i fear i don’t know what body guard book you’re talking about 🧍🏼♀️but i can write it // it's his bodyguards' book Remember The Time: Protecting Michael Jackson In His Final Days. There was a chapter where they mentioned he had two women Friend and Flower who visited him (separately) and he only met them at their hotel at night and would stay there for a few hours before leaving. I think it was more like FWB situation
totally thought you were referencing a bodyguard fanfic— im brain rotted
t/w: angst, 18+ mdni, p in v, oral (f! receiving), secret relationship?, fwb but that never ends well, mature era
statement on ai
part one
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It was always someplace different.
It didn’t matter how far away it was, he’d drive the distance— deciding not to pay it any mind the way Bill was looking at him in the rear view mirror.
It didn’t matter how late it was, he’d be knocking on your hotel room door. Holding his breath as he waited for the seconds to tick by, matching the thrum of his heart before hearing the lock click and then there you were.
The warm light from the hotel room glowing behind you, making you appear ethereal. Your smile gentle, knowing, as you opened the door wider to let him in.
Wearing the blue velvet robe like always.
Your battle armor, he would tease.
Because Michael knew it had to be hell dealing with him. His erratic schedule, the short phone calls, the last minute flights, the way he’d be gone by morning without a word with a cab ready to take you back to the airport.
You never complained, though he could see exhaustion pulling at the threads that held your composure together. He felt guilty about it, really he did.
But you never told him no, so he’d slot an apology into the back of his mind. Letting it marinate so it’d be ready for the day you eventually snapped.
The two of you easily— no, efficiently began the dance.
He’d lock the door behind him, watching as you silently padded through the room towards the counter that already had two glasses of white wine resting on the surface. Then his jacket would drop off his shoulders, finding asylum on a chair somewhere as he followed you through the room, fingers brushing yours as he took the wine.
Your robe would slip off your left shoulder, always always the left. He never knew if you did it on purpose or if it was just the universe signaling what was about to occur.
There were never any questions, you were just there for him in every way he needed when the hour ran late.
He didn’t bother asking you how your day was or the flight, knew there wasn’t any point.
You always gave him the same answer.
It was fine.
When this first started, he thought that the lack of talking would bother him. But as the visits went on, he found a comfort in the notion there were no expectations. No promises to be made, kept and broken.
He could live with that, is what he told himself.
Because he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to have the alternative.
God had gifted him many things in life, but he would never be gifted that.
Michael told himself he made peace with it.
And then you stepped forward, hands dancing up his neck to pull him close, lips meeting his and effectively silencing his mind.
You were the best at that, perhaps that’s why he became so dependent on these moments he had with you.
For just a few hours you helped make the world go quiet.
His arms wrapped around you, nearly desperate like he was a man grasping a lifeline in the middle of the ocean. Dipping low and melting into your touch, tasting like cinnamon as his tongue slipped past yours.
Your bodies caught in a pas de deux as you navigated blindly towards the bedroom. The layout of the hotel still foreign since you’d only been here an hour or so.
Sheets met your back and he lowered you, his mouth dancing down your neck as his fingers played with the string of your robe, the blue fabric unraveling beneath and he was met with your body.
You never wore anything underneath and he loved it.
Your own nails dragged along his shirt, searching for skin until your fingers hooked under the hem and started to lift.
Michael only left you alone for a moment so he could take it off before he drew back towards you. A sinner being reeled in desperately towards an alter.
You were always so warm and wore the perfume he had complimented all those years ago. The scent swirling around him and making his mind slip into a haze as he moved further down your body, hands taking hold of your thighs to push them up and out.
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Michael’s mouth latched onto you and although you had tried not to, really you did, your hips bucked up at the heat of his mouth.
It was dizzying. And a bit embarrassing if you were honest, given the noises that were leaving your mouth— you thought you’d be used to him by now but you should’ve known better, your body felt like it was being scorched as he laughed lightly into your pussy before sinking two fingers in.
You clenched around him, desperate for anything. More. Hands tugging on the sheets and your back arching off the bed.
Michael leaned up on one hand, the other still dragging in and out of you, smiling like a lost saint who had finally set eyes on the pearl gates.
“Look at you,” he said quietly, mostly to himself. He was watching you so carefully, cataloging each minute expression in your features as he fucked you with his fingers. His voice dropped into a tone you only ever got to hear on nights like these— “You’re dripping.”
A whine left you involuntarily and he shut his eyes briefly at the sound.
“Fuck,” he muttered, but still he lowered himself, nose dusting along the inside of your thighs. You shivered at both the feeling and sight.
“Please,” you managed to get out, breathless as you watched him.
“I love it when you say that.” And he dove in like a man starved, fingers picking up their pace, another added, his mouth latching onto your clit.
You were shamelessly grinding into your friends face.
Michael was fucking you with his fingers and tongue, making you see stars. That small voice in the back of your head mumbled why do I keep saying yes to this? But it was quickly snuffed out as you came. Hard. All over his face and his name was a shout ripped from your lungs.
He was climbing over you again but the world was still flickering in and out of focus as you came down from your high. His face buried in your neck and you gasped, nails digging crescents into his arms as he sank into you, pushing you that much closer to the edge of oblivion.
You cried out and felt him smile into your neck as he slowly pulled out before slamming into you again. The thrust was brutal and unforgiving. Delicious and painful. Electric.
Too much. He was always too much and you’d never get tired of it.
He leaned back, one hand on your waist to yank you down onto his cock as the other rubbed circles into your clit.
His hips rolled in that languid manner that always entranced you when he was on stage and by God was it something else entirely to experience in bed.
He hit every spot, going too deep and you felt the room spinning as you started to come again, his own thrusts lapsing into something more erratic and borderline violent.
The sound of your name dripping off his tongue on the outskirts of a moan made you completely crash and that was enough to finally send him spiraling. His hips slamming into yours, desperate to hold you there as he came, the muscles in his stomach tightening and his head falling into the crook of your neck, teeth finding purchase in the soft skin that resided there.
After a heated moment, feeling like the first second of eternity had passed, Michael practically melted on top of you. Your heavy breaths matched his own as you tried to get your nerves to calm down.
There were words dancing on the tip of your tongue but you held them back with such desperate conviction you nearly started to cry.
You didn’t want to ruin it, this, this little haven he had found with you in hotels strewn across southern California. Hopelessly trying to hold onto the parts of him he still let you have.
He felt safer that way. Like this. You knew that and you understood, that didn’t mean it didn’t make it any less difficult.
When you woke up to the feeling of soft sunlight kissing your eyelids, you didn’t have to look around the room to know he was already gone.
Sitting up, you rubbed at your eyes in an attempt to wade off the sickly feeling you knew was starting to claw at the edges of your vision. Your heart.
Your eyes slated to the side, catching sight of the flight details Michael had scribbled on some notebook paper.
You stared at his handwriting. At his note. How impersonal it was.
No It was nice seeing you. No thank you. No Get home safely, I’ll call you.
Nothing.
Of course you knew he would call you, eventually at least. When it was nearing sunset and he wanted you in California before he lost his mind.
You never said no even though it hurt.
He needed this. Not you, but this.
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A few weeks went by before he dialed your number, his knee bouncing up and down so hard he started to shake the table.
“Hello?”
“It’s Michael.”
Silence ticked by for a second and he bit into his bottom lip. He always dreaded the day you might tell him no.
You sigh.
He still had you, he couldn’t help but smile.
“Can you be ready to leave by nine?”
He didn’t ask you if you already had plans.
Michael could hear your nails thrumming on the counter.
“Okay.” And you hung up.
He sat back, still holding the phone to his ear for a moment as it hit him. Maybe the fissures were getting too big. Too deep. Maybe you were finally cracking. One more ask from him and that was it.
Clearing his throat, he stood up and found Bill out in the dining room. “Can you make a reservation at the Four Seasons for tonight? And call for a cab to pick her up at her place.”
Bill slowly lowered his book, looking at Michael over the edge of it with a deep set to his brow.
Michael bit the inside of his cheek. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“I know you wanna say something.”
The older man shook his head as he set down his book. “You’re playing with fire.”
Michael laughed lightly, waving him off as he leaned against the doorframe. “Please, I’ve known her for years, she’d never—“
“That’s not what I meant and you know that.”
A breath of silence passed between them.
“Just make the reservation, please.”
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It was News Years Eve, the wind in Chicago brutal but you welcomed the needle-like sensation tearing into your cheeks as you stood on the balcony with a cigarette in hand.
Michael hadn't called in a while. He usually did less during the holidays.
You both hated and loved the clarity time away from him provided. Seeing what your life had become for what it was. Appreciative that you got to have those small moments with him and forever feeling the greed worthy of the fourth circle of Hell for wanting more— all of him.
He’d never give that to you and you knew it. Honest to God, you did.
He had tried the relationship thing in the past and each time it went up in flames no matter how hard he tried to keep the embers going. The world letting him have everything but that.
And God, he had been inconsolable after his divorce.
You two had been friends for years, meeting at one of his nephews birthday parties. Hitting it off in such a natural way that easily blended into companionship. Simple. Elementary.
Friends.
Then he called you on a random afternoon saying his wife had filed for divorce and you had wondered why he had come to you— only not really, because you had also gone through a divorce.
Only you were the one who left.
He wanted insight on why, you supposed.
You knew you were no help. Absolutely abhorrent at comforting people. Anything you tried to say to him to make it better just made it that much worse.
Then he asked you to come to California the very first time, though for very different reasons.
That first time, you had been dropped off directly at the front door of his house and when you knocked, Bill answered. His smile solemn as he let you inside, telling you Michael had been glued to the couch all night watching old Charlie Chaplin movies.
You stood in the doorway, watching him just be for a moment. A blank look in his eyes as he tried and failed to distract himself.
“Hey, Michael.”
He turned, smiled, clearly exhausted. “You made it.”
And then he was standing, crossing the room— hugging you.
You stood there perplexed, blinking at the movie over his shoulder before eventually hugging him back.
“What do you need from me?” You asked, because you knew asking him if he was okay was pointless.
“Your company.” He pulled back, eyes a little red.
Your brows furrowed as you looked at him. “Why me?”
“Because I knew you’d be the only one who wouldn’t look at me like I’m a wounded animal.”
Then he grabbed your hand and led you to the couch, watching movies till your head rolled off into slumber and you woke up the next morning with your head in his lap, his own resting against the back of the couch as he slept, one hand lightly tangled in your hair.
You flicked the ash into the tray, telling yourself the wetness in your eyes was from the cold.
The whole situation felt so juvenile yet light years beyond what anyone should have to experience. A level of heartache you thought only possible in movies.
But every time that phone rang your heart rotted with dread and anticipation. That small voice that spoke on behalf of your soul saying maybe it’ll be different this time.
It never was.
The role you had decided to play when he first asked you to fly out for a warmer kind of company, sealed your fate.
You were exactly what he needed. The right amount of available and the perfect amount of detached. Never asking him for a thing because about a million other people were.
When you genuinely started to feel numb, you finally stepped back inside. Eyeing the bottle of champagne that was about to be opened in the next half hour.
It was almost midnight.
You felt no need to celebrate the passage of time.
It was just another year marked by you feeling hollowed out inside just to give some grace to the man you had stupidly fallen in love with.
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Michael watched you as you slept.
He tried not to, knowing it would only make him want to stay but there was something in the air that rooted him to the spot as he sat there in the sheets next to you.
Your chest fell and rose softly and it was in moments like these where he felt he was actually getting to see you. The real you. The one you kept hidden away so he wouldn’t feel the weight of what he was asking of you.
You looked sad.
He knew better every time he dialed your number. But he was a selfish man, something he didn’t care to admit but when the hour was late like this, he couldn’t run away from his shadow anymore.
Gently moving some hair away from your face, he sighed. Part of you had to hate him. If he were in your shoes he would’ve gone insane by now.
But he just didn’t have the time.
It would be more cruel to promise you more when he knew those red eye flights were all he could sufficiently offer.
Breaking one of his rules, he leaned down to kiss your shoulder before standing up. He picked up your robe of blue velvet and folded it neatly, placing it on the edge of the bed before then picking up his own clothes as he went.
When the car door shut and engine started, he could feel Bill looking at him.
“I know what you’re gonna say.”
“I don’t think you do.”
“We’re just a casual thing, there’s no need to look heartbroken on my behalf.”
Bill shook his head as he peeled away from the curb. “Nothing about the two of you is casual.”
includes— hawks x reader. brief smut scene. hurt/comfort. angst. minors dni.
warnings— gn!reader. hypersexuality. abandonment issues. references to sexualization in youth. childhood trauma referenced. reader has a negative sexual history. take caution reading this and heed the tws.
Something changed in your attitude as of late. Or perhaps the lens of your perspective simply clicked into a position of clarity, locked in on its scope to magnify your view of a simple truth:
You have eaten the same one-course meal for dinner every weeknight.
The juicy, ripe meat came into contact with your canines before your tongue. They ripped the morsel up to be sampled. Typically, you ate across the table from whatever faceless figure was lucky enough to catch your recent fancy or lack thereof. There was neither tablecloth nor candlelight dressing the scratched, wooden surface of your apartment’s kitchen table.
When ex lovers came to you, most nights, you unbuttoned your clothing and presented yourself bare to them. Your ball-joints felt familiar with the motion, well-oiled with intention like machines.
It’s simple to follow the motion. Practiced. Pushed bodies interlock against chipped countertops, presenting for view like porn stars do. Generic phrases like “take me” often do the trick to stir bodies quickly, if you must swallow too often to soothe the bile to speak; but cheap tricks are seldom enough for most men. Sometimes tricks can be obvious— and that’s a turnoff, don’t you think?
You have to sell yourself, baby. Learn a little from method actors and maybe you’ll start to believe you like it, yourself.
This mindset is easy as all is to get into. You’ve had practice in being a curious display piece since the adults around you deemed you fit to be honored as such. Plump, fresh meat.
Sex reminds you marginally of the way show dogs are handled. You must stand legs apart a certain centimeter width, appeal to the proclivities of the judging gaze, and never look your master in the eye.
It’s not the men so much that do it for you. Rather, it’s the fear. The rush, the adrenaline, the chemical.
That’s what gets you off. You can always shower afterwards, anyway.
Isn’t this empowering? Does it feel good for you, too?
Rolling over in bed alone at night, phone blowing up with begging texts claiming no one does it quite like you do, pornography in your ears, groaning at the repetition of it all, the futility, the bore.
Someone should clip your wings and get this routine over with already. Sometimes you think you’d like to be human, for a change. A hobby might do you some good. Maybe welding? Knitting looks fun. You always did like working with your hands.
How many hours have you wasted like this, exactly? How many hours will you continue to eat the same dinner before bed each night?
Did Keigo notice this of you?
Keigo, Keigo, pretty Keigo.
You did your best in your first few dates with him not to ponder the apparentness of your vile. It’s always a humiliation ritual when a man you know crosses the threshold from an observer of your body to a potential consumer.
Keigo brought you flowers the first time you met up after making your relationship official— hand-plucked on his patrol route, of course, not purchased. It eased your nerves to know not much about him had changed since he confessed his, as he put it, romantic feelings for you. Even the gift was a predictable Keigo-like gesture, handed over with a lopsided, pleading smile and a tight fist. He forgot to buy a plastic wrap for the flowers.
This is what people who date each other do, yeah? Bestie, help me out here, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
He was a baby, but so are you, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.
Keigo’s eyes look different from the others when they look at you. His wide pupils give an uncanny valley effect to a nervous system unfamiliar with being seen as human, too. Keigo doesn’t look at you like a meal and it makes a very young part of you want to scream, ripping to shreds all your other parts with its teeth. You do well to keep it hidden.
The first time Keigo kisses you, plump lips pressed hesitantly against yours as he leans over the stick shift in the front seat of his car, he makes a sweet little sound in his throat like he’s afraid of it. When you pull away from each other with a tiny, audible smack, he touches his own mouth in disbelief and blinks twice before looking at you. His pupils are blown— devout, innocent.
And cross your bleeding heart, the dork smiles so wide. After your first kiss, Keigo awkwardly blurts out a “thank you” and mirrors your giggle, tension successfully assassinated on the spot.
You must have been out of practice for too long. Your heart drums entirely without your permission, walls melting away beneath his sun like candle wax.
By the time he drops you off at your front door, with the swirling hearts that fizz in your head, you forget to invite him inside. Keigo doesn’t seem to mind, though, judging by the pep in his step as you watch him leave through the windowblinds.
For your second kiss, you try tongue; but Keigo seems a bit too inexperienced for that and you dial it back.
For your third, you ask what he wants with half-lidded eyes.
“To tell you I love you,” Keigo answers.
Your body freezes.
“I know it’s really soon,” he stresses, hands raised. “But it doesn’t count if we’ve been friends for this long, yeah?”
It’s an attempt to convince himself too, when he lists off all the occasions in which you “used the L word” over the years with each other as best friends.
It takes until your fiftieth kiss for you to attempt to undress. And to the abject horror of your nervous system, Keigo responds.
His eyes look unfamiliar. The same honeyed gold, but aroused. It roars the child within you. And although you initiated it, remnants of bile rise in your throat at his response as if it were anything other than completely human.
Keigo doesn’t touch you like he had been waiting for it. Rather, he does so with newfound curiosity. His fingers are soft and deliberate, visually dissecting your body with a deeper scope than anyone who has ever done this before.
You abhor it. Your shirt is off, by your hands, and you abhor yourself for doing that, too.
And Keigo’s eyes are transfixed with awe. Part of you resents him for it, part of you feels obligated to bring him further in. Once you manage to connect, you’re sure he will return to you again and again asking for more of you, that he will never even think to leave.
… But doesn’t Keigo already come back to you?
You have not yet had sex, and he still texts you each night. He still plops himself on your doorstep like a lost dog. He still perks up at your voice, still smiles at his phone, still awaits your messages and pursues you like a child might chase insects with a butterfly net in naive hand.
And there is still no sex.
Fear blossoms in your throat. You force yourself to squeeze Keigo’s thigh, clumsily, and lean in to try and kiss him. This time you should do it with tongue—
“Babe, are you okay?”
You blink before your lips even have the chance to connect.
Oh.
Glancing at him now (how long had you been looking away?), Keigo's brows are concerningly stitched and his lips are pursed open with urgency.
“Uh, yeah,” you say. “Why do you ask?”
Keigo’s hand reaches out to cradle your cheek, lips squeezing tight when his thumb finds a droplet nestling along your waterline. He exhales out his nose, empathetic.
Oh.
“Shit, shit,” you scramble to the other side of bed, crossing your arms to cover yourself up. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Just give me a minute, I can get back into it, I promise. Just give me a second.”
“You’re crying,” Keigo whispers. “Something’s wrong, dove. It’s okay. You can talk to me.”
You consider lying before you remember who exactly you are talking to.
“I think it was what we were just doing,” you slowly start. Keigo sits back on his knees and nods along, eyes boring into yours. You slowly retrieve your shirt in shame, buttoning it back up this time, and Keigo’s eyes ignore the motion completely.
“I don’t know,” you say. After a pause and a look that asks permission, Keigo takes your palms in his hands. “I think it was the idea that we could have gone further than just kissing.”
Keigo nods again. You continue.
“It’s kind of a lot,” you explain, for the first time. Words burst forth like oil spills. “It’s a lot and I don’t… I don’t know if I want to.”
“I hope this goes without saying, but we don’t have to,” Keigo pauses and squeezes your palms, looking into your eyes like a partner. “We don’t have to… You know. Have sex,” he makes himself explicitly say the words, intent on communicating this clearly. “Ever, even, if you want. We don’t have to if you feel like it’s too much, or you just don’t want to. We don’t have to, it’s more than enough to just be with—’
It’s too much.
“Just stop,” you mumble. “Stop it. You don’t mean it. It’ll come eventually.”
It always does.
“I do mean it,” Keigo says.
“You don’t.”
The hurt that bursts in Keigo’s eyes is wide and complicated. You wince as if you were struck yourself, averting your eyes in shame.
Quietly, he begins again.
“Baby, I’m serious,” Keigo says. “It hurts when you think of me like that.”
“Like what,” you ask.
“Like a liar.”
The quiet is discomforting. Suddenly, every creak and mundane sound in your apartment is deafening. Keigo, larger than life that he is, fills the space with ease.
“I mean it when I say you’re enough for me. Just you, just like this.” He touches your hand again. “I don’t need anything else unless you wanna share it with me. I don’t wanna just take something from you. I’m dating you, not your body.”
Every word feels like a blow to the chest, knocking the air clean from your lungs like a wheeze.
And before you are lucid enough to shove it down, your throat tightens and you begin to cry.
“Oh, baby. C’mere,” Keigo says, unable to stop himself. He waits for you to touch him first, to crawl into his arms like a small child and wail blubbery cries into his chest as the dam bursts.
“You sound small,” Keigo comments as he finally realizes. He strokes your head. “Whatever part of you they hurt, it’s safe with me. I swear, baby, I swear.”
You spill.
“It’s a lot.” I’m a lot.
“I don’t want to disappoint you.” I disappoint myself.
“I just want to be someone that’s worthy of you.” I feel unclean and it’s not even my fault.
“You mean so much to me and I don’t want to lose you.” You’re so kind, you’re so good, please don’t leave me.
Keigo soaks you up, swallowing the lump in his throat to prioritize you first. Finally, he speaks.
“Let me prove it to you,” he says.
That causes confusion to well up, snapping you out of your headspace.
“Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around?”
“What,” Keigo asks, genuine. “Why would you need to prove anything to me? You’re the one who’s hurt. I’m going to prove that I’m safe. Seems kind of backwards the other way, actually.”
Oh. You suppose that makes sense.
“Starting…” Keigo pauses for dramatic effect, imitating a drum roll in the space between you and relishing in your sweet smile at the reset you’ve been waiting for, the tentative chance at a gentler view. “Now.”
Summary | Date night in the cemetery may not have been everyone's cup of tea, but Steve knew exactly the right way to make your Halloween perfect.
Prompt | Do you take all your dates to the cemetery?
Warnings & Notes | 18+, fem!reader, smut, established relationship, semi-public sex, dry humping, fingering, unprotected p in v, reader’s appearance not described only parts of her wardrobe are referenced
Author's Note | Once again @littlexdeaths read my mind and created a prompt for the 31 Days of Spooktober that suited a piece I was already working on. This is technically a sequel to And You're Driven Like the Snow, but I think it can be read on its own!
Recommended Listening | cemetery songs
WC | 6.0k
[series masterlist]
Be spiderwebbed and glazed in frost // She wears death beautifully
More stunning now than in her life // On a bed of autumn leaves
“Shh!” You chastised Steve as quietly yet harshly as you could, the tickle of your breath on his ear causing him to jerk away. Not that he could exactly go anywhere, considering the way you sat atop his lap, straddling his hips as you peered around the headstone pressed against his back. Despite your scolding, he continued to laugh in his chest, and so you clasped a hand over his mouth, fingertips cold on his cheeks while his thighs pressed up into your back.
When Steve interrupted your previously planned Halloween movie night to whisk you out the door, you were undeniably a little giddy - you’d never had a boyfriend surprise you before. Of course, you would have loved spending the holiday curled up on the couch together watching scary movies, but Steve’s secrecy about where you were going was rousing, to say the very least.
Lucky for the both of you, you had a terrible sense of direction and were still prone to getting lost even after two years of living in Hawkins, so as Steve drove through the late night streets, you hadn’t the slightest clue where you were heading. The two of you bantered along the way, Steve teasing that you wouldn’t figure out where he was taking you, you retorted that this felt like a kidnapping; back and forth, insulting each other’s lack of costume and sense of direction in that way only a couple could.
And, unfortunately, Steve was right - you hadn’t a clue where the hell you were as he drove on tree-encroached roads, winding somewhere on the outskirts of town. That is, until his headlights flashed across the sign for the cemetery, and you suddenly felt a thrill of delight at how easily he could woo you. Date night amongst cenotaphs and graves was perhaps the most cliche goth thing you could do, but you never claimed to be above stereotypes, and in that moment you adored how well Steve knew it.
The two of you had arrived well after typical visiting hours, as was clearly Steve’s plan. Admittedly, you were a little spooked by the eerie atmosphere, but watching Steve start at sounds off in the darkness was enough to make you laugh and ignore the ridiculous trepidation you were feeling. After all, you knew the dead couldn’t rise and that you weren’t in any danger; though it was Halloween, so you supposed anything could happen. You’d teased Steve about his jumpiness as you strolled amongst graves, and though he’d rolled his eyes and tried to play cool, he nonetheless laughed along with you.
It was almost beginning to feel perfectly normal to be walking around a cemetery late at night with the way you held one another’s hand, the way Steve would look down at you with that awestruck adoration that you still couldn’t quite wrap your head around. After all these months together, sometimes you’d recall how strange your relationship may appear on the outside, though the thoughts were just as quickly erased whenever Steve would kiss your neck or say something so ridiculous that all you could do was laugh at him. When it was just your bubble of two, nothing at all seemed strange to you.
While the two of you were traipsing between headstones and still relentlessly teasing each other, the trouble of the night began. You’d heard the crunch of tires rolling over gravel, drawing your attention back towards the road, where a car appeared around the curve, the headlights briefly illuminating you. They pulled up behind Steve’s car at the same moment that the two of you attempted to duck behind trees, though you knew it was too late, that you’d already been spotted. A man, who must’ve been a groundskeeper or security, lumbered out of the car while shouting in your general direction about trespassing.
From your respective hiding places you and Steve shared a mischievous look despite the threat in the man’s tone. Certain that the groundskeeper would give chase, Steve grabbed hold of your hand and the two of you began dashing away, footsteps heavily thudding over crunchy leaves and wet grass. Neither of you dared to look back as you ran deeper into the cemetery, headstones and monuments becoming older and more elaborate. You struggled to maintain pace with Steve, who was easily more athletic than you and not burdened by thick boots, nearly tripping over yourself more than once as pushed to keep up.
You wondered if the groundskeeper would call the cops on you or if he intended to resolve this himself. Unable to resist your curiosity, you looked back over your shoulder, stumbling again as you did so, but couldn’t see anyone in pursuit. You did notice, however, the streaks of a flashlight beam off between the trees, and were thankful that the man had fallen well behind for the time being.
Nonetheless, running could only work for so long - you looked around in hopes that you could find somewhere to hide; if only this were the type of old cemetery with fancy mausoleums or tombs to duck into.
“Steve!” You hiss-whispered while grabbing at his sleeve, pulling him to a halt. You nudged your head in the direction of a cluster of more impressive grave markers, their bases wide and crosses tall, surely enough coverage to keep you hidden for a short while, “Come on.”
And thus, here you sat, trying to make yourselves as small as possible while keeping a keen eye on the graveyard.
The groundskeeper was calling into the dark, his threats growing less and less menacing as the minutes wore on. With your neck angled to one side so you could look for any sign of the man, Steve’s nose grazed your jugular, his hair tickling your cheek, hands lazily roving over your back and waist. You were fairly certain that he was trying to distract you purely for his own amusement, and you wouldn’t dare admit that it was working.
Now that Steve had stopped laughing, you dropped your hand from his mouth to his shoulder; for now, you lost the groundskeeper, his light disappearing in the distance. Even still, you continued to stare between the tombstones cautiously. Leaning his head back, Steve’s lips teased along your neck and jawline, causing you to sigh gently, again trying to resist the wash of desire through you.
“Steve…” You muttered, attempting to lean away from his touch, though of course you couldn’t go anywhere. Not that it wasn’t welcome, but this really wasn’t the time to be getting handsy.
Steve placed his hands firmly on your hips to keep you from moving, drawing his legs up against your back, lips still teasing but not quite kissing. His fingers flexed into the fabric of your skirt, slowly trailing up and down your legs so gently that you shuddered. Your hand very nearly trailed from his shoulder into his hair, but you had just enough self-control to refrain. As if he knew you were struggling to resist, Steve breathed you in deeply, pressing your body that little bit closer to his.
“This is kinda hot,” his words were warm against your neck, voice ever so slightly winded from all that unexpected running. His fingers flexed into the meat of your thighs, making it that much harder to keep yourself in check, “I mean, we could get caught any minute now.”
You fondly rolled your eyes, struggling to keep from smiling. Despite yourself, your hands trailed carefully up to either side of Steve’s neck, drawing him back from you by mere centimeters. You finally pulled your gaze away from the graveyard to meet his eyes, your noses bumped as he stared at you adoringly, “Why do you sound like you’d enjoy that?”
Steve shrugged goofily, though his eyes had a mischievous, carnal look to them, the corner of his mouth curved into a coy smile. His hands continued to idly glide along your legs, crawling up to rest on the curve of your ass, “Makes things more interesting.”
If you were a better woman, you would have reprimanded him, but you felt a pulse of heat in your core at the suggestion in his tone; god, he had no right to be so hot right now.
Lips hovering just out of his reach, you smiled teasingly, though you felt faintly timid as you asked, “And what could we be caught doing that would be so interesting?”
With hooded eyes and a smirk, Steve pressed his hips up against your suggestively, his cock twitching beneath your rear, causing desire to flood your chest as you took a sharp breath. You gripped his neck a little tighter as he whispered huskily, his lips brushing yours with each syllable.
“Did you know that Mary Shelley lost her virginity in a graveyard?” His question caused you to smile at the same moment that you felt a coil tightening inside you. Hands trailing up to tease at his hair, you leaned in extra close, about to kiss him but refraining.
“On her mother’s grave, specifically.” You whispered as if this was some morbid form of flirtatiousness. In the same second, a thought crossed you, causing your brow to furrow suspiciously, pulling away so you could find his eyes in the dark, “Do you even know who Mary Shelley is?”
Though Steve was many things, a reader he was not. His hands squeezed your ass in rebuke, eyes glinting impishly, “Are you doubting my intelligence?”
You grinned back wickedly, a hint of challenge in your expression as you drew yourself close again, mouth trailing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “I’d bet Robin told you that so you could impress me.”
“Iis it working?” You hummed with faux judgment, to which he rolled his hips up into you again, drawing a gentle as sin moan from between your lips; your breath against Steve’s ear caused him to practically growl, “I could always impress you in other ways.”
Your fingers curled in the hair on the back of his neck as you, too, rut your hips slowly with his. Your lips feathered across his jaw, “Cocky of you.”
Smiling cheekily, Steve continued his slow, sultry grinding, growing harder against your ass as if to make a point, “Interesting word choice.”
“Apt, I’d say.” You teased with a devilish grin, sighing at the feel of his cock going rigid beneath you, taking far too much enjoyment in this little game you found yourselves playing.
You and Steve had never done something like this before, risking indecency in a public place, even one as deserted as this (though, how deserted was a cemetery, really). Where you weren’t exactly big on PDA, Steve was handsy in contrast; he loved to be all over you in some capacity, often kissing you and holding you to the point of embarrassment. No, you weren’t ever embarrassed by him - god, how could you ever be - but Steve’s affection often drew attention, and that was something you were one to avoid.
But the thought of someone seeing the two of you like this - his yearning stare, your heated sighs - shot a bolt of want through you like lightning. Suddenly the hottest thing in the world was the thought that at any moment someone might stumble across you two wrapped around each other, moaning into one another’s mouths, bodies moving in tandem.
With heat pooling inside you, you rolled your hips deeply and deliberately, the sensation of you against Steve’s length, even through the layers of clothing, causing him to groan into your mouth. His hands groped at your ass, digging in possessively as he rested his head back against the gravestone, watching you through hooded eyes.
Between your thighs, Steve was already beginning to strain in his tight jeans, the press of him against your slit making you nearly keen. Fuck, he was mouthwatering; you could tell that you were already wet, and it drove you crazy that he could get you there so damn easily.
Hands still woven in Steve’s hair, you finally drew him to yours, kissing him deeply, wantonly, feeling the rumble of approval in his chest. Your lipstick was slick and tacky, transferring from your lips to Steve’s in that way that made you get all twisted up inside. Ever since your very first kiss, that messy makeout session in his car, you found that you utterly adored seeing your lipstick smeared all over his skin like he was yours to mark.
With lips locked, you ground against one another shamelessly, Steve’s hips bucking up into you as you slid yourself against him, moans lost within one another’s mouths. When his tongue snaked between your lips, you gave his hair a gentle yet firm tug.
Your rhythm atop him was sloppy with want, the two of you ever so out of sync as you chased after that lust fueled high. Steve’s hands slid from your ass along your thighs, blindly fumbling with the fabric of your skirt, pulling and yanking until he could push it up your legs, groping your skin like something coveted. His palms were hot against you, fingers catching in the holes of your fishnets as he squeezed your flesh; he kissed you with such abandon that it dared to make you lightheaded.
With your skirt pooled around your hips, Steve explored all of you as if he didn’t know where to start, shoving his hands up your shirt to grope at your waist and breasts, causing you to arch your back under his touch. You could feel the smile on his lips as he continued his salacious kissing and grabbing, tweaking your nipples through the fabric of your bra, gliding fingertips down your spine to make you shiver. When his hands crawled back down to your ass, he clasped it just hard enough to make you gasp into his waiting mouth. His fingers wove between the holes in your tights, tugging at them tauntingly.
You shifted your hips just so, the outline of his cock ghosting against your clit; it was almost shameful the way you keened at the sensation. Steve broke from the kiss to take in your expression, the loss of his lips making you whine yet again, which only caused him to smile largely, wickedly. Through half-lidded eyes, you watched him watching you - his pupils blown out with lust, the part of his black-tinted lips, the anticipating bob of his Adam’s apple.
He groped your ass encouragingly, guiding your hips in a push-and-pull along his length, taut against the fabric of his jeans. Your walls clenched tight, so totally turned on by the thought of Steve getting you off without even really touching you, though you so desperately wanted to be filled up by him.
While one hand stayed twisted in Steve’s gorgeous hair, your other dragged alluringly down his neck and chest, fingernails grazing in a way that made him shudder, your lips curling into a pleased grin. You trailed along his torso and abs, sliding your fingers into the waistband of his jeans and giving them a taunting tug. Steve’s hands flexed against your rear, the needy grind of your hips growing more and more persistent.
Over the edge of the headstone, a stream of light caught your attention, and you couldn’t tell how close or far it was; fuck, you’d practically forgotten about that. Your hips faltered as your eyes widened with a wave of panic, but Steve simply leaned in and began ravishing your neck with kisses and nips, insistently drawing your attention back to him. Despite your alarm, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, eyes fluttering faintly at the way his teeth teased your skin.
“Look at me, baby.” He murmured hungrily while pulling back to meet your eyes, “That’s right, ignore it; just you and me.”
His gaze was roguish as he wet his lips, staring through you straight to your core. Holding your gaze, he hooked one of his arms beneath your ass while his opposite hand slid around your waist and down the front of your pelvis. You took a deep breath as Steve reached between your legs, thumb brushing torturously along your pussy, feeling your wetness even through your tights and panties. There was a self-satisfied gleam in his eyes as he lazily swirled your clit, enjoying the way you twitched with a sharp inhale.
That irrelevant beam of light wasn’t going to distract you again anytime soon.
Steve’s thumb pressed into you more firmly, spiraling your clit, gliding along your folds, and repeating. The intent, focused way he watched you caused your chest to swell, but when you tried to wiggle your hips against his touch, Steve’s opposite hand gave your eyes a rough squeeze.
He shook his head with a glint in his eyes, whispering against your lips, “No, let me.”
Steve stopped caressing you, but before you had time to whine about it, he hooked his fingers into your fishnets and gave them a firm, swift wrench that ripped a hole in them. You gasped in surprise as your walls clenched, the raunchy look in Steve’s expression only thrilling you more.
“Relax, I’ll buy you new ones…” He damn near purred while tugging your panties to one side, fingertips ghosting against your pussy. He pressed his mouth just beneath your ear, humming in his chest as he teased one finger along your slit, “Already wet…”
Your entire body felt tight with desire as you moaned, eyes fluttering shut as Steve continued to barely stroke you, making you all the more needy as he refrained from touching in that way you wanted. His breath was hot against your neck as he took in the scent of you, cock pressed tauntingly against your leg.
“Gotta be quiet for me.” Steve whispered, the knot in your stomach winding tighter, pussy pulsing with need for his fingers that he kept just out of reach. You nodded as he started to suck a hickey to your skin, the sensation drawing another deep breath from within your lungs. You tipped your head back to offer even more of your neck to him; once he was satisfied with the tender bruise left by his lips, he bared his teeth, nipping gently at your flesh.
And then Steve slowly sunk a finger between your slick folds, a content noise in his throat as he plunged knuckle deep. An unabashed moan escaped you before you could catch it, clenching around Steve’s finger as he drew his mouth away to find your eyes, looking all too pleased with himself, “Oh, so you want to get caught?”
His goading made you tense again, causing his eyes to flutter briefly at the feel of you so needy and warm and tight around him. You shook your head as his opposite hand caressed up your body, your neck, to your mouth, covering it to smother your sounds of pleasure, “We’ll keep you quiet…”
Heart skipping with desire and eagerness shivering up your spine, you nodded again. Steve looked between your eyes ardently, hand stilled for a long agonizing moment before he began to pump his finger inside you, pace slow and methodical and torturous. You whined into his cupped hand, your fingers curling hard enough in his hair to make him hiss, the lustful sound making you clench again. You began to roll your hips in time with his thrust, the heel of his hand applying pressure to your clit with each push of his finger.
The way Steve held your gaze was erotic in a way that shouldn’t be legal, the certainty and confidence and desire in his expression making you hotter than you already were. As he steadily changed the rhythm of his thrusts, your eyes rolled back, biting your tongue despite the coverage of his hand. Steve’s attention was acute as he dipped a second finger inside you, delighting in the way you tugged at his hair, the way you twitched around him and moaned wildly.
God, it was so easy to feel drunk at his touch, fingers hooking as they pumped in and out of you, hitting that sweet spot inside that made your toes curl. The way he watched you with such concentration made your head spin, his eyes ablaze with want and mouth ajar. His chest heaved deep breaths as he worked your pussy, thumb rubbing at your clit as if it was for his pleasure rather than your own.
Your nails raked at his hair and hot skin, drawing an illicit groan from his lips, loud enough to make your eyes widen with worry that you’d be caught. Yet he was so goddamn gorgeous with his hair disheveled and eyes practically black with lust that your worries melted away, especially as he began to swirl his thumb over your clit with greater ardor.
Steve’s fingers were growing slick with your desire, pumping inside you in a way that kept you on edge and yearning for more of him. You could feel his cock twitching against you as he bucked his hips up in time with the rhythm of his fingers, grinding deep and steady, his eyes nearly fluttering closed at the feel of you clenching greedily around him. His thumb teased unpredictable patterns over your sensitive bud, causing your legs to tremble and hips to stutter, chasing the release you so desperately craved.
With a salacity gleam in his eyes, Steve sunk his fingers nice and deep, allowing you to grind on them desperately. A hint of sweat began forming upon your brow as you rode his fingers, the lust and affection in his gaze spurring you on, watching the way you used him with utter beguilement. You could feel your pleasure mounting, hips rolling with more urgency, practically dripping with desire as you held Steve tight.
But just as you thought you were getting close, he suddenly withdrew his fingers from you, the abrupt loss causing you to clench tight as a whine escaped your throat. You weren’t sure what face you pulled, but evidently it amused Steve, because he smiled wickedly while huffing out a faint laugh at your expense.
He drew his hand up between you two, holding out his soaked fingers like a lure as he stared at you lecherously. His words were a deep grumble as he instructed, “Come here.”
Your body coiled tight at the request, those two effortless words that you loved to hear from his mouth. It was a line he used often, that oh-so simple ‘come here,’ but damn did it work on you like a charm.
Looking between Steve’s eyes, you bit your lip, yearning coursing through you as you inched forward. You eagerly wrapped your mouth around his fingers, cheeks sucking in slowly, lips wet, tongue swirling dutifully. Steve’s eyes rolled back as he moaned, his cock teasing at your wet pussy, the fabric between you only adding to the friction. You sighed at the taste of yourself upon his fingertips, hips rolling languidly with his.
“God, you're incredible…” Steve’s words were practically a growl, his stare lidded and desirous as you continued to suck his fingers like a woman starved. With a sigh, he pulled them from your mouth with an audible pop, your eyes returning to his as you caught your breath.
Steve tenderly cupped your jaw, fingers still damp with spit, admiring you like you were the goddamn sun and moon and stars. Your hands snaked over his body, feeling the jump of his muscles beneath your touch. You reached under his shirt, nails gently scratching at his abs and waist; the way he sighed at your touch was like sweet, encouraging music. You tucked your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, enjoying his hot skin, the way his hips still slowly, dutifully rolled against yours.
You leaned back in for another kiss, mouths hot and tongues eager as you began to fuss with Steve’s pants, blindly unbuttoning and unzipping them; with how hard he was, they were so damn tight that you groaned with impatience as you tried to free him. You could feel the amused smile on his lips as he lifted his ass off the ground to help, the both of you pulling the denim just beneath the bulge of his swollen cock, which you groped at through his underwear. When your thumb teasingly flicked at the underside of his head, Steve moaned deep in his throat.
Steve possessively grabbed you again, kneading your ass as you pulled at his underwear, his cock slapping faintly against his abdomen once freed. You licked his lower lip with a nearly embarrassing hunger, to which he kissed you with even more intensity.
Reaching between your bodies, you took Steve into your hand, squeezing his head before eagerly pumping up and down his veiny length, catching each and every moan of his in your mouth. He thrust up into your hand, fingers continuing to dig into the fat of your ass, breaking from your kiss so he could rest his forehead against yours. He was already whining with how good you made him feel, the both of you absolute suckers for one another’s touch.
Steve took one of his hands from your ass, cupping it around your hand on his cock and giving another firm squeeze, thrusting into it a few more times. He loosened his grip, allowing you to draw your hand away and steady yourself on his shoulders, angling your hips just right as he continued to lazily stroke himself in anticipation. When his head brushed against your pussy, he teasingly began to glide it back and forth, prodding ever so at your clit; you made a small sound in your throat at just the thought of him buried deep inside you.
Steve leaned his head back against the gravestone, his eyes dark and lustful as they met yours, accentuated by a self-satisfied grin. His hand on your ass held you steady as he lined himself up with your entrance.
And then Steve finally eased you onto his cock inch by inch, your head swimming with desire as he worked you all the way down to the hilt. You took a sharp breath as you clenched tight around him, causing an expletive to hiss from between his lips as he admired you through half-lidded eyes.
For a long moment, you both lingered there as you adjusted to his size, your toes curling with a gasp as you felt an eager twitch inside you. Taking in a deep breath of air, Steve smiled at you dreamily while settling his hands on either side of your hips, holding you steady as he gave an experimental rock of his hips. You gripped his shoulders tight as you practically swooned, grinding your hips forward and back as his cock slid inside you.
Steve groaned lowly, a muttered ‘oh fuck’ escaping his lips as you moved together, his hands squeezing you tight. He hit you nice and deep with each slow thrust, stretching you out in a delirious way, pleasure that was nearly painful. Your hands tangled in his hair, enjoying the way it knotted around your fingers as you arched into the rhythm of his thrusts.
You gave Steve a quick, sloppy kiss as he pressed harder into you, the angle of your bodies putting pressure against your clit. You mewled into his mouth, a strand of spit connecting you once your lips parted.
In the air between you, Steve muttered incoherent praises and expletives as he thrust up into you. You smiled tenderly at the sound of his low, husky mantra, grinding yourself on the base of his cock as he buried himself balls deep, pleasure like static shooting up and down your body.
Steve hooked his hands under your ass again, encouraging you to lift higher on your knees, which you did so obligingly while tugging fervidly at his locks. He slid his cock slowly out of you until all that was left was the swollen tip, your walls clenching desperately at the loss of him. Steve held your hips so you couldn’t move, staring at you longingly, relishing in the tortured look on your face as you yearned for him.
When he drew you back down, it was quick and frenzied, an illicit sound leaping past your lips as his cock thrust so deep you thought you could burst. The pleased look on his face was nearly cruel as he encouraged you back up again, breathily reminding you, “Can’t be too loud, remember?”
If you were feeling more feisty, you would have made some smart remark, but all you could manage now was to nod while biting down on your lip to hold back more cries of pleasure.
You readjusted yourself, bracing your hands on the stone either side of Steve’s head, situating your knees so that you could bounce up and down his thick shaft. He took in a deep breath while gripping rapaciously at your thighs, curving his hips up into you each time you sunk back down. Your eyes rolled back at the feel of him buried between your slick folds, your teeth sharp biting into your lower lip.
Steve was murmuring again, so lowly that you could barely hear him, ‘so good, baby’ and ‘right there’ spilling from his lips like prayer. His husky tone caused your hips to stutter, pussy clenching around him as you moaned.
Your pace grew hurried, ass faintly clapping each time you met Steve’s thighs, his thrust matching your urgency as he held you tight enough to bruise. You could feel grime beneath your nails as you gripped tight to the headstone, already feeling cock drunk as Steve fucked you deep. His mouth hung open as he watched you ride him with total inhibition, pussy flexing around him, vision nearly crossed with ecstasy.
You mewled and moaned behind tightly clasped lips, finding Steve’s eyes as if in a silent plea for more of him. Your knees were shaking, desire making you so slick that it was nearly sinful as the two of you slapped together over and over.
With a grunt, Steve squeezed your ass in his hands as he slouched to a slightly different angle, holding you tight as he began to plunge into you more frantically. His thrusts were growing rough and desperate, tip hitting your cervix with each pump, his base rubbing just enough pressure to your clit to make you moan audibly. You quickly pressed the back of your hand over your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound, which caused an enthralled smile to light up Steve’s face.
He pushed even closer, lips hovering just a breath away from your face, the air hot between you, “Gonna cum for me, baby?”
You nodded dumbly, Steve’s hair ever so slightly damp from sweat as it brushed against your forehead. Your pussy clenched tight at his words, his chest rumbled at the feel of you around him.
“Cum all over me?” You nodded again, rutting your hips with his thrusts, arching your back as he rammed up into you, stone scratching beneath your palm. Steve panted into your neck, cock twitching with each thrust, skin growing sticky with exertion.
His hand slid between you, fumbling briefly with your skirt until his thumb found your clit again, massaging it in feverish circles. You gasp into your hand, vision blurred like static at how damn sensitive you were now that you were getting close. Your hips bucked, greedily trying to chase the pleasure of both Steve’s hand and cock, body coiling tighter and tighter.
Steve’s lips brushed against your neck, whispering sweetly, “Lean back, baby.”
His thumb continued to please you as his hips stalled. Doing as you were told, you pushed off the gravestone and sat back on Steve’s cock, reaching behind to steady your hands on his taut thighs. The new angle pressed his head right to your limit, a whine sounding in your throat as you clenched again, head lulling back as you stared up at the stars.
“There you go…” Steve murmured wantonly as he rubbed your clit, his opposite hand groping at your ass and hips and waist, desperate to feel all of you. Fuck, your legs were shaking again, pussy pulsing as you rut your hips hungrily, mouth hanging wide open. Your nails dug into Steve’s legs through the denim of his jeans, drool daring to fall from your lips as you rode him hard, eyes crossing.
A shudder rolled up your spine as your pleasure began to mount, Steve’s thumb still urgent against you. His other hand trailed up your torso and breasts, fingertips brushing your neck and collarbone and jaw as if wishing he could grab you everywhere all at once.
“Come on, baby,” Steve grunted between his teeth, seeing and feeling how damn close you were getting, meeting your every thrust with equal fervor, working your clit to the limit. You looked away from the starry sky, turning your chin down to meet his eyes; Steve tenderly hooked his fingers in your mouth again, smiling deliriously at the sight of you, “You’re right there, huh?”
Again, you nodded like a fool, riding his cock impatiently, canines gently pressing down on Steve’s fingertips as drool started to pool on your tongue. He pushed his hips solidly against yours, drinking in the sight of you using him to your content, sending you closer and closer to the end--
And then the shine of a light streaked through the nearby trees, your fear at being found sending you over the edge in a way that was utterly unfair as your orgasm washed over you.
Predicting the raunchy sounds that would uncontrollably come out of you, Steve pulled his fingers from your mouth and all but slapped his palm over your lips, catching your desperate whines and moans. Your pussy clenched tight around him, body going rigid as your eyes crossed. Tormenting you further, Steve continued to rub your clit lazily, causing your hips to twitch as you gasped into his hand.
When your cries of pleasure slowed, Steve cupped your jaw and dragged you into him, kissing you with hungry, hectic fervor, his hips idly rolling into yours. You moaned into one another’s ravenous mouths as your hands twisted into the fabric of his shirt, clinging tight as you came down from your high.
As your body relaxed around Steve, his cock still prodded at that sweet spot deep inside you, causing a little mewl to sound in your throat. He kissed you so damn tenderly, consuming you as if you were the air he breathed.
When Steve broke away from your lips, he pressed your foreheads together, his chest heaving beneath your hands. You could feel his found smile ghosting against your mouth; tauntingly, he gave a slow, deep roll of his hips, delighting in the small way you whined.
Your energy recouped, you sat up a little and looked around, noticing that the light had moved farther away again. For now, you were in the clear.
Steve leaned up to kiss sweetly at your neck, hands trailing gently along your body. His cock was still buried deep in you, hard and probably desperate for release. But when you began to grind your pussy against him, he grabbed you firmly with a groan.
“Don’t wanna make a mess of you here.” Steve whispered against your skin, to which your expression knotted. As if he knew you made a face, he added, “Take you home and we can keep this going.”
You clenched around him again at the suggestion, rolling your hips again just to taunt him. Steve’s fingers squeezed into your legs with warning, although the twitch of his cock inside you caused a goading smile to grace your lips.
You dipped your head down to find Steve’s eyes, brushing your lips against his in a chaste kiss, “Don’t even need to take me home, I’ll take care of you in the car.”
Steve breathed in between his teeth as he twitched again, a faint groan in his throat. You couldn’t help but laugh smally at his torment, though he quickly retaliated with a slap on your ass, encouraging you to get off his lap.
“Let’s get outta here, you succubus.”
.
.
Addt. Author's Note | I'm not entirely satisfied with this ending, but my writing is a little rusty after months away from it, so I can't complain. Can't say whether or not we'll have more of these two in the future, but here's to hoping I might continue writing them because I love Steve and his goth gf!
Phantom of the Opera: How Much Did Opera Actually Influence Erik's Understanding of the World?
So, I love monster lit. A lot of folks know this if you've been following the blog.
I'm also a huge fan of opera. Like literal opera.
And, operas are really interesting because they're kind of, stylistically, marked by a couple of different things - style, forms, and whether they're tragic or comedic. However, you don't often get like ... blends? You can. Kinda. But, generally, like Shakespearean tragedies or comedies everyone's either gonna end up dead or married.
And, that made me think about Erik.
We have no darn clue how old he was per Leroux's timeline (because he was a prodigy and a genius) when he ended up under the opera house.
So, how many social experiences did Erik really have?
How much of his entire social world was filtered through the tragedy and comedy of opera?
Part of the reason I say this is because if you look at his relationship with The Persian it takes on flares of the sort of combative nature of operetic friendship. They fight. There's drama. They're rivals. Then, they're buddies. There's no stability. It's all drama, mostly put there by Erik.
But, again. That's what he knows! It's all he knows.
Even his relationship with Christine fascinates me.
If you look at his dialogue, he wants a friend.
He wants someone to hold his arm and take walks with him because he doesn't want to be alone. He wants someone to end his solitude. He wants to keep coaching her in music. He wants her to be the prima donna of the opera.
That's all he *really* says he wants.
Yet, he says he wants to marry her.
Why?
In comedic operas, everyone gets married in the end. That's how the happily ever after *works.* It doesn't matter if that's not what he actually wants, or if that's what she wants. It only matters that that's how the plot of the opera is supposed to work. In order to have stability, in order for the tragedy to stop, the marriage has to happen.
Erik fundamentally lacks the language of friendship.
He doesn't understand what it looks like, what it's supposed to feel like, what living is like, because he has no lived experiences of his own to draw from.
So, instead, he draws from the beautiful lyrical poetry of opera. He draws from what he knows and loves most to understand the world around him because it's all he HAS.
He uses the word "wife" because it's the only word he has to understand the complex intimate feelings he has for "best friend." He uses the word "wife" because marriage is the "fix-it" in almost all operatic comedies across all forms of comedy operas whether it's a Buffa (Think Barber of Seville) or Comique (This is probably what Webber was referencing with opera the chandelier crashes in although it could also have been an Operetta, as that incorporates dance, or perhaps it may have been a form of Grand Opera set in the current period, though that is less likely. It was likely a Comique because those were often about relatable characters in the current French culture of the 19th century. But, I'm getting in the weeds.)
Anyway, as soon as the world is brought to Erik, as soon as Christine recognizes his humanity, he is able to understand it.
One of my favorite, and perhaps the most important details in the Leroux text, is that Christine kisses Erik's *forehead.* She does not kiss his lips at any point in the story that I can remember?
In fact, Leroux seems to very intentionally make Erik and Christine's relationship quite asexual in nature. I never really noticed that as a young person, but I *did* very much notice it when I re-read the story as an adult. It's something I appreciate a lot about what Leroux seems to be doing and his commentary on human beings in general.
However, as soon as Christine recognizes Erik as a person, as soon as she kisses his forehead, he lets her go. He no longer wishes to marry her. It's like something is released in him, and he lets everyone he has been holding captive go. He no longer threatens to blow up the opera house and himself and everyone with it.
Christine and Raoul (who were childhood besties) run off together, and Erik dies of a broken heart.
But, if you look at his dialogue carefully, I don't think he dies because he wanted Christine romantically and didn't get to marry her. Instead, he compares her tears mingling with his to that of an angel's tears, and he goes on to talk about his *mother.* He talks about how his own mother never touched his face or kissed him. Yet, this girl looked at him, touched his face, and didn't die.
He fully expected anyone who kissed his face to die.
Yet, this perfect and pure angelic girl did not die when she kissed his forehead.
The way Erik talks in this is oddly paternal?
It's very different than the way he has spoken in past chapters of the novel.
In recognizing Erik's humanity, in bringing the world outside of operatic comedies or tragedies, Christine helped Erik make *sense* of the world, his feelings, and emotions. Marrying this girl is never what Erik really wanted.
He wanted a companion. He wanted a best friend. He wanted someone to walk with him when the world was too frightening after all the abandonment he had experienced.
And, his heart is broken knowing that he will never get to have that. He lost it in his own madness.
And, in that way, Leroux is right. We should pity Erik because if he had only been born a "normal" man he would have been a genius. But, things being what they were, he ended up lonely, confused, and broken hearted.
And, I would *love* to see an actor play Webber's Phantom in this way. Start him HUGE as though the only way he knows how to behave is in grandeur and, as the show progresses, make him more intimate. Take the energy from a 6 when we first meet him, up to a 10+ as Red Death, but then afterwards? Back down.
As he's losing it, he's softer. He's smaller. He's more intimate in his fury. He's scared.
So, at the very end, all is quiet. That final "Christine, I love you." And, he finally understands what that really means to him. So, it's just lightly sung. That exchange of rings is more pleasant. Nods are cordial. Maybe even a little hand clasp. There's understanding. It's soft. So, soft.
Even that last "It's over now, the music of the night?" So, stealthy. Don't belt. Just ... light. So light.
Like he's talking to himself and calling himself "Poor unhappy Erik."
As an autistic transmasc-nonbinary contralto. I would love to play this role. I can hit the notes enough to "pants" it in the original key too. I know. I've practiced.
So, anyway, thank you for coming to my TED-talk about why I think opera influenced Erik's understanding of relationship and how human kindness helped him to understand what he actually wanted for his real life.
That is such an interesting detail you noticed! I'm English server only so sometimes it feels like Jack lacks a bit of character. Like they only go halfway with him being a lone wolf type of guy but now it makes so much more sense!
Also Kalims translations are such a shame. It really feels like the English translation has taken away the "weight" Kalim has on everyone around him, especially on Jamil, with the way everything is worded.
[ Referencing this post! ]
akydiaysdbsa Yeah, I feel kinda bad for Jack 😭 He's not a character I pay much attention to, but he's definitely got a lot more character in JP. It's not only the fact that he's made more amicable in EN, but also that some of his rudeness isn't brought over. For example, Jack actually does (I guess that would be the English equivalent of) curse quite often, but I get the sense that the localization presents him as a lot more of a generic "good boy that looks rough around the edges". Jack is that, but he's also a little rude and cheeky in how he speaks.
I feel like Scarabia’s relationship in general was dialed back in the localization, which sucks because their story and shared history is so complex and deeply interesting. The infamous softening of the consequences if Jamil steps out of line is perhaps the most egregious alteration 😅 In JP, Jamil specifically states his family will be put out on the STREETS; in EN, he says his parents will be “so mad at [him]”. This leads to a lot of misunderstandings about how serious Jamil's circumstances are and causes confusion about why Jamil didn't express his unhappiness sooner. It paints this idea that Jamil is a disgruntled employee who could leave at any time when that's not really the case.
I want to clarify, I do think that the Kalim “please” problem I mentioned in the original post isn’t a universal or “everything” issue, it’s more of a situational or contextual thing. I did mention that it’s sort of hard to explain without screenshots (visuals help me a lot with explanations, but I was out at the time of writing and didn’t want to fight the 10 image per post Tumblr mobile limit), so it ended up getting oversimplified. (There’s a detailed reblog by @/umishiqu if you want to know more; very good read!) His speech is informal and lacking in tact, but it’s not as though he’s always being authoritative or always issuing commands. Kalim isn’t meant to come off as bossy. The “please” thing is just something I noticed for this event specifically, maybe because Kalim is in a situation where he wants the problem to be resolved quickly and he trusts that Jamil and Crowley could help. His inner “oh, I can have whatever I want, and it’ll be fixed right away!!” came out, if that makes sense. It’s a much subtler Kalim characterization quirk that appears sometimes, not all of the time.
Coined by feminist writer Sarah Grand in 1894, the archetype of the New Woman referred to the evolving position of women in Victorian society, in which they began to reject the domestic sphere in service of newfound intellectual freedom and independence from men. In addition, the New Woman is often defined by her sexual openness, unashamed to initiate sexual relations or pursue potential suitors.
This archetype is referenced on several occasions throughout Bram Stoker’s Dracula and thus has acted as a template to interpret the depictions of women in his novel. Just as Dracula utilises notions of the New Woman to project fears of the breaking of social norms and transgressive gender expression, so does Stranger Things utilise similar fears surrounding queerness to confront audience anxieties of predatory sexuality.
So how does Will relate to this? Well if you’re reading this you are probably more than aware of the numerous similarities Will shares with the archetype of the gothic heroine, an archetype which exists to explore female terrors (e.g. loss of autonomy) something which is already a staple within the horror genre (re: forced pregnancy in Alien) including Stranger Things. But if you’re in need of a quick rundown:
victimised by an otherworldly force
inexplicable connection to said otherworldly force
themes of sexual repression
and feelings of entrapment and lack of independence
These details are present in the characters of Lucy Westenra and Mina Harker who are both ruthlessly targeted by the novel’s central antagonist: Dracula. By exploiting their vulnerability as women in a society which rarely takes their personhood’s seriously, the Count finds the perfect victims to advance his plan to take over England.
Thus as gothic heroines commonly viewed through the lens of emerging Victorian fears surrounding the shifting role of women in society, i.e. the New Woman, perhaps Will is also representative of similar fears surrounding another marginalised community: queer people. However, before moving ahead, let’s dig a little deeper into the application of the New Woman as it pertains to our central gothic heroines in Dracula.
Lucy embodies the New Woman in regard to her rebellious nature and burgeoning desire, joking about “Why can’t they let a girl marry three men, or as many as want her, and save all this trouble?” Under the influence of Dracula, this only intensifies, openly inviting Arthur (her fiancé) to kiss her before Van Helsing intervenes due to fear of the spread of the vampiric disease, positioning Lucy in opposition to traditional notions of women as subservient and docile to men. In contrast, Mina’s embodiment of this archetype more so manifests in her intelligence, studious in her study of shorthand and being instrumental in the defeat of Dracula despite her male peers’ initial disapproval, marking her as arguably more intelligent than her male counterparts.
However, the crucial distinction between Lucy and Mina is the presence (or lack thereof) of sexuality. Whilst Lucy is repeatedly described with sensual imagery such as “voluptuous” and explicitly conveys her sexual desire, Mina remains strikingly asexual even in her relationship to Jonathan, maintaining a motherly role to her male peers. Whilst Lucy is punished for her sexual desire, Mina is rewarded for her lack of sexual desire (or at least ‘normal’ expression of sexuality for Victorian standards).
As this pertains to Stranger Things, Will appears to take from the characters of both Lucy Westenra and Mina Harker, representing both the victimised innocent-turned sensual vampiress of Lucy and the independent and highly intelligent but still feminine Victorian ideal of Mina. Whilst Lucy is unable to fend off the Count’s advances and is turned into a monster, Mina is, through her use of wits and support from her friends, able to ultimately defeat the Count and rid herself of their supernatural connection - making Will both the victim and the hero of his story.
In Dracula, the New Woman is defined by her rejection of gender norms and embracing of sexual desire, which happens to be an almost identical description of Will’s arc. Notably, his story appears to be a more optimistic retelling of the tale of the gothic heroine, a story in which he is able to integrate and accept his inner darkness and connection to the supernatural, viewing it as a strength rather than a weakness. A source of admiration rather than disgust. Unlike Stoker’s negative portrayal of subverting traditional gender roles, Stranger Things intends to uplift such a rejection of normalcy.
As Lucas puts it:
However, such triumphs are not without opposition. In both Dracula and Stranger Things, we are shown explicit disapproval and condemnation of such transgressive displays such as Steward’s disgust at Lucy’s vampiric transformation, describing how “the remnant of my love passed into hate and loathing.” Similarly, in season four, we witness Hawkins be stirred up into hysteria over the transgressive Hellfire Club, made up of outcasts and weirdos united by a game considered to encourage “satanic worship […] sodomy […] and even murder.”
This happens to be an eerie reflection of audience responses to Will. Whilst most fans are able to stomach more typical depictions of being a ‘weirdo’ such as nerdy interests or poor social skills, something as benign as being attracted to the same gender is apparently “crossing the line” and “unrealistic” in a show about monsters and kids with psychic powers. Just as Victorian readers were likely aghast by Lucy’s sensual desire or the three vampiresses’ near-ravaging of Jonathan, so are modern audiences seemingly disgusted by Will’s queer expression and romantic pining. Some viewers even perceive his sexuality as actively predatory as exemplified by the purposefully obnoxious interpretation of Will giving Mike a flirtatious punch as being in “poor taste” or an “unnecessary advance” due to Holly’s disappearance. It is this specific interpretation that I find the writers to be criticising especially considering their previous allusions to the predatory gay trope.
By zeroing in on Will’s sexuality and how it’s in direct opposition to societal expectations, perhaps the writers are proposing their own variation of the New Woman, a depiction of queer identity rarely found in mainstream media, especially in a show has wide-reaching as Stranger Things. A vision of queerness not weighed down by feelings of repression and shame but rather actively fighting against it, embracing everything that queer people are scorned and disavowed for.
Entering this final season it is obvious that the writers are not backing down from Will’s importance to the story and role in defeating Vecna. Regardless of societal reaction, the message which Will’s character promotes is one of unabashed acceptance and queer self-actualisation even in the face of stakes as high as the end of the world, a message which becomes more and more important by the day.
At the Denver Comic Con, DT mentioned Blake 7 as one of his favorite sci fi series. In January, it was reported that a Doctor Who/Jessica Jones director was working in a revival (admittedly not the first tim one has been considered).
The eponymous captain Blake was originally played by a Welsh actor. The second-in-command (with whom Blake was often shipped by slash fic writers) sounds like a perfect Tennant character.
One can dream, right?
Oh, my. Well, first of all, thank you for sharing this with me! It's been lovely to hear drips and drabs of what David said and spoke to folks about at the two cons he did this past weekend.
But as soon as I read the words "Blake 7" in your ask, I felt activated like some sort of sleeper agent and immediately flashed back to Michael and David in an interview with Ali Plumb/the BBC for GO 2. David says that the opening scene of season 2 is set in space, and Michael makes a comment about likening it to sci-fi, and mentions...yep, you guessed it: Blake 7...
Now, I do realize that David has mentioned Blake 7 previously, over the course of many years, because it seems to be a favorite show of his. But this is yet another instance of David either referencing or outright mentioning Michael in a long line of mentions across multiple interviews over the last two weeks. We had the mention on Live with Kelly and Mark (where David was the one who brought up Michael/Traitors, unprompted), and mentions made by the hosts on The One Show, and BBC 2 radio.
Following that, there was also David making an appearance in the Criterion Closet as part of the Rivals promo tour, and two of the movies that he chose (A Matter of Life and Death and The Great Escape) are also two of Michael's favorites.
Then yesterday, one MORE Michael-adjacent reference happened with a clip from another of David's interviews where he was asked to pick a favorite piece of classical music...and chose Mozart's "Requiem." As we know, Michael has been in several productions of the play Amadeus (including one coming up for the Welsh National Theatre next year), and David referenced the film Amadeus as well:
But perhaps my very favorite of the multitude of Michael mentions was this little moment described by a fan who saw David at Fan Expo Philly on Saturday. David just casually mentioning that he's going to see Michael next week...
I absolutely love that David just let that slip. Quietly, without fanfare or fuss--perhaps without even thinking about it, because seeing Michael is such a common occurrence for him. It revealed to me more about their relationship than anything we've seen or heard in a long time, and felt so oddly reassuring given the lack of interviews or any sort of promo involving the two of them for GO 3.
And so it's all of this taken together--mentioning or referencing Michael repeatedly, directly or indirectly--that just warms my heart so much. It's that they have so much in common, love the same TV shows and music, and are clearly able to share that with each other. There is no question that Michael is on David's mind (and likely vice-versa), and I am so delighted to know they are a continued, steady presence in each other's lives.
So to your question, I know absolutely nothing about Blake 7 beyond the title, but I can only imagine that the revival you mentioned is one of numerous possible projects for Michael and David to work on together next. And while we certainly can dream of that, it almost feels superfluous given how beautifully sweet and lovely the reality of them is...
Cry-Baby // Phinks, one shot - part of hhighkey’s phantom troupe universe series
Rating: mature
Story Contains: implied past kidnapping, emotional manipulation, possessive/overprotective tendencies, rough sex, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, overly sensitive / easy to manipulate reader, phinks is not the good bf reader thinks he is, reader is unaware of the troupe until halfway, panic attacks, anger issues
Note: around 13.2k words, ao3 link: xxx , this one shot is a big expansion off the smut headcanon I did awhile ago for Phinks. This has references to my Uvogin oneshot 'Taken' as his partner is the Reader from that (she's unnamed), and my Feitan one shot 'An Ode to...' is referenced slightly. On ao3 I have these one hits in a series for like a ‘phantom troupe universe’ so there's some overarching themes / connections going on. which reading the others aren't needed tho if u don't want!
It didn't take much, the TV channels with the abandoned dogs or a too sappy book, even your favorite ice cream being sold out. You'd be tearing up, lash line wet and moist as tears slowly dripped down. A tightening in your sensitive chest as you desperately tried to stop the looming cries that always found their way out.
Since the day a tall muscular, handsome blonde in a tracksuit walked into your life, everything changed. At first overwhelming joy over the man who memorized your coffee order, brought you tulips after you said you liked them in passing. Even your elderly next door neighbor adored him and she was a tough nut to crack.
You weren't sure when it changed. Six months of spending time together, careful glances as you saw how Phinks had immeasurable strength yet he'd blush at the smallest of things that came to you.
So when did your life take a hard right turn? Had it really been the moment you meant Phinks, or was it when you told him about your new job opportunity with relocation? You remembered the panic on his chiseled features, how he ran his thick fingers through his combed blonde locks. How your back hit the wall as he stood over you, apologies spilling from his lips and then black.
Intense grief over your past life and sudden lack of freedom contributed to the constant tears of your already sensitive state. Did you necessarily care that the man you loved was insanely protective, not allowing you to leave his home? And that your poor, soft head never once considered it to be kidnapping? Once dreaming of the day he asked you out but now he wanted you by his side forever? Phinks tried his best, he really did, leaving the room if a fight got intense, body language the epitome of a dangerous man when angry. Even as his fists clenched in anger because you refused something. Let you yell at him. Let you have your moments to starve yourself just to spite him. But the man knew how to woo- from your favorite music to shows, to learning to bake with you. His hot temper and possessive tendencies meant little when he babied and cared for you every turn.
One day, you supposed you'd just snapped that your relationship with Phinks was more important than being able to have a phone or shop on your own. Or perhaps you gave into the feelings that were already there before he took you. You just stopped fighting the claws of doubt that nudged at your mind that kidnapping someone was not normal, that you can't be with him now. That meant little once you finally pressed your lips to his out of the blue and his tense muscled melted against you. Once you remembered a book you read in school, an intense look into the life of a woman who had intense Stockholm Syndrome and the psychology into it. You cried and cried over the book. Mourned for the fictional character, but somehow, in a messed up way you kept finding yourself rooting for their love. Maybe that was a big reason the author wrote it. You didn’t believe your love for Phinks was based on a psychological abuse based bond.
Phinks took you because he feared he’d lose you, he’d apologized for his mistakes. He never got violent towards you when business went bad or you’d not communicated in a way he needed while traveling. And that was good enough for you.
Oh you could not wait for him to get home, he'd called the landline this morning to let you know he was on his way. You could jump for joy, heart racing with every growing excitement, fluttering nerves as you'd cleaned the townhome all morning.
You glance to the timer, the minutes ticked down to when your garlic butter pull-away bread would be done- Phinks’s favorite. Growing up, your mother always emphasized the importance of a clean home, of cooking and preparing a meal for someone after a long day's work. You hoped she'd be impressed with the life you had with Phinks.
'Alright,' you smiled to yourself as a faint alarm went off. Grabbing the oven mitts, you pulled the perfectly golden loaf out and placed it on the cooling rack. Oven now off you left the kitchen to change.
It was almost time for Phinks to arrive home. You’re too impatient by that point, keep looking at the clock in your bedroom. The scent of him that lingered on the pillow you liked to hug close was no longer comforting in his place. With a smile you wanted to dress up better, so you made your way to the closet to pick a dress.
"Babe?" The front door to your shared townhome slammed shut. Phinks's voice carried up the stairs even though you heard him going towards the kitchen most definitely smelling the fresh bread.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, a gentle smile as you smoothed down your dress. It was a new one Phinks had given you with a blush, saying he saw it and figured you'd look cute. And seeing him so embarrassed made you giddy, excited for him to see you in it.
And of course you'd let him know you missed him the last few days he'd been gone on a business trip.
"Hey, coming down." You called out, making your way to the stairs. You saw his bag dropped at the door with shoes discarded, mentally making a note to straighten them up.
"There you ar-" Phinks stopped mid sentence as his gaze lasered on you, he always hated having you out of his sight, made him nervous. His pupils went big as they traveled along every inch of skin, raking in the dress that fit your body perfectly, "Shit you look good."
"Think so?" You blushed, nervous as you gave him a little spin.
"Know so."
Phinks wasted no time to grab your waist and pull you into him. He breathed in your scent as he peppered kissed onto the top of your head. He relished in how you squeezed him, nuzzling your face into his chest.
"Missed you." You whined before giving him your best puppy eyes, "You aren't leaving anytime soon again right? Been gone a lot lately and I hate sleeping alone."
"Aw baby," Phinks cooed, "You're adorable. Hate being away from you, you know that right?"
You nod, enthused and burning with want. Liquid heat spreads throughout your core as his hands slyly inch closer, "I know."
It never took long for Phinks to get you undressed and pliant beneath him, completely at his mercy. The feeling of his warm body encapsulating yours was intoxicating mixed with the smell of his cologne. Light kisses fanned your hot skin as he reclaimed your lips for the nth time, meshing into a feathery pure want.
It was those kisses, how you found yourself stripped, panties discarded and the top of your dress pulled down enough to free your breasts, the skirt hiked up.
His fingers dig into your hips and you think you’ll have bruises for days from how his hips had thrusted into your cunt for the last hour. Sounds of slapping skin still reverberated in your ears as beads of sweat littered his skin, muscles always flexing with every movement.
"Oh baby," Phinks cooed as he stroked your cheek, fingers pinching and squeezing your wet stained flesh.
You were a mess. Shaking hips and messy hair, eyeliner smeared under the waterline. Phinks had made you cum more times than ever already since got back and started with his head between your legs. So poor little you was a babbling mess with clouded, lust filled thoughts.
Phinks preferred you this way, well-behaved and hazy, gasping for breath underneath him with your calves resting on his biceps. You're so dazed you barely notice how his thumb flicks to your sensitive clit making your lower body spasm,
"Oh!" you gasp as you see stars. And it's all becoming too much. How hot your body is, how untamable a fire within you is as your hips buck and knots tighten in your abdomen. "Too much Phinks!! Can't-"
And that's when your tears fall. As if all cords and knots snapped at once your mind glittered with pleasure- too much pleasure that it was painful. So much so that you let out an honest to god sob as pools of wetness stain your flushed cheeks. Phinks hips stuttered for a second, coming to a halt as he watched you cry with love in his eyes. The way you were a goddess underneath him, how your face contorted and with hips giving him perfect friction.
"Oh fuck baby- that's hot, keep fucking crying for me." Phinks pressed into you more as he spoke low like a threat, cock pistoning against your cervix as he abused your clit, his thumb determined to stay put as you squirmed. Seeing the puddles fall from your eyes made him shake, a shiver running down his spine.
And tears fell faster from his words alone as your abdomen burned. You barely recognize the whines leaving your lips through sniffles and cries, and snot begins to drip. Your poor wrists burn from the rope that tied them to the bed frame, the helplessness turning you on even more.
Phinks face was inches away as he loomed over you, his pupils blown wide as he grinned past his canines. He found it so fascinating how the tears rolled down staining the sheets around your head. Fascinating that he could give you, his pretty little girl, such pleasure like rapture that you were weeping. Your breath fanning across his face with desperate whimpers from the deep of your throat sent him over the edge. Each intake of air was a job in itself, ragged breathing as you clawed at any of his skin you could grasp.
"Phinks! M' too full- too much-"
Phinks just grunts. Braced himself over you as he suddenly left you empty, just the utmost tip of his long cock inside your gummy walls. A cocky smirk danced across his face and chiseled cheekbones, utterly obsessed with you, twisted feelings in his chest. Your dilated irises, fidgeting and thrashing figure from electricity that corrupted you- made him growl as tears continued to roll down your puffy cheeks. And how as he slammed his hips to yours- to the hilt- deeper- making a cry leave you as a bulge formed in the low plush of your abdomen- made the knots in his stomach begin to unravel. Liked how he could see himself in you- liked how as he pressed down on your tummy you shrieked and cried, begging him to stop as you came, feeling too full, too out of control. Squirt dribbled from your swollen hole as he wiped away at translucent liquid dripping down your face. Blank eyes. All empty on your fucked out face because of him.
He fucked you through your nth orgasm, grunting and gasping as the squelching noises from your dripping, swollen cunt rang through the air. "You're my good girl aren't ya? Such a pretty baby crying while I fuck your tiny cunt. Gonna fill that greedy tight pussy, princess.”
You cried, nodding your head furiously begging him to cum inside you, as if you'd die if he didn't.
"Yeah? Know you like it when I cum inside you- beg me- please- need to hear you." And just like that he fell apart. The side of Phinks only you ever got to see. So demanding, so rough, but just a lovesick fool for your crying form shoved full with his cock.
"Ah Phinks-" you were seeing stars, vision slowly going in and out as intense waves of pleasure took over you as your cunt squeezed the life from your lover's cock, "Love you Phinks—" you were babbling, rambling unable to speak straight, "I need you- inside me- m' my pussy needs you."
"Fuck." He grunted as his climax was raining down on him, "All mine, babe." Phinks saw white as he came, falling down on you as he shoved his face into your neck. His cock was to the hilt, shoved into your womb as you dry sobbed leaving deep nail marks on him. Your stomach expanding as his warm cum swarmed your insides, leaving you fuller than you'd been before. Gasping and hugging him close, legs wrapped around his waist so he couldn't leave you- not like he would. The way he nipped at your skin, sucking and nibbling along your collarbone and lower neck. How he ground his still hard and pulsing cock against your spasming walls that just sucked him in.
His calloused hands soon came into contact with your face as he pushed up, adoringly staring down. He wiped away your loose tears earning him a tiny smile he so loved to see.
"You always take me so well," and your chest soared as he kissed your forehead. You'd done well for him! His good girl!
The tears soon dried completely as you'd find yourself in a warmed lathering bath- Phinks doting on your every move whilst unbeknownst to you, the faint sound of the news in the living room was talking about a specific criminal organization.
-
"Are you ready to finally meet Uvogin and his girl?"
You nodded ecstatically, "Yes, yes, so excited to meet her, no offense to Uvogin."
"Figured you would be, he won’t care he’s probably only comin’ for the food. Woulda loved to have you meet her a few months ago but her health was bad, Uvo wanted to make sure she was hundred percent before meeting new people. Some disease involving her lungs wasn't paying attention."
"I understand, that's scary." You hummed, kneading dough for its final stretching. Though you rolled your eyes at your boyfriend's ability to relay information regarding others, "This needs another 45 minutes to sit and rise some more, then it can go in the oven."
"Which is my job right?"
"Yes don't want to burn myself." You purse your lips, "Feel like something's missing though."
"Like what?" Phinks wrapped his muscular arms around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
"Don't know, maybe an ingredient?" You looked about your organized mess before a lightbulb went off in your head, "Oh, the fruit, can you get the cantaloupe out and cut it into cubes?"
"Yes ma'am." He kissed your head again before going to cut the fruit.
Boy did Phinks make cooking an extensive meal easier (though at first it was substantially harder by his lack of knowledge or experience). He’d handle anything too hot, he was better with knives, and no longer did you have to mix until an arm cramped. You liked the cute overly focused look that'd crease his brows and pursed his lips as he focused on a task you gave him. It warmed your insides at how dutiful he was towards you, how he enjoyed your girly hobbies as he’d call them.
Time went by too fast whenever you cooked, and it felt as if you never left yourself enough of it. You cut it too close for comfort, the food ready a minute before the sound of the doorbell went off. You’re in the middle of bringing dishes to the dining room table as two new voices meet your ears. Not able to stop the growing but, still nervous as you brushed along your pink apron.
“Babe,” Phinks voice called out, “C’mere.”
You obeyed as if on cue, “Hi.” As you walked from the open kitching to where they stood in the foyer, Phinks hugged you to his side.
“Uvo.” Said the largest man you’ve ever laid eyes on with a large grin. And Phinks is stifling laughter as you look Uvo up and down with parted lips, head cocked to the side. Even the girl besides Uvo attempts to hold amusement too.
Uvogin introduced her to you, his fiancé, which had been news to Phinks. And earned him a glare for not knowing his friend got engaged when they recently moved right next door. The audacity of men.
"Hi, I'm Y/N." You said, politely pulling the large man's partner in for a hug. Everyone was small compared to Uvogin you thought, but this woman had an aura to her that pulled you in as if the giant didn't exist. Her smile was so warm and she smelled of fresh rose and pine. You note she’s frail, remembering what Phinks said about her health, and you loosen your arms on her.
“So,” You rub your hands together motioning for people to follow, “People hungry enough to eat?”
“I’m fuckin’ famished.” Uvogin helped his way to where the food sat out at the table; Different vegetables, cantaloupe, roasted lamb and a cinnamon loaf. From the corner of your eye you see his fiance scolding him as he tried to grab a piece of meat, and for a moment you felt a surreal sense of belonging. To see them seeing so content together, you hoped that was how you and Phinks came across, since interactions with others were so limited.
You gave the table a final look as the three of them sat down, needing one last thing you moved to the kitchen. The sound of cell phones going off is easily recognizable as you grab napkins and a serving spoon. Glancing across the island you see Phinks typing away at his phone.
A chime went off and then another. You watched as Uvogin and Phinks looked semi-annoyed scowling at the screens, “Huh.” Uvo muttered as he wrapped an arm over the back of his fiance’s chair. “What’s normally on Channel 5?”
“What?” She asked him, sending you an annoyed look that read ‘Men’ as you placed napkins around the circular table.
“Dunno. Y/N could you grab the remote since you’re up?” Phinks asks.
“Of course, one sec, the remote is over there.” You say, padding over to the loveseat on the other side of the room where Phinks was watching something earlier.
Clicking the TV on you find it was already set to Channel 5, immediately fixated on the news, showing pictures of a gruesome crime scene. Turning the volume up, your stomach drops at the banner flashing on the screen in red ‘Phantom Troupe Strikes Again: 35 Dead, 12 Missing.’
“Oh my god,” You say with a gasp taking in the horrid sight, “That’s horrible.”
As you glance to where the other three stand, you immediately notice the discomfort. Uvogin and his fiance are staring dead at Phinks, while Phinks fingers flex at his side unblinking, directed at you.
“What?”
“She doesn’t know?” Uvo’s fiance asked in a hushed voice, you barely hear it.
“Know what?” You move forward, while she stares at you with wide eyes, immediately looking down at her plate.
“Oh- uh,” Phinks stammered as he quickly got up to make his way to you, “Just that news has been all over, she probably assumed you knew. Pretty scary.”
What you can see of her, Uvo’s partner didn’t have the ability to play it off. She seemed as if mentally transported elsewhere as she played with her fingers.
“We’re gonna get going...” Uvogin says abruptly. He shot Phinks a look and it makes you want to scream, feeling as if left out of one big joke.
“Turn that shit off.” Phinks is at your side faster than you’ve ever seen him move. You jumped back in shock, flinching from the dark look on his face. You’re frozen at the sound of the remote shattering against the wall.
It’s then that Uvogin is dragging his girl out with none of the food yet to be touched, but you catch her lips moving your way, you think she’s mouthing- ‘It’ll be fine.’ Not that it comforted you. The front door slammed.
And then there were two.
Tension that could be cut with a knife. You inch away from him, gaze flitting from the now black screen of the TV to Phinks. Something tells you his outburst has to do with the news, why he always told you your soft brain couldn’t handle it. That he just wanted to protect you from bad things that’d make you cry.
“Phinks?” He doesn’t respond; fists clenched as he stares downwards. A bulging vein on his forehead tells you this is serious. “Tell me what's going on, why did they seem nervous? Why’d they leave so quickly? Did I do something wrong?”
“Thought I told you not to watch the news.”
“It was on when I turned it on Phinks, you were the last one who used it.”
“Shit.” He had been. He didn’t flip the stupid fucking channel or bother to remember which channel numbers lined up with which station.
“Please be honest, you and Uvo were having a conversation with your eyes! I feel like an idiot being left out of this. Why did she say ‘I didn’t know’ when I brought up the Phantom Troupe? And what you responded with doesn’t add up.”
“You’re gonna hurt your brain thinkin’ so hard babe. Let’s drop it.”
“You broke the remote by throwing it against the wall, Phinks.” You place your hands on your hip, frustration bubbling in your chest. “That was uncalled for especially in front of guests.”
“Fuck.” Phinks breathes heavy into his hands before pressing them against his forehead, “Fuck!”
You step back, swallowing hard. His outburst has your brow lining in sweat, terror pulsing at the back of your mind.
“Phinks?” The watergates opened as fat tears fell down your cheeks, “Y-you’re scaring me.”
You think he’ll comfort, explain it and take your fears away. But he doesn’t.
“Y/N.” His eyes look as if they’re screaming for your forgiveness. Slowly, Phinks tugs off his sweatshirt. Suddenly you felt as if the room increased a hundred degrees, you’re too hot, feeling like you’ll choke from the dense air. Then he strips off his shirt, “You know how I keep this covered, told you it was an embarrassing scar?” You nod. “It’s a tattoo.”
“Tattoo of what?” You whisper.
You were never bothered by the fact he kept a bandage-like piece on his right shoulder blade. You assumed it was so personal that eventually he’d open up. Because you trusted him.
But as his fingers peel it off, you catch sight of black ink.
A black spider with a number 5 inked in the middle stares back.
An incessant ringing blares in your ears. You’d heard of that tattoo, that it signifies the person is a spider, a fearsome thief of the underworld. A member of the Phantom Troupe. An urban legend your mom once told you about so you wouldn’t sneak out with a boy at 15, that you only recently learned was true.
“You’re- when you leave for work… What is it you do again? And don’t say some business- Tell me.” You say between your dry heaves, your sobs as you furiously wipe away tears.
“I’m a member of the Phantom Troupe babe, one of its founding members.”
Your head is spinning, legs wobble as you lose your balance. Phinks hurries to catch you as they give out, placing you on the couch, between your legs. But you push at his head and squirm back to get away. Shying into the couch cushions as you stare at him, eyes red.
“I- Don’t play with me. Please tell me you aren’t in that group! You can’t be.”
“Baby-”
“Don’t touch me.” You spit venom in your words as you rip your wrist from his grasp, holding it to your chest.
“Y/N this doesn’t change the fact I love you, doesn’t change anything here for us. Shouldn’t it prove to you that my vows to protect you are legitimate, that I’m strong enough to do so?”
“That’s your attempt to convince me?” It won’t stop, the downflow of tears and the running snot you wipe at. Your words turn to pathetic blubbering. "You.. kill people?"
Phinks nodded, huffing into his hands. The man is panicking, his chest tight with knots when all he wanted was to pull you into his arms. He considered forcing you down so he can explain, maybe fuck you so you feel good easily compliant. He needs you to give him a second, needs you to stop asking questions.
"Uvogin? Is he a member? Feitan too?”
“Yes.”
Fuck. Your world’s collapsing, you’re certain of it.
“D-Did he kidnap his fiancé too? Did Feitan kidnap his girlfriend as well?"
"Baby it's complicated, and well Feitan hasn't exactly made her his- Shit... Saying it like that sounds bad but-"
"It is bad! I-I forgot? I swore I was here because I realized there wasn't anything for me at home.. I loved you and.. Do you actually love me?" Your eyes welled with tears, sudden realization came back over you. You grieved for past life once, how did you forget that?
"Baby I do love you, you're safe with me, promise. It's me."
"You're a murderer." You emphasized, horrified and unable to push yourself against the wall anymore if you tried, "How many people had their lives ruined because of the Phantom Troupe?"
"I.. don't know. A lot."
Conflicting emotions wash over your fragile mind. The man who crouched a foot away from you looked as if his world was shattering down around him, like he was terrified to lose you. Yet he was a thief, a killer, and you realized he wouldn't let you walk out that door regardless of what you decided.
"You lied to me. I don't know who you are."
"Y/N fuck, it's me, promise nothing about who I am is a lie, only my occupation. I love you, I'd do anything for you." You flinched as he moved to sit in front of you on the edge of the couch, taking your face between his palms even as you flinch, "You're safe with me, I promise."
"Phinks..." You sniffled, "I.." At the end of all things, did that matter? What Phinks did for a living? He'd been nothing but a loving, supportive partner. The whiplash hurts. Your chest felt heavy, your breathing was too heavy as if your air was cut off. You think you’re going to pass out as you reach for him, eyes blinking furiously.
"Baby? Shit." He pulled you into his chest, rubbing your back in soothing circles, "Breathe for me, yeah? In. Out." You follow his orders, "Good girl, see?"
One deep breath after another and you regained your senses, his eyes boring into you.
"I need space tonight." You whimpered.
"Yeah, that's fine, I know you need to think."
You rubbed your arms, "I'm going to lay down to sleep, alone tonight. If you could please clean up the kitchen and table."
"I-" Phinks went to argue, no way in hell would he let you sleep without him while he was home. But he knew he needed you to have time to think, even if it were an illusion or lie because he'd join once you were asleep. Paranoia was heavy in his mind, ever growing as he thought of her without him. Even not knowing what she was thinking was close to setting him over the edge. But he loosened his imaginary grip and nodded, "Of course."
Your home moved by you as if you were a zombie, legs heavy as lead as you closed the door to the master bedroom. Locking it. Then unlocking it.
Sobs choked out. You clamped your hand over your mouth. Your legs gave out, back slid down against the door as your butt met the ground with a huff. Tears flooding once more, you let out a broken wail into your palms as you shoved your face into your flesh. Hugged your knees to your chest as painstaking agony pierced your limbs. You're gasping for air. Begging for a sense of relief. Crying that it hurts so bad.
You could feel Phinks's aura on the other side of the door after fifteen minutes, knowing he was sitting with his back against the wood the same as you. An unknown force had you wanting to shove your fingers under the door to get a touch of him, wanting to already fling the door open and collapse into him. Were you really that pathetic? Already compartmentalizing the fact the man you loved was a killer? When Phinks had told you about his upbringing it'd pulled your heart strings, having to survive with no parents, no money, no home? How uncanny that his hints slowly made sense. Could you... even blame him?
Groaning through your heavy gasps as you couldn't stop weeping, you felt light headed. You sucked in air far too sharp that had you spinning, ready to topple onto your side.
With wobbly legs you force yourself to stand, clumsily making your way over to the king sized bed. Collapsing atop you stare off at the wall, wetness falling down to your eyes, to your mouth, dripping down your neck. Oh it hurts. How your head began to pulse with heavy stabs up against your temple. Lips quivered. You pulled the blankets tight letting your fingers twist and tangle within them, needing anything to ground you.
Two questions spiraled. Would you really face the reality of your situation and that leaving a man like Phinks was smart? Or would you stay because you loved him? It alarmed you how easily you were willing to ignore Phinks was in the Phantom Troupe, that you'd already forgiven him. Forgive him? No, no, it wasn't you he needed to convince it was those he affected... which, deep down, you were glad he'd taken you. Because your kidnapping gave you a beautiful partner and life! Maybe you should tell him that!
So as exhaustion and confusion overtook your trembling form, you were plunged into a restless sleep. One that played the same nightmare on repeat, the cycle of meeting Phinks to the kidnapping, to your life together, and to now. Stuck at a crossroads of swirling doubt manifesting in dark fog that would only come to fruition if you made a choice. Your dream-self, your heart, wanted to be selfish, wanted to head down the path to Phinks no matter what. While your brain told you it'd make you complacent, that it'd be ridiculous to stay with a man like him. That one day maybe you’d become a victim in the crosshairs. Before the morning sun streamed unto you forcing you awake, your dream-self chose a path.
-
When you opened the bedroom door, stomach fluttering with thousands of butterflies that made you want to puke- to your surprise Phinks fell back, woken and onto his feet in seconds. He'd fallen asleep against the door, respected your decision to sleep alone which tugged on the depths of your heart.
Gazes locked and it was a battle of who'd speak first, though you hoped he'd leave the ball in your court. Phinks looked... scared? His eyes low, heavy bags beneath them. You desperately wanted to brush his messy hair back, to reprimand him not to sleep on hardwood! And you almost reached up but caught yourself, he glanced down to your hand.
"I.." You wonder how bad you look. Wonder how bloodshot your eyes are, how puffy your face is. And if he noticed, "Lets talk?"
Phinks grunted his answer. He wasn't always a man of many words, it took months for him to be more open, so you'd hate for him to shut down on you now.
You followed him downstairs, taking your places on the couch, an awkward space in between how your bodies turned to face the other. Phinks wanted to scoop you up to take all your troubles away, wanted to pepper your face with kisses until you'd cry of laughter. Didn't like how far you felt, a foot feeling like a mile. Even being able to hold your hand would have helped the torrential storm that raged within him; fear so strong he thought he couldn't breathe last night until he passed out in front of the bedroom. Like losing a piece of him that only you could complete.
You'd made up your mind that morning.
Staring at your fingers you tell yourself it would be okay, that you could tell him everything you wanted to get out.
“I have a lot to say.”
“Alright.” His voice sounds strained as he cracks his knuckles, never breaking eye-contact.
“You know, I’m still mad you kidnapped me and won’t let me have contact with anyone I used to know.” Phinks eyes became unreadable, his jaw tense, fingers flexing as if it was the only way to push his anger away. “I told you about my new job opportunity way back when because I wanted to see if you’d want to come, which now I know wouldn't have worked. But also to see if you’d ask me out and give me a reason to stay, I knew after you took me on that garden tour even though you were clearly uncomfortable, that I’d fallen for you. It’s weird after all this time I never told you that.” Seeing the tension that’d built within him start to evaporate, eased your churning stomach. He looks better, suddenly getting back color in his cheeks, chest inhaling a large breath.
You continue, “I think.. I think I had and continue to have a hard time because my heart knows I’ve always loved you, but my brain wants me to keep remembering you technically kidnapped me, and that’s a horrible thing for a partner to do. That even now you’re dangerous to an extent I may never understand since you’re a spider. That you could hurt me one day. I register the anger in your eyes on phone calls, I see how often you flex or crack your fingers to stay sane if I did something you didn’t agree with. There’s cameras in every room. You’d monitored my body for weeks to make sure I wasn't self harming or losing weight. Had to sit in on all my showers. I remember hearing Feitan quip at you that you’re a hot head. I saw Uvogin’s fiance’s fear towards the news.”
Tears prick at your lash line as you attempt to wipe them away, sending Phinks the slightest of smiles you could muster, “And I now know it’s because you're scared something will happen to me because you've seen horrible sides to our world. You are a piece of that horrible side, the Phantom Troupe… You and your friends are considered a giant threat. Anyone who’s capable of the things you all are, have to have something off in the head, I’m sorry to say it like that. So I understand you now more than ever. But you’re still my Phinks. You rub my back at nights, you put things on a high shelf so you can laugh at me as I try to get it only to swoop in. You watch those horrible holiday romance movies because I love them and you’ll never admit you do too.”
“What are you saying?” He asked hoarsely.
“I hope you don't want me to leave, I love you.” You say bashfully, pink dusting your cheeks.
Phinks never planned to let you leave. None of the outcomes in his mind consisted of it. But there you sat with a cute, happy face telling him you want to stay and be with him, thinking he was going to let you go if you asked. So Phinks lets out a sigh of relief knowing he doesn’t need to become the bad guy, he can let you think he’d have given you the autonomy to leave. Because you knew he loved you regardless of everything and you never considered other more darker options. You’re a softy, so innocent and naive, someone who cries at anything, and this further proves to Phinks you need him.
The last two years this very conversation weighed on him. Knowing the day you found out about the Troupe your loving relationship would come to an end, you’d hate him. And then when he’d have to inevitably chain you up or threaten to break your legs to keep you from going anywhere, you’d despise him and yourself. You’d be petrified of him.
But none of that was going to happen and Phinks is thanking whatever God is up there with his entire doomed soul.
“I never want you to leave.” Phinks was across the couch, pulling you into a bruising kiss. His warm lips meshing with your own in a desperate dance as if one would disappear. A whine from the back of your throat made his heart race, made him melt like lava, all consuming that he couldn't stand the emotion that warbled through him. Like he could burst with the emotion of a thousand suns yet it still wouldn’t be enough to describe what you did to him.
Before the kiss gets too intense to the point of no return as you feel your thighs rub together in want, you push at his shoulders. You stroke his cheek as you study his face memorizing each inch shaped from the gods themselves to you.
"I want you to tell me everything, okay. No lies, I want your real childhood, real everything that you changed to leave out the Phantom Troupe. And don’t hide the tattoo anymore."
"I can do that." He nodded fervently, squeezing your waist, “I love you with all I got, okay? Tell me you know that.”
“I do, I know.” You pull him in for a quick kiss, giggling as he attempts to deepen it, “Uh uh big guy. You have a lot of explaining to do before you get any of that.”
He groaned, pressing a wet kiss to your neck, “I don’t know where to start babe.”
“Well..” You think. “What do you… do? That’s not what I mean, so are you good with guns or something?”
“Ahh, I don’t think you understand Nen at all then if you’re askin’ that.”
“What’s Nen?” You cock your head, having zero idea what that three letter word meant. You hadn’t learned of it in school.
“Oh fuck me.” The mood he attempted to create to get your clothes off was ruined, but his genuine amusement makes him laugh, uncaring. He settled himself to get comfortable around your smaller frame, readying himself for a brutally open conversation with you.
And as you two sat on the floor, Phinks relaying his story and the Phantom Troupes, you were glad you chose to stay even as you let him know you weren't happy every time he explained a heist. Because loving someone was the most important, at least you hoped that was enough. Because your heart couldn't fathom losing the blonde man who filled you, cared for you, protected you. You weren't sure if he'd survive losing you, or maybe it was the other way around. But you knew as he explained, that it didn’t matter at the end of the day, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not with the type of man he truly was with his work, dread consumed you, but you locked it away in the back of your mind.
-
MONTHS LATER
This wasn’t supposed to be happening.
One hand was shoved over your mouth, the other held to the wall for dear life. Your heart was in your throat as you listened to the different sets of footsteps outside. They’re talking but it wasn’t loud enough to hear, as much as you strained to listen. God you hoped they’d leave soon, decide this place was abandoned and move to the next.
The day started out like any other, waking up besides Phinks, having to convince him to start the day by luring him into the shower.
He attempted to make your coffee while you made pancakes.
Then Chrollo called and the way his face dropped, you knew something bad had happened. The basis of newfound trust between you two was a fine line, probably would be for awhile. But for once you felt secure as he told you head on, he couldn’t tell you what was happening, because the stress he projected was more than usual.
“Babe, why don’t we go out? There’s a farmer’s market on the other side of town, can find cute shit or something.”
“Really? Let me find something nice to wear!”
Phinks held your hand as if he’d lose you in the crowd at any second. Even as you told him he needed to let up or else you wouldn’t have a hand for him to hold if he kept cutting off circulation. While the sudden outing was pleasant, you’d found a few fresh ingredients for cooking you had to have, Phinks was off. Knowing it had to do with his earlier phone call, you brushed it off.
While you hadn’t been to the market in quite some time, it’d never been this busy. Crowds of people pushed through to see the stall uncaring as they bumped shoulders. The sun beat down and without a cool breeze it was uncomfortably hot, you were itching for reprieve, something cold to drink perhaps.
Your eyes caught sight of an ice cream storefront past the main square, just far enough to where not many people gathered. Perfect. You tugged on Phinks arm, your fingers still locked with his. It takes him a second to notice as he’s too intent on watching the crowd. Eventually he cocks a brow your way, nodding as you motion to follow.
You (foolishly) assumed Phinks had you in his sights, had a hand on your back or something. You lived in a rose colored world with your boyfriend where you never needed to worry, so your hand slipping from him wasn’t of your concern, he’d have a handle on things.
Panic strikes you, you whirled around desperately trying to spot Phinks. But you’re too short stuck in a group and suddenly everything feels like it’s a skyscraper around you, closing in as the air feels too heavy to breathe in.
But then, “Babe.” You jump, a gasp leaving you as you ready yourself to shove someone away. But staring down at you with hands on your shoulders was Phinks, “Fucking hell, scared me.” Pulled hard against his chest, hearing his pounding heartbeat as his comforting scent washes over you- and you’re okay again.
“L-Lost you. Didn’t mean to.” You whimper as you stare at him, fingers twisted into the material of his shirt. His features soften due to your terrified state.
“I know, come on, let's get somewhere with less people.”
This time Phinks is more aware of you than ever before, not taking any chances. Hypervigilant on the tightness of your grip, any time it loosened slightly his tightened. And this was why you needed him, you, so uncaring of dangers walking around with your head in the clouds. It’s as you go to wriggle yourself free to weave a sharp right, he acts.
“You don’t fucking let go of my hand.” He hissed, one hand firm on your shoulder while the other wrapped around your neck, you whimper from how tight his hold is.
“S-Sorry, got distracted, saw something-”
“I don’t care, in public you know the damn rules.” As your bottom lip trembles, Phinks does his best to shove down his sudden raw temper, “Just- what if you get hurt? Or someone takes a liking to ya? Tell me if you wanna go somewhere all of a sudden, I can’t read your mind.” You nod, his gentler tone building back up your mood as he lets go of your frail neck. Your neck that he’d be able to snap faster than you could blink.
Ten minutes later and you were sitting happily at a table with ice cream, Phinks sitting beside you with an arm tucked across the back of the private booth. He watches you with a faint smile, still coming down from his heightened senses when he lost sight and feel of you. And how quick he’d lost control, especially over an innocent situation. He pushed back pieces of hair as they fell from your updo, letting his fingers graze the soft skin of your face down to your neck, then to the collarbone he desperately wanted to mark.
“So,” Phinks said, “Remember when I told you what actually happened to Uvogin’s fiance? How she’d been kidnapped by Hunters while sick?”
“Mhmm.” You hum, spooning strawberry soft-serve into your mouth.
“Guess uh- her name and picture got put on the Hunter database, as a missing person in danger so to speak.” You quirk an eyebrow as the look he gives you tells you not to say the obvious that well… Uvo did kidnap her. “Shal found your name with hers, but they only had an old pic of you, from when you were 14, I guess. This shit complicates things, there was talk of a group, lead by someone who worked with those obnoxious ass Hunters, saying they have possible locations on ya.”
As if on cue your fingers tremble, color drained from your cheeks, forcing you to place your ice cream down with a sudden drop. “Huh?”
“Shal wiped all the chats, the pictures and info. But right now, I don’t think it’s safe.”
“Phinks I don’t understand.” You can hardly hear the former bustle of the shop around you. A numbing high pitched tone starts up and your throat’s suddenly so, so dry.
“That’s what Chrollo called me about this morning.” He waved his hand as if motioning to the prior call. Veins peeking out from his shirt are tense, you realize quickly he’s trying to keep his mood together for your sake, “Wanted us to come out and do something nice before we gotta leave for a few weeks.”
Your appetite- gone. A sour taste wipes the sweet strawberry one you’d been enjoying. “I-I don’t want to leave. I-”
“We’ll be back. Uvo and some others gonna handle it, throw them for some loops. Probably..” He stopped, “Kill them.”
At that point you were certain you were going to throw up on the table then and there. As total honesty was a part of your lives since finding out Phinks was in the Troupe, you’d asked for a gentler version of any details regarding a job. Hearing him speak of taking lives in a nonchalant way, never sat right.
“Where do we have to go?”
“Meeting Shal outside the city, he’ll take us to Base. It ain’t bad, Uvo and the missus go there a lot, stayed there after we rescued her, maybe once before too. Primarily where I lived before you.”
“Okay, do we have time to get some stuff?” You mentally began to race through the things you’d need for an extended time away.
“See, we don’t, so wish I thought of that before we left.”
“I swear to-” Phinks’s poorly timed laughter cut you off, “Glad my soon to be suffering because I won’t have my favorite pajamas is funny.”
The rendezvous with Shalnark turned into a shitshow. That was how you found yourself hiding in a closet in an old apartment complex, the furthest away place you found cover as nen (what Phinks called it, you think at least) brought the area to destruction. You can still hear the storm outside, the thunder boomed shaking the walls, the patter of rain. It came out of nowhere, along with all the people and crashing bricks of the buildings.
People you don’t know were looking for you now. Even if it was a member of the Troupe you hadn’t met before, you were certain they’d say so, while the strange voices only yelled thinly veiled threats. You’re trying so hard to listen in, to gauge where people are, if they’re leaving or staying. Or even if a fakeout would be attempted. Staying put might be your best option, but you’re not fit for these situations! No experience, no self defense skills, just a girl with a racing pulse that might pass out any moment. You were one more crackling thunder away from just giving up.
You wanted Phinks. You needed him. Praying for him to find you and make everything better, whisk you away and pretend this didn’t happen. What would these Hunters do to you? Would they listen if you tried to explain? Phinks said it hadn’t mattered for Uvogin’s girlfriend when she tried, so you assume right then that it wouldn't for you. One plan out the window.
“Y/N!” You flinch each time your name is said by a voice you don’t know. Your stomach lurched. You pressed your hand against your lips harder.
“I checked all these rooms, we should check the other apartments in this complex before we move on.” Another voice said, and you know what he said was a lie. They hadn’t checked in here or else they’d have found you behind boxes in the small closet.
“Fuck this chase is getting annoying. I say we split before running into a Troupe member.”
“Yeah.” A new voice added in sounding further, “Those fuckers are scary strong, the infamous Zoldyck assassins don’t even fuck with them.”
“The big one took out Bates's entire team for his girl. I don’t want to end up like them. Dead, missing basically, no bodies ever found.” Retreating steps made you perk up.
“If Y/N were here she’d probably be running to us for help, she isn’t here.”
You don’t dare move a muscle, but it’s so hard. You’re weak, cramping, emotionally crumbling, and unable to think of a viable plan. Minutes pass by like hours, time they continue to search getting so close but not close enough. A creaking door in the distance then a slam. Grating noises that sound all around. Playing with your mind, making you doubt your senses. And it hurts. Blood pounding in your ears and you don’t know how your stress isn’t enough to give you away to trained Hunters.
An eerie silence. The hairs on the back of your neck standing talls, a chill down your spine.
So you wait.
And wait.
You count up to 60, then back down to 1. Then you do it again. And again. Your body screams at you to relax, you’ve balled up in the same spot for god knows how long now. Time was irrelevant to your plight when you couldn’t see outside your hiding spot. Had no way to tell if the men actually packed up and moved on, the rain was too loud to hear car engines starting to rev off. The silence was beginning to morph as your brain seemed to make noises that kept your heart racing like you couldn’t lose your wits, and you wanted to scream.
Phinks will find you- he had to. He’ll find you. You keep telling yourself that as nausea rises up your throat, you gag against your sweaty palm. Eyes squeezed shut as they moisten. Maybe this was the world punishing you for being selfish and choosing to stay with Phinks after finding out his real occupation six months ago. Karma’s way of saying you deserved to suffer, to understand even a fraction of what your boyfriend’s victims went through.
Your hand dropped from your mouth. You brace your palms against the floor, knees burning from how long they’d had to hold you up. Carefully, slow as could be you changed your position to sit back against the closet wall still behind a cardboard moving box. This is comfier at least, less awkward for your shaking limbs.
Your head lulls. No no no. You suck in a sharp breath. Blood pressure dropped. Adrenaline crashing. Black crept into the crevices of your vision, slowly invading as you try to stay awake, begging yourself to do so. But you can’t give yourself away, not even as you go limp falling to the ground on your side with a thump.
-
A man sat bound and gagged, blood seeping from his empty eye sockets, fingers bent in unnatural positions. Kneecaps lazily removed, the bones absentmindedly feet away. He was lax because he bled out an hour ago, a thick gash along where his intestines would be.
The next man who watched his coworkers torture, whimpers as he watched a short black haired man pick up a pair of pliers.
“Where is Y/N?” He asked in his soft, yet sinister voice. Feitan’s dark eyes struck terror into the Hunter, who started to flail against the ropes.
“D-Don’t know! No-None of us found her!” He begged, “You gotta believe me!”
“I do.” Feitan shrugged, “Tell me where others are.”
There’s conflict in the Hunter’s eyes, like he weighed his options.
“Won’t say.” He finally said, tone defeated, he practically physically deflates knowing he’d be dying in the abandoned warehouse whether he said locations or not.
Blood seeped into the cement floor, a single bulb illuminating the room as it crackled.
Feitan heard the approaching footsteps when they’d entered the building itself minutes ago. He waits, feeling a familiar aura.
Phinks takes the sharp turn into where Feitan set up camp, distress and unkempt written all over him. The normal cool and collected (until pissed off) spider with a ridiculous pharaoh hat, was struggling. His heartbeat hadn’t settled in hours and he’d chugged most of the coffee Paku showed up with two hours ago.
Their prisoner won’t answer questions. Not even as he screeches, fingernails ripped out one by one. Not as he convulsed from the pain, a disgusting snap of breaking bones, blood spurting on his face.
Phinks can only see red. He wants him dead. Dead. Dead. “Where the fuck is she?” He gripped the man’s cheeks, letting his fingers dig into his jaw, popping then the crack, gargled moans following. “Gone all quiet now, huh?” A maniacal grin pulls at his lips, his teeth brace and over, and over- again- and again- more- his fists pummel against flesh and organs. It’s when the prisoner is nothing more than a lump of mushed flesh does Feitan pull him off.
Feitan smirked, “Got it all out?”
His knuckles burn, but the pain is nothing compared to the excruciating terror that’d made its home inside him. All Phinks can imagine is you tied up being transported between hunters as they mindlessly care for you, while under the pretense of helping. They wouldn’t care for your tears or pleas to let you go. He’s imagining them doing to you what Bates did to Uvo’s girl. How when they rescued her she’d been drugged up for months, bruised, with poorly stitched up gashes, and health deteriorating she couldn’t stand to walk. Phinks saw first hand how Uvo never left her side for the week she’d been unconscious with IV’s sticking in her veins.
The thought of that happening to you makes his head hurt, sharp pulsating behind his forehead. He presses his fingers into his temple, prodding along his eyebrows for any sort of reprieve. Twisting anxiety, dense uncertainty gnawed at him.
“Need to stay calm.” Feitan said, “Almost hear your thoughts.”
Phinks lets out a weighty exhale, shooting his ‘friend’ a glare, “I don’t know if she’s okay. I’m- supposed to protect her. This is fuckin’ ridiculous, these fucking Hunters are imbeciles.” It was getting out of hand, now the second Troupe member to have a partner taken by the same group. To Phinks, this had to be a declaration of war. And as he peers at Feitan who seemed deep in thought, he can tell the torturer felt the same, who had someone of his own too, “Your girl can be next, Feitan.”
The rain had stopped; was the first thing you noticed as you groggily pushed yourself up. The air inside the abandoned room was sweet with the aftertaste of a storm, yet it made your head spin. Gathering your bearings you stare at the closet door as if it mocked you, dared you to open it.
You weigh your chances here, assuming you’d fallen asleep for one hour or ten, no one found you. And who’d wait that long to lure you out with malicious intent?
Legs wobble as you stand, they feel filled with lead as you approach your exit. Hand shaking as it grabs the handle, the thudding of your mind almost painful. Twisting. Opening. The hinges didn’t creak and you’re now staring at an empty room. The same as when you entered. Shit. The window shows you it’s night now, not mid afternoon anymore. All the heavy dark clouds were gone leaving the dark sky clear and dazzling with stars.
Hugging your arms taut around yourself for warmth, you know what you need to do. You need to be strong and begin to make your way out, see if you can get to a phone or find someone willing to take you into the city. That was risky but you were desperate. And with the amount of nooks and crannies of the dilapidated buildings that once were a vibrant living compound, there was always going to be oversight. Maybe getting outside would help Phinks and the other members find you.
You're somehow at the bargaining stage of grief and you almost laugh at how ridiculous you sound. Trying to stay quiet as a mouse while imagining dozens of scenarios, when you probably needed to be on the lookout. With each hall you walk through, you strain your ears for signs of life. As your weight shifts on floorboards and steps, if they make a sound you're frozen as you wait. But nobody came each time. It’s safe.
The exit to the entire building is finally in sight. You begin a slow descent of the stairs, still doing your best to be diligent.
But it’s the sudden rush of voices, that has you screeching to halt practically holding your breath.
“Per GPS maps, these two complex buildings are all we have left.” That voice. You recognize its higher tone, like it held a cheery imposition even at the large task at hand.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Another familiar voice. Their feet crunched on the gravel outside.
“Nobu said no sign of the cars that peeled out earlier, not sure whether they decided being alive was better or if it's because they have Y/N.”
“Why can’t I just start screaming her name loud as possible? She’s gotta know it’s me.”
“Uvo she’s probably terrified and you’ll manage to burst her eardrums. You know your girl is safe at home while Phinks is losing it right now.”
Uvogin. Shalnark. Faking their voices would be too elaborate of a hoax for anyone.
“He on his way over?”
“Him and Feitan, yes. Others are tracking the rogue vehicles.”
Phinks was on his way. Your chest blossomed in joy, you could weep happy tears as your body felt a million times lighter. Relief coursed through your veins and you went back to going downstairs.
But what you hadn’t realized in all this time was your body struggled from the temperature drop. Your teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. The sundress you’d adorned did nothing to protect you when you laid unconscious in the closet. Your lips tinted purple. Your face flushed from the chill. The tips of your fingers numb. But all you felt was the anxiousness, the hiked pulse, and your fears rather than worry about your physical state.
Shalnark spots you first, your meek trembling form with reddened skin appearing through the doorway like a ghost. He’s on you as he strips his jacket to get it around your shoulders. He’s checking for injuries before you're scooped up into bulking arms of a giant who exuded heat. You can’t speak, only nodding as Shal throws questions your way. The surrounding area is blurry, you squint for any sign of Phinks. But you could barely see Uvo, who was the one carrying you as you looked up.
A commanding presence makes you subconsciously relax.
“Shal what- Y/N- Thank fuck,” Phinks is out of breath, filled with desperation as he raced to you, his heart plummeting when he saw you all small in Uvogin’s arms. Like your whole world is back on its proper axis, you’re trying to reach for him but you only muster up a whine in recognition.
Uvogin hands you to Phinks, who cradles you in his strong hold as they take off to the car sitting idle. His touch sets you aflame as you begin to tear up, babbling nonsense into the crook of his neck, now wet from your tears..
“I got you.” Phinks whispered in your ear as he studied your face whilst his hands felt every inch of you. Needed to feel every inch as reassurance. Your smile is loopy, your eyes so distant as you reach to stroke his cheek. “Safe now, okay?”
The sky moved by fast, but you’re not paying enough attention. Having to will your heavy eyelids to remain open, so you can continue to look at your boyfriend. Taking in his severe face that was littered with worry.
You’re tucked into Phinks’s body as he holds you so tight, murmuring sweet nothings as you try to engage. You try to appreciate his roaming hands as they stroke along your neck, squish your cheeks in comfort; and as a way to remind himself you’re okay, he has you. A piece of you isn’t even hearing his words, nor the conversations taking place amongst Troupe members in the car.
You couldn’t stop shivering even as heat blasts from the vents and as different articles of clothing had been offered up to cover you. Or as Phinks tries to rub your bare arms to generate heat.
“Babe you can sleep, s’okay.” Phinks said, and you realize his eyes are bloodshot. His heart still hammered against you and you physically feel the fear he had and now the relief that now swirled around him.
“Are you- okay?” You ask, concerned for him.
Your question clearly threw him off but he shakes his head, slightly amused you were thinking of him after everything you went through, “I’m good, I got you back. I don’t want to think about what could have happened, thought I was losing my mind trying to find you.”
“I ran, I didn’t know what to do.” You sniffled, shuddering as you remembered the chaos, “Ran up some stairs, found a closet and hid. I was so scared I thought I was going to die and eventually my body gave out. I woke up and it was night.”
His gaze softens, before he leans down to kiss your cool lips, lingering before moving to peck your forehead, “We’re heading to Base now and we’ll get you warmed up.”
You cling to the blonde as if you’d be swept away any second. In and out of sleep for the drive, uncertain of the day or time at this point. It’s with the glint of orange rays that you’re alert to sunrise as the car comes to a halt.
“I can walk.” You try to say to Phinks but he’s having none of it, sweeping you up bridal style before your feet even had a chance to touch the ground after the car door opened.
“Babe stop, no reason for you to exert yourself. You can rely on me.” His lips press to the top of your head, the sound of him inhaling your scent as a comfort makes you shiver.
You weren’t sure what to expect in a Base for the spiders, but a sprawling warehouse that just peaked above the surface level was not it. It has large, empty and tattered looking windows, run down and well- maybe that was to be expected for a group of criminals. Phinks carries you to a path and makes his way down a set of stairs that descend down to a single rusted door.
You’re not sure if you really understood a wink of Nen when Phinks explained it months ago, or when you’d ask him questions. You’re not sure if it's some form of magic as when you two enter, it’s like stepping into a portal. From the outside looking in it would be expected to see continued dilapidation; rotted furniture, mold, rodents, general disarray of buildings left for time to handle. Yet what you see as the entry door opens to a platform with a metal staircase going down, was a perfectly normal space. Decorative pillars and art (surely stolen) haphazardly on the walls, with rugs in peculiar places. A long table for 12 was the grand room centerpiece. And from Phinks’s arms you see multiple doorways that must branch off into other spaces of the hideout, for a second you forget this belonged to criminals as you wonder if he’d let you explore. But that reality goes out the window when Phinks sets you down in a chair and you catch sight of Feitan entering from outside. He’s covered in blood and you’re nauseous at the sight.
You look away, attempting to focus on the tiled floor, counting the squares you can see. Your legs are covered in goosebumps and as you feel along your arms, they are too.
“I’ll be right back.” Phinks pats your head and you want to cry out for him not to walk away from you. Leaving you as a fish out of water in a new place, an intimidating place where his friend who’s covered in blood watches you from the corner. Bookshelves line empty spaces, which most of the shelves are in disarray but present collections look ancient.
You think it’s been five, maybe seven minutes since Phinks left the room, but you’re becoming antsy. Anxiety claws at you as you want him near, want to touch him and see his face to know everything’s okay.
“Hey,” When you look up, the familiar face of Uvogin’s fiance greets you. She stands there looking frail, adorned in jeans and a sweater, but giving you a warm smile.
“Hey, how are you?” You stammer out, the sight of her making you more nervous than calm. She takes a seat across from you at the grand table.
She shook her head, “I should be asking you that. You okay? You’re not hurt are you?”
“I’m not physically, just… scared and now really cold.”
Her eyes went wide, “Oh would you like my cardigan?” But you stop her by holding up your hands before she can touch a button, “If you’re sure.”
You hadn’t seen her since the day you found out about Phinks being in the Phantom Troupe, even though she resided literally next door. You’d slowly learned that while Phinks allowed you the ability to go out, Uvogin did not allow it for her. At least he stopped, though you aren’t sure why. Health?
“I’m sure, thanks.” You want to say it’s because she looks like she’d need the extra body heat, that she shouldn’t look so malnourished.
An awkward silence falls over you and her, only Feitan’s faint shuffling breaking it up. You’re curious, sometimes too much for your own good and there’s suddenly a million questions at the tip of your tongue but you wonder if you should ask. Phinks gives you leeway because you accepted him full-heartedly, you wonder if she despises Uvogin’s work or something along those lines.
“Are you-” Her glower makes your mouth snap shut. And it’s when Feitan tells you two to behave with a cackle as he leaves, does she lean in.
“Why didn’t you run?”
“What?” You ask. Your stomach flutters with something unknown.
“This was the best chance you ever could have had- more than…” She sighs, “Since my health’s not getting any better, I feel more awake than I ever have before about- life..”
You’re confused. Her eyes look glazed over, you chalk her whimsical mood up to her illness, “I don’t fully understand… Sorry.”
“You know Feitan carved his name into a girl's ribcage? Keeps her locked up in his attic. And you know where she’ll probably be in a year? Sitting here with us acting like a good dutiful lover.”
“Stop.” Your mind races as your pulse begins to climb up. And up. Fingers go numb as a tingling spreads along your limbs, “That- I don’t have stockholm syndrome.”
She shrugged, “I might have it, might not. You can’t truly know either.”
“I loved him before he took me.”
“Does he let you have free reign of a phone?” You shake your head for ‘no,’ “What about, can you talk to old family or friends.” You don’t answer. “Cameras in every room? Constantly panicked if he can’t see or hear from you within seconds?”
“Would you… Want a new life away from Uvo?” Whether it was fear or anger that caused you to ask it, the pounding of your heart made you snap her.
“No. I’m content, I don’t know how much longer I have anyways. He’s in denial about it.” She seemed morose at the thought of her death, like she didn’t care, like her current life wasn’t worth fighting for. Just sitting there waving her hand in a simple gesture, “I guess I selfishly, while I’m alive, want to see one of them suffer like they’ve made others suffer. Like if Phinks lost you today.” You squirm at her words, “I know Uvo may not recover when I die, so guess it’ll be karma enough for his actions.”
“Don’t you love him though?”
“Does it matter? I had a tiny crush on him before he took me, the big strong stranger that tried to make me laugh when he tried my creations at the bakery.” She pauses and the quirk of her lips doesn’t slip past you as she recounts a good memory, “But, it doesn’t mean I wanted to be taken away or that it was okay. He killed someone in front of me then re-routed my life. I can look at you right now and say I’m irrevocably in love with Uvo because I am, at least my heart and body completely are. My brain always wants to be around him until it reminds me of who he is. That only started after he rescued me from my second kidnappers, same ones who tried to nab you. It isn’t logical to love someone who does all that yet, I do? Weird psychological stuff but… That’s all I want to say Y/N, don’t forget who these men really are. They’re no better than the Hunters with hero complexes trying to drag us to ‘safety.’ None of it is for our best interest. Because if it were, then both parties have left us the hell alone.”
“Just… Who’s the lesser evil?” You whisper.
“Precisely, and after what I went through with those Hunters, it appears the Phantom Troupe is the better choice, for me at least.”
You agree, cringing at the memories of the way the Hunters talked about you in the abandoned building while you hid. Nothing about them was kind or willing to lay their lives down to protect you. This was an ego boost for them, bragging rights to say they fooled the spiders. That taking you and her were like trophies to boast about.
Uvogin’s fiance suddenly stood up, her chair almost knocking completely back. She brushed her hands off along her jeans. Clearing her throat, she speaks to you one last time-
“Ah, sometimes I say such strange things when I don’t feel well, sorry about that.” She smiles like a flip switched before she heads towards an entryway, you guess it leads to wherever Uvogin is.
You nod, “Of course.” But your eyes exchange something far deeper, more meaningful and you know you’ll keep her words private. An understanding that left you feeling comforted in an odd way. And yet a part of who hates her for dragging you out of your rose colored world. But she was right. Even as a sour taste scratches the back of your throat to admit such a thing.
An unsettling feeling settles itself in your stomach, you think if you have to sit at the table any longer you’ll go mad. Like a ball of twine was slowly unraveling, you want out of the room where you partook in such a strange conversation. And the fact you’re still cold, though your teeth stopped chattering during the car ride.
Technically, Phinks never said to stay put so you aren’t doing anything wrong by trying to find him. Technically. He’d walked down the hall behind you so you figure you’d run into him eventually.
Your legs ache with each step, painful stabs against the bottom of your feet as you begin the trek. It felt like a maze the second you left the main room, the only light present from lamps every few feet flush with the ceiling. ‘Spooky,’ You think to yourself, hugging your arms close.
The first door you pass is shut firmly. No sense of what could be behind it. You linger for a few moments debating whether or not to knock, but the lack of light from underneath deterred you.
Taking a sharp turn, you practically collide face first into what felt like a wall, but when you looked up– Phinks.
“Babe, what’ya doing?” You don’t have time to argue as he’s picking you up, “You shouldn’t be walking around.”
“Wanted to find you.” You pout. Though as you cradle the side of his face, the earlier conversation slowly replays at the back of your mind.
Phinks noticed the slight drop in your face but chalked it up to the long day you’d had, “I was coming to get you.” Nuzzling your face into his collarbone you take a deep breath, letting his touch center you. Being against him in your state, getting a smidge of his body heat had you on fire for him, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he started walking back the way he came.
Exhaustion nudges its way back unto you, a yawn eliciting to show as much. You want to keep track of the path he takes, a right and then a left- then… You aren’t sure. The halls look the same but he eventually nudges an ajar door open.
“Alright, here we are.”
The room was fairly big but rather plain. As Phinks sets you down on the bed, handing you a change of clothes, you realize- this was his room. Simple furniture scattered about but strewn magazines of things he was interested in forgotten on a coffee table. An alarm clock that matched the one at home that had a layer of dust on the nightstand. Some art, definitely random pieces he probably didn’t care to have.
“This is your room isn’t it?”
“Yep. Needed to clean up, dust coated fucking everything been months since I last stayed.”
“Why..?”
“If I’m ever beaten up after a job-” He explained, “I don’t want you to see that. But with you to go home to, there's no reason to be here. Wasn’t bad for the bachelor life.”
It’s nice to learn something new in that respect, to see something that’s been a piece of his life first hand. Soreness screams through you as Phinks helps you undress to slip on the heavy sweats and hoodie. A mound of blankets pulled over you next, you cuddle happily into the new warmth that spreads over you, almost as if you’d never been in that abandoned closet.
You wait for him as he changes, admiring the way his back muscles flexed, “You’re coming to bed, right?”
“What a dumb question, babe. Need to hold you after this fucking day.”
“I want you to stay by my side.”
His weight sinks into the bed, and he repositions so you can slot yourself against him. God he loved how small, weak you were compared to him. His fragile little girl he needed to treat like glass when all he wanted to do was fuck you into the mattress. Having to hold his urges back for your sake was the right thing to do though. He can’t scare you after the day you’ve had while all he wants to do is relish in your body because the adrenaline high he’s coming down from fucking hurts. So close to losing you. So close to understanding the anger and sadness they put others through when the troupe kills their loved ones. It’s a strange sensation really, to even think about empathizing, but after the day you two have had, he doesn’t care. Just wants to hold you in his chest as your breathing slows. Wants to squeeze the plush of your skin to remind himself you’re his. His. No one else's. Not the Hunters who think they’re the saviors of the Phantom Troupe’s women.
God he wished he could make all your thoughts of everything and everyone else but him go away.
“I love you.” Your tired voice, sleep about to drag you under, makes him melt inside.
“I love you too.” He says back, since he knows he loves you in his own fucked up way. A way you probably wouldn’t understand, would probably be scared of, “I’ll keep you warm tonight, you’re safe.” Right now he knows what you need to hear.
“I was so scared I’d never see you again.”
Good. It’s secured in Phinks’s mind that you never thought to run away from him having had the perfect chance to. Hours he couldn’t find you- you could have gotten back to town and jumped ship in that time. Yet you stayed in your little hiding place hoping for him to save you. You’re just so cute. And he’s lucky to have someone who relies on him so heavily. That made his chest burst with dark possessiveness over you. Not that there’s anyone left to take you from him. Every Hunter who’d been there was now dead, even the ones who left by car, with all that’s left to find the remaining stragglers involved with this effort. If more came out of the woodwork to take you after trying with Uvo’s girl, he’s sure there’ll be more eventually.
He soon drifts off thinking of you in tears, sobbing for him as he splits you apart on his cock. Sobbing that he’s ‘too big’, that you’re ‘too full’, and begging for him to stop- but gods he won’t stop not when you’re broken like that with big red eyes and wet skin from the pleasure turning to pain. And he won’t stop, never does, until you’ve gone dumb in the head drunk off his cock and filled with his come like you need it to breathe. And Phinks knows as his consciousness slips away, that his little daydream will become reality come morning time because he’s not a good man. Because a good man wouldn’t fuck his girl to break her poor little mind, to make her fall apart into tiny pieces so he could be the one to put her back together again. To get her nice and reliant. Especially not after a traumatic event. But you should know by now that he’s not good.
