, but still you swore he'd grinned in your direction. Heart racing and heat pooling between your legs, you kept your eyes on him through it all; every save and every slap on the back of one of his teammates, every time he ran his hand through his hair or lifted his shirt to dab sweat from his brow, revealing his toned stomach. He must have been doing it on purpose, purely to torture you until you could drag him to bed later. Gryffindor were playing well, but it all came down to the snitch, and the moment you took your eyes off of Leander to wonder where the seekers were, the crowd erupted with gasps and even a few screams.

All you heard from then on was a dull thudding, a loud hum as you watched Leander fall to the ground, unconscious. His fall was slowed by a quick spell courtesy of Professor Hecat, but the thud when he hit the ground indicated she might have been too late. You couldn't stop the bile rising in your throat or the way you shoved anyone in your way to the side as you raced down the stands. They wouldn't let you onto the pitch, hands grabbing your robes and someone telling you to leave it to the professors—all you could do was watch uselessly as he was levitated back to the castle, forced to wait outside the hospital wing for what seemed like hours with his teammates.

Your frantic pacing in the hallway was interrupted by Nurse Blainey, who ushered forth his captain and a worried Garreth Weasley.

"Can I see him?" you asked, barging Weasley out of the way.

"Are you family?" she asked, rather testily.

"No, I'm…a friend."

"Well, then…"

"She's his girlfriend," Garreth said, looking at you with green eyes that seemed incapable of lies.

"Fine, come on then," the matron sighed, waving you into the room.

Truth be told, he looked fucking awful, but Nurse Blainey assured you that he would be out of the hospital wing in a day, once he'd finished regrowing his bones. The bruises that were scattered across his exposed ribs and left arm were quite the sight; purple and blotchy and fading not nearly as quickly as you'd have liked.

"Can't you used a cream or something on his ribs?" you asked.

The matron merely raised an eyebrow and strode off, leaving you frowning in her wake. Turning back to Leander, you noticed he had a grin plastered on his face that he had no right having.

"Come here," he said, holding out his hand.

You obeyed his wishes, walking in a stupor, clearly still foggy and in shock. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you clasped his hand in yours, taking in his appearance with a mixture of concern and something else simmering beneath the surface. Apart from dishevelled hair and a slight sheen of sweat, his face looked incredible; it was only his battered body that looked tender and in need of some loving care. The thought of being the one to rub in his bruise ointment made you blank for a second before blinking and returning your focus to his eyes.

"I was watching the seekers, what in the hells happened?" you asked.

"Their chaser collided with me, I bounced off a post and then…well, I don't remember. I suppose I hit the ground pretty hard," he said, trying and failing to lift his arm up in demonstration.

"Mr Prewett needs rest. He'll be out sometime tomorrow," Nurse Blaimey said, lingering behind you.

"What time tomorrow?"

"Whenever I deem he's fit to return to the castle."

You frowned at her answer but nodded, asking for just one more minute. As she walked away, heels clacking on the stone floor, you leaned in close to Leander's ear, his breath hitching slightly as your lips brushed his skin.

"I'll come back tonight," you whispered.

"How are…oh right, you're sneaky."

You smiled and kissed his cheek before turning to leave, thanking the nurse politely whilst inwardly seething. Once you'd left, his other friends were allowed a minute or two to say hello—you dodged Garreth's questions, making a quick escape back to the Slytherin common room to wait.

-

The rest of the day dragged on as you waited for the sun to set and curfew to descend upon the castle. You'd told only Imelda where you were planning on going, and she knew better than to try to convince you to stay. Once the common room emptied and the hallways fell silent, you took it as your cue to cast your disillusionment charm, shuddering as the cold slithered down your neck and your body shimmered and faded. This was nothing you couldn't handle, though you felt a little bad about dragging Leander into your schemes.

As predicted, the journey to the hospital wing was easy enough, and you hit the jackpot when you arrived to see the door ajar and Nurse Blainey napping on a spare bed with her mouth ajar and soft snores filling the room. You crept through the ward towards the only other occupied bed at the far end, slipping inside the curtain that now surrounded the bay. Leander lay where you'd left him, his arm bent at an awkward angle and those horrible bruises visible even in the darkness. You could still make out his features from the flicker of candlelight and soft moonlit glow, his parted lips drawing you closer.

You dropped your charm, body shimmering as you clambered onto the bed and whispered his name softly to coax him out of his slumber.

"Leander…"

"Wha…oh, you're here," he muttered groggily as you shushed him and hastily cast a silencing charm.

"I told you I would be. I had to wait until after curfew."

"I'm glad you did come," he whispered. "Where's Blainey?

"Asleep. It's just us," you replied, the implication causing ripples of tension as you looked at each other.

Your body took over, straddling him as carefully as possible before dipping your head to kiss him. All of that worry from earlier in the day seemed to melt away as he responded eagerly and slipped his uninjured hand around your waist to pull you closer. His tongue flicked across your lip, drawing a soft moan from you and a twitch beneath the bed sheet where your body met his.

"Careful or you'll get me hard," he gasped, pushing your chest away gently.

You smirked down at him, wriggling your hips against the growing bulge beneath you, groaning at the delicious friction.

"That was rather the point. I wore something special just for you," you purred, grasping his hand and guiding it underneath your skirt.

He muttered a 'fuck' laced with pure lust as he realised what you were wearing underneath. His fingers brushed against bare skin between your crotchless underwear, tentative strokes that made your breath hitch and eyebrows peak in a pleading look.

"Lee…"

He responded with a firm press of his hand that parted your folds, his fingers delving to your entrance, already wet and aching for his touch. 

"You're fucking soaking already…," he muttered, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

You kissed him again, sloppy and desperate as you writhed against his hand, his fingers circling your clit with a practised ease that made your head spin. It had been barely a day, but the events of the afternoon had made you frantic, stoking the flame of desire and an overwhelming and confusing need to be as close to him as possible. Leander watched intently as you peeled back the bed sheet and shuffled down his underwear, his stiff cock springing free and twitching with anticipation.

"You're really going to…?"

"I'll be gentle," you replied, your hand already wrapped around his girth.

Leander moaned as you gripped him, his fingers leaving your throbbing clit to grip you hard on your hip as you lined him up with your entrance. Lowering yourself slowly, you sighed as he stretched you, his own groans drowning you out. Once you were sitting on his lap, you wriggled to take him deeper with a smirk down at him, to which he responded with a hard pull on your hips and a thrust upwards that had you crying out. He was so fucking deep, the moment you started to rock your hips you lost all composure. You wanted to tease him, make him beg for it, but you were so unashamedly desperate for his cock, you couldn't have stopped if you'd tried.

Leander pulled and pushed your hips into a steady rhythm, his soft moans echoed by your own. You were gentle by your standards, avoiding his bruising whilst you rode him, lost entirely in the endless caress inside you and his intense gaze. You felt as if you were falling, deeply; into what, you weren't sure.

"You feel so…good," he groaned, his jaw clenching.

The rustle of movement outside of the curtain brought you back from the brink, your eyes widening in horror. The matron had awoken and was now shuffling around, clinking bottles in her stores. You should have stopped, but your body had a mind of its own and Leander had absolutely no intention of letting you off his lap.

"She won't come in here…not if she thinks I'm asleep."

His grip was bruising as he pulled you down hard onto his cock, your eyes rolling back in your head and legs shaking in anticipation of your release. Your body fell forward, hands gripping the sheets and Leander's hair as his lips found your pounding pulse and he began nipping at the sensitive skin below your ear.

"Fuck…"

"That's it…you're such a naughty girl fucking me like this," he whispered in your ear.

He'd learned well and knew exactly how to have you begging for him to make you come. That sultry voice that filled your head was all the encouragement you needed. He took over from below you, thrusting up fast and steady whilst all you could manage to do was whimper into the pillow as your orgasm rushed forth. 

"You're so close, aren't you?" he teased.

"Yeah…"

Another clink of glass, a muttering and shuffle of parchment. The matron's footsteps grew louder, closer, and your chest contracted just as your abdomen clenched.

"Don't worry about her, just look at me," Leander said, his voice rasping and breathing heavy.

Ignoring the noises, you met his eyes as he licked his lips and pushed you down on him hard. The sound that left your mouth was almost a shriek as your body shuddered and your orgasm crashed over you, whimpering gasps muffled by the pillow as your head collapsed next to him. He fucked you through the waves of pleasure, his moans becoming ragged until he met his own release. He filled you with every pulse of his cock, thrusting his cum inside you until he finally collapsed back on the bed, messy and satisfied. 

The footsteps had receded again, followed by a click of the door, apparently none the wiser of your amorous activities. You relaxed and nestled against his glistening neck, kissing him over and over again, clinging tightly to his hair, cheek, jaw, anywhere you could touch that wasn't bruised.

"Are you okay?" you asked breathlessly.

"Mhm. A little sore. Worth it," he said through deep inhales.

You nodded and resumed your lips' attack on his face and neck.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked amusedly, his uninjured hand clasping your cheek, forcing you to still and look at him.

The vulnerability you felt as you thought over the past day was unfamiliar, unwelcome.

"Don't ever get injured again," you said, completely seriously.

"You really can't go one night without me, hm?" he chuckled.

"No, but... I've never been so fucking scared in my life. Just…be careful."

"Really?" he muttered.

He really was dense, sometimes. He looked up at your with those gorgeous brown eyes and you sighed, resigned to the fact that you'd have to talk about your feelings at some point.

"I really like you, Leander."

He grinned, looking adorably triumphant. You almost rolled your eyes, adopting your usual defensive mockery; really, you were terrified that he didn't feel the same.

"Be my girlfriend, then," he finally replied, stroking his thumb across your kiss-swollen lips.

"About time you asked, Prewett," you sighed.

[korpuskat]

Eleven Years - Chapter 3

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: T (this chapter, Explicit future chapters) WC: 4.5k Warnings: Kidnapping; Stockholm Syndrome, imprisonment, isolation, manipulation, mind break, & future extreme dubcon

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

==

Orange cutting through a multicolor tide, dark cords floating atop the waves. He’s leaving. Down, down cobbled streets, crowds parting softly as he passes by. He’s going, traveling- not a pilgrimage to another temple, not just to find more lost souls. Leaving.

Your mouth moves, but no sound escapes. Caught in the void you reach forward, take a step. You can’t move, stuck in place. Something cool wraps around your throat. It pulls you back, further from him- The metal is like ice, and you flinch, taking your eyes off his sunlight robes for only a moment. You look again, and he’s gone- and the arms wrap around you, pull you in closer, squeezing, crushing-

The door opens with a hiss- and your dream evaporates. There’s a moment you’re in your bed, groggily wondering why your alarm sounds so strange. But there’s no sunlight, the sheets are wrong.

You jolt awake, stumbling to your feet and blinking rapidly. Blurred with fitful sleep and your difficult rise into consciousness, Ramattra’s image before you is hazy, but the adrenaline soon clears him up.

“I am sorry, I did not mean to wake you.” He says- and as far as you can tell he means it. Ramattra even has the courtesy of tipping his head downwards, though you’re sure his optics are still locked on you. At least, until something else catches his attention. He turns slightly- and his focus centers completely on the empty mug on the table.

You bristle before he even moves. He reaches out, cradles the mug so delicately in his big hands. “I can bring you more, if you would like?”

You don’t answer, wrapping your hands around yourself and pursing your lips in defiance. You needed water and had indulged in a momentary whim- that’s what you tell yourself. You won’t do that when he’s here, won’t let him have any more victories like this.

Your silence still stings, but this is a high Ramattra won’t soon forget. He had expected to return to shattered glass and screaming- or worse. He knows you’re so angry with him- and it makes him ache- but… he’s elated to even have you drink the tea he made.

Instead, he tries his luck again. “We don’t have much by way of food prepared, but I can get you anything you want.” He pauses, burns your face into his optics. There’s fear and distrust in your eyes, but you’re still so beautiful and he wants so badly- “You only need to ask.”

You don’t answer.

He brings you tarkari and more tea. The curry is under-seasoned, but it does its job: making you stare at the plate with watery eyes long after Ramattra has left. Part of you is sickened. It’s a recipe you’d saved- made it once for a group of pilgrims who couldn’t make it up the mountain in a storm. It was warm. It is warm. He’s dredging up those same memories- of better times, of before.

It sickens you that it works- makes you think of nice things.

And it makes you hurt deep inside because he remembers. All the time you’ve spent thinking about him, he’s been doing the same. How long has he been parsing that recipe, that night, the memory itself? Does it repeat endlessly in his mind like he does for you?

You eat if only to silence the grumbling in your belly. When you’re done you lay down, face away from the door, and cry.

At first, you loathed his visits. With no expression, there’s still something in the way he looks at you- the soft cant of his head when he asks a question, the way his fingers twitch as he lingers, aching to do more than stand there. He may be providing food- and leaving menus to encourage your participation in your own confinement- and wishing for more, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction beyond your continued existence.

But the time between quickly became… long. You prowl the room like a captive tiger. Circling, inspecting the drawers in the vanity, the mirror, the bathroom- the perfectly neutral, inoffensive soaps he’s chosen for you (did he not remember the ones you had in Nepal? Can he not find them?). Then on again- the mostly empty drawers beneath the sink- out into the room, opening the drawers of the little tables. Simple clothes, deeply impersonal. He didn’t know what you would like, wasn’t confident enough in your tastes.

But soon you’re back where you started. No windows. No books, no screens. Trapped not only in Ramattra’s ship, but in your own head. Alone with the memory of him.

This continues on for what you think may be a few days. With no clocks or sky, you can’t judge the passage of time. Was he feeding you every eight hours? You can’t be sure. It feels timed, evenly spaced- or was that just the isolation of sitting in the room for hours at a time with nothing to do?

Each time you shuffle away from the door, refuse to meet his gaze. He asks some nice little questions, leaves something for you- some kind of plea for your attention. You refuse. You’ll eat and drink-- partially because you think he’ll make you eat, if you refuse, but partially just to spite him. You’ll live and you’ll make him know how you feel with every one-sided conversation.

He hides it, but you know every time you reject his bids for affection must hurt. It’s a thread to hang on to: the truth of it despite his warped kindness. He’s kidnapped you, wrought destruction on the very place you called him. You have to spite him. Whatever good in him has to be gone.

And when he enters your room off-schedule, you cover your surprise with a sneer. Immediately, you know something is wrong. The timing is incorrect, but worse- Ramattra wanders further in than normal. He usually keeps a respectful distance, this is… new. You draw your feet up, tuck your knees to your chest, squishing into a protective little ball and keep your eyes carefully trained on him.

He doesn’t try to sit on the bed with you. Instead he drops himself onto the vanity’s seat, giving you plenty of space. You blink back surprise. Ramattra doesn’t look at you. He always does, giving you expressionless pleading glances, watching your every movement in futile hope. Today, his faceplate is locked to the floor, his shoulders sagging, his vents almost simulating a sigh.

This is… different. He hasn’t sat with you since-

“When I made it to Europe, I spent most of the time walking.” You stare at him as he speaks. It’s no longer fear that drives you attention because he sounds exhausted. Every time before he’s been saccharine-sweet and longing and now he’s… “Very few offered assistance. They had not seen a Ravager in years… at least, not a functional one.” He lays his hands in his lap, lowers his gaze to look at them.

“Germany was just as receptive. I had gone there to follow rumors of a slave trading ring using unrecovered battlefields as their cover. They posed as scrap collectors and smuggled sentient omnics under pieces of their kin. I could not take the main roads in; I found out quickly that distressed humans tend to shoot their hostages. So I looked for slavers, walking through the forests of Germany.” He pauses, modulates an awkward noise, “Have you ever seen them?”

He does not look at you, but he does wait. The question is so unexpected you could not answer even if you wanted to. You were not ignorant about the treatment of omnics. If they were not safe in the shadow of a monastery, they were not safe anywhere... but somehow you did not expect Ramattra’s quest for omnic salvation to be so… blunt.

When you do not answer, he continues on.

“The paths I took were densely lined. Humans had replanted trees a century earlier and left them to grow together, unsupervised… It was quiet, green, full of life- and the spaces between were full of discarded and destroyed omnics. Mostly war units, E-54s and OR-14s. Enough were civilian models. From before the Awakening. Gone before they had a chance to live. Given why I was there at all, I wondered if perhaps they were more fortunate.”

Anger loosens your resolve. The words slip from you. “You think never having lived at all is better?”

For the first time in the whole encounter, Ramattra’s faceplate snaps to you. “For some of us.”

You sit with that and meet the black slits of his optics. The helmets he’s putting on omnics… Ramattra doesn’t get to decide that for them.. but you can’t decide it for him, either.

“There was a fox.” He finally looks away, tips his head back, the white of his faceplate slimming down to a thin slit on the sharp purple angles of his jaw. “I had been so focused on avoiding humans, I had ignored all other readings until it was in front of me. It was sleeker than the foxes at Shambali and its paws were so dark they blended into the shadows. But I could still tell one was bloodied, trapped in steel wire.

“It was caught in a snare. A barbaric one, meant to maim as much as confine so that if it freed itself, it would be too injured to hunt. It was… frantic. It knew I was no hunter, that I had not set the trap, yet it bared its teeth and hissed at me. Injured as it was, everything was a threat and it could only focus on escape. It pulled its paw futilely against the trap, then began biting at the limb.”

Ramattra trails off, the memory brought into his HUD. Blood, crimson and fresh, drips over black fur, over the brown, dried blood from previous attempts at freedom.

“Did you free it?”

“Should I have?” He asks- and you cringe away from him. He wouldn’t have… but then, you barely knew him anymore. “I had the same debate with myself. If I free the fox, it may only have a few hours of life before its wound gets infected, perhaps days before it starves. Is that freedom or suffering?”

“It might’ve recovered. You killed it and stole that chance.” You spit the words, but Ramattra does not flinch at the accusation.

Instead, he hums, tips his head as he observes you, weighs your answer. “You needn’t worry. I let it go.” You let the confusion wash over your face. It brings him some satisfaction because he explains: “Some of the omnics I found in those hidden dungeons have been locked away since the Awakening. They had hardly seen the world, barely lived. They’re wounded, or worse, naive to the many other ways they could be taken advantage of. But they may never have the chance to live if I did not help them.”

Ramattra leans forward, reaches out- fingers just barely touching the end of the bed. He’s nowhere near you, but you draw your limbs in closer anyway. “That’s why it has to be this way. To open every trap at once.”

It very quickly becomes a chore to remind yourself, a mantra you repeat in your head over and over when he’s not around. He’s killing people. He’s hurting omnics. He kidnapped you.

It’s hard. Talking with someone, with him, gives you something to do. A few days without anything to do but ruminate has left you itching for scraps of stimulation. He avoids the topics of his invasion and the state of the world. If you get too aggressive or remind him you won’t be swayed, he leaves- if it’s to punish you or to mitigate his own frustration, you aren’t entirely sure. It feels like a punishment… which only hurts more when he delivers food in silence.

Isolation becomes nightmarish after only a few hours- at least you think it’s hours. Trying to sleep through it leaves you waking at unfamiliar intervals, unsure how much time you’ve lost, if you’ve even slept at all. Then, he takes your dream. Unconscious fantasies of the outside world begin dwindling. More and more it’s him in this little pale room- saying things in garbled dialogue you can't follow, don’t want to even if you could.. And in some of them he does more than talk. Sometimes he’s the killing machine he was built to be with efficient, merciless hands- and sometimes he isn’t. You’d wake shaken, confused, angry- but with him or yourself you aren’t sure.

So you let him avoid the nastiness and you keep your composure, a small price to pay to have something more than the same blank walls that chip at your mind.

“It was… impactful seeing how the location of one’s awakening affected their life.” He muses one day, in better spirits than usual. “I knew this, even before I found the Shambali, but seeing for myself the… wide range of survival tactics some omnics employ was particularly enlightening. Some banded together, formed whole communities of omnics, adapting to the harsh environments around them. Some assimilated, as best they could. Took very human names, bought into their values.”

He quiets and looks at you. The implied barb about human desires never comes.

“I thought about you often,” He says quietly. As he speaks his voice rises, tenses: “A few of the omnics I met had human partners. At first, I couldn’t understand it after everything I had seen. How humans treat omnics- even in places they claim are equal…” His ventilation increases, a rush of air leaving him as he looks to you. “but then I would think of you. Of us.”

You can’t meet his gaze. Not when the conversation veers so close to vulnerability. He’s hurting people. He kidnapped you. But the admission still makes your chest tight, your eyes water. You thought of him too; with every couple you saw, every time a friend celebrated their anniversary you’d think of what year you’d be on now if you hadn’t…

Ramattra shifts, aware he’s said too much. Your silence adds to his discomfort, makes him sit up straighter- any longer and he’ll feel the need to leave. The threat of an empty room, of pacing and fitful naps pushes fear through your veins.

“Did you give them your blessing?” You settle on.

Ramattra visibly relaxes, leans towards you, openly basking in your voice. “Some asked for it. They worried I would perceive it as a conflict of interest.” Behind his faceplate his optics are settled on you, biometrics outlined in his HUD. “It would be hypocritical of me to deny them. Even if I doubted their human partners were as sublime as you.” He sees when your breath hitches, as much as you try to keep it quiet.

Sublime.

The praise shouldn’t make your belly flip, shouldn’t make you wish that things were different. He’s killing people. He kidnapped you. He kidnapped you. But it does. It makes you curl up into a little ball and bury your face in your knees. You don’t let yourself cry until Ramattra murmurs quiet apologies and makes his escape.

You are alone again.

Sleep doesn’t come for several hours- you think. How long did you cry? You can’t be sure- you only stop when your temples are pounding and you drag yourself to the bathroom to stick your head under the faucet. The cool water feels nice, washes tears and snot from your face- you lose yourself to the sensation of it, allow yourself to drift away.

In your mind it’s a cold mountain stream. You’re out hiking or venturing off near- near the monastery. Water is almost freezing on your face, on your hands, dripping down your neck. The walls of the monastery rise high on the mountain, floating statues of monks in prayer, of Aurora decorating the facade. You cup your hands, bring the water to your lips and drink.

Ramattra had always found the act of consumption strange.

He watches, almost motionless in the corner of your eye while you kneel at the riverbank. You smile at him as he comes closer. He speaks- the syllables are blurred together, tied up in the humming of his synth. In a way you know he’s scolding you- his annoyance is a thin veil for his worry- for getting your hands wet, it’s much too cold for this. He offers you his scarf with another terse reprimand. You’ll get sick.

You wake in your bed, unsure how you got there, unsure how long it’s been.

You sleep and wake and sleep and wake, a fitful cycle that makes you toss and turn. Any rest comes and goes with the imprint of nine red lights burning at the corners of your mind when you close your eyes.

His hands twitch at his sides as he stares at the door. Every day has gotten harder, requiring more and more convincing before he can enter your room. Because each day it’s worse.

I must do this. He reminds himself and pings the door to open.

And inside- inside you’re already sitting up on your bed. The blankets are rolled up, rumpled, spilling in brown and gold waves to the floor. You don’t look up when he enters. It’s not the angry, avoidant way you had been. No, that had hurt him so badly he had to dismiss warnings of potential damage.

But this? Your gaze is vacant, unmoving as he approaches, even when he speaks your name. This makes him afraid. Archived memories replay, human soldiers left behind- hearts still beating, but minds too worn down to fight any longer. Is that what he’s done to you?

Ramattra doesn’t know what to do. For weeks now you’ve slinked away from him any time he got close to you, so shaking you from this state would likely only scare you. Was it better for you to be conscious and afraid of him or- or whatever you are now?

Ramattra reaches for you- his fingertips nearly ghosting your cheek…

And his arm drops again. He can’t do it, can’t bring himself to be so close when that realization of disgust and hatred dawns on your features. He’s endured it too many times.

Instead, he drops to a knee before you- even the heavy clank of his knee on the tile does nothing to rouse you. He says you name again, first softly. Then louder- louder-

You blink, eyes coming into focus. Were you asleep? Were you…? Ramattra kneels hardly a breath away. But you’re so tired you can’t even bring yourself to scramble back, to scowl, to do anything more than whisper a hoarse, empty “Sorry,”

Ramattra doesn’t know what to do with sorry either. You haven’t apologized to him the entire time you’ve been here. You- you have nothing to apologize for. His fists clench at his sides. This isn’t your fault, even if you can’t understand his methods- he’s the one keeping you here, letting you waste away and-

Your eyes begin to drift away again. He never wanted to hurt you- that’s what all this was for, to avoid that.

“Are you all right?” He says, as kindly as he can manage.

All right? You fight to focus on him, to force the words through your fogged mind. You’re so tired. Physically, mentally- there’s so little left to give, can’t even find the energy to be angry. “Yeah,” You say, falling into autopilot, into routine. Empty excuses you’d make to anyone who asked. “I’m just.. tired. Sore. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Sore?” Ramattra’s head tips, optics observing your frame. The fatigue that weighs on you is written plainly on your face, but he can find no injuries.

“Yeah. Everywhere, I think. My back… and shoulders.” You mumble, reaching up to rub idly at your neck as you think about it, taking inventory of your aches.

Ramattara pauses, merely observes you as you blink slowly, wavering as you do- you hand stilling with the effort to open your eyes again. He doesn’t want to scare you off, doesn’t like that you’re still so disoriented. But he isn’t sure what else to do, other than to find a doctor. For now… “Would you… want me to rub them?

The thought is nice. Your hands hurt too, every knuckle complaining with even the most gentle kneads of your own shoulders. It’d been so long since he’d done that. His hand is firmer than your own, a benefit of steel fingers that force knots to unwind under his touch. Even as hesitant as he was to touch you at all, it had felt nice. Never once was it too much and-

and-

Awareness returns to you. He’s so close, perched so carefully in front of you, a cautious distance away. You aren’t sure what expression comes over your face, but whatever it is makes him draw back, begin to stand-

and you want to tell him no, you want to tell him to come back and you want so, so badly for him to rub your shoulders like he used to and he’s hurting people and you can’t find it in you to care about that anymore.

You’re so tired, so sore, so exhausted from days? weeks? months? of bad sleep and isolation and nobody in the world existing other than him in your little sterile room. You’re so fucked up for even considering it- ruined, broken for still loving him.

It all crumbles at once; your lower lip trembles as your vision blurs. Again Ramattra reels back, no longer in trepidation, but in shock as your mouth falls open in a silent, voiceless sob. The raw expression of your pain etched forever into his memory banks before you bring trembling hands up to cover your face. Then, and only then, do you gasp and cry out.

Before, he saw your crying in his security systems. The agony it caused him then is nothing compared to this. All the time spent talking himself into self-control is gone, any thought of your reaction is washed away in miserable tears.

“Oh, my dearest,” Ramattra sighs- and leans forward. His arms are huge, engulfing you in the scent of plastics and electricity and freshly spent flux. You don’t even fight him- just close your eyes and bawl.. Solder, too- he repaired something recently. The scent is familiar, comforting. He’s cool to the touch, no orange robes between his metal body and your skin- but you can’t complain as he lays one hand to the curve of your back, the only at the base of your neck.

“It’s all right,” He shushes you-- which only sets you off again. Receiving affection, comfort from him? It’s disgusting, wrong, traitorous- and yet you’re leaning into him. So carefully he pets your hair- and any chance of resistance is shattered, burned from you. You bury your face in his scarf, muffling your broken sobs in the fabric while you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer.

Ramattra’s clock skips, background processes hang at the warmth of your touch- of your embrace. It’s not just that he’s holding you- but you’re clutching at him in desperate handfuls, tugging him closer and closer until he’s nearly on top of you, his chest flush with yours.

Eleven years on and his shape is still what you remember, the same chassis you’d imagined holding over and over in the darkness of your room at night. The loneliness ate you alive, gnawing at every corner of your existence, wishing, wanting, aching to go back- and now you’re here. In his arms, crying into his scarf like nothing has changed at all. Your mantra is lost, forgotten in the comforting weight of him.

Something inside him shatters to hear you cry so pitifully. He holds you tighter, murmurs soothing words to you. He’s spent years crafting speeches to the image of you in his mind, but in this moment none of them feel right. So he whispers It’s alright, I’m here, I have you. and hopes that is enough to quiet the swells of whatever storm has broken in you.

It is, eventually.

Your tears slow into hiccups and sniffles. The white knuckle grasp you have on him loosens until you’re limp in his arms, leaning all your weight onto him. Ramattra takes it; his joints don’t ache, has no muscles to strain- merely supports you as the tension drains from your body.

Ramattra doesn’t know what to do with any of this- if you’ll still be willing to let him touch you tomorrow- but at least he can try to make you more comfortable. When he adjusts, picking you up entirely and sitting with you in his lap, your only reaction is to press your face deeper into his cowl. He sits and waits and wonders if you’ll wake up again and realize. Dread and guilt weigh on him- that he’s driven you to this sort of outburst, that he hopes, begs, pleads to anything that can hear him that this is real, that you mean this, that you won’t recoil from him tomorrow, that he hasn’t broken you entirely.

You don’t know how long you lay there- for once your mind is quiet, no thoughts racing in your head at all. All you think about is the humming of Ramattra’s fans, the warmth of his vents, the weight of his hands on you. Pleasant things. Things you’ve wanted for so long.

Ramattra knows. He holds you for exactly one hour and sixteen minutes. He knows that you began sleeping four times before you woke again. Each time he prepares himself for your sudden rejection- but it never comes.

And after an hour in his arms, wordless and pliant, you finally sit up. Ramattra’s optics focus hard on the red rims of your eyes and nose- and your lips when you say so quietly there’s hardly any voice to it at all- “I’m tired.” You lean away, almost falling sideways into your bed. It’s a struggle to move your limbs at all- knees aching from so long spent bent- but Ramattra kindly stands and helps adjust the blankets. He’s a little hurt when you settle in with your back to him, but he stands beside the bed and waits until your pulse drops to a calm, even pace.

Ramattra watches you, confused and enamored and so painfully hopeful. He hasn’t felt hope- true, honest hope- in so long. It’s foreign, unexpected. As he leaves your room he counts the time between the rise and fall of your chest, saves the memory over and over, dedicates a whole sector to it.

Regardless if you hate him again tomorrow, he’ll remember how it felt to hold you again.

[army93bangya]

The Moon Goddess’s Chosen | Chapter 2 | MYG [M]

Chapter 2

*Summary: Y/N has been sheltered and hidden within her pack her whole life. She is gifted and her father the alpha of the pack does not want her to find her mate and leave the birth pack. But not even he can stop her from attending the mate gathering between many packs every year to find one’s fated mate. Y/N is worried what her father will do should her mate find her and try to take her. Add in the revelation that the talked about fairly new pack Bangtan will be in attendance this year. Rumored to be ruthless and their alpha heartless, Y/N has every reason to be concerned and riddled with anxiety.

*Genre/Rating: Mature, 18+, Werewolf/Fated mates, eventual smut?

*Warnings/Potential Triggers: Talks of Child Abuse, Abuse, Non-con Touching, Mistreatment, Non-con Confinement, Angst, Anxiety, Nervousness, Character Poisoning, Explicit Language, Mention of plotting Murder, Mention of Murder/Massacre, Reader is going thru it, Possible future Smut,….more to be added in future chapters.

*Disclaimer: This work was written and owned by Army93bangya and there is no consent for anyone else to post it as theirs, this story is intended for entertainment purposes only, this story is a work of fantasy, seems a bit ridiculous to say but I do not own or have rights to BTS or the members and the characters in this story are a fictional interpretation of members.

*Notes: ATTENTION! Pov change to second person writing. OMG I was really amped up after posting the first chapter/teaser and immediately started working on chapter 2. My sleep has suffered getting this all typed out, but I just could not help it! I worked really hard on this, and I just have to say, as a long-time avid fanfic reader I now have an extreme appreciation to all the writers out there. I knew that writers put a lot of time, energy, and passion into their work, but I never truly sat and thought about how much work it is. So, for all the writers out there and the ones whose stories I have read and love I just want to say ya'll are rockstars in my book! I wrote this and thought I was done but then went back to proofread and edit and ended up writing another 1k words last night. Anyways again, if you come upon this story and give it a chance, Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy!

*Words: 4k

*Date posted: 01/14/2024

Previous Chapter —- Next Chapter

Maddie left your tent a few minutes ago to join the other pack members that were already making their way to the gathering. Sitting silently you wait for your father to come fetch you when Darius storms in. Grabbing you he throws you on the bedding. You let out a surprised yelp and try to get back up, but he pushes your body back down growling as a warning before climbing on top of you to start rubbing his entire body against yours practically squishing you, and seemingly trying to scent you as much as he can. Grabbing the bottom half of your face and yanking your head to the side, he starts laving his tongue roughly against your pulse point where a mating mark should go, before moving your head to the other side giving it the same treatment. Feeling disgusted by his actions and close proximity you attempt to push him off, but he grips harder, an even louder growl rumbling through him causes you to freeze knowing better than to keep resisting.  

“Don’t think for one second you’re going to find your mate and be free of us. If you bond tonight with anyone he will be dead before you can even make it out of this territory!” You glare at him as he pulls himself off you, yanking you up to stand, heavily sniffing the air to make sure his scenting was efficient. You now reeked of this fucker and wouldn’t be able to get his scent off without having to bathe again. He shoots you a threatening look “You can glare and act like you don’t want me as much as you desire, but we both know that someday your father is going to stop dangling you over my head as motivation for my eventual secession finally letting me sink my teeth into that pretty neck”  

Your father waltzes into the tent with a stern look permanently etched onto his face and glances between you two. “You did a good job Darius, I can hardly smell her scent.” Darius’s face turns smug and you have an almost irresistible impulse to find something sturdy that you could pick up and land the hardest blow you can against his unappealing mug. Words sink in and your mouth almost drops open in realization before schooling your features and looking at the ground instead like your father usually preferred. Of fucking course these two had come up with this tactic. Drenching you in Darius' scent, basically claiming you as his future chosen mate to mask your own so that you have less chance of your mate smelling you. You feel upset but at the same time if your mate is in attendance today and doesn’t catch your scent, or thinks you already have a chosen mate and decides not to approach you, then you don’t have to worry about him being killed. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if your mate finds you and is a kind decent wolf, only to be murdered because of what you are and your father’s desperation to keep you forever captive for his own selfishness.  

Being the Goddess’s chosen, the mage wolf, you are supposed to be one that all wolves from any pack can seek out for guidance as you are a direct link to the goddess herself. You feel her at times and you know she is displeased for how you have been treated. The fact that the gifts she bestowed upon you has been kept hidden from the world. To be selfishly used for the benefit of one pack, for one alphas greed, has angered her. Not that you are offering a whole hell of alot for your birth pack. The link between the Goddess and yourself feels frayed, your abilities not as controlled as they should be.  As a child you wanted to learn the intricacies of the link  and figure out how to manage your gifts. You was happy to be her mage wolf, to have that connection with the Moon Goddess. Gaining hers and your fathers approval was just about the only thing you cared about. But eventually you got tired. You were not progressing quick enough for your father, he began to get frustrated and irate because you could not fulfill all his requests. That's when the abuse started, first you would just be locked in a room for days on end only receiving your meals. When that did not give the results he hoped for, the amount of food you received began to lessen as well. He always let you have just enough nutrients to keep you alive and somewhat mobile so that he could stretch out how long he kept you locked up before letting you out. You remember being so weak but reaching out through the link, you wanted your goddess to help you, to help you mend your fathers soul or to escape if he could not be healed. But she never did. Only sending feelings of patience and reassurance. You used to think that she was telling you to be patient and that you would be liberated from this loneliness and confinement. But your spirit broke and eventually you just gave up. Now you just don’t care. Choosing to try and ignore the link, not listen, not feel the goddess as much as you can. You have long come to terms that the destiny she has thrust upon you wasn’t meant to be. Greed and a thirst for power had corrupted it.  

Your father walking towards you interrupts your thoughts. Glancing up but not looking at his face you see the cup in his hands and your stomach immediately churns knowing the contents that it held. He stops in front of you and holds the cup out for you to take. “Drink up. We can’t have any of your abilities making an unwanted appearance today or anyone finding out what you are.” Reaching for the cup hand shaking as you grasp your fingers around it, you know that you cannot refuse or there will be consequences. Accepting your present fate you respond. “Yes father.” Bringing the cup to your mouth, you down the contents as fast as you can the burn of it agonizing as it enters your body, a feeling you're all too familiar with. Tea laced with wolfsbane, not enough to fully poison or kill you but enough to make you feel weak, subdued, and to temporarily mute your gifts so that they will not surface when out in public. Your father makes you drink it whenever he wants to punish or establish control over you, it is also a method of containing your abilities if they start to go haywire. It makes you weak and unable to resist, not that you resist much of anything anymore. The wolfsbane leaves your body in pain until it is out of your system. You feel it causing a burning pain in your muscles and joints, your body beginning to feel heavier, the pounding beginning in your head. If they had given you a little bit of a stronger dose you would have been bedridden. As the wolfsbane makes its way through your system you once again contemplate for maybe the millionth time why your father didn’t just tell the other packs that you have already found your mate in your birth pack. The only thing you can think of is because of Darius. He means to eventually let his pupil mark you. If he says you already found your fated mate only to later be marked by Darius as his chosen mate and the other packs somehow found out? The packs would be outraged at your fathers blatant disrespect to tradition. It would make him look bad in front of the other packs, possibly losing him the few allies he has. 

You sway just slightly on your feet and Darius moves to your side placing his arm around your waist, holding you up squeezing slightly uncomfortably. “You will stay by my side tonight. You will not go anywhere without me, keep your head down and do not speak unless spoken to. Do you understand Y/N?” His hand squeezes your side harder prompting you to answer. “I understand.” Secretly thinking that if you hurl today you hope It lands on him.The plan they have come up with is beginning to piece together for you and you have to say it’s a good one. First cover you in Darius’s scent, marking you as his and warding off other wolves. Give you wolfsbane to not only subdue your gifts and keep them from making an appearance, as sometimes you can’t control it when you are facing strong emotions no matter how good you are at hiding them. Also with the wolfsbane in your system you have no choice but to stay at Darius’s side, too weak to be able to walk around and mingle by yourself. Lastly, keeping your head down is not only keeping you submissive, it is also another way of making sure no connection to a mate is made. Mate connections can be made by scent, touch, and lastly eye contact. Yeah, you hate yourself for admitting the two banes of your existence have seemingly come up with a pretty good plan. 

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The gathering is massive with multiple packs attending, even if the crowd is mostly just unmated wolves and the pack leaders. It is a huge clearing that stretches far in a neutral territory. With enormously long tables and benches set up on all the outskirts of the field. There are several piles of stacked wood placed strategically in areas throughout the field to be lit when the sun goes down so that the event can last through the night giving as much time for everyone to mingle in hopes to find one's fated mate. The mate gathering is sacred and bloodshed is prohibited. All these packs come together for one night peacefully lest they be banned from ever getting to attend again.

Darius, you, and the four pack betas follow behind your father to an area more so reserved for the leaders. You steal quick glances of your surroundings but keep your head lowered for the most part and stand next to Darius who stays close to your fathers side even after he dismisses his betas to go enjoy themselves but be on guard. A few alphas come up to your father and comment on your presence, asking if this was the mysterious daughter that has not been able to attend due to sickness. These alphas must be his adversaries, the ones that would not let your father continue to withhold you from a chance at being a mate to someone in their packs. But you must not seem to be as much of a mystery as they were hoping for because they do not stick around for very long after they get the acknowledgement that you are the daughter he has been hiding. Or they just can't stand to be around your father which seems more likely. The wolfsbane in your system and your demeanor makes it believable that you are sickly and you can feel the stares on your form concluding that they are most likely expressions of either concern or disgust. Your father just laughs about how you haven't been feeling well this day and that you are an incredibly shy girl. For fucks sake this whole experience is painful, and its not just cause of the literal poison in your system. Being paraded around all these strangers reeking of the asshole next to you, being forced to look docile and pathetic while masking the extensive discomfort of wolfsbane flowing through your body, you have a strong desire to throw your head back and scream as loud as you can. But that little act of defiance would probably get you starved and locked away for a month. 

A growl accompanied by yelling rings out somewhere to the left and your head instinctively snaps up, eyes following the sound. You let out gasp at the scene, Maddie stands with a distraught look on her face while a man in front of her towers over another male, fist clenched and growling threateningly. A quick realization flashes through your mind recognizing the man on the ground. His name is Vix, Maddie always talks about him, that he has been pursuing her for almost a year now. He wants her to be his choice mate and after four years of not finding her fated mate at any gatherings, she has agreed that if she didn't find her mate this year she would be open to attempt a relationship with him. You focus back on the events unfolding as another unfamiliar wolf appears and grabs Mr.pissed offs arm whispering in his ear, his body relaxes and they both turn to look at Maddie. Your heart clenches at the terror on her face, she remains frozen, eyes wide as the seemingly now calm man walks up to her slowly like she is a skittish doe, standing before her his back is now to you so you can’t see Maddie on the other side of him. Slowly raising his arm, hand extended out to her, he speaks so softly that you can’t make out what he says, but a moment later she takes his hand and is being led out of the field on the opposite side that your pack entered. Your knowing perception somehow makes an appearance and it tells you that Maddie just found her mate. Vix gets up with a look that speaks of his anguish as one of your fathers' betas approaches him, grabbing his arm and leading him in the direction that will take him back to camp. You feel terrible for the wolf whose heart longed for your best friend. You recall her once telling you that much like Darius, Vix mate had died before he could ever find her. The feeling one gets when your wolf side senses the death of their fated mate is said to be gut-wrenching and leaves inside a feeling of hopelessness that can last weeks.

Darius' arm tightens around your waist in warning urging to once again lower your gaze. As you oblige you overhear a conversation happening not too far away. "Wasn't that one of the betas from Bangtan?” Your body feels like it just took a physical blow. That pack name had completely slipped your mind with all the stress of your own predicament bearing down on you. From a further distance away you hear the guy's companion reply “Yeah that was one of them. I would keep my distance if I were you, those betas are rumored to be just as powerful as an alpha” You can barely make out the first guys scoff and Darius who was apparently also listening to snickers before leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Looks like you're going to need a new maid. Don't agonize over it too much, she just got a raise in position. From lowly maid to the mate of a beta, I'm sure she will be ‘very’ well taken care of.” Dick. How you wish you could retaliate to his nasty derogatory words. Tears start to prick your eyes and you take a deep breath to subdue the panic you now feel for your best friend. She was your chosen family, the one person you could fully trust in the world. In the rare instances when you would lash out or if your abilities became overwhelming and started acting up, your father would lock you back into your solitude room. Maddie would sneak extra food to you and risk sitting by the door to talk to you for a while. She took care of you, encouraged you, lifted your spirits when everything got to be too much. She was your person and now she is gone. The grief you feel is immense but you lock it all away as best you can, you still have to get through this day.

“Well wasn't that a spectacle?” “Alpha Sharp, it's good to see a friend amongst these miscreants.” You almost snort, did your father just call other alphas ‘miscreants’? What a master of projection. “Alpha Y/L/N it's been awhile since we have had a chance to talk. How is your territory fairing?” You begin to tune them out and focus on your body and willing it to stay strong. Knowing your father you would not be attending for too much longer having already been here a few hours. He is just waiting for an adequate amount of time to pass before sending you back to your temporary camp without seeming suspicious. Or heck maybe he wants you to pass out and he can use such a display to keep you from ever having to attend again. Wouldn't put it past him to be elated with that outcome.

“That's Alpha Min over there and his other five betas with him.” If your ears could have perked up in this form they definitely would have. Fuck you want to look, to see the leaders of the pack everybody is apprehensive of and gossiping about. The thought shoots a pang through you reminding you again of Maddie. Of Course the halfwit next to you has to chime in. “That's him!? He's the powerful merciless alpha everybody whispers about?” You don't have to be looking to know that your father and Alpha Sharp have stiffened and are probably throwing warning looks at Darius for the volume he spoke those words in an area filled with sensitive ears. “Darius speak that loudly again and you will return to the camp.” You can't help the small upturn of your mouth at the reprimand. Promises promises. 

“Sharp you always have your ears open, what have you heard about him?” You start to feel prickly. Maybe the wolfsbane didn't subdue your gifts as well as you thought because you begin to have a knowing feeling that you are being looked at, and not by anyone standing close to you.“Plenty. But whether what I've been told is factual or not I don’t know.” His audience must be staring at him expectantly because ‘alpha not so sharp’ sighs before continuing. “Let me start by telling you the only thing I do know for sure; Min Yoongi is the son of Alpha Min Hoon of the Min pack.” You startle hearing that pack name but it goes unnoticed as Darius and your father both stiffen and must be paying undivided attention to Alpha Sharp. Why didn’t this alphas surname spark recollection in you before. The Min pack was revered and old, very old. Everybody knows that the last mage wolf the goddess created was born into the Min pack. Darius’s voice breaks your train of thoughts. "I didn't know there was any survivors from Alpha Min's family.” “Well if what I heard is true you can't exactly call him a survivor. We all knew that the Min pack was decimated eight years ago, but it's all been speculation as to what exactly happened. What I was told is Min Yoongi ran away from his pack and went missing for an entire week before returning with a bunch of rogue wolves who helped him slaughter his entire pack before running off again.” 

You feel bile rising in your throat, your heart quickening from hearing something so heinous. Why? What would have been the reason to do something that vile? That knowing prick starts again, somebody is watching you and the desire to look up in the direction you feel it coming from is almost overwhelming. From the ringing that has started in your ears you hear your father being the one to reply to Alpha Sharps words. “I knew that after it happened that there was a fight over the Min territory from the Crimson pack and the Kim pack who was the Mins ally” Alpha Sharp exhales a dry laugh before responding. “Yes from what I heard both sides lost quite a few wolves before they came to an agreement to split the territory, but then we know that two years after that the Kim pack was destroyed and the Bangtan pack was formed under Min Yoongi. For five years Bangtan and Crimson packs feuded and had territory disputes, Crimson being weakened from their previous fighting with the Kims was not able to get rid of Bangtan. That is until last year when the new Alpha Min once again slaughtered the entire Crimson pack leaving no survivors.”

Darius cuts in being fully engrossed in what he is being told. “I find all this hard to believe. How did one wolf take down not one but three damn packs. I know Bangtan now has all three territories, but there has to be more to this than him supposedly being blessed by the moon goddess.” You wish that whoever kept stealing glances at you would just stop. It is a foreboding feeling that is filling your already exhausted and overstimulated self with unease. You long to be able to just turn it off, to not be forced to be so acutely aware of this wolf's interest of your person. Focusing back on the conversation before you, Sharp answers captain oblivious. “How did I say that I was told he did it the first time? Rogues. Eight years ago, he ran and returned with rogues only to vanish again. It was said to me that those two years before he took the Kim pack down, that he was moving between the territories collecting rogues to fight for him. If I had to guess, he gave them promises of being a part of a pack again to earn their loyalty and that started to form what would become the Bangtan pack.”

You feel like you're having some bizarre out of body experience. You feel what you have felt since you drank the wolfsbane, the pain in your body, the throbbing in your head, and your seemingly muted gifts. Your emotions from what you are hearing, and being distraught over Maddie are there too, but the knowing sense is what is taking over and beginning to feel hefty. Someone will not stop observing you, and this sensation is so strong that a tingling feeling has also spread throughout your body. You feel this immense urge to lift your eyes, to finally gaze upon whoever this person is that your precognitive gift is screaming at you to see. 

You're abruptly alarmed and left even further unsettled when your father, Darius, and Alpha Sharp's body language all abruptly change, taking on a more defensive but still somewhat of a civil stance. Darius’s arm once again tightens around your waist gripping and would probably feel more painful if you weren't so shell shocked and overwhelmed. You can no longer stop yourself from raising your eyes, first glancing at the man you despise, who hasn’t let go of you since you got here. His face is drawn tight with a look that says whoever he is gazing at is very much unwelcome. Somehow even with the wolfsbane poisoning your system, your link to the moon goddess comes bursting through your soul like a battle cry possibly stronger than you have ever felt it before. It is as if she is beseeching you, piercing you with cries to look! Just follow your gift, heed my command! The insistence, the urging is so shattering that you just can't take the torture of it anymore.

With your head raised you turn it slowly in trepidation, and to not cause yourself a wave of dizziness. Shifting your sight to immediately follow the feeling of compulsion and glance at who the moon goddess has implored you to gaze upon. A wolf with cat-like eyes has approached your group. His face holds blank, but his eyes speak. His wolf coming through them and shining amber with the bond of a fated mate being placed in him, and you know without a shadow of a doubt that your eyes are doing the same. Somebody's voice breaks through but your mind is so gone you don't have the slightest recognition of who it belongs to.

“To what do we owe this pleasure Alpha Min?”