No one ever asks for him but I have many thoughts so if you ever wanted to be in a mildly abusive relationship with Micah Bell I'm here to feed you. I guess...?
Gender-neutral reader. Content warning Micah Bell. Etc.
Micah is a huge hypocrite. No one is surprised. If you're a type of person he would typically hate but you show him legitimate desire, he'll decide you're "one of the good ones" for as long as you put up with him insulting any- and everyone like you. He's on the same shit that's got politicians voting against immigrants in every way imaginable then going home to a first generation wife.
His rules are many and harsh. You must lie, rob, and kill. If you're merely okay with him doing those things, get lost. You must have a spine, but not enough of one to talk back to him. You must be good at your job, but you cannot be better at his. Don't show him affection, show him respect. That's what he deals in, not love.
He does fight for you. It's partially an excuse to get violent, but it is also about you. After all, once you're his, an insult to you is an insult to him. Opportunistic, not protective. The threshold for being considered family is extremely high, but his bitterness over Amos tells us much; it also tells us that, to Micah, sin bonds like no other. Kill a guy with him and watch the sparks fly!
It doesn't exactly go both ways. Micah was raised to believe there is always an authority in every relationship, and he intends to be it in this one. Submission is what he wants in all regards of life, but it is wafting as the wind if he wants to fight you for it or not. Some days it will piss him off. Some days the insult of being forced to grovel positively thrills him, as long as he knows he will get what he wants, in the end.
Funnily enough, his flirting is all more of the same that he spouts at Grimshaw, minus the taunting. Well, actually... if you shrugged off some vague insults, he'd actually be far more interested in keeping you around. It allows him the comfort of knowing that even when he acts like an asshole, you'll put up with him enough he can continue to fix absolutely nothing about his behavior yet still reap the benefits of having a lover who is dedicated to him.
Believe it or not, he does love you if he's keeping you around. His idea of love is, unfortunately for all involved, nonsensically flippant and fundamentally abusive. It has about the same amount of internal logic and structural integrity as the loyalty he will give to literally any man older than him that can suffice as a replacement father.
GUYS look at this art I got commissioned of my oc and bar guy. I LOVE IT SM HE LOOKS SO HANDSOMEAND DISHEVELED AND SHE LOOKS SO CUTEEE UGHHHH SOMEONE SHOOT ME
You relax into the tall man’s hold, letting his hand trail down your spine and to the curve of your ass. His long fingers gently grip the soft fat as his thumb fidgets with your pant’s waistband. You grumble when he snaps it a bit too hard, leaving a red mark against your skin. Whatever complaints you were gonna spit at him dies on your tongue as you look up. His face is adorably flush which contradicts the devious smirk that sends a spark through your body in a way you were hoping to avoid.
People may think living in this scorching world is hard, but the actual hell is being stuck with a handsome man you’re only allowed to look at. Who knows what the homeowner would do if he caught wind you two were…”intimate”. His tigger is already loose; you having seen it for yourself when he pointed the barrel of his shotgun at your head.
Its when you leave those memories behind and feel his hand slowly push into your pants that you cant help but think its worth it.
Tags: fem’reader, pale man, ninah intruder, smut, cnc-ish??, NSFW
WARNINGS- non-con and semi-graphic descriptions
Note: haha im the first person to write a fanfic for him on here. But side-note i wrote this in an hour and im not reading it so please tell me if the smut is bad or too much. I will remove it if necessary or problematic! Honestly i hate writing anything close to cnc but I really couldn’t picture a way to make fully consensual smut with him. It feels out of character and so does this so whatever.
This is the 2nd night you’ve woke up with a splitting headache. One of the beers your neighbor so kindly gifted to you rests sourly in your stomach. You hear grumbling from the room down the hall, snapping you out of whatever false reality you woke up in. Theres strangers in your house and they may or may not be trying to kill you. Your eyes dart to the gun leaning safely against your nightstand and practically sigh. It’s a good sign nobody has tried to mess with it, but you can never be too sure.
The old floor cries as you walk through it— checking each window for a new set of horrors. The first window was a nice surprise, your neighbor and his young daughter playing outside. But the docile seen isn’t any less of a horror to you. It reminds you of how much you’ve “failed”. No husband, no kids, nobody.
The second window sends chills down your spine. 3 teenagers lay dead in the grass and you can’t help but stare. Just last night they were being loud and whatever other stuff kid their age do. Part of you wants to scoff at their stupidity and another part wants to slap yourself for shaming the dead.
After shutting the curtains slowly, like you’re going to miss something, you take a small breather. This is your new reality. You’re gonna have to get used to seeing bodies as people struggle to find shelter and end up victims to this apocalyptic world.
Just like the night before, someone knows on your door. You skip past your third and final window to make sure you answer it on time. Standing on your tip-toes, you peak into the peephole to see what this night has in store.
Five people come to your door one-by one and you don’t let any of them in. Why would you when everyone that comes begging for help acts so sketch!? A man whose always cold, a pot-head, and some flamboyant tennis player?? Theyre all so crazy it makes you feel like the world is playing a prank on you. A nasty prank which involves.. killing innocent children. Your mind flashes back to the 3 dead bodies that lay not far from your front door. It also reminds you that you still need to check your final window, and so you do. Walking barely two steps from your door, you peal back the heavy curtain and gasp. There stands an abnormally large man with droopy skin. It hangs from his chest but clings to his ribs and makes you wanna barf. This skin-tent he has over his bones is so sickly pale it shines brighter than the streetlights behind him.
And his eyes. They dig holes in your head and you can’t look away. He’s a worse sight than those dead bodies but you can’t stop staring. You do double takes over each protruding bone and long flab of skin until your eyes finally make it to his waist. His hipbones jaunt so much over his jeans it’s almost funny. But its not and you shut the curtain as tight as a piece of fabric can go. You hold your gun tightly against you that night.
You wake up drenched in sweat caused by a dream you can’t remember. You know who/what it was about but you won’t let your mind address it. The news gives new signs to identify “vistors”— dirt under nails. As you pick up your gun you subconsciously check your own, scared that you somehow might be one of these creatures without knowing it. Bits of nail polish cling to your nails and it’s slightly comforting. It reminds you of the simple times and gives you hope you might be able to repaint them someday.
Theres only two stops today and 2 people to question. One is an annoyingly talk man with an annoyingly sassy attitude. You check him yesterday and today— both times clear. The second is a mother and son who stay in another room. Her kid is loud and pisses you off, reminding you why you kept to yourself and avoided anything that could get you.. well, that. The mother refused to let you examine her child, but what does it matter. By the time you get to her you’re already so drained from arguing with the other man you let it slide. She ends up being clean anyway and you go to bed.
Without the beer, you wake up slightly energized. The previous two conversations you had wiped any memory of the pale man from you and you were, again, confident in your fortress.
You checked each window, nothing as crazy compared to last night. FEMA workers and soldiers loiter nearby either setting up base or examining the area. You feel emotions you can’t describe as you watch some scrape away the charred remains of the teenagers. You’re not looking forward to the newest visitors, but you’re a lot more optimistic than yesterday. Who would try anything with all these soldiers around?
You look outside of your door and your blood immediately runs cold. On your porch stands the same disfigured man from yesterday. Up close he doesn’t look as terrifying as before but he’s still not a pretty sight. You’re almost certain he could hear your spike in breathing as he cracks a wide smile.
“Howdy!” What a weird greeting some someone like him. His voice is nasally and too high for it to be natural for a man his size. You dont, can’t answer him but he doesn’t seem to mind. “Spacious house you got yourself here. I like it.” He continues. You nod even though you know he cant see.
“Thanks..” It sounds forced and it is. You know you can’t fight this thing and your body knows it to. No matter how much you hype yourself up as a “strong woman” you’re always the first to fawn. This does something to him as his smile gets wider—gaps appear on the side of his mouth as the skin around his face stretches.
“How can someone as cowardly as you keep these people safe.” He taughts. “If theres anyone even in there. You alone?”
The two words remind you of your neighbors advice and you answer quickly before the thing can get any ideas, “No! Im.. im not alone.” His smile collapses instantly. He pauses for a bit and you feel exposed in a way.
“It’s your lucky day,” his voice is deeper now, like the game is over, “I can hear someone whispering inside.” That gets you and the fear you have multiples. “But who knows where they’ll be in a few days?” He stares for a but before backing up, acting as if he’s leaving.
Your hands fly to the doorknob in some rush of authority. “Hey! What’s your deal?!” Hes far enough away that you still have some confidence, but the lack of door between you two now scares you. He pauses and hums in question. “I..I don’t wanna see you around here anymore! If i catch you on my-!” You freeze when he walks forward again, honestly not expecting it. You reach for your gun but that doesn’t stop his approach. Frozen in fear, you do nothing as he grabs your gun and snaps it.
He smiles wide again as he watches you practically shake in fear, “Delicious! Despair gives courage to the cowardly, yes?” Your flight-or-fight instinct vanishes and turns into freeze-or-freeze. You choose freeze, standing there dumbly as he reaches his long arms out to grip your hair. His strong hands hold tightly as he snaps your neck down and drags your body closer. The scream and begs that escape your throat are cut off by his other hand wrapping itself around your neck.
He quickly applies pressure but you manage to croak out a few words, “p..please! I..ll do anything! Please don’t kill me!” The absolute fear in your eyes fuels him but not in the way you’d expected it to. He loosens his grip on your neck for just enough time to maneuver you to a post holding up your porch. His heavy body suffocates you more than him choking you as your squished against him. A stench of dead flesh and heat is all you know as you feel yourself being stripped of your thin pajamas. Thankful to even still be breathing, you let the “man” leave you bare as he unzips his jeans. He lets out a shakey laugh that showed how disgustingly pleased he was at the situation.
“So scared!” Emphasizing the word scared as he tightens his grip and lines himself up with your dry cunt. The noises that escaped your lips could’ve convinced anyone you were dying the next second and you believed you would. It stung so bad and felt so heavy inside you that your body gave up. You slouched into the pale man’s hold as he brutally slammed into you. He didn’t even seem to be enjoying his own thrusts—more focused on your face, noises, and the pain you show.
Your voice eventually got hoarse and your body loose the longer the assault went on. He pulls out and lets you collapse to the floor with a big smile on his face.
You don’t even try to drag your body closer to the safety of your house, just laying there and excepting what he has next. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s pleased, “Did you evade death?” The question is left open, your mind and body too broken to answer. It’s probably what he wanted as he goes on without a cue, “we’ll see.”
He leaves you bleeding on the porch, walking back into the darkness.
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