#man molested minor girl
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Awakening: Hypothermia part 2
here it is, the much-awaited part 2! Emmett realizes what he did in his sleep, how will he fix this?
2.8k words. MINORS DNI tags: fingering, first time, p in v sex, unprotected sex, first orgasm(?) Praise, language
Emmett stirs in his sleep, his heart pounding. “Oh no, did I dream again?” he wonders to himself. Feeling the front of his pants, he has his answer. “Shit.” He turns back towards you, hoping he didn’t disturb you, putting his arms back around you. He notices you slightly shaking, you can’t possibly be cold. He's right by your side, then he notices that your pants are gone. Your panties are all bunched up, slightly damp in the back. “Oh god, what did I do? Did I hurt you?” He sits up in bed, pondering if he should flee when you turn towards him. “Emmett, you awake?” you mutter in the darkness feeling him move. He's speechless, hoping that he didn’t do what deep down he knows he did. Hoping that you are innocent and clueless to his inappropriate behavior. “Emmett, talk to me. I know happened.” Emmett feels like he’s about to be sick at your words, his worst nightmare coming true. You grab his shoulders, knowing he’s going to want to bolt. “I’m not mad Emmett, you were asleep, had no idea what you were doing.” His chest feels like it’s going to collapse in on itself. “Did I hurt you? Did I-”
“No Emmett, you didn’t hurt me I’m fine.” you assure him, “Nothing big happened, you just moaned a little in my ear and...” You trailed off, suddenly embarrassed at what you were about to disclose to him. Emmett put his head in his hands, “And what? What else happened?” You clear your throat, how do you put this politely? “Umm, well, you kind of humped me a little. Held me tight to you and uhm,” you stuttered this last part, “Groped a bit, and you sorta, used me to get off.” Emmett made an angry sound, “Damn it, I'm so sorry. I understand if you can’t stand to be around me anymore. I'm an animal. Over here having wet dreams about my dead friend’s daughter. Rutting against you like a pig.” You shush his displeasure, “I don’t think any less of you Emmett, you can’t control what your body does when you're asleep.” Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “And besides I didn’t hate it. It's the closest a man has ever gotten to me.” Silence fills the room as Emmett digests this information. “What?” you feel his eyes on you, “You enjoyed it? Enjoyed pretty much being molested by a man twice your age?” Your face reddens in the dark. “It felt kind of good honestly, I didn’t want you to stop.” You curse yourself at letting this secret loose.
“Well, I'm glad I stopped when I did. Hope you got your fill, because this will not happen again. I knew this whole thing was a bad idea.” He turns away, stoney and cold towards you. Silly little tears fill your eyes, you didn’t want Emmett to be upset. You should have kept your mouth shut. “Little girl doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Emmett thinks to himself, “She enjoyed it? The fuck? I used her and she liked it?” He rubs his eyes, “She enjoyed it because it’s all she’s ever had. You are all she’s ever had.” A small voice in the back of his head tells him, “Poor thing doesn’t know any better. Show her there is better to be had.” If he could shut the voice off, he would, “No, it’s wrong. She’s too young. I literally watched her grow up.” “And now she is grown,” the voice replies, “She is an adult Emmett, a poor sexually deprived and innocent woman. Listen, you made her cry.” In the silence he hears your sniffling. “Dammit, I didn’t want to upset her. How do I make this right?” He turns back towards you, nervous that you would blow up in his face. “Hey,” he whispers, “Don’t cry. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at myself, you did nothing wrong.” His warm hand caresses your shoulder. “Look at me, please.” You refuse. “Come here, hey, come here, don’t cry.” His arms snake back around you. “Hey now, don’t cry sweetheart. I’m sorry I upset you.”
He makes you turn towards him, his blue eyes dark with concern. “Let’s forget this ever happened, okay? I don’t like seeing you like this.” His thumbs wiping away your tears. “it’s over and done with, water under the bridge alright?” You finally meet his gaze, “I won’t be able to forget, and you won’t either. I don’t want to forget.” With shaking hands, you reach for his beard and try to pull him closer. “No, no, stop sweetie. You’re confused. You really don’t want to do this. Let's just go back to sleep, okay?” With a new determination in your eyes you reply, “You said my name in your sleep, I heard it. Deep down you want this as much as I do.” Your lips are now ghosting over Emmett’s, just waiting for one of you to make up for the distance. “Emmett,” you whisper against his lips, “It’s okay Emmett, please. I trust you. Emmett.” In an instant your lips finally meet, not knowing who finally broke resolve. His lips are soft and tender against yours, not trying anything further. Nice and gentle, like he’s second guessing himself. He holds your face, eyes studying you, like he’s looking for any sign of hesitation. “Are you sure? We can stop right here, no pressure at all.” You put your lips on him, back where they were as your answer. The kiss deepens, his grip on you tightens. You breathe each other in like you were the last source of oxygen. He moves down to your neck, sucking softly on your skin. “I can feel your pulse,” he chuckles, “Excited, are we?” you avert your gaze in embarrassment. “It’s alright sweetheart, mine is the same way. I've wanted this for so long, you have no idea.” Emmett whispers in your ear.
You reach behind you to undo your bra, but Emmett stops you, “Let me.” In one fluid motion, his rough strong hand has the clasp undone, slowly pulling it off your body. Eye contact is not wavering the whole time, like he’s making sure you’re okay. Half of you is completely exposed to him now, your skin slightly pink with nerves. “You are so beautiful, you know that?” His words just deepen the flush. He bends down to explore this new exposed flesh; your hands automatically go to his hair. Like you're using his scalp to ground yourself, this is not some naughty thought or dream, this is real and now. Emmett takes his time, no need to rush this. His warm mouth finds your unguarded nipple, and you jolt in surprise. He looks up from his work, slight grin on his face, “You good? Not used to that are you?” You lightly slap him upside his head, “No I’m not, but it feels nice. Keep going Emmett.” You don’t have to tell him twice. While his mouth is on one nipple, his hand is working on the other. Eventually trading up. The familiar feeling of suspense returns, like when you were all defenseless against him rutting up against you. But this time, you knew there weren’t going to be any interruptions. You both are panting; he can feel your thighs clench around his waist from being wrapped around him. His hands go to your waistband of your pants. Looking up at you he asks, “Would you like these to come off?”
Shakily with desire you respond, “Yes, please.” Emmett softly moans at that response, “So polite.” He removes your legs from around him stretching them out straight. With his electric blue eyes on yours, his hands grab your hips, “Up for me sweetheart.” You oblige him, raising your hips to get your pants off easier. He slowly pushes them down, panties with them, eye contact never wavering. “Breathe, it’s okay. You are doing so good.” Goosebumps hit your exposed skin as the fabric is slowly removed from your legs. Part of you wants to just yank them off in frustration at his extremely slow movements, but you don’t. Emmett wants to do this right, knowing your inexperience. Finally, after what feels like forever, you are completely naked in front of him. You want to curl up in a ball, not used to being naked in front of anyone, much less a man. Emmett slowly strokes your exposed legs, “Are you okay?” he asks you. You nod in response, but that’s not good enough for Emmett. He lies down next to you, hand going to your cheek. “Are you okay with this?” he asks again, “I need to hear that you are okay.” You softly grab his hand that is on your face and kiss it, “I’m okay Emmett, just feeling a little exposed right now. It's not fair that I'm the only naked one here.” He smiles at that, running his hand up your thigh, “This is all about you right now, we’ll get to me later.”
A shaky breath leaves your lips as you realize just how high Emmett’s hand is on your leg. Creeping closer and closer to where you both want him to be. He kisses you deeply again, gently climbing on top of you, his knee between your legs. “Can I look at you baby?” Your eyes get big at knowing what he wants. “I won’t touch unless you let me. Can I see just how pretty my girl is?” You gulp, wanting to please him but still skittish. “Breathe Babygirl, let me see you.” Time stands still as Emmett waits for your answer, not daring to go forward without your consent, still rubbing your legs. Finally, you decide to let him look. “Okay,” you whisper, “Go ahead, I just hope it’s what you're expecting.” Emmett kisses both knees as he gently pulls them apart, exposing you fully to him. His normally crystal-clear eyes turn muddy with lust, “Oh my sweetheart, it’s what I expected and so much more. You are so stunning and..” he comes back up to your face, “And so very wet for me. Just how I want you to be. Perfect.” You turn away from his words, trying to hide your face with your hands. Emmett is not having that, taking your hands in his, “it’s true, don’t hide from me. Get used to me talking like this, because I will every day until you quit shying from it. So pink and dripping for me baby, so pretty and small. Can I touch you baby? I won’t enter I promise, just let me feel.”
At his words, you feel your body respond even more. Not knowing that it’s possible to be this wet just from his explicit compliments. All you want is Emmett to touch you, anywhere and everywhere. You take his hand in yours, finally doing what you thought about earlier when he was asleep. His warm hand finally reaches its destination. Both of you moan as his fingers explore your warm folds. “There you are beautiful, is this okay?” His index finger finds your clit, slowly rubbing, eye contact never wavering. “Emmett yes.” you manage to choke out, pleasure building at his movements. “I’m okay with one finger if you want to.” He kisses your neck in response, “Are you sure? Don't let me hurt you.” Watching your pleasure ridden face, He slowly enters one digit inside you. You are so wet it doesn’t hurt, just feels unusual having something inside. “Oh baby, you are so tight.” Emmett groans, “So warm for me, you are doing so good at taking my fingers.” In and out his finger goes, watching you the whole time. Emmett loves that he is the one who makes you feel so good. “More,” you cry out, “Please add another finger.” Your request is driving Emmett crazy, “Only because you asked so nicely sweetheart. Tell me if it is too much.”
Emmett feels like his dick is going to explode any minute as another finger goes inside you. You are doing so good for him, accepting the second digit without much protest. Your thighs begin to shake. “Breathe sweetheart, don’t forget to breathe. I know that feels so good, doesn’t it? Two fingers inside you while my thumb is rubbing that little clit of yours, yeah?” Your voice goes out on you wanting to answer him. That familiar feeling that you had when he had you pinned on your stomach slowly returns. You just hope and pray that it happens this time. “Oh yes, you are so close I can see it in your eyes. Come for me baby, let it go. I’ll take care of you this time. I got you.” Emmett raises you up and holds you close as you orgasm for the first time ever. You cry his name repeatedly into his shoulder, body limp and trembling in his arms as he takes you through it. “There it is, there you go. Yes, good job sweetheart.” he coos, silent tears of relief slide down your cheeks. You wipe them away before he notices, not to worry him. He gently puts you down on the bed again, inhaling your remaining whimpers and moans. One hand goes down to unbutton his pants, finally freeing himself. He sighs in relief. You look down and notice what’s happening as your high starts to fade. “Shhh, I was just uncomfortable is all. Nothing is happening without your say so.”
“Can I touch you?” you ask him. Curious as to how he feels. “If you want to,” he answers, “But remember, this is about you.” You kiss him passionately as you reach down, fingertips lightly grazing his dick. You feel him twitch at that slight touch. “it’s okay, it does that sometimes. Your hand is so soft, sweetheart. You can grab, it doesn’t bite.” Emmett guides your hand around him. He's so thick you can barely get your hand around it. “Oh, this soft skin is going to be the death of me.” he moans as you slowly start to stroke him. “I don’t know how much more I can take; I want to be inside you so bad.” Between kisses, you stop stroking him and pull him back on top of you, “I want you too, Emmett.” He grabs his dick, sliding it between your folds, “Are you sure? This might still hurt even though I tried to stretch you.” Your eyes close at the feeling of your clit being touched again, “I know, it’s okay. Just go slow.” Emmett’s forehead touches yours, eye contact steady as he lines himself up to your entrance. “This can stop anytime you want it to. Don't lie there and let me hurt you.” You feel the head slowly entering you, as Emmett tries to distract you with kisses. At first you just feel really full, nothing too bad. And then it’s like he hit a wall, your body refusing him any further. You start to whimper in pain, “Shhh, it’s okay. I'm almost all the way in sweetheart. You are doing such a good job” His hand goes back to stroke your clit, “Easy there, that’s it, you can do it. Focus on the pleasure baby, not the pain. It'll go away soon.” And it does, your body responding to his touches, it lets him through. “Oh fuck,” he grunts, “There it is honey, I'm in. Oh, you feel so good. Are you okay?”
You grab onto his shoulders at the massive intrusion. “Yeah, I'm alright. Just move please, it’s starting to hurt again.” With a deep kiss, he slowly starts to move. Your hands go back to his hair as he continues to talk to you, “Breathe, don’t hold it in. Oh, this is better than I could have ever imagined, you feel so good around me. Oh shit, so tight baby. Just for me huh?” Emmett gets a good rhythm going in and out at just the right speed, sending you to heaven again. “Yes, just for you Emmett,” you manage to squeak into his ear, “Just for you.” At hearing your confession, his hips start to move sloppy. “Oh sweetheart, I can’t last much longer. It's been so long. You just feel too damn good.” Your nails start to dig in his back at the pleasure. “it’s okay, come for me baby, come for me.” you moan. Emmett buries his face in your shoulder, your name coming out of his mouth like a chant. That familiar growl unleashes from his throat as he finally hits his peak, quickly pulling out of you and spilling on your thighs. “Oh yes, like that.” he mutters to no one in particular, “Look so good covered in me.” You shakily sit up and pull him into a kiss, leaning on him as you have no strength left. “Are you alright baby?” he asks. “I’m perfect,” you answer, “That couldn’t have possibly gone better.”
With a tired chuckle Emmett responds, “Let’s just not wait for another freezing night to do that again, okay?”
“Okay I'll give you 20 minutes.”
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querido ii: ¿estás bien? | outlaw!miguel o'hara
Chapter List
❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader
❛ type | tripleshot(?); explicit
❛ summary | while miguel gathers gabriella, you have an unexpected visit from aaron. miguel doesn't take his visit well.
❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats, implied physical assault, implied molestation, miguel beating a bitch up, mention of alcohol and smoking, f!reader.
❛ sy's notes | a bit long but-- enjoy.
The path Gabriella took was traceable. He wove through the pass of battered grass with efficiency, passing by groups of grazing cattle until he came upon a small wooden barn. It was nestled just in the mouth of the forest. It was clumsily built and even more sloppily painted. Miguel had no doubt that it had to be Peter’s handiwork. It had that look about it, half done but done in love.
“Gabriella?” her name was clumsy on his tongue. Before today, he’d gotten no word of his daughter in smuggled letters from Peter. Didn’t even know you were pregnant. It made sense, after the accident, that he’d step up. That was the kinda man Peter was.
“Go away,” she sniffled between the fallen tears and snot, her sobbing loud and relentless. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Let me take you home, kid.”
“No.” she bit out. “I don’t know you.”
“You know your mama.”
“I don’ think I do,” she said.
“Yeah, well, that makes two’a us.” Crestfallen, Miguel set his back against the wood panneling, folding his broad arms one over the other. His head connected with the aged old wood, staring into the distance at your little house with its peeling paint and tall flowering trees. He takes a swig of his flask of booze, needing something to cut with the sudden reality that he was an instant father. A smoke would do, too.
He should have known his method of pulling out and praying would slip up one day. Apparently, that came sooner than he thought. If he searched his memories way back when, he might have remembered a time or two that he failed to pull out, your beautiful body riding him for all he was worth. All beat up, he was a sad sex partner, clinging underneath layers of your frilly dress to fuck up into you. Coño, that had to be it. A laugh slipped off his lips, empty of his typical sass and mirth.
“Came back to see my girl and end up a father, fancy that.”
“Your girl?” Gabriella said, in between her raw tears. “What’d you mean your girl?”
“Tu mamá. She was my girl. Met her as a cattle hand for her papá. Back when I used to do things right,” Miguel found himself explaining, turning his head over to the tiny window. He couldn’t help but remember the first time you caught his eye-- the day you dropped that ruby-red rebozo into a muddy puddle on the way back from church. Whirling off his newly broken horse, Miguel near flung himself off her saddle to pick it up. Gabriella shifted to look out the empty window at him. “Shoulda seen her then. She had this glimmer, used to bring me out burros no matter how hot it was.”
He remembers the many days sitting on the wooden gate, tearing tasteless dried meat until you came around. You slipped out of your mother’s schoolhouse without fail to bring him something to eat. He hated sopita days the most. You loved those days the most. Beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd eat it, smack on a smile. Listened with an annoyed grin to the other cattle hands when they teased him about having to drop his entire salary back on the man to get your hand in marriage. Like the asshole would give you to a sunburnt, down-in-the-dirt cowboy like him. If he'd known that, he would've just eloped before things got... messy.
“Mama likes sopita,” Gabriella said. At least she knew her mother. “I like frijoles and tortillas.”
Sencillo. She was a simple child. Miguel exhaled a plume of smoke, spotting a dark brown horse out in the distance. He wasn't sure, but it could be Aaron coming to bother you again. He swore that the man had come in earlier when Miguel was feeding Widow in the barn.
“Abuelo y mi tia were shot.” She stated. What'd you do?! She’s not moving! Miguel shook the memory free. Every time he remembered, he hoped he could forget. He brings his cigarette back to his lips as the little girl goes on. “That’s what mamá said. Then, the paper says you killed the sheriff. Real outlaw like!"
“That’s what they say,” he mumbled, finding his mind running.
The days of running from his thoughts were coming to a quick end. He’s traveled far and wide, never married-- though he had certain needs met. It never fit. No one’s body held the quiet calm of yours under his, your fingers dancing the expanse of his muscled back, your soft lips on his chapped ones. He just wanted to make it right, thinking there was nothing more to tie you down. Looking at the curious twinkle in his daughter’s big brown doe eyes, that was obviously wrong.
“Yeah, but did you do it?”
“Don’t think your mamá would appreciate me talking out of turn.” Miguel unfolded his arms, knowing that he already said too much. He doesn’t know how much of the event you’ve told her. It’s easy to want to tell her things, to be more honest, and to invite open conversation like a papá should. He let Peter handle it all for years.
“What about me?” she asked, curious. “Did’ja come back for me?”
“You?” Miguel peeped over. “I didn’t even know you were alive, kid. Besides that, you won’t even talk to me man to man.”
“Man to girl,” she pushed open the door and popped out with her hands square on her hips. She’s a little spitfire, standing there proudly, fractured in some beautiful way, through moments of grief. It still wears in her girlish eyes, but it's smoothed over some by Miguel’s presence. He suddenly has a terrible fear of letting her down. He caught the tail of a frown before it dissipated. She presented him with her hand.
“My papá’s gone, so you’ll just have to do.”
Great, he’s a second-rate father. He knows he’s no Peter, who could run off with the smallest joy a child had. He could make it seem like the most amazing thing he’s ever heard. Miguel has a cold demeanor, his aptitude in things outside gunfights is questionable, and he has a fat ass bounty on his head-- no doubt spearheaded by Aaron. The deaths were so old. The sheriff was another issue. Why else would he keep chasing him?
“I’ll try.”
He could do this. Whatever having a child entailed, he wanted to do it. To one day bring that smile to Gabriella’s lips. A smile warmed his hardened face as he took hers. It’s the only thing that a newfound father could wish for his daughter-- to be the source of her happiness.
By the time they trek back home, there is no sight of Aaron. Widow is tucked kindly in your barn, out of the sweltering sun that beat down her little face to keep her safe. They take the backdoor in.
“Mamá?” Gabriella stepped in first. Miguel followed after, his hand on his gun out of habit. Too many sleepless nights in the middle of nowhere, nights sleeping in caves and rocky ground. “Mamá, are you there?”
Your clothes are thrown over a wooden chair, forgotten. Your cleaning water is used and indicates that you cleaned up in their absence. Miguel stepped past a broken dish in the kitchen that Gabriella thought fell off on its own accord. He set the sherds on top of one another and continued on in his inspection of the kitchen.
“Oh, mama made pie!” Gabriella picked up the forgotten peach pie from the window and set it on the lace tablecloth that covered the table. Miguel promptly shut the window behind her. He recognized Peter’s old pistol on the table, still holstered up in your thigh wrapping. Night had fallen on the home. Had they been gone so long?
Something’s off-- Miguel decided.
“I’m upstairs,” you called from up the steps. Your voice sounded strained, suppressing something Miguel didn’t quite understand.
“Eat n’ bed,” he told Gabi.
"Can I eat the pie?"
"Eat what'cha want." He minded how she took the pie up to her room with a shake of his head. He wasn’t getting him any of that any time soon. He checked her room first, shooing her off with the awkwardest hug. Not on his part, but hers. She squeezed his waist the tightest she could before she disappeared inside.
On his last visit here, he hadn't gone into depth exploring the home. It was beautiful. Warmed by your touch with well-framed family portraits and knick-knacks he recognizes from a decade ago. It’s terribly domestic, but that’s the beauty of a lifestyle he is alien to. Miguel hovered before a wedding photo. Unlike the typical wedding photos he saw town to town, you were clearly pregnant behind that tight white dress. Peter was clearly grinning like the idiot he was. He draws his knuckles over the heavy wooden door with a silent knock. He doesn’t want to fall into a trap with his daughter next door.
“Adelante,” you whispered, inviting him in. He pushes the door apart.
There’s no sign of Aaron. You sat at a small vanity, combing your hair out with a hand-me-down brush. Your hair fell over a heavy welt on your cheek that wasn’t there hours ago. His eye trained on the bruise. For a few long moments, he was silent. He eventually clicks the door shut and takes several steps forward, peeling your tiny palm that obscures the heavy bruising on your cheekbone.
“Did you find her?”
“What happened?” he asked, plain and dry. No room for debate, no way to deflect. You turned your head to one side, stroking your nightgown for a semblance of comfort. He removed your hand and set it on your lap, his large hand tilting your face in gentle concern. You abandoned your brush on the vanity. The spot was hot and angry, burning with a blotchy color that painted your face in a watercolor of bruises. “Was it Aaron?”
“You saw him?” He met your eyes and kept his gaze steady and strong. That was his answer. You sighed. “It’s not important.”
“Did he put his hands on you? Did he-- touch you?”
Miguel knew how Aaron looked at you in the past. Even back then, married to your sister, his eyes always wandered to any pretty thing. It wasn’t enough that the rumors that spread were full of talk of Miguel and you, ever the hot topic at every dance he took you to. Not because it was unique but because your father had clear objections to the match. Aaron took his presence as a threat. Right now, it was.
“Did you find Gabi?”
“She’s safe in her room,” he cropped his words. “I want to talk about you.”
“Y yo no,” you looked away. “I don’t want to talk.”
“Mi amor,” Miguel brought his hand down, supporting your soft jaw in his hand. Miguel doesn’t beg, but he will this time. It was all he could do to make you tell the truth. To soothe the sick feeling in his gut, to make sure that you were well taken care of. In a surge of concern, Miguel tried to push the issue further. “Don’t shut me out.”
“You’ll get all worked up and that ain’t gonna do nothin’ but raise that bounty on your head.”
"So." It doesn't matter that you had a point. There was a warning hanging in his eyes-- he wouldn’t let it go. Not without an explanation first. It was impossible. "I already got a chunk of change on my head. What's one more gonna do?"
“He’s been pressing me to search the ranch for you every so often,” you admitted, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I left the front door open and he came on in while I was changing. I was about sick of it, querido, so I told him to go away. I guess… he didn’t like that much. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Miguel cut you off. That was closer to a version of the truth than he knew you wanted to admit. He knew you enough to know it wasn’t the full story. Miguel slipped onto his knees, his worn slacks scratching the floor beneath him. He held your hands in his, reminding himself not to lash out, throw something, or hit something for not being there. There was no outlet for his rage right then. He'd take it out on something later.
“He didn’t violate me if that’s what you’re thinkin’.” Your lip pursed, struggled to make words that don’t hurt so much. Your tongue was fat in your mouth as you explained. “He just… grabbed on me a bit.”
Grabbed on you a bit? Miguel searched your fingers with an intent expression for an answer that made sense. You were being cryptic. He doesn’t particularly like weighing the options of what it could mean. He could have grabbed the door and forced his way in. He could have grabbed you and tried to force himself on you. The thought burned low in his stomach, simmering the need for revenge.
“What’d he grab?” he drew your name out in a soft, puff of a thing. Your fingers left his, smoothing over your nightgown again in an effort to soothe yourself. Your breath quickened, a clear signal that he was hitting his limit with you.
“I don’t--” you struggled. “I don’t want to talk about none of that. You just came back today, Gabi learned the truth, Peter-- I can’t do it. Can’t you let it go?”
He knew that the tears pricking your eyes weren’t over something like Peter’s death or the bite of dust in your eyes. Shame and embarrassment dangle before him, fueling his enmity with a man that he’d not run up against in many years. If anything were going to force him into action, it would be this.
“If that’s what you want, amor.”
He couldn’t let it go. But if it helped you relax, he’d just let you think he could. Miguel sprung up on two feet and kicked off his dark brown boots under your wooden vanity. He slipped off his suit jacket and vest before offering you his hand.
“I should… check on Gabi. She might be hungry.”
“She took up with that pie you made her. Menudo’s on the stove.”
“Pero… I should make sure she’s okay.”
“Amor, are you okay?” he asked, his voice terribly mild, but bore a seriousness that struck a cord in you. His words hung like the blade of a scythe, cutting through the strength you had to have day to day since Peter passed. First death. Now as Miguel suspected, a molestation?
No, you choked out, your face pale of its usual warmth. You didn’t fight as he brought you into bed, his hand underneath your neck to draw you close. He knew his smoky scent would reek the sheets, yet you did not seem to care, burrowing in the space between his neck. Your hand slipped underneath his slightly unbuttoned shirt, curling in his chest hair. He caressed your back in soft circles.
“Miggy?”
“¿Sí, mi hermosa?”
“Make it better.”
Take care of it, he thought bitterly. That’s what you meant. Miguel slid his other large hand over the back of your neck, working you through the tears. The flood of your tears against his neck reminded him of how pathetic of a job he’d been doing, caring for his new little family, for you-- the woman he came to take away.
For this moment, he could only cradle your cheek and distract you with a salty kiss. He clumsily nudged his nose against yours to force you to pay attention to him. He probably tastes of booze, smoke, and a little bit of dried meat, but if he does, you don’t seem to mind it. Your lips shuddered, lips opening slightly to allow him to kiss you more fully. Your kiss held its own familiarity, a signal that he was home despite the years that passed.
“I don’t think I can do this alone,” you murmured against his lips. “I ain’t that strong.”
“You’re plenty strong. Got through a whole pregnancy without your man around, raised her up good.”
“I knew I was with child before you left,” you peered up. Emotions flickered there: a rush of anger, uncertainty, disappointment, most of all, sadness pooled in his eyes. “I just… I ain’t know how to tell you, what’d it change with papa not liking you the least bit after Lupe’s shooting.”
“I would’a wifed you up quick.”
Now-- what would he do? Miguel wasn’t stupid. It wouldn’t be just Aaron who would come around the longer he spent in this town. Bounty hunters of all kinds would be breathing down his neck. There was no future for him here. The only alternative was to take his family out of this tiny town, carve out a new life elsewhere. Miguel brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there.
“I still would.”
Your cheeks are warm as they get, “Who’d marry an outlaw and a widow?”
“Someone out west that ain’t know about us.”
“There such a place?” you asked.
“'Course there is,” he assured you. “Think ‘bout it.”
You looked at him for a long time, considering if Miguel was telling you the truth, but he’s never lied before. Not where it counts. Miguel’s hand wandered, pulling your thigh over his, content with your consideration.
“Think that’d make me a bad mom, whisking my kid off to be with an outlaw, ain’t it?”
Miguel arched his brow at you, his eyes glossy and warm, teasing. In any other case, he might have agreed. But it was his child you cared for. He wasn’t about to abandon you— no way to make money, no way to take care of Gabriella but to remarry or sell off everything and try a life in the city. You liked rocking on a rocking chair at the end of the night, running through the wildflowers, and the taste of honey in the warmer months. You were no city girl.
“Ain’t like they don’t know whose kid it is.” Miguel laughed, a tuft of pride spilling into his words. “She look like she's mine.”
“Peter’d say that too.” The thought made you smile in a way you knew it shouldn’t. As good as a man Peter was, he brought up that fact the day you gave birth, when he abandoned the fields to be by your side. How we gonna hide this? He’d laugh. She ain’t look Anglo. She look just like Miguel. He always did say he hoped that it wasn’t too obvious. It was. Peter was a one-of-a-kind man. The memory brought a twinge of a smile to your face, looking over your marital bedroom. Speaking of others--
“Didn’t you meet other girls out there?”
Miguel forgets the kind of woman you were. A very jealous, terribly protective woman. He knew the question would come up eventually. You were a woman who loved to be the center of his world. Every man and woman wanted to be the only one in their lover’s eyes. He traveled the grassy roads for years and saw all there was to see. All types of women. Native women who lived on the land and slept in longhouses. Anglo women seemed to love to run their fingers down his swarthy skin but never considered bringing him home-- even if he wasn’t interested. Black women always fed him, even if they distrusted him a little. And, Hispanic women whose fathers did not like him prowling around their land. He couldn't blame them. He wouldn't want someone like him for Gabi, either.
“I met my share.”
“And you still came back?”
“Yeah? I came back for you. What, you want me out?” Despite your brilliant, soft smile, your mind ran like you’d taken the first ticket on the railroad out of town. He knew what you were thinking. You were wondering how many women he’d been with, what they were like, what--
"You're so sassy," you teased. He slid on top of you, his fat belt buckle catching on your nightgown. His lips peppered gentle but scratchy kisses down the expanse of your neck. The soft bruising there reminded him of Aaron’s mistakes. He'd take care of that next.
“Miggy,” you giggled, tugging on his thick dark brown hair. “Stop it.”
“Todavía te amo,” he lifted off your neck enough to utter the words. Your cheeks flooded with an unfamiliar warmth. You'd not had someone to make your heart soar in a really long time. Your hand curled up his head, dipped along the curves of his face to his sharp jawline, and tugged him to look at you. He complied, a tilt in his head.
“I wanna see you naked. You’ve gotten so big,” you said. “Take off your clothes.”
Well-- he had to know that one was coming. Miguel suppressed a small snicker from leaving his chest as he pushed off the bed and brought his fingers against the buttons you hadn’t undone. You scooted up on the bed, dragged your gown over your knees, and watched him undress. He drew the shirt off his massive arms and threw it in on your chair. His skin was memorable, still as dark and swarthy as you remember, but cut in more defined musculature. You brought your nail to your lip, suckling on the nail as he threw you a half-lidded look.
“Well?” he hooked his thumbs onto his belt buckle, waving a little closer. “You're not saying anything.”
“You’re so big, querido.”
“Believe you already said that,” Miguel teased.
He knew he looked good. It was how he attracted so many different women. You twiddled your fingers to urge him closer. Something about you loosening his belt filled his belly with a distant excitement. He watched you unlatch the fat buckle and draw his belt free of the loops with a whirl of leather. He held his thick leather belt in one hand as your trembling hands came up to unbutton him. The firm fabric slid down over his hips, revealing nothing beneath but his hirsute legs and a flaccid cock that settled on a tuft of nearly black pubic hair. If he wasn't mistaken, you moistened your lips.
Selfishly, he wonders how many men you’ve been with since he ran off. He wouldn't have blamed you if you wanted to be with a hundred. He left you pregnant, without a family, and likely terrified.
“How long’s it been?” Miguel stepped out of what was left, standing there as naked as the first day he came into this world, exposed without his rifle or his handgun. Your cheeks flared with warmth, gliding a hand up his hip. “Since you've been with a man.”
“Eight years.”
He knew that Peter had no interest in you, and you had no interest in Peter. He was simply a good man doing what he thought was right. If not for Peter-- he’s not sure what would have become of you. Yet, illogically, he thought you could stomach to be with another man.
“You never been with another man?”
“I married Peter. I’d never do him like that,” you shook your head, inching your hand over his cock. After eight years, you deserved a good fucking. He can’t bring himself to force you into it, not after what you’ve been through tonight. He allows you to lead, milking his cock with your small hand. Your other crawls up to his scarred stomach, tracing the line of hair to his navel. There were countless scars on his body, never afraid to leap head first into a battle.
“I bet you had needs,” Miguel murmured. "You use your hand?"
“‘Course I did, Miggy. I’m a woman, ain’t I?” You looked up at him, your bruised face beautiful as it was. Despite what other men liked to say, that women ain’t need to do nothing but lay there and take them, Miguel knows better. His mind is full of distant memories of sex with one another. Sneaking out in the deep of night to fuck in the fields, snatching you midway through your chores to kiss and finger you in the barn, or exchanging the smallest of glances around town. "Now don't talk so nasty, Gabriella is right next door."
“Downstairs. Lemme take care of you,” Miguel found took your hand, lifting it away from his cock and forcing you to stand. You complied, following his hand that slipped between your legs, stroking up your thighs to your neglected core. He imagines that on nights like this, quiet and alone when Peter was on a cattle drive, you’d come into your bed just like this. Slip over your bed, stroke your long fingers over your puffy lips, maybe dip one inside, and think of him.
“What if she comes in?”
“She won’t.”
“But I don’t know how to--”
“Mujer. You don’t need to think of anything short of what I’m about to do to you.” Miguel lifted your nightgown up and off your body. Your hands snapped to your midsection, covering whatever it was that was so offensive.
"Stop that." Miguel tilted his head to the side, flicking your hands away from appreciating the sight of your belly, littered with softly discolored stretch marks.
“But I ain’t pretty no more,” you told him. “I got--”
“You got marks from bearing me a baby. I know. Now, hush up,” Miguel teased gently, the pads of his fingers swooping over the marks. They had gone silvery with age. Perhaps, he thinks, you thought you'd never be with a man. Now, you seem so suddenly self-conscious of the marks that litter your skin. He curved his hands around to squeeze your plush hips, flushing his body against yours. You felt his cock rub up against your belly, soft to the touch. Miguel's cock stiffened against your navel, a feeling that brought a crack of arousal through your core. You rubbed your thighs together for the friction. As relief pooled in your belly, Miguel seized your jaw to kiss you, his hands slapping your ass to force you to move. You shifted forward, crying out into his muscular chest. “I’m after a woman, not a girl. Get on all fours. It’s my turn to see you.”
You complied by sliding onto the bed, memories of what Miguel liked flooding your mind: chest against the sheets and ass up. Despite the very real concerns you had about his attraction, Miguel seemed no worse for wear when you looked over your shoulder. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grabbed your ass, massaged your cheeks between his palms, and separated your lips. He licked a long band up between your tender lips, enough to wrench free a soft gasp. He suckled on them with a wet pop, the puff of his lips musing hot air onto your cunt.
“That’s cute,” Miguel murmured, letting his palm come on your ass for a teasing slap. You groaned, the hot redness burned in a sweet and unfamiliar way. His lips began to moisten with your lubricant spilling over them, tasting of a woman he hadn’t had in too long. His tongue prodded at the entrance to your gentle hole, pushing in one of his thick digits. Your walls protested the intrusion, clamping over the foreign finger.
“Ah Miguel,” you curled your toes, his finger stretching you in preparation for his fat cock. “I ain’t sure I can take you.”
“Sure you can.” Miguel hummed, inserting another alongside the first. You were tight, that was for sure. He was sure that you hadn’t been with another man in years, just as you said. It made his cock leak to think of it-- your virginity was his, your child was his, and… now you’d be his again. He spat on your hole, his wet saliva squelching with your lubricant around his broad fingers as he entered your body. Your hips rutted back onto him, instantly making Miguel release a husky laugh. "Your pussy knows you can. Look'it eating me up."
"Por dios Miguel, don't talk like that." You stiffened around his fingers. His mouth had gotten nastier in his time away. He knows you like the way he worships you, finger flicking lightly over your walls, making sure to stretch you wide. Another slipped alongside the first, twisting his wrist for a deeper thrust, working you nice and loose, enjoying the gasps of decadent pleasure. Miguel whispered beautiful words of praise, remarking on how easily you took him, how well you'd be in only a few minutes. Your hands ruffled the sheets, cantering your hips back onto him. You needed his words, so tired after years of sexual frustration.
"That's it. Tell me you missed it," he fucked you a few more times before his rhythm would die off, leaving you empty of him. His hand shifted to your breasts, molding them between his big palms, waiting for an answer that sounded right.
"I missed you, Miggy."
Miguel momentarily paused. Then, he stepped up, the hair on his legs brushing your thighs as he mounted you. The blunt head of his cock nudged along your lips.
“I’ma fuck you now,” Miguel murmured into your ear, letting his chest rest on your own. He pushed into you. Your walls stretched with his long stroke, Miguel's face tightening up. He was seated against your cervix, pushed up as far as you would let him go. For all your whining about his language, the obscene cry that left your lips was loud. Loud enough that Miguel slapped his hand over your mouth. He hooked his thumb in your mouth, forcing you to suck him as he sped up his deep thrusts, pushing you closer to your limit.
“Just gorgeous, mi hermosa.” Miguel found himself grinding forth. The repetitive squeaking of the bed made what he was about to say real stupid like. “But you gotta be quiet. Gabi don’t need to know what we’re doin’.”
Your tongue coasted around his thumb, suckling him nice and wet. Your walls clamped back over him, unused to the feeling of having a man inside. Miguel found himself rutting against your cunt, his tightening balls slapping your ass as he moved. Again and again, Miguel set a soothing, quick rhythm, filling the emptiness from years ago.
He'd been with many women over the years. None felt so easy, so like home. He curses himself for not doing it sooner. Your fingers dipped between your bodies, filling the emptiness, and causing your pleasure to blossom under your fingers. Pleasure explodes in your core, battered by his frantic thrusts, and your mind goes over the edge into some distant land of warm pleasure. Your walls spasmed violently, and Miguel's gasps became thin, adjusting his hold on your hips under the clench of your muscles against his length. He holds onto his decency poorly, strain bundled in his brow.
“Could you-- inside?” you said between his thrusts, muffled by the fingers hooked in your moist mouth.
“I do that-- and-- you'll get pregnant,” you’re both older now, he wants to think wiser than being two stupid kids fucking one another without care. Not that his pull-out game was particularly great back then-- Miggy please, you cry his name out, a tone that is stretched sweetly thin, walls spasming tightly over his fat cock. He muffles a curse, his pace jagged and uneven, desperate.
“Please, I miss it,” you cry, a litany of please threatening his ability to be well-behaved. He never was good at that in the first place, never good at saying no. Miguel drags you onto his cock, complying with a groan that he didn’t mean to be quite so loud. Thick streams of cum fill your tight little hole, bubbling out around the site of your union. He rides out the tails of his orgasm, earning you desperate little snaps of his shaking hips.
“Ay dios,” Miguel came down from his high with a slap to your ass, ripping his other hand free from your mouth to comb through his hair. He didn’t just-- he did. Miguel threw a glance at you, your shy eyes hiding behind an embroidered pillow. “I came inside.”
Coño. Great. Just-- great.
“I can feel it,” you teased him. He was stressed out, seeing a stream of his cum dribbling out from your cunt. He didn’t even know how to take care of one. How was he going to take care of two? His eyes narrowed.
“You best pray that it don’t take.”
“Don’t think I control that, Miguel.”
He pieced himself together smoothly, failing to notice anything but the emptiness that settled in your chest. A sigh left his chest and Miguel would set a kiss on the top of your head, looking toward the clothes-covered chair. Your eyebrows drew together in the realization that Miguel did not intend to stay.
“Are you leaving already?” You whined, pulling his name out from somewhere deep and lonely. He knew what it was. He just fucked you-- and now, he was going to run off. “Where you off to?”
“I got something to do. I’ll be back another day.”
A frown marred your soft features, lips slapped shut. You pushed away the warm quilt and slipped below it with your head on pillows that still smelled of Peter. You took one, propped it under your arm, and hid your lovely face from view. Silence filled the suddenly stuffy room. Other women would whine and complain about his fuck-and-run attitude. He didn't usually care.
Miguel dropped his pants, drawing closer to look at you. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could see an ounce of the grief in your watery eyes. Panic, embodied in sparks of anxiety, spilled down his chest. Filled his stomach full with a fear of aggravating your already damaged state.
“Hermosa…” he began, his voice tender and soft. He slipped behind your back, his fingers running across your waist. "What is it?"
“I’m-- I don’t want to be alone. I didn’t want you to go,” you stammered into the pillow, blinking back tears that fell so readily. You didn't want to say what happened, but you needed his comfort more than sex. Your words were heavy, hard to make out, almost as if you were suffocating. “Not so soon.”
“Then I stay,” he said, husky and soft.
“You’ll stay?”
His muscular arms bunched around your waist as he set a kiss on the top of your head. He was careful, sliding you away from the hunched position on your bed onto his chest. He’d stay if that was what you wanted. Not permanently. He could never afford you such a promise here, where many a man had 2099 reasons to chase him down. You were his reason to stay, to keep you safe. The other slept next door. Or, he hoped she was sleeping.
“For tonight.”
He forgot what this felt like, the ability to stay in bed with someone you cared for, no pressure to run. Miguel was disheartened without his gun in arms reach, instead combing his fingers through your hair, watching the moon draw overhead. At some point, your breath faded into a gentle rise and drop in your chest to the tune of the whistling wind against the side of your home.
He found himself awake for minutes after, focusing on the bright moon multiple times that night, her embrace cool and welcoming. The constellations pale in comparison to the bright light that streamed into the room. He could almost imagine doing this every day, in another world, where his head wasn’t on a wanted flyer in your biblia. Sleep claimed him, restful and horrible, and hours passed.
The gun was hot. Miguel's fingers trembled, wrapped around the grip of his mother's old gun. "Lupe! Miguel, oh glory, Miguel what did you do?" He hears your distant scream, the desperation rooted in your voice. There was a pool of blood by his feet, dripping out from a woman who gave him nothing but grief.
"What I had to," As much as he'd tell you that killing her, rather than wounding her, was wholly an accident, he knew it wasn't. It was another something he had to do. He knew the next something would be your father wielding that ancient rifle and putting a claim on his head.
Shit. He wakes with a start. Miguel soothes the bags under his eyes. Not a day had gone past that he had good dreams-- less so when he was in a proper bed with a woman. Not any woman, but his woman. You're dead asleep against his chest, his arm having long since gone numb. Still as beautiful as hours ago, blissed out and well fucked, the bruising on your face reminds him that he has shit to do.
There is little disrespect like the disrespect of a man molesting your love, the mother of your child. But you don’t want a body from him. So he would be gentle with this, unpeeling himself from your warmth and striding into town while the moon still howled in the sky, knowing where a useless scum bag like Aaron Delgado would be. He’d be drinking up, his liver fat and useless.
The saloon was still somehow rowdy, stuffed to the brim with men who sought relief from family life and women who knew the easiest way to make a buck off pretty lies. Popping into the saloon was stepping back into his usual life, one of little value other than the skills it gave him. Namely, his hand hooked around the gun.
“Hey handsome,” a maid cooed, trying to call his attention. But he’s not focused on the breasts in his face as he veered past, pushing through groups of standing men. He came up behind Aaron, who was dead asleep on the bar. It never failed that he looked sloppy, his booze soaking his ruffled shirt.
“What can I get you?” the barman said.
Miguel gripped Aaron’s collar and what little hair wasn’t balding, lifting and cracking the man’s head hard on the bar. Aaron may not have been awake before but he was sure now, blinking the stars out of his eyes.
“The hell!”
The sound of feet against the squeaky old floor marked the rush of steps out of the bar. Miguel kicked Aaron’s bar seat out from underneath him, sending him careening onto the floor with a heavy thump.
“Miguel?” he snapped, bright-eyed, eyes trained on Aaron. Aaron snapped his hand to his hip. Miguel leveled his gun at Aaron, threatening him to touch it, just try. Blood flowed free from Aaron’s nose. He pushed it away with the back of his hand, smug smile like he knew Miguel would show up.
“It is you. I knew you’d be around.”
That's him. Some stragglers, friends of Aaron’s no doubt, lurched forward. Miguel shot into the ground by Aaron’s hip as a warning. It burst into the floor with a booming pop. He had no qualms about making double murder a triple, quadruple if he had to. Aaron pushed himself onto one arm. Miguel’s foot connected with Aaron’s ribs, sending him soaring across the floor. He connected with an aged piano, a bundle of keys singing under the small man who stumbled past Aaron's poor, shitty friends.
“C’mon,” Aaron pushed himself up on his palms. "Kicking a man while he's down?"
“You didn't think twice about breaking in and hitting my woman."
Miguel knelt down, checking the urge to blow his face off, but not now. Not while you had a stake in this shit of a town. Aaron's face quivered, what little friends he had gossiping in and among one another, others slipping the fuck out. Aaron has nothing useful to say.
"You so much as think of touching my woman again and you won’t be so much as crawling out of here. The undertaker be putting you under, you hear?"
“Gimme a break. What I did was nothing compared to what you did to Lupe."
"Don't you fuckin' dare bring her up."
"I just touched on her. You killed my wife. She felt mighty nice, Miguel, bet you’re mighty proud--”
Miguel considers himself good up til that point, walloping the butt of his gun across Aaron’s face to force compliance. Once, twice, maybe three times. After the third, he lost the thin hold he had on his control. He just knows it's enough to where the bruises that formed on his face would make yours seem like gentle love taps. He beats the man bloody and slips out to the sound of calls for Sherriff Morales.
He never was good at handling disrespect.
#miguel x reader#miguel x you#miguel x y/n#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara/reader#miguel o'hara/you#atsv imagine#atsv imagines#atsv fanfiction#atsv fanfic#atsv au#miguel o'hara imagine#miguel o'hara imagines#miguel o'hara fic#spider 2099 x reader#miguel o'hara smut#miguel smut#atsv smut
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If you’re doing requests could you write smth smutty with jeffery from class of 09 x female reader w some dubcon
Benzo-Addict ~
Yandere! Jeffery x F! Reader
Part Two is in progress. Will contain heavy smut!
warning college AU, mature, non-con, heavy drug use, hostage situation, violence. 1.8k
..............................
** Choice **
Head home,
hang in the res quad with the other losers,
or hot box it in a classroom with Nicole and Jecka.
* click *
>>>
"Nicole, what the fuck is a benzosexual exactly?" Your head whipped to the side at record speed. "Sounds... not good?" You popped a chip in your awaiting mouth. The salt and tang collided on your tongue. A moan then threatened to emerge with each solid crunch. But, you'd held it at bay.
"I feel like we had this conversation before..." Nicole mused through a hit of the shared joint. With a sigh, smoke mingled between the girls, whispering with the dust flurries kicked up through their shuffling.
The classroom you all snuck into felt stiff and desolate, a reminder of how teachers truly made the space. Professors rotate, and it's wholly evident. The walls remained bare through full seasons and multiple decades. Autumn fades without color and Spring rises to meet its end.
This educational prison stood in the glory of its bareness, except for the singular doodle of Homer Simpson on the whiteboard. And the desks were neatly arranged, bolted down into place. Only the chairs beckoned students to sit. They awaited for the next class’s arrival. However, it being a Friday afternoon meant that classes seldom came to these halls
"It's because we had." Jecka retorted before gesturing to you, "She just wasn't here for it."
Nicole scoffed, "Sucks for her that she missed all the pedophiles and rapists, and now we're stuck with molesters and rapists who don't go after minors' asses."
Jecka puffed her chest up before sighing dramatically. "Remind me, why are you still Hitler? Grow out of it."
“I’ve grown -obviously- because I can’t call every man a pedophile in relation to me. Your whore sister, in 6th grade, she’s surrounded by them by the dozen… See!? Development, bitch.”
"Okay, Nicole equals Hitler, but what's a benzosexual?" You urged the pair on. You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. But you decided to ignore it for now.
"Someone attracted to the unconscious," Jecka twirled her fingers. A singular strand glowed too brightly in the setting sun. "There was just this dumb jock named Kylar at our high school who was constantly -and I mean it, constantly- putting weird shit in girls drinks."
"Isn't that illegal? Like, report him."
"He played lacrosse," Nicole muttered. "Reporting it wouldn't do shit. Sports players get molested all the time by their grimy coaches, and it’s the girl's fault.”
You reached for another glorious bite, munching on it with deliberate ease. "Truly the Pessimist," You hissed through gritted teeth. Nicole's stare momentarily flashed to your face, eyes redden and lazy, smoke swirling out her nose, before she leaned further in.
"It's Jeffery, huh?"
Your phone was currently blowing itself shitless. The silence whirled with a frenzy of buzzes. All from your ex-lab partner, you'd assumed. Not a single moment was left undominated by his insistence for your attention. Jeffery needed a response to whatever you didn't care. Up, the buzzing went, utilizing your spinal cord as a ladded. The vibration climbed through your veins, propping its feet between your bones.
You retrieved your phone. 20 missed calls and 50+ texts.
"Forget creeps like Kylar when there's Jeffery. God couldn't even keep him away from us."
Jecka cackled as she leaned her chin upon your shoulder. "Good luck playing into his fetish. Being his... mommy!? And all. Meow~"
You flushed all red, "Don't read it!"
Jecka teased you unabashedly about Jeffery. You made the mistake of defending him after the first week of classes. To you, he was just a smart guy, albeit a little bit socially awkward. Scratch that: he's a lost cause in social interactions. It wasn't horrendous or anything. It made talking to him before stress-free. Now it's a different story.
Jeffery was immensely helpful to your 90 average in Environmental Science. He demonstrated class problems repeatedly until you held comprehension of the subject. There were times he had crossed the lines of your acquaintanceship. One random Monday, Jeffery gave a hentai DVD to you and a notebook that explained his depraved inner thoughts; 'I love watching 40-feet cat women step on guy's penises. The sight made my hand go faster till total completion.'
And frankly, you didn't want to know that. Jeffery, the weird otaku obsessed with NaruParty13, whom you felt bad for, proved to be a complete freak.
With your first semester ending, you closed the chapter of being his lab partner. In came new housing, with your boyfriend and away from the dorms, and less frequent trips to the dining hall, which meant fewer interactions with Jeffery. For literal fuck sake, you shared zero classes together, nor were you a part of the same major. Your paths strayed from one another. You entertained small talk here and there when it felt inevitable. Any sane person would let this lack of relationship go. Not Jeffery.
"I'm not playing into anyone's kinks aside from my own." You stuck your tongue out, shoving Jecka away.
"And sometimes your sleaze boyfriend."
"Yeah, 'cause I'm perfect 10 with a high libido." You mocked, matching your pitch to Jecka's. "And Cody's not a total sleaze."
Nicole tapped your shoulder with the joint in hand, "He's as depraved as any other man. Hence the usage of the word total."
** Choice **
Snatch the weed,
or confront Jeffery.
* click *
>>>
You could deal with Jeffery another day.
You were like a kite soaring through the sky. Your mind fell far into a different plane of existence than your own, but you didn't mind. The world was spinning. And, if you were in a room, you couldn't tell. No amount of stable ground could keep your feet stationed. Your vision was decorated in fuzz and pixels. And, in a twist of fate, you thought yourself tumbling forward.
You had taken it. Nicole's shit- that joint was strong as fuck. The first drag knocked your chest back in reverie. Yet you kept ripping. By the time you had left campus, you were inflicted with giggles, and you'd remained starry-eyed throughout dinner.
Then came the Friday night club scene. You downed shots like a bad bitch. Ghandi would be proud.
>>>
You stumbled through the shared flat with Cody. Your lips entangled with each other in battle. His hands groped your hips and pinched its flesh with fervent joy. His lips were chapped and his tongue held the remnants of beer. You enjoyed its taste against the mint of your gum.
Your boyfriend pulled away. Your name breached passed moans and whines, sobering your tequila-filled belly slightly. "Babe, please grab the Percocet... In the cabinet." Cody damn near whined. You nodded furiously, and your brain rattled against your skull.
He smacked a sloppy kiss on your forehead before shooing you away.
** Choice **
Sober up with water,
or take a dive into prescription pill wonderland.
* click *
>>>
And down the hatch, the Percocet goes.
>>>
"You... you little shi- Fuck!"
Cody? Was that you?
His words felt miles away and your head ached. You knew Cody was crying really ugly. Was he talking to you? Were you dying? You were neither here nor there. And faintly, you registered the sound of skin impacting skin. It was unmistakable.
Cody screeched, "That hurts dipshit!"
"You ruined her. People ruined her," A disembodied voice spoke over you. You groaned, head swirling with more things than one. Could it be a dream? Where were you? How were you here? If you opened up your eyes, would you be able to see? "She was absolutle... Beauty! A perfect girl rivaling those of the anime girls in Doki Doki Daisuke.
It was as if God answered my prayers and brought her to life in front of me. That's who she is to me -perfect as the day I met her... Before she met mean girls like Nicole. And, before she allowed you to defile her."
"Fuck," Cody screeched. "What the hell are you talking about!? We were dating before that whore, Nicole!" Who are you talking to?
Cody? I'm scared. I can't... get out of my own head.
His voice continued. "Look man, she was never going to be with you. We started going steady in high school. You were some bizarre loser, a complete neet, who got assigned as her lab partner. For fuck sake, she would've ignored you still without me or her friends. You are just a nuisance who can't take no for an answer! Is this your final attempt to get her to look at you!? Huh... HUH!? Well? Is it working? Does she see you now? Fuck no -she's unconscious! Guess who you're talking to? ME!!!"
Fingers carded over your scalp, itching at your crown. You tingled all over, and the coldest breath ghosted over your cheeks. "I would treat her better. I would put her on a pedestal that rivals Yuno Gasai, whom I believe to be the sluttiest and most desirable anime girl."
Was that voice Jeffery? You managed to whine at that, and you were promptly shushed -consoled like a child.
"She's like this because of you. You're supposed to protect her. What boyfriend allows his girlfriend to get this drugged out."
Silence.
Cody? Are you still there? Like actually, there? I don't understand. Why is this happening? What even is happening to me?
After a while, your boyfriend tsked, "She's a fucking addict, and it is hot as shit. Imagine what a drugged-up slut would do to please you."
Pause.
"Besides, You aren't at all above it. Don't act like you're better than me. Ain't it true that you roofie bitches? Hehe, now you're coming after my druggie girlfriend. Some SHIT!!"
"Y'a know, you talk too much," Jeffery whispered. And you found the strength within yourself to peel your eyes open. You were home. The few nicknacks you displayed glared into your retinas. Once, twice, it felt unbearable to blink. Your gaze started at the carpet, swooping to the left then the right, along the walls, and down to center
Your boyfriend's stared back at you. Then came the...
Screamss
You hadn't comprehended the missing beats of Cody's responses until then. In that state of limbo, words tied together rhythmically. Now, each plea and wail came out differently past battered lips. He begged you to run through swollen tongues and lisps.
Each pause was a catch of breath. Cody's chest rose and fell in quick succession. His face was bloodied. Swirled vermillion, slathered by a pair of hands. Where the original wound is, you couldn't tell. It was all over the place. Ropes circled his chest, soaking up red, and kept him strapped to a wooden dining chair.
"Co-" You sputtered. You couldn't stop the onslaught of coughs that inched its way up your throat. Before you could say anything more, Jeffery's palm smashed against your mouth. He finally gained your attention, all while waving a knife around.
"My darling sweetheart," Jeffery cooed with adoration. "I'll handle the trash. Go back to sleep. I was just about to silence him."
You wanted to vomit. You hoped that the acidity would transport you to a reality where you were kneeling over a toilet. Or a bush, fuck it. It could be anywhere than this. You'll take on hang-over Central despite wanting to die. You'll say fuck drugs and then by next week, you're on it again.
You can't stay away from Percs and Robo.
Jeffery's appearance was dishevled, a stark contrast from what you were accustomed to. His hair was overgrown and unkempt with inky stands that poked from every angle. It was utterly impossible to look away. His crazed eyes darted across your face, searching within you for something you weren't sure you had to offer.
He turned from you, speaking to Cody. "Stop screaming! Or I'll gut you if you interfere before what's coming next."
** Choice **
Figure out what's next,
or miss part 2, bitch.
* click *
..............................
Thank you for reading! Please leave ideas in the comments! Request rules are here!
I overestimated once again how fast I could write. And my new job is so exhausting, I'm constantly on my feet. But part two will be out soon 🥳
I promised a creampie, and that will happen. This is just the setup. I got too invested in the plot.
>>>
NEXT CLASS OF 09' POST:
Benzo-Addict part 2
Due to the nature of the game, I tried writing differently than what I consider normal. But I had so much fun writing for this fandom. It'll be so entertaining to write up my toxic lesbian idea next. 🫣
Hope you guys like my work, and go check out my pinned post for more fanfic!!!!!
#class of 09#class of 09 the re up#jeffery class of 09#nicole class of 09#jecka class of 09#jeffery x reader#yandere x reader#male yandere x reader#yandere smut#college au#yandere#yandere otaku#tw drugs#tw noncon
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𝓦𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓖𝓪𝓶𝓮
Recom Miles Quaritch x Na’vi Reader
Request: „Can we get some recom Quaritch being a boobs man 18+ fic (with fem na’vi reader)‟
A/N: A request from anon.
This is my first time writing for this character but I hope that by some miracle I will reflect his nature and behavior well.
I hope you will enjoy this work and enjoy reading it.
Remember, english is not a language that I speak every day. Mistakes will or may happen.
It’s smut, so minors don't interact.
She wasn't sure what was real anymore and what was just her imagination.
The oily substance on her chest mixed with the saliva, was making her feel so dirty and ashamed.
His large hands pressed against the flesh of her breasts, leaving a burning sensation behind him when his palms shifted even for a moment.
-Are you with me sugar? - he asked in a low, murmured voice, almost purring into her molested skin.
-Mhm - she replied quietly, but it didn't sound like the answer the man above her wanted to hear.
-I asked you a question - he growled, slapping her sensitive nipples, making her squeal as she tried to hide herself, but Quaritch's strong hands prevented her from moving - Don't be a brat and answer daddy.
-I'm sorry daddy - she whimpered, looking at him with teary eyes - It feel so good daddy, so so good - she confessed, trying to touch him, but the belt from his pants entwining her wrists prevented her from any movement of her arms.
Seeing her poor efforts, he only looked down at her, and a malicious smirk appeared on his lips as he bent over the woman's trembling body.
-Something wrong, sweet pea? - he asked, rubbing his lips against hers, soft and full, made to be harassed by him - Mobility issues, I believe. Don't worry, you don't even have to lift a finger. Daddy will take care of everything.
Y/n let out a soft sigh, sinking onto the mattress below her.
She watched helplessly as he continued to abuse her sensitive chest, which was marked with purple hickeys and bite marks everywhere.
His tongue slid between the valley of her breasts, lingering on her collarbones, which he felt were too clean and empty, kissing the skin there and sucking his lips on it, his fangs gnawing at the firm skin, feeling the need to mark her even harder.
-Daddy - she whispered tearfully, trying to get his attention - Daddy, please.
-What is it baby girl? - he asked, suddenly shifting his full attention to her face, looking intensely into her eyes - What do you want from daddy , hmm?- he said, and she shyly looked down, after a while looking at the man again - Come on ,don't by shy now buttercup. Tell daddy what you want.
Y/n lowered her eyes down again, finally allowing the burning sensation between her thighs to spread like wildfire, leaving her lying in a pool of her sweet juices.
-I want you to touch me daddy - she confessed, moving her hips impatiently - Please touch me.
-But I'm touching you, sugar - he pointed out aptly, his fingers gliding over her trembling body.
-Not here ... - she whispered embarrassed, nudging him with her tail.
Quaritch chuckled under his breath, though it sounded more like an animal growl mixed with the very voice of a devil ready to destroy the last drops of innocence she had in herself.
-Then tell daddy where - said the man - Here? - he asked, touching her neck, gliding his fingertips towards her left breast - Or maybe here? - he murmured, stroking her ribs and hips - Or...here - he whispered, kneading the skin of her inner thighs, sticky and wet from arousal.
-Closer daddy, please closer - the woman moaned, trying to reach his hand by moving her loins.
The man firmly grabbed her pelvis, immobilizing Y/n and preventing another move if she wanted to make one.
-Do you want daddy to touch your pretty pussy? - he asked, stroking her soft skin with his thumb.
-Yes please - she whispered, looking at him with doe eyes.
-So say it - he replied, bringing his face closer to hers, grabbing the nape of her neck with his free hand - Say you want daddy to touch your pretty pussy.
-I want you to...touch my pretty pussy daddy - she said quietly, embarrassed.
-Good girl - he praised her, stroking her warm cheek gently.
Unexpectedly, Quaritch spread her legs wide, making her exposed, letting his eyes feast.
Her womanhood glistened with her juices, quivering with excitement and the need to be touched.
-Please - she whimpered, wiggling her hips as best she could, trying to lure him.
He knelt in front of her, staring shamelessly at her femininity, running two fingers agonizingly slowly over her sensitive folds, making her squeal.
-So wet. I could go inside you in one swipe because you are dripping so much sugar - he said, massaging the button between her legs, making her legs stiffened.
-Yes please, daddy! - she answered almost screaming, by the feeling of harassing her clitoris with rough fingertips.
Man watched her for a moment, observing her body move before slipping his free hand into his pants, the other undoing the zipper to release his manhood that hit him in the stomach, standing hard and leaking from his head, causing the woman to involuntarily clench her legs, trying to form the friction she desires.
-Oh, princess, you're not going to do that - he said, placing her legs on his broad shoulders - This little pussy is just daddy's and daddy will take care of it.
-Yes, only yours, daddy. Only yours - she moaned, feeling his shaft rub against her puffy folds.
Quaritch tortured her for a while longer, even though it took ages for her.
His manhood was soaked with her arousal, causing him to slither inside her once or twice, driving her insane.
-Daddy will fuck you deep and hard - he murmured, thrusting himself fully inside her, making her body arch, and the outline of his member appearing on her abdomen - You're such a good whore for daddy. Taking me so well.
Y/n felt as if the air had left her lungs, resulting emptiness that was filled by the man, filling her so deeply that she felt as if with each movement he was closer and closer to her throat, tearing her apart.
Only broken moans and crying escaped from her throat, which intensified when Quaritch's mouth found its place on her chest, full of various marks, dirty and wet with the amount of substance that adorned her.
She balancing on the edge of pain and pleasure, feeling her body burn with every slam of his pelvis against her pubic bone and every new scratch of his fangs against her abused skin.
-You squeeze me so tight. You were made for me, weren't you sugar? - he murmured into her collarbone, pressing against her breasts even harder, causing her legs to widen even more, allowing her feet to move limply - God, I love those sweet tits, I can't resist them, especially when I feel your warm pussy.
-Daddy - she moaned, almost crying - So close, oh so close - she gasped as she collapsed onto the mattress beneath her.
At those broken words, he began to move even more brutally, growling as his manhood was caught in the tight embrace of her wet walls, refusing to let him go.
-I feel how much you want to cum- he said, kneading the flesh of her firm breasts, gliding his lips over her pebbled nipples - So cum for daddy, come on. Daddy needs to feel you so he can spilled out deep inside you.
Those words worked on her like a spell.
-I'm cumming, I'm cummin, I'm cumming, ah! - she screamed, clenching her thighs around his waist, not wanting to let go, needing him close.
Quaritch bit down on one of Y/n nipples, feeling the fluid inside of her push his manhood out, making him cum right on her clit, getting himself wet from the waist down.
-Look at that baby girl, you squirted - he remarked pleased, looking at her tired form.
Her body trembled intensely from the pleasure flowing through her veins.
Her eyes were clouded with lust, and her puffy folds were painted with his semen, which lazily flowed under her, making an even bigger mess.
She looked as if she had had enough, as if she was going to pass out at any moment, as if her body remained and her mind had left it long ago.
But even so, Quaritch was far from finished.
#miles quaritch#miles quaritch x reader#miles quaritch smut#recom miles quaritch#avatar#avatar x reader#avatar smut#avatar the way of water#avatar fanfiction#avatar the way of water x reader#na'vi reader#recom miles quaritch x reader#miles quaritch x fem!reader
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I read the meat/candy epilogues ages ago and I don't remember them suuuper well, but I've heard ppl say Gamzee was portrayed as a predator in there? I'm not too keen on rereading them, but was he??? I'm sorry if this is a rather dark ask and if you don't feel comfy answering it feel free to delete :o (it doesn't surprise me given how fucked up Gamzee is in general but man, just ew)
To my recollection, and I could be a little off here, a 30-40 year old Gamzee made out with a 16 year old Vriska in some bushes, so yeah.
I'm not a Gamzee fan or anything, but the way Post Canon handled him was... Yikes. Yes, he was already an abuser in Homestuck, but we didn't have any reason to suspect his abuse would extend to "inappropriate contact with minors" as an adult. That's just jarring.
And, of course, Vriska Gets Molested moment #5,239,820,936,823. Poor girl really, really needs a break.
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I know he's a creep and a child molester.
In terms of the character, don't you think a man as cunning and conniving as Glenn would choose to err on the side of caution and wear a condom when fucking 14-year-old girls? Clearly, he was going to get caught one way or the other, but it just seems... odd... that this character would roll the dice on whether or not the girl would get knocked up. Maybe she told him she was on the pill, and lied? Okay, sure, but again, she's a child. A simple act of putting on a condom before sleeping with her would ensure that she doesn't end up pregnant.
It doesn't track for the character. I mean, if you want to continue sleeping with minors (and he's been doing it for years), I think you'd take all the precautions necessary to keep it that way.
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A little idea for either a small one shot or for HC`s of all the boys: As they walk out of a bar they see people running out of an alley and hear some yelling. When they come near that alley they see F Reader they have a huge crush on bloodied and bruised after having fought ( reader is not the only one that got hit though, you can bet your bottom she got some hits in too ! ) How would they react? SFW or NSFW that is all up to you! TBB and / or Wolffe, Fox and Cody?
Let me see what I can do...
The Bad Batch x Fem!Reader HCs - Bloodied And Bruised
Warnings: Minor Injuries / Brawl / Mention Of Blood / Fluff /Pre Relationship
___________________
Initial situation
You've been traveling with the Bad Batch for a little while now. On one of your days off, you get into a fight in a back alley at a market when you try to stop two guys from molesting a girl. You dish it out well, but you also take a pretty good beating.
Hunter
He hears the commotion, smells the stress hormones and the blood. But what worries him much more, in between he perceives your smell. Hunter quickens his steps, runs around the corner into the side alley, and sees you standing there. You look disheveled, a small trickle of blood runs from your lip down your chin and your right eye begins to swell shut. On the ground lies a man, knocked out as it seems. Another one is standing opposite you and is lunging at you.
Hunter doesn't think, he leaps forward into the alley, sweeping the man off his feet with him and pinning him to the ground. He gives him a pretty hard punch to the face and blows his lights out.
As Hunter looks up at you worriedly and slowly gets up, you wipe the blood from your chin and say, "I had everything under control."
Hunter raises his eyebrows.
"Well, you seem to have dealt it well, but you got hurt".
You wave it off, but as you step over the guy on the ground you feel dizzy, you may have taken more of a beating than you want to let on.
Hunter quickly grabs your arm and helps you keep your balance.
"Come on, I'll take you to the Marauder and tend to your wounds," he says gently, leading you out of the alley.
You actually want to protest, but Hunter is sweet, you like him, you like the touch. Besides, you like that he cares.
"Okay," you say softly.
Back in the shuttle, you sit on his bunk while he spreads baccta ointment on the bruises and scratches.
"Any more wounds?"
You lift your shirt and grit your teeth. There are some bruises on your right side.
"Lie down on your left side," he prompts, and helps you lie down in his bunk.
Carefully, he rolls your shirt up a bit and rubs more of the ointment onto your skin. Hunter is very careful, and you grit your teeth, not wanting to appear snivelling.
Your head is on his pillow, it smells like him, the whole bunk smells like Hunter. You look up at him and see that he's grinning.
"What is it?"
He laughs softly and says, "Didn't think I'd get you in my bunk this way."
You giggle.
"You wanted to get me in your bunk."
Hunter clears his throat and at first doesn't quite know what to answer, but then he says, "It's more than that. But I'll take what I can get"
Your hand reaches into his collar, and he lets you pull him down so that his face is hovering over yours.
You say softly, "I could use a kiss, you know, for the pain."
His hand gently moves under your head, the other moves under your back as his lips gently touch yours. It's a very gentle, careful kiss.
"Better?" he asks tenderly.
"Not yet, I think I need some more of that".
Echo
The noise from the side alley has attracted him, he curiously takes a look around the corner. Echo's eyes widen in shock when he sees who is fighting. You.
You just knocked out one of the attackers, your knuckles are bloody. The second man seizes the moment and kicks you in the back of the knee. With a startled cry, you buckle and go down.
Echo has probably never moved so fast in his life. He grabs the man from behind, pulls him around, and thunders the man's head against a house wall with his elbow. He collapses and remains unconscious.
"Mesh- I mean, um, are you okay?"
You grumble, "I'm great."
Echo carefully helps you to your shaky feet.
"I almost had it! Almost!"
Echo says gently, "Yeah, you almost had them both"
You look at him frowning, "Kinda hurts all over"
Echo sighs softly, puts one arm around your waist and holds your arm over his shoulders with the other to support you.
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it when we get on the shuttle".
And he keeps his promise. The two of you sit in the cockpit, alone for the moment. He sits in front of you, your arm draped over his scomp link, with his hand he gently, spreads ointment on your knuckles.
"You've got a nasty right hook," he says with a wry smile.
You giggle, "Yes, indeed, when I want to."
"What was that all about anyway? Were those guys bothering you?"
"No" you answer honestly, "They were harassing a girl, I saw how scared she was and couldn't ignore the situation"
Echo's smile gets warmer and wider.
"You have a kind heart"
On impulse, you say, "And it beats especially strong for you."
Echo looks up from your knuckles to your face in surprise.
"Wha-"
You interrupt him with a gentle kiss. As your lips part, and you lean back, his eyes are still closed. Echo opens his eyes ever so slowly. He blinks, swallows, his cheeks flush.
"That was really… that was… can we do it again?"
You lean forward, and this time he's already coming toward you.
Wrecker
"Sounds like someone's got an exciting scuffle going on," Wrecker grumbles, heading in the direction of the commotion.
When he reaches the side alley, he holds his breath for a moment when he sees you. The next moment he rushes in and knocks the man off his feet who was about to attack you from behind.
He punches him in the face with a closed fist and growls, "And stay down!"
When he looks up and sees your face, he gasps in fright, your eye already swelling shut. Another man is already lying on the ground, which you obviously took out. Your knuckles are bloody and swollen.
Wrecker carefully grabs your arm and looks at your hands, then your face.
Gently, he says, "I can't leave you alone for five minutes."
"I had everything under control," you say with a wry smile.
Wrecker chuckles, "Yes, you held your own, but that could have turned out differently"
"Thanks for having my back".
Wrecker beams at you, "Anytime."
You step over the unconscious men on the ground to walk out of the alley, and Wrecker hastily follows you.
"Hey, at least let me tend to your wounds".
It hurts, and you know he's right, you should probably tend to some of the bruises and ice them. You look up at the gentle giant and nod.
"Okay, good idea"
You follow Wrecker to the Marauder and dutifully sit on your bunk while Wrecker looks at your injuries, cleaning them very carefully and treating them with baccta. You watch him carefully as he does so. Wrecker, who is usually rather rough around the edges, is very gentle and careful with you. You like that.
With a grin, you say, "Didn't know you could be so gentle".
Wrecker laughs softly and blushes a little.
"That always depends on the situation, of course I touch you gently".
With a smirk you say, "I like that, be careful, or I'll get used to it and demand more of it."
Wrecker smirks as well.
"I'm only too happy to do that, anytime".
You stare into each other's eyes for a while without moving.
"Kiss each other already!"
Your heads turn in the direction of the voice, startled. Crosshair has come out of the cockpit.
"This is almost unbearable! You've been dancing around the bush for weeks."
Wrecker says calmly, "Get out and shut up, we're just doing things at our own pace as it suits us."
You kiss his cheek.
"He has a point you know."
Wrecker blushes.
"Get out of here" he growls in Crosshair's direction and finally leans towards you.
"Can you do that again, the lips thing, only maybe on mine this time?"
Tech
Frowning critically, Tech approaches the tumultuous noise. When he sees that you are part of the commotion, he almost drops his holopad. From the looks of it, you've dealt out a fair amount, but you've also taken a few blows.
Tech puts the holopad back on his belt and angrily clenches his hands into fists. He rushes to you and rams with his shoulder the man behind you who was about to hit you on the head with a club while you are busy with his colleague.
The man thunders his head against a trash can and falls to the ground, unconscious. Tech looks back at you and sees you ramming your knee into the other man's face, knocking him out as well. Out of breath, you turn around and see Tech, see the other man on the ground.
"Thanks, but I had it under control".
Tech adjusts his goggles and says matter-of-factly, "Not really," he points to the club now on the ground, "That would have put you out of commission. I don't want to imagine what would have happened after that."
You sigh.
"Okay, maybe that was a little more than I could handle".
With a sigh, Tech moves closer, and you have to put your head back to look up at him.
"Your eye is already swelling shut"
You nod, "I'm aware of that, it's my eye after all".
Tech grabs your hand with another sigh and pulls you with him.
Back at the Marauder, you sit on Tech's bunk, and he tends to your wounds very attentively, and more importantly, very accurately and neatly. He is almost tender as he rubs Baccta into your knuckles and the area around your wounded eye.
"Does it hurt much?"
"No, it's fine. Thanks Tech."
But you don't want him to stop touching you, so you say, "Well, my side and neck got hit too, so it hurts a little."
Tech rubs your side as well as your neck, as he rubs your neck your faces are very close, so close you can't resist the temptation. Your lips touch his and linger for a long, gentle moment before you slowly pull away from him.
He stares at you from widened eyes, he swallows, and you see his cheeks blush.
"Are you okay, Tech?"
He blinks and finally asks softly, "Why did you do that?"
"Because I really like you"
All of a sudden, he suddenly has your face between his hands and presses his lips to yours.
Crosshair
He is annoyed, because he already suspects when he hears the commotion that it has something to do with his squad. When Crosshair turns into the side alley and then sees you in the fight, however, he pauses for a moment.
The next moment he draws his blaster and stuns the two men you were fighting with. You can see that you've dealt out some serious damage, but you're also injured.
Frowning, Crosshair steps toward you.
"What was that all about?"
"Nothing."
Crosshair raised a brow.
"So you're fighting with two petty thugs over nothing."
"They molested a girl"
Crosshair sighed, "And you had to get involved, of course".
"Yes, indeed"
"Are you okay?"
"Sure, I'm great"
Crosshair grumbles, "Doesn't look like it though. Your lip is busted open and your eye is swelling shut"
"Yeah okay, maybe I'm not feeling so well"
Crosshair chuckles softly, "Come on, I'll take care of it"
You follow him back to the shuttle where he cleans your wounds and applies baccta. With a glance at your knuckles he says, "You gave out good."
You point to your face with your free hand, "Yeah, wasn't enough, I'm afraid."
On your face he is much more careful, and he gets so close to you, you have never been this close before. Your heart beats faster and faster, and you want to say something or reach for him, do anything. But the moment is over faster than you expected.
You sigh, almost disappointed.
"Are you okay? Does it still hurt anywhere?"
On impulse, you say, "A kiss might help."
Crosshair raises both brows.
"A what now?"
You shake your head and say softly, "Nothing."
You want to get up quickly, but he stops you, grabs your chin and looks at you. His face comes closer, your heart beats incredibly fast, and you close your eyes.
Crosshair kisses you not directly on the lips, but on the corner of your mouth. When you open your eyes, he looks at you with a smirk and says, "Once your lip heals, we'll do this right."
Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)
@rintheemolion
@andyoufollowyourheart
@clone-whore-99
@brynhildrmimi
@kaliel2310
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@tech-deck
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@starwarsnerd111
#hc#asks#requests#tbb#bad batch#hunter#echo#wrecker#tech#crosshair#star wars headcanons#tbb headcanons#fluff#brawl#tbb echo#tbb hunter#tbb tech#tbb wrecker#tbb crosshair#bad batch hunter#bad batch echo#bad batch wrecker#bad batch tech#bad batch crosshair#hunter x reader#echo x reader#wrecker x reader#tech x reader#crosshair x reader#x reader
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Ghost of You: Finale
Ellie Miller & Joel Miller
ft. Tommy Miller, Lorenzo and Zach Aleverano
Masterlist
Summary: 16 years after her mom and dad's death, Ellie is finding her place in Jackson, being raised by her Uncle Tommy with the help of her uncle's Lorenzo and Zach. She loves them, but can't help but feel stifled. Soon, she finds out her suspicions were true, and her uncles have been lying to her. Will Ellie learn the truth? Can she trust anyone in this situation?
Takes place after The Wrong Way, but if you havn't read that series (too dark for you, too long, etc) you can read this. Since it's through Ellie's perspective, you can discover the truth alongside her.
DARK FIC! This is a dark!Joel, with canon typical violence and extra on the Joel. Anything discussed or shown in TWW is liable to be discussed here. There will be violence, but no shown sexual violence. Although this Joel is very dark, he is NOT DARK TO ELLIE. None of the things that happened to Ellie's mom are applicable to Ellie, but will be discussed.
Content warnings for entire series, not chapter by chapter unless more is added.
Talk/mentions/discussions of post rape, molestation, torture, violence, branding, forced breeding, major age gap (early 20's to later 40's), death. Child endangerment, major character death, murder, homophobic remarks, minor hate crime, manipulation, identity crisis.
This is it. It's bad, I cried tbh.
**************
Lorenzo was pacing. Zach and Tommy were arguing.
Ellie had never really picked up on tension between the two, if anything occasionally Lorenzo was the one to make a comment, but after Lorenzo’s account of her origins, it seemed like Zach held some anger towards Tommy for not saving her mom.
“I told you!” Zach shouts as Ellie stands to the side of the kitchen. “I fucking told you we should’ve killed him years ago!”
Tommy wasn’t convinced. “That man is absolutely insane! He’s goddamn Micheal Myers when he’s out to kill, there’s no way we’d make it out alive!”
“You just don’t want him dead because he’s your brother, but how many girls has he raped and totured the last 16 years! That is blood on your hands!” The comments about the girls Joel potentially victimized hangs in the air as all three of her uncles turn to a shaking, crying, Ellie. It was Zach, of course, that approached her, hesitantly placing hands on her shoulders. “Elles… Answer me honestly sweetheart. Did Joel… did he touch you.”
Tearfully, Ellie shook her head. “N-no.”
Lorenzo spoke for the first time in a while, big brown eyes pleading with her for honesty as the floor cracked along with his gentle step forward. “It wouldn’t be your fault if he did, Ellie belly.”
Tommy placed a hand on her wet face, coaxing her to look at him. “He’s right, honeybun. Even if you didn’t fight, no matter what the circumstances, we’d never blame you, okay? Nothing you could do would make that your fault.”
Ellie swore to them, no, Joel didn’t touch her. She knew how her uncles felt on the subject, never shying away from ‘the talk’ which revolved more around consent than anything.Granted, despite her uncles and uncles being gay, the discussion was surprisingly straight. Old habits and phrasing die hard. She knew that if anyone touched her without her consent she could come to them, and they would handle it. “I told you the worst of it.” Ellie had broken down, telling Tommy about Joel, Jack, and watching the old farmer die, and Tommy had quickly called over Zach and Lorenzo to discuss the next steps.
“Ellie…” Lorenzo began. “What did you guys… do? All summer, I mean. He’s not really a hang out kinda guy”
Ellie shrugged a little, a tad defensive. “I mean… like I told Tommy, he- he wanted me to take over so we would… we spent a lot of time patrolling but we… we fished, and talked and he would cook for me…”
Rolling his eyes, Zach scoffed. “He sure does like to play dad.”
For whatever reason, that didn’t sit right with Ellie. “But he is my dad! I’m not fucking stupid, Zach, and none of this would have happened if you hadn’t all lied to me! He’s my dad and I wanted to get to know him, I just… I didn’t think it was… that he was…” She choked back a sob, hating this disgusting display of vulnerability.
Tommy looked at her, knowingly. “You didn’t think he was capable of all that, did you?” He waited for her to shake her head before continuing. “He’s good at that, you know. I get it. I do. Joel knows how to manipulate. But I also think he loved you, honeybun” Tommy ignored Zach’s scoff in the background, saying the bastard wasn’t capable of love. “I do, it’s hard not to love you, you know?” Smiling softly, Tommy held her gaze. “But everything Lorenzo told you is true, Ellie. I ain’t ly’n to yuh anymore. After all this settles, anything you wanna know about my life before, about your dad, our childhood, being raiders, me and your mom, all of it. Anything you wanna know, it’s yours, the good and the bad. And I know it’s gonna take a long time before you trust me, if you ever do, but I swear to you, I will never lie again… including if I ate the last honeybun”
Ellie gave a soft chuckle, but Zach was back to business. “Elles, does he still live in the old house?”
She nodded. “Yeah, we went out there a lot…” Turning, she faced Lorenzo. “He showed me my moms grave-” Ellie was interrupted by a loud ‘FUCK’ from Zach, whipping her had over to get her uncles palms to his eyes, Lorenzo rushing over to hold him.
“I knew it!” He groaned loudly. “I knew that fucker had her. God knows what depraved shit he did with her body before he buried her!” Sometimes, Ellie forgets that her mom was Zach's biological sister, not just someone he loved. That was family, someone Zach had taken care of for 20 years and feels like he failed.
Ellie watched as Zach cried, held tightly by Lorenzo. For perhaps the first time, Ellie realized how her moms life and death wasn’t just something that affected her, it didn’t exist in a vacuum. Her uncle, her aunts, they all were in pain, only worsened by the fact Jack was dead now, a loss they all felt. Ellie had been privileged, she realized, to not have had the life the others had. It wasn’t just her mom, who all she had known was violence and sexual abuse from men around her, including those she was meant to trust, her only respite being Tommy, Zach, June, Lorenzo, and the little bits of Joel when he deigned to be kind, but the others too.
Tommy, who had to be practically raised by his older brother after growing up with no money, two parents who worked multiple jobs, Tommy, who joined the military at young age, join the fireflies, joined Joel and saw all the horrors life can give one man, who watched his niece dye in his brothers arms and watched his brother depend into madness. Lorenzo, who grew up poor, watching his sisters get used by shitty men, most of them getting pregnant before leaving high school. Lorenzo, whose ex-wife and every sister and every single niece and nephew had died in the fallout of the outbreak, leaving a man who had only ever known a big, loving family all alone. Zach, who was beaten his whole childhood and tried to protect his sister and her best friend when no one else would, who was shot trying to save her, who lived with the guilt eating at him for his baby sister’s death for 16 years.
“I should’ve fucking done it.” Tommy mumbled, the remorse clear in his voice. “I had the gun pointed him that day and I don’t fucking know why-”
“He’s your brother,” Lorenzo interrupted, still holding Zach. “I can’t say I get it, but I can’t say I understand a lot that’s happened with Joel. He had a hold on both of-”
Tommy wasn’t having it. “But he killed her!” He was shouting at no one but himself. “He killed her and now he’s got my daughter wrapped up in his bullshit, traumatized her, and messed up her head just like her mom.”
Ellie broke through the voices. “It’s not like that!” Every turned towards her. “It wasn’t all bad stuff, he was… he was my dad, he did normal dad stuff like fishing and telling me to go to bed and eat my vegetables, just like you guys do!” Ellie didn’t know why she felt defensive of him, but it was almost biological, the primal urge to protect family. It wasn’t always like this. It wasn’t always violence and murder and manipulation. He was her dad. “He didn’t just walk up one day and shoot someone in front of me, I’m not that fucking stupid!”
“Elles,” Zach began. “We don’t think you’re-”
“He took care of me! He gave me clothes and books and he sang while I played piano, he was a dad first and then, and then, and then, and THEN the other stuff started and it was confusing! It was confusing because I wanted to be strong and make him proud but I was scared! I don’t wanna kill innocent people!”
Zach left his husband’s arms to take Ellie in his as a fresh bout of tears began. She was so confused, so frustrated with herself and everyone around her and she was terrified out of her goddamn mind.
But Lorenzo caught something the others didn’t. “Wait… where did you play piano? Were you at our house?” Piano’s were a rare commodity, Lorenzo getting one from Zach by likely less than Maria-approved methods.
Shaking her head vigorously, Ellie denied that. “No, we never came to Jackson. It was at the house, I told you we went there, remember?”
“What is it, Ren?”
Lorenzo turned to Tommy. “I don’t remember no piano there. Joel don’t play, does he?”
Tommy confirmed no, his face giving away that he had the realization that Lorenzo had come to. “Only guitar and mandolin.”
Looking back and forth between the two who were having a silent conversation Ellie was growing frustrated. “What are you guys talking about now? Joel said my mom played piano, didn’t she?”
“No, I did.” Zach stood up, facing Tommy. “I tried to teach her like I did you, but she really had no interest.”
“But he said… He said Red River Valley was her favorite. He’d sing it while I played…”
Zach groaned again, griping at his hair. “It was her favorite. But I’d play, she’d sing…”
“She used to sing it while Joel played…” Lorenzo recounted his memory of one of the less disturbing things he heard in the thin walls of that house.
“I can’t have a single memory of her that isn’t tainted by him, can I?”
But Lorenzo was onto something more. “Guys, you know what this means right? Joel knows Ellie can play piano, he got a piano for her… that means he’s been watching her, and pretty in depth…”
Ellie watched as anger filled Zach’s face.
“What? No way he could get in here without someone seeing him. Does he have someone spying?”
“I don’t know”
“He’s gotta right?”
“Who would betray Maria like that? Even Seth respects her too much.”
“Well, it’s gotta be someone, because theres no other way for him to know she plays piano, right?”
The silence was long an uncomfortable before the married couple and Ellie turned to a very guilty looking Tommy.
“Tom. Something you wanna tell us?”
He looked to be hesitating, like he wanted to lie, cover his tracks, but when he locked eyes with Ellie… he seemed to remember his promise. No more. Lies. “I might have… I might have seen him a few times.”
The room erupted in argument, Zach screaming “YOU’RE SO GODDAMN PATHETIC TOMMY!”
“He’s my brother and that’s his daughter! He cornered me and wanted to know how she was doing!”
Joel found Tommy and asked about her? Tommy saw her dad and didn’t say anything?
Lorenzo lost his cool. “You told a psychopath intimate details about my niece?! How many times did you see him!”
He hesitated again, but eventually admitted to seeing him about every year. Tommy would never search him out, it was always Joel finding him and they’d talk for a bit. Tommy would tell him how she was doing in school, her personality, likes and dislikes. That’s how Ellie found out her favorite joke book came from dad way back when she was 8. Her three uncles arguing with each other about the severity of Tommy’s betrayal, what they needed to do next, repeating over and over again all the times they should’ve killed him, should’ve should’ve should’ve… should’ve killed her dad, a murderer, a rapist, a cruel, disgusting human being who had treated her so tenderly and yet for a year, made her moms life hell
Ellie couldn’t take it anymore, the lights were too bright in her burning eyes, her head hurt from the crying, the long day, the arguing… so much had happened in the last few months, few days, few hours… and many accusations that Joel had no chance to refute. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe her uncles anymore, she did. She believed the horrific details of what her mother endured, the circumstances surrounding her premature birth, the things her uncles witnessed and suffered at the hands of the man who made her, but she needed to hear it from Joel. She needed to hear his side. There was no excuse for what happened, but this was the man she came from, and she needed to know his side of the sordid history she’d been unraveling piece, by piece, by piece…
“Dad?” Ellie called him from the walkie talkie in her room that he had given her that second day. “Can you come? It’s an emergency.”
It wasn’t long before Joel was just outside of Jackson, Ellie running to meet him. He held out his hands, the worried expression clear even in the lack of artificial light. “What’s wrong baby girl?”
Ellie, despite her better judgment, ran into Joel’s arms. It might be her last chance to, after all.
“What’s wrong?” He repeated. “Tommy do something? Seth? You need me to take care of-”
“No!” Ellie quickly refuted the idea that Joel needed to take care of anything. She’d seen what that meant for anyone who crossed him. She stepped back out of his arms.
“Then what’s going on? Do you wanna move in?” There’s a glimmer of hope so prominent Ellie almost said yes because she couldn’t bear to watch that shine crumble… Almost.
“Dad, I need to talk to you and… it’s important that you listen to me.” She fought the urge to wring her hands, tap her feet, fidget in any way. This was important, and Joel needed to see her as an adult about it, not a child.
He nodded. “I’m listening, Ellie June. Whatever it is, I’m listening.”
Ellie took a deep breath. It was now or never, it was now that she needed to tell Joel, shatter the bubble they’d been living in, end the relationships he had with her father after only a few months. “They told me, Joel. Lorenzo did anyway.”She watched his face shift, realization dawning upon him but not daring to confirm anything lest he be wrong. “About my mom-”
“He’s lying. Always has. He’s a slimy, lying fucker who-”
“No he isn’t!” Ellie yelled, perhaps too loud and too close to town.
Joel took a step forward, reaching for Ellie’s shoulder. “You don’t know him, Ellie, you’re too young, you don’t know what he’s really like, what any of them are really like-”
“STOP DOING THAT!” It was a scream now, backing away from the man who towered nearly a foot taller than the short girl. “Stop telling me I’m wrong, and I’m too young and I’m too inexperienced! Stop making me doubt myself!” She took a few calming breaths, watching Joel watch her. “I know they’ve done things in the past, bad things, but Uncle Lorenzo is not slimy, and he’s not lying. None of them are.”
“I don’t know what they told you-”
“I think you do.”
Joel and her were in a standoff now, largely silent as she watched Joel process the change and no doubt assess his next steps. If he was what Lorenzo claimed, he managed to make her mom fall in love with him despite the horrors. He knew all that and Tommy still held loyalty to him, still telling Joel parts of her life knowing he was the rapist of someone not much older than she was now.
He took a breath. “Ellie June, it’s not like what they’re telling you” Another step forward.
She tried to move back, but tree bark scratch at the skin exposed by her tank top. “And just what are they telling me?”
“They're telling you I kidnapped her, aren’t they? That I raped her, beat her, tortured her, tried to kill her. That’s not exactly true.”
Ellie couldn’t help but scoff at that. “Not exactly? Joel, there is no good version of that!”
“What I said was true. Her dad was a damn bastard, offered her up to me for sex, selling her virginity. And I took her-”
“What the fuck-”
“TO SAVE HER, SARAH! You don’t understand, you can’t possibly understand-”
“What did you just call me-”
“It was better, I took care of her, I gave her a home, she had Tommy, she had Lorenzo, she had safety” Another step, Joel placing both of his large hands on either side of Ellie’s face. “And all she had to do was give me you, give me you, my precious baby girl. All she had to do was give me my daughter back, and she did.” All Ellie could manage was a whispered ‘what?’ as Joel stroked her cheek. “She gave me you, and now we get to have the life we were robbed of by this damn infection, we get to be a family again.”
“No” A small cry from her lips as her eyes filled with tears again. He didn’t want her. He didn’t love her. He loved Sarah. “I don’t want this, dad, please”
“I know it’s confusing right now, but I promise you, everything is gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay, I’m gonna get you somewhere safe.”
“Joel-”
“I know, I know I know I know I know. But I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, okay?” Joel touched his forehead to hers, eyes closed shut.
“Dad, please stop-”
“I’m sorry, babygirl, I’m gonna make this better soon.” His forehead was replaced by the barrel of a gun. “Come out where I can see you Tommy.”
Ellie was frozen, back pressed against a tree as the cool end of the gun warmed to her skin. Slowly, Ellie watched as Tommy, Lorenzo and Zach came into the clearing from different sides, guns raised, the crackle of sticks and the forest floor tracked their footsteps where Ellie was unable to keep place. She wanted nothing more than to run into their arms, but she was stuck. She didn’t know how far Joel’s madness ran, and if she was just a replacement for Sarah, that meant she was replaceable herself.
“Let her go, Joel” Zach spoke first, but Joel was having none of it.
“You shut the fuck up, Zach. You couldn’t even protect that little girl when she was being molested, you sure as fuck can’t protect Ellie.”
“You don’t know a goddamn thing about what happened there-”
“And you don’t know a goddamn thing about what happened between me and her mom so how about you just shut the fuck up!” His gun swung to point at Tommy as his brother took a step forward.
“You’re right Joel, but I do. I was there, so was Lorenzo. We saw what you did to her. Ellie don’t deserve a life like that.”
Joel glared at the insinuation. “I would never hurt my daughter. Give me your guns.”
Lorenzo scoffed. “No goddamn way”
“Kick your guns over or I start blasting off Ellie’s fingers, how about that? You think I’d hurt my baby girl? Let’s test that theory.”
To her own disgust, Ellie whimpered, the thought of this insane man before her shooting off her fingers one by one…
“Ellie, look at me baby” Tommy’s soothing voice coaxed her back to reality. “We ain’t letting nothing happen to you, honey. I promise.”
She trusted Tommy. Tommy would make things better. He always did.
Zach’s angry tone made her eyes flick over to him, chastising Tommy as he lay down his gun. “What the fuck are you doing, Tom?”
“Just go along with him for now.”
“No way am I-!” But Zach stopped at the sound of his husband calling his name.
“Baby, just hand it over. It’s gonna be okay, we'll fix it.”
Lorenzo always calmed Zach the way Zach calmed her.
The three men kicked over their guns to where Joel stood, Joel picking them all up before he lowered the gun that was pressed to Ellie’s head. She was too scared to move, Joel stepping in front of her.
“I’m sorry, Tommy. I didn’t want it to be like this, but you took my baby from me. Now I’m taking her from you”
Tommy left an exasperated sigh. “Why don’t you ask her where she wants to go, Joel.”
“She’s just a kid, she don’t know what’s best for her.”
Lorenzo interrupted them, brutally honest as always. “And you do? Joel you are literally insane, you spent a year raping and abusing that girl-”
“She was my WIFE!”
“SHE WAS YOUR CHILD BRIDE!”
Joel laughed, loud and cruel and unlike anything Ellie had heard from him before, but from the look on her uncle’s faces they were not surprised. “And Tommy was so much better? He’s only 7 years younger than me. A 20 year old and a 38 year old ain’t exactly clean itself.”
Much smaller than she’d like, Ellie’s voice peaked from behind Joel. “W-what?”
Joel turned slightly to face her. “Oooooooh, they didn’t tell you that part?” He was condescending, and she’d be lying if she said it didn’t hurt. She didn’t like being treated like a child, and she though Joel was someone who wouldn’t…
“Elles, don’t listen to him-”
“It wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies. Your mom cheated on me with my own goddamn brother, Ellie June.”
Ellie’s eyes flicked to Tommy’s, and the look on his face… she didn’t need to ask if that was true.
“Ellie, it wasn’t like that honeybun. She was scared, she asked me, she wanted-”
“Tom, stop, you aren’t helping” Zach’s voice was bitter, an unfamiliar tone to Ellie and she suddenly felt guilt. Everything was falling apart, her family, her uncles, her life. The second identity crisis in one summer and she felt like she was coming undone, unable to keep up with all the twists. She almost wanted to go back to not knowing, just to get her family back… but she also knew ignorance would not help her.
It was dark out, cold, the weather cooling for a Wyoming winter, the only kind of winter Ellie had ever known. Tommy was in his signature denim on denim, a noticeable blue under the moon light above them. This had to end, this had to end somehow, and soon. She couldn’t keep watching this, standing helpless to the side.
“You guys know he fucked her the night before she died too?” Joel sneered. “You stole my wife then you fucked her on a cold floor, 8 months pregnant, that’s probably why Ellie was premature!”
Lorenzo lost his patience with Tommy. “Oh for FUCKS SAKE TOMMY!” He shouted, apparently being done mediating between Tommy and Zach. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
Tommy, for his part, was trying to keep calm with his eyes closed and voice steady. “It’s not like he’s framing it, I loved her-”
“Joel said he loved her too”
“I’m not like Joel!”
“You sure didn’t do much stop him!”
Ellie watched Tommy and Lorenzo go at it when she heard something she never thought she would. Zach making a dig at Lorenzo.
“Oh, and you did?”
For a moment, Zach paused, letting the words roll off his back before turning to Zach. “Excuse the fuck outta me?”
Zach’s tone was accusatory, pointing a finger at his lover as if his sister's abuser wasn’t right there, watching the men who had come together united for Ellie fall apart at his prodding. “You didn’t get her out either!”
“I literally took her away!”
“After he almost killed her! After she was pregnant from rape! After the worst psychological abuse I can imagine!”
Tommy came to Lorenzo’s defense, or, moreso ready to make a get at Zach. “I’m sorry, but who was it that let her get molested and mouth raped by random men?”
“And now you’re using Joel’s talking points?”
Ellie watched Joel watching her uncles, smirking as the trio who were once a coopt in the effort of raising her disintegrate, falling apart at the seams after just a small tug of their thread by Joel. He was good at what he did, manipulating people, manipulating relationships, twisting everyone's minds up in just the way he wanted… it was no wonder Tommy was incapable of killing him (and he was, Ellie thought, incapable of doing it). She wanted this to end, needed it to before their relationships became irreparable, before she could never have a semblance of a life like she had filled with love and affection and fun and family. She needed to do something before Joel took her, before Joel killed one or two or all of them, before the killing started a psychotic break and he killed June and Maura or came to Jackson or-
Her jackknife was in Joel’s neck before she realized what was happening.
Red splattered from his neck with the initial impact, getting on Ellie’s face but not much considering her head barely reached his shoulder.
“JOEL!” Tommy screamed, running to his brother as Ellie stumbled back, taking the knife out with her.
She caught the look of horror on Tommy and Zach’s face. “He was reaching for his gun! He was going to shoot-”
“Sarah”
Joel’s broken and choked voice croaked from Ellie’s feet, Tommy desperately trying to stop the bleeding as Ellie.
“C’mon Joel don’t do this.”
This would have implications later on, Lorenzo and Zach watching on with confusion as Tommy tried to save Joel… but they didn’t get it. They never would. They would never understand what it’s like to love and be loved by him. It was a disease, a cancer that eats away at you until it becomes on with your being, impossible to separate. Only death in death.
“It’s okay baby, we’re safe, we’re safe” Joel muttered, not really looking at anything in particular as Tommy held him. Ellie took a few steps forward, Zach telling her to stop, moving to stop her himself but Lorenzo holding him back. Lorenzo may not get it, but he understands the pull, the deep wound that Joel caused. He knew Ellie needed this. This was between Joel, Ellie and Tommy. Lorenzo and Zach were merely players in the sick game. She knelt by his side, hand on his clean shoulder and upper chest. Joel was her dad, despite it all.
Joel spoke again. “We’re not sick…. We're gonna get you to safety and go back for him, okay?”
Ellie looked to Tommy for clarification, but Tommy shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t know what he’s talking about.” He held his big brothers wound, attempting in vein to keep the blood in.
“Please don’t… Sarah? Move… move your hands baby”
Ellie dropped her hands away, but Tommy shook his head. “He’s not talking to you… he’s talking to Sarah” The realization hit Tommy, and he watched in pain as Joel died in his arms.
“He thinks I’m Sarah.”
“No, he- I know mija, I know, I- He’s reliving Sarah’s death…” Tommy’s eyes welled up with tears, the anguish clear on Joel’s face as he was forced to exist once more in the hardest moment of his life, the moment he likely lost himself completely, the moment that made him who he was.
“I know, baby! I know it hurt, come on baby! Please! I know, baby! I know.”
“Dad-” Ellie reached out again for Joel, this time her hands on his face.
“Ellie, maybe don’t…” But Tommy made no real effort to stop her.
“I know, I know, I know. Please babygirl, don't do this to me.”
“Tom.” Zach voice was soft, sympathetic to the plight of the pair before. Despite the previous argument and the issue’s they’d had, it was clear Zach felt for Tommy, having spent the better part of two decades raising a little girl together with Lorenzo and having lost a sibling himself. “He’s bleeding out slowly, but he's bleeding out. It’s best just to… end it.”
“Don't do this to me, baby. Come on...N-no. No...don't...please. Please. Please. Please don't do this to me.”
Tommy looked at Zach, then Lorenzo, then Ellie. “I- I can’t. I couldn’t do it before, I couldn’t do it for it her I c-can’t!” Tommy’s voice broke, cracking at the last word. “I know I’m weak, Ellie. I know. I couldn’t stand up to him, I couldn’t protect her, I could protect you-”
Joel continued mumbling to ‘Sarah’ telling her it’d be okay, he’s taking her somewhere safe, he’ll come back for uncle Tommy, please’s and don’t do this to me, occasionally reverting back to the “We’re not sick!”
“Tommy” Ellie reached out for her uncle's hand, covered in her dads blood, blood she spilled. Tommy looked up at her, reduced to tears, he looked so young, so vulnerable… she wanted to stop his pain, but she couldn’t. “We have to do this.” Ellie pulled Tommy’s hand back with her, pressing her knife into it, the knife that used to belong to Joel. “We’ll do it together, okay.”
“Ellie, no, this shouldn’t be on you, you don’t have to-”
“I want to.” It seemed only right, for them to be the ones to do it, to end it all.
With one hand on the knife, her other found Joel’s face. “Dad? Dad, I’m here okay?”
Suddenly, Joel’s eyes found Ellie’s, wide and scared and sad and so, so human. “Sarah?”
Ellie smiled. “Yeah, it’s Sarah. Uncle Tommy brought me to safety. We’re okay. Everything’s okay.”
“T-Tommy?” His breath was growing ragged, heavy and unsteady as his words began to slur.
Tommy’s calloused hand held Joel’s, together as they had always been. A bond no one could understand, not even Tommy. “I’m here, Joel. Everything’s okay. They stopped the virus, we’re safe, everyone is safe now.”
“You can rest, dad” Ellie coaxed him down. “Close your eyes, dad. It’s okay. We’re safe. Uncle Tommy’s gonna take care of me, just rest.”
Ellie saw Joel squeezing Tommy’s hand. “O-okay. Yeah. Just… just a little rest.”
“Just a little rest, Joel. Then we’ll all be together again, okay? You me and Sarah.”
Joel nodded, small and weak and barely there as he closed his eyes. Together, Ellie and Tommy sliced through his throat, ending Joel’s 3 decade reign of terror and a splash of blood.
When Ellie fell back, beginning to sob, she found herself caught in Lorenzo’s arms and turned into him, allowing him to comfort her the way he had been trying to. After a moment, Lorenzo coaxed her up, Zach on the other side of the dead body helping a shaky Tommy stand.
Ellie continued to cry quietly looking at her dad, a relationship that came and shifted and changed and left so many times and so fast that she could barely keep up. He was a horrible person, someone she should despise… and she did, to some respect… but there was another side to Joel, a dad who lost his daughter, the most precious thing in his life… and was never the same since. She still loved her dad, even if she didn’t love Joel.
“C’mon, baby girl” Tommy’s voice was beside her now. “Let’s go home.”
Tommy and Lorenzo’s arms helping her, Zach helping Tommy, they began to walk away from what they had all witnessed. The body would be dealt with, Tommy would go to Maria and explain the situation and they’d dig a grave. Maybe Tommy could convince the pastor to say some words… Joel wasn’t really practicing by the end of the world anyway but he had Sarah baptized, and went to the local baptist church for holidays. Tommy would also, as he promised a guilt ridden Ellie he would, tell Maria about the older teen and the children who Joel had orphaned, taking them to Jackson, to safety. Ellie knew this meant the girl would probably tell the whole town who she was, who her father was… but Ellie was prepared to deal with that. This was her reparation.
“Baby, I don’t blame you for not saving her, you know that, right.” Zach said to Lorenzo on the way back.
“Yeah, I know. We all had our chances, but we all failed her.”
“You didn’t fail me.” Ellie spoke. She was starting to realize… her uncles were growing older. They’d spent 16 years caring for her. It was her turn to care for them. “You did right by me, you kept me safe, happy. I think that mattered to my mom more than anything.”
Tommy turned to her. “Ellie?”
“Yeah?”
“Joel was reaching for his gun, right?”
Ellie swallowed, feeling caught, feeling watched as Lorenzo and Zach looked at her. “Yeah, I was scared he was going to hurt you guys.”
None of them looked like they believed her… but it didn’t really matter, did it? Joel deserved to die. No one looked like they were casting judgment.
“I love you, honeybun. Always. We all do, your aunts do… No more secrets. Tomorrow, whatever you wanna know, I’ll tell you.”
Ellie didn’t know if she even wanted to know more… but considering the trouble not knowing brought her before… Ellie was going to learn all the grizzly details. She was going to learn, she was going to stop sneaking out, she was going to be more disciplined in school, take on extra patrols. Ellie was going to do better. She was never going to lead raiders, she was never going to kill innocnet people and terrorize those around her. But she was going to be a leader. She was going to be the one to stop evil men like Joel, and protect the vulnerable like her mom. She was going to do what the men in her life couldn’t.
“I love you all, so fucking much.”
And she meant it. With everything in her, she loved her family. All of them.
************
Well kids, this is it. The end.
I have a few AU's and shit I wanna do just for funsies but this is all I'm commiting to for now. I want to finish out a few series on my main and get me 1000 followers done, then Im working on another dark!joel series, a yandere, dbf sugar daddy joel but a much shorter series.
Anyway, as always, THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH FOR ALL YOUR LOVE AND SUPPORT!!! you kee me going despite the rude anons! I've made pals through this sight and i love yall
please please tell me your thoughts! How we feel about tommy? zach? lorenzo? ellie? and esp joel?!?!?! do you think ellie and tommys reaction was warrented? did ellie do the right thing?
@maura-honey @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @the-fox-den @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @koshkaj-blog @miraclesabound @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @pimosworld
#ghost of you series#the wrong way series#dark!joel miller#joel miller#ellie miller#joel and ellie#tommy and ellie#ellie and joel#dark joel miller#dark!joel#dark tlou#the last of us fanfiction#tommy miller#joel miller fic#tlou fanfiction#the last of us fanfic#the last of us fic#tlou fic#the wrong way fic#the last of us hbo
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More Precious Than Rubies: Part 4a
This is an alternate timeline story that has a Rafael Barba track and a Sonny Carisi track. The two paths split off in part 3.
WC: 4229
TW: SVU-typical talk of rape and sexual assault cases; idiots in love.
AN: The prompt was "Everything will fall into place."
The day had started great. Barba had a grand jury return an indictment on a difficult test case, and the week only looked to get better as it progressed.
He left the courthouse and paused at the top of the steps. He squinted against the bright May sunshine, slid his sunglasses on, and took in the scene around him. There was something about the springtime that lifted the relative drear of his life. The trees in Thomas Payne Park were in bloom, a gentle wind was curving through the columns of the courthouse. Spring was a season of possibilities.
He started down the steps when he felt someone come up behind him. He heard a familiar voice call out, without social niceties or preamble, “we need to talk about the Forni case.”
He turned in time to see you fall in step beside him. He glanced you over as you both descended the steps and paused at the bottom to face each other.
Your usual pencil skirts usually hit precisely at the knee, but the navy blue one you wore now hit an inch or two higher, showing off your shapely legs. He was glad for his sunglasses hiding his eyes, but you smirked at him anyway.
“Nothing to talk about, counselor,” he replied. ��We couldn’t reach a deal, so I’ll see you in court.”
Your smirk transformed into a wide grin. You reached into your satchel and pulled out a folded paper that you handed to him. He went to take it, and you held it for a beat, making him tug it out of your grasp as you smiled at him.
“Ah, but you won’t see me in court,” you said. “I got Forni shifted to family court. I’ll be seeing a one Ms. Pippa Cox instead.”
Barba opened the paper and scanned it in disbelief. “How…what…?” he sputtered.
If your smile got any wider, it’d split your face in half. “Turns out Judge Barth is open to certain studies that show how racial disparities affect minority communities when it comes to underaged people being tried as adults. She agreed that the case belonged in family court. I’m off to see Cox now to talk about a reasonable deal that serves justice without vengeance.”
He crumpled the paper in his fist and glared at you, and you only gave him a light laugh. You waved your hands in front of him like you were doing a magic trick. “Poof, there goes your case,” you declared. “The Amazing Girl Wonder does it again.”
You walked away, and he watched you go, trying to ignore the way your skirt strained a bit around your ass and how your legs looked in your heels. He gritted his teeth and felt a migraine start up in his left temple. McCoy was going to hate this, and Liv would probably have something smart to say too.
-----
He heard that you and Cox hammered out a deal that got Anthony Forni into a juvenile treatment facility. Less than a month into him serving his sentence, certain crimes committed against him came to light, and SVU was put on the case.
You had been right: Anthony’s uncle had been molesting him since he was a young child, and the more SVU dug into the old man, the more victims they found. Before long, Barba had a strong case with multiple victims and incontrovertible evidence. It was a slam dunk, and the jury was only out for a bit before they came back with a guilty verdict.
You sat in the gallery during the sentencing. Anthony was there to give a victim impact statement, and when it was all over, Barba caught your eye. You did that usual irritating head tilt of yours, but you nodded at him too. And then you smiled.
-----
May turned to June, and Barba didn’t have another case against you for the entire month. It should have been a relief – just his usual slate of cases without quite so much aggravation – but it didn’t mean he didn’t think about you. Just the opposite, in fact.
Barba prided himself on having a good read on people based on first impressions, and that went double with his fellow lawyers. He knew, for example, within five minutes of meeting Buchanan that the man was a money-grubber without a shred of moral integrity. He knew that his fellow ADAs were a mixed bag: Callier was competent but treated the job like a job without much passion for justice, and O’Dwyer punted off any case that he couldn’t twist into a headline or a law review article.
Barba had similarly judged you, but you kept surprising him. He was constantly revising his impression of you.
First, he thought you were just some barely functional law lackey and had landed in public defense because it was all that was available to you. When you proved yourself as competent, he revised his opinion of you.
Then he assumed that you were one of those lawyers who used public defense to vault into a lucrative career of criminal defense. That’s what Buchanan had done, after all. But after a while, Barba heard through the gossipy channels of his lawyer networks that you’d been offered positions with a few different firms and had turned them down. Revision number two.
He was currently settled on thinking that you really were some sort of do-gooder, revise-the-system sort of advocate. He saw the way your eyes shined when Anthony Forni finally got justice. There was no faking that sort of genuine feeling.
He wondered where your zeal for justice came from. He knew his fair share of bleeding-hearts in his career, but you were specifically driven – you didn’t have the vague, do-gooder, we’re all one people sort of passion. You were laser-focused on specific issues. Something had made you that way. He wondered what it was.
He almost felt bad – public defenders either burned out quickly or became embittered. As much as you were a thorn in his side, he would readily admit that you were a good lawyer with a sharp intellect for the law that belied how green you really were. He’d hate to see you in ten years (or five, or two), that sparkle in your eye and that annoyingly defiant head tilt gone.
But Barba was irritated by the fact that you were taking up so much space in his head. And it didn’t get any better.
In fact, it got worse. Barba went out with the squad one night to celebrate a hard-won case, and he had too much to drink. Your name had come up over the course of the evening – Fin complaining about you, remarking that he hated hearing your heels clicking down the hallway when SVU caught a new case with a public defender. From there, Barba couldn’t shake the image of you at the sentencing of Forni’s uncle, when you nodded and then smiled at him. Too many scotches in, and he couldn’t shake the image.
Liv had to load him into a taxi, and he stumbled home to his empty apartment. He only got himself half undressed before he collapsed into bed, and the combination of too much alcohol and a well-fought win and you on the brain left him feeling…well, amorous.
Barba rarely ever bothered to take care of himself, but in the spirit of celebration, he did – and as much as he fought it, he kept picturing you. His mind, soaked in booze, spun though a series of improbable scenarios: in his office, in the courtroom, in the SVU interrogation room.
His mind finally settled on a cliched stuck-elevator scenario that he’d be embarrassed by in the morning, but in the meantime…he pictured the two of you trapped in an elevator (power outage, it’d take hours to fix), you panicking (you were claustrophobic), him comforting. He imagined you doing that infuriating head-tilt you did, but in his mind, you tilted your face to his, pleading with him to distract you.
From there, the scenario deteriorated, and he brought himself to climax with you on his mind, and then he rolled over and slept the sated sleep of the near-dead. He didn’t wake up until late morning, but it was a Saturday and he didn’t have anywhere to be.
In the light of morning, he cleaned himself up soberly, his head throbbing and a twist of Catholic guilt at masturbating in the first place. He vowed to stop thinking about you.
-----
It was easier said than done.
Barba found himself collecting interactions with you like a magpie collection shiny baubles and lining his nest with them.
There were the usual meetings to review possible plea deals when you had one of his cases. He probably should feel ashamed to have thought about you that drunken night after the bar, but he was always able to meet your gaze levelly without hesitation. When a plea couldn’t be reached, there was the usual trials. You usually lost, but it was never a complete loss – you always managed to get more serious charges dropped or found ‘not guilty,’ and you managed to get a lot of your clients more lenient, alternative sentencing.
But there were other interactions too.
There was the time he saw you across the street of the courthouse. You were waiting for the light, and you turned your face to the sunlight and closed your eyes for a second. He saw you take a deep breath and smile at the stolen moment of serenity in what he assumed was a life as busy as his.
There was the time in the courthouse elevator, when he stepped on at one floor and you joined him on the next. You nodded at him and then turned your back to him, and he watched you and prayed for a non-fatal elevator disaster to strike. But god’s attention was clearly elsewhere because the elevator deposited both of you on the ground floor, and you strode away without a backwards glance.
There was the time he saw you running in Riverside Park. You were obviously doing some workout – sprinting for a distance on the trail, then walking back to your starting point while frowning at a giant watch on your wrist. Then repeating it, over and over. He had been out for a rare Sunday afternoon walk, tired of being cramped in his office all weekend, and he had stood and watched you from a distance until he was certain someone would call the cops on him for publicly leering at women in the park.
There was the time at the wine bar when he was just settling in his seat as you were paying and leaving. When you noticed him, you smiled and repeated the magic-trick gesture that you’d done with the Forni case. Then you left, and Barba found out the next morning that you’d yanked another case out from under his nose.
There was the conference on sexual crimes and cyberspace, and Barba only noticed you during a break before the keynote. You stood at the refreshments table and frowned at the offerings of stale bagels and burnt coffee, and he watched you sigh heavily before you speared a few slices of cantaloupe. He walked over to stand beside you, and he pretended to get a coffee.
“Counselor,” he said in greeting. “Learning about the new crimes you’ll have to defend?”
He watched you turn to face him, and he watched you look him up and down. He was glad to have worn one of his better suits, but he still wondered what you thought of him. Your mouth twisted into one of your half smiles, but that could mean literally anything with you.
“I have to stay one step ahead of the D.A.’s office,” you admitted. “They have some really tough lawyers over there.” You paused a beat, then added, “O’Dwyer is one of the best, honestly.”
Then you snorted at the look on his face and walked away with your plate of fruit, leaving Barba flustered with his cup of awful coffee.
********
You loved your job. You lost more than you won, but that was the life of a public defender, and you managed to divert a fair share of non-violent and first-time offenders into alternative sentencing arrangements.
The best was when you scored a hit against ADA Barba. You were cordial with the other ADAs – Callier, O’Dwyer, Niles – but Barba was linked to SVU and pompous to boot. You wondered if he learned how to smirk at Harvard, or if it was a natural talent.
You didn’t know how he was with other defense lawyers, but he seemed to enjoy arguing with you. You’d been offended by the “girl wonder” comment, but then you leaned into it, tossing it back in his face when you beat him. You loved the way his handsome face got stony, how his green eyes turned stormy when you bested him.
The best was when he clenched his jaw so hard that you could hear his molars straining under the pressure. You made a deal with yourself: if you got him to crack a tooth in frustration, you’d take a long weekend and go to the Catskills for a mini-vacation.
And if he never did, at least you could enjoy needling him. You loved throwing him off his game. Barba was just another politically-minded ADA, taking certain cases so that he could claim the “tough on crime” tag when he made his eventual run at a judgeship.
Still, he seemed okay as a person. You may even vote for him, if he ran for an elected position. Maybe turn up to one of his campaign events just to stare at him and wait for him to blink first. Or imply that one of his coworkers was better than him, like you did when you ran into him at a conference. The look on his face, somewhere between surprise and offense, had been hilarious.
Your life had a comforting rhythm. You worked. You went home. You ate lunch too often at Salvadoreño, probably keeping them afloat with your addiction to their pupusas. You took up a half-marathon training plan to justify your daily lunch calorie count. You hung out with your friends when you had free time, and you just contributed to an ongoing text string when you didn’t have time. Your friends were mostly lawyers too, and no one had time for anything other than work.
Work was a convenient excuse for your appalling lack of love life. After Sonny, you refused to date for a while. Once the heartache faded a bit, you went on a few first dates that were like slow-motion train wrecks. The Wall Street guy who spent the evening on his phone. The Bronx ADA who lambasted your job. The corporate lawyer who talked about himself the entire evening and then parted ways with you on the street afterwards after telling you that you weren’t his type, physically.
You only saw Sonny sometimes at work. It could have been easy to fall back into bad habits, but he kept his distance from you and only exchanged the smallest of small talk. Every so often, you caught him looking at you with a woebegone look on his face, but more often than not, he was joined at the hip to Amanda. Leaning on her desk with his lanky legs stretched out in front of him. Sitting in interrogation with her. Bringing her a ginger ale from the breakroom. Trotting after her like a puppy when a new case came in.
Almost two years later, and it still nettled to see it.
You were in the 16th precinct to talk with a new client who was going to be arraigned the next day. It was a Barba case, and you each did your usual snark-filled banter across the interrogation table. His eyes got their usual glint in them that made you question, as usual, if he was turned on by arguing. Then your client was led out in handcuffs, and you assured him that you’d be there in the morning for his arraignment.
When you went to leave the room, Barba opened the door for you and then fell in step with you. He was saying something about the case, making a final bid for some deal, but you barely heard him. As you walked through the precinct bullpen, your eyes drifted to Sonny and Amanda standing by the big-screen in the corner.
And you saw, clearly, that Amanda was pregnant.
It was like a punch in the gut, pulling all the wind from you. Your eyes went from her swelling stomach to Sonny’s face – who was looking directly at you with his bright blue eyes. The expression on his face was unreadable, and you turned away and walked as quickly as you could to the elevator. Barba matched your speed and kept up with you, but he had fallen silent. He watched you jam the ‘down’ button furiously, then joined you when the elevator doors slid open. He watched you jam the ‘door shut’ button just as angrily. You heard Sonny call your name from the hallway, and you hit the button and kept hitting it until you felt a tentative hand on your wrist.
“It’s shut,” said Barba softly. “You can stop.”
You couldn’t look at him. Your vision was blurry with tears as you stared at the elevator panel. You hadn’t meant to start crying – it felt like an involuntary reflex, seeing Amanda pregnant and Sonny solicitous with her. How long had he waited before he started sleeping with her after you broke up with him? Had he already been sleeping with her? Your mind stretched back to all the broken dates and the times he stood you up to be with her….
And of course, the one single time you got emotional at work, it had to be in front of your harshest competitor. You could envision a long stretch ahead of you where Barba mocked you for crying every time you tried to hash out a plea deal.
But he didn’t say anything right now. He removed his hand from your wrist and reached into his suit jacket. He pulled out a handkerchief – an actual cloth handkerchief, like some member of the landed gentry in a period piece, for fuck’s sake – and handed it to you without a word. You took it but just stared at it; it was a blindingly snowy white, and it felt like a bridge too far to wipe your tear-stained face on it, especially with his embroidered initials staring back at you.
When the elevator deposited you on the ground floor, Barba put his hand on your upper back lightly and steered you towards the ladies room, plucking his handkerchief from your hand and pushing you inside the bathroom.
He didn’t follow, thank god. You stood at the mirror and braced yourself against the sink. You took deep breaths. You pushed aside the mental image of Amanda and Sonny together. Not just pushed – you shoved it into a box, taped it shut, and tossed it into a dark corner of your mind with the rest of the awful life experiences that you compartmentalized. You were pretty good at it – you had lots of experience, after all.
You waited a long moment, just staring at your own reflection. You felt like an idiot. Of course Sonny would end up with Amanda. And regardless of when it happened, it didn’t matter anymore. You weren’t together.
What did matter was keeping your composure, especially in front of people like the entire SVU squad and ADA Barba.
When you exited the bathroom, the latter was standing outside, waiting for you. But if you expected him to smirk or gloat at your sudden show of emotion, you would be wrong. He just stood there, sharp in his black three-piece suit, with a look of concern.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and he didn’t sound like he was teasing, so you nodded at him.
“You look like you need a drink,” he continued, and he gestured for you to walk with him. You did.
“It’s only 11:30 in the morning,” you replied with a watery laugh, and he held the door for you as you both left the building.
“Lunch then,” he said. He took your elbow and steered you out to the street. “And a glass of wine wouldn’t hurt.” You opened your mouth to protest but he cut you off and led you towards a little Italian place on the corner. “You’d be surprised how much smaller problems seem on a full stomach and a bit of pinot.”
You followed him mutely into the tiny restaurant, to the tiny table jammed against a wall. You ordered a Caesar salad and allowed him to order you a glass of pinot, and he placed his order too. When the waiter dropped off your drinks and left, you braced yourself for whatever snarky comments Barba had planned.
You were wrong again. He didn’t even mention your dramatic scene at the 16th. He asked how you liked being a public defender, then segued to talking about lawyers you both knew. It turned out that you had a lot of mutual acquaintances – the law community of New York City and its surrounding environs was shockingly small.
When your food came, the conversation shifted to your individual experiences at law school. It turned out that you were both scholarship kids and knew the divide it could cause with your fellow classmates. You were both editors of your respective law reviews too.
“Though Harvard Law has a little more brand recognition,” you admitted with a small smile, and Barba only shrugged modestly and asked what topics you had written about.
It felt weird that it wasn’t weird, sitting across from your toughest opponent, eating lunch and chatting about things casually instead of bickering about plea arrangements. And, to his credit, you had barely thought about Sonny and Amanda since you sat down to eat. You’d have to revise your opinion of him as a pompous type. Maybe a person could be pompous and nice.
The waiter bussed your empty dishes and dropped the check, which Barba took without comment and paid. When you tried to protest, he made a snarky comment about your paltry salary as a public defender, so you glared at him.
You both stood to leave, and you each paused on the sidewalk in awkward silence. You finally spoke up to thank him, and you hoped he knew it wasn’t just for the salad and wine.
He cleared his throat. “It’s probably not what you’re thinking it is,” he said. “But I know what you’re going through.” He sighed, paused, then added, “everything will fall into place.”
You dropped your head and looked at your feet on the sidewalk. “I don’t want your pity, Barba.”
He swung his briefcase to nudge it against your own satchel, making you look up at him. “If you think for one second I’m going to go easy on you, Fordham Law, you have another thing coming,” he said with a smirk. “No pity. And no mercy either.”
“Bring it, Harvard Law,” you replied with a grateful smile. His smirk turned into a smile in return, and he parted ways with you – he walked to the left, and you walked to the right.
-----
You kept the Sonny and Amanda situation carefully compartmentalized over the next month. Sonny tried to talk to you once in the precinct, but you carefully kept the discussion focused on the new suspect you were representing. He eventually stopped trying, and you had a way of unfocusing your gaze when it drifted over your ex-boyfriend and Amanda.
Work was busy, you ran a lot with your training group, and any time your mind drifted to those thoughts, you shoved them away by focusing on other things.
Barba, for example. Still pompous, and not granting you an inch, as promised. He was still your toughest ADA: Callier was always open to reasonable deals, O’Dwyer ducked most of the cases you handled…but Barba always had fight in him. You could put the best deal on the table and he’d still argue with you about it, layering in platitudes about the law and justice while accusing you of being a softy.
You argued at SVU, you argued in court. You each got pulled into chambers and argued your points there. Judge Hawkins, herself a champion smirker, watched the two of you bicker for a full five minutes before she interjected and told you to get a room. Barba sputtered in shock, which allowed you to get your final point in without interruption, but Hawkins split the difference and only threw out half the evidence you were trying to get expunged. It was still better than nothing.
You still glared at each other during court, but there was no real weight behind it. He started calling you “Fordham Law” all the time, which was miles better than “Girl Wonder.” In return, you started shaking his hand after trials concluded, even the ones where he won.
And if you felt anything when his warm hand enveloped yours, you compartmentalized that too.
#rafael barba#rafael barba x you#rafael barba imagine#rafael barba x reader#law and order svu#law and order svu fanfiction#tropes and tales
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NIPPLE PIERCING | BAJI KEISUKE
summary: you are an owner of a tattoo + piercing shop and a pretty boy books an appointment to get both. Reblogs are appreciated~
content warning: piercings and tattoo's, dom reader , pretty boy, semi-public, baji , i know nothing abt tattoo shops, I wrote this at 1:07 in the morning, reader is referred to master,{y/n}-
minors do not read! if you do you will be tainted ig? >:(
Working as a tattoo artist is not as easy as it seems. Sure, it lets your imagination run wild but the constant fear of disappointing your customers and ruining a tattoo is always there.
It's been a long ass day for you and you can't wait to skedaddle the fuck outa the shop, but God was remembering all the bad things you've done like come on man! Burning a child molester's house down with him in it is not a sin!
The sound of the bell in the shop chiming indicated that someone has entered the shop.
'I really need to change the closing time to 30 minutes earlier so they don't come in one minute before the closing time.'
Miss girl was done with life.
One thing great about being a female tattoo and piercing artist was that girls aren't afraid or that shy with you. That's why you more successful than yo big bro ;).
Sure you've had a couple o crushes and minor flings here and there but nothing was serious the other party knew this was not going to escalate more than a make out and neither did they disagree with that.
But boy was your last customer hot. He was panting with glossy sweat trickling down to his neck rose red tongue slightly sticking out and silky black hair looking like he just modeled for a Sunsilk ad. He has some good fashion sense too, with a midnight black choker with multiple silver chains attached to it , amber see-through shirt and lose marine blue jeans.
' Thank god I haven't closed yet! If i did i would have missed this amazing opportunity!'
" hey! What can i do for you?" You said in a slightly raspy and tired voice. And god, was that shit hot.
"Thank god Im not late....." The pretty boy muttered.
"Hey! I was thinking if you're not running late for anything and if you can..... May i get a tattoo and piercing please?"
"Where do you want to get it and do you have a picture of what you want to get?"
" I went it on my chest and the piercing i wantitonmynipple " his words were fumbled and you can't exactly understand them
" honey im gonna need you to speak a little slower on the piercing part"
" I want piercing on ...... my ..ni- nipples" Finally he got the clogged up words out of his mouth but he feels pretty embarrassed about having to say that in front of a lady that is so pretty godly amazing eye-catching magnificent wonderful blessed seggs- ok i'll stop >:).
" OHHH you wanna nip piercinmg? Don't worry hon i've done piercing on a few girls before but not on a guy that's a handsome as you~"
He was ready to bomb himself for the embarrassment but the praise sent blood gushing to his cheeks and especially t his dick-
"Come'on hun gotta lay down... unless you want it standing up"
You tried easing the stranger which you found out his name is keisuke. A hot name for a hot stranger-
the tattoo was easy a feathery arrow with a small pair of chopsticks acting as it's bow.
You deid to innturupt the silence.
" yu know? Funny how a few hours ago a blondie asked for the same tattoo as you. You know em' ?"
"Did he have an undercut and greenish blueish eyes?"
"so you do know him..... a tat for best friends?"
"yeah........BUT IT WAS A DARE"
Keisuke looked like he is pretty embarrassed about getting the tattoo but you find it adorable how eyes darting from left to right wanting to meet anything but yours, the tip of his ears are dusted with a coat of rosy pink.
'if his ears and neck are such a beautifully flushed shade of pink i wonder how flushed his dic- Y/N STOP BEGONE HORNY THOUGHTS'
Stuck in your........ interesting thought process, you couldn't hear baji calling you.
"-Y- EY- HEY? Miss tattoo artist? I've been calling you quite afew times..... are you okay? And you've already finished my tattoo...."
oh. i'm done with his tattoo? since when?
Oh. OH- it's time for the piercing-
I know that I've done this a shit ton of times but gah damn I feel like a train wreck.
A speck of flush sprinkled on his cheeks 😏 as he slowly almost as he was teasing you pulled his shirt off.
OH MA LAWDY LAWD IS THIS MAN 🙏 so damn fineeeee😫😫😫 meaty arms that flex unconsciously as he moves to cover himself pecs that look like real boobies #stanmanboobies.
"s-stop starina-hh"
it's as if your hands had a mind of theyre own. Moving the pads of your fingers around his cotton pink nipples. Steadily swirling them to the background music of the shop. "take it slow put it down on me" and indeed you took it slow just like the lyrics had said.
You ripped of your shirt which now left you with only a sports bra, and climbed on top of the pretty boy. Ploddingly grinding on his rampant crotch you took the tie that was ripped off with the shirt and tied his wrist together.
"M-mas-ter-r sto-p teasiNG"
Master. Master was all he said and only that was needed to makeyou loose all self control.
"you're so sensitive baby~" the tiredness in your voice vanishing instantly and getting replaced with a mischievous tone.
"master please please please PLeASe"
"please what baby i don't know what you're saying" you almost started feeling bad as you know you were being a little mean but KEY WORD: ALMOST.
"ma-master..." keisuke looked ashamed of saying it out loud but you weren't gonna move unless he says it. #airforceenergy #periot
Keisuke looked into your eyes clearly flustered but says it anyways.
"master please ride my dick suck it DO WHATEVER. JUST PLEase use me...." voice gradually shrinking, he pleaded with the last braincell he had.
#wazabii#baji keisuke#tounge piercing#sub baji#tokrev x dom!reader#sub tokyo revengers#sub tokrev#baheehee#sub keisuke#like#c#omment#repost
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The First Time - Part 2
Fic Summary: Four first times for Eddie Munson: angst, redemption, romance, and true love.
Fic Rating: 18+ only
Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader, Eddie Munson x OFC
Warnings: A description of underage sex, non-con, statutory rape of a minor, period homophobia in part one only, future parts will be more uplifting and fulfilling.
The First Time Masterlist - Masterlist
“Your girl coming over tonight,” Wayne asked as he emptied his thermos into the sink, and started rinsing it out.
It was their little ritual when Wayne came in from the night shift: Wayne would clean his dinner pail and thermos and ask Eddie how he’d slept and what his plans were, while Eddie ate breakfast and asked him about his shift.
“She’s not my girl,” Eddie replied, alternating between shoveling eggs into his mouth and taking mouthfuls of coffee. He had a copy of a batteries science text book in one hand, and his attention flicked between the page, the plate and his cup. “But, yes, she is. She’s got some big bio test and wants me to do some flash card thing. I don’t know.”
Wayne had nodded and hummed, noncommittally. He didn’t believe Eddie’s bullshit. Not for one second.
*
Eddie tries not to have impure thoughts about you, but he is only one man, and between the shorts skirts, and the way literally everything you own ends up in your mouth at some point is almost more than he can take.
The thing is, you’re only 17. You’re also his friend and - surprise! - he doesn’t have enough real friends to blow one on sex.
Everything will change if he fucks you, he knows it. But Jesus Christ, he really wants to.
Like last weekend, you’d come over to watch Back To The Future and fallen asleep on the sofa with your sock-clad feet in his lap.
Eddie had turned to say something incredibly witty and scathing about Marty Mcfly - you’d let slip you thought he was kind of cute, so now Eddie hated him on principle - but instead of your cute little face, he’d been confronted by the sweet curve of your ass in those pink and white floral panties. The hem of that godforsaken little skirt you always seemed to be wearing these days flipped up almost to your waist.
For a second he’d been transfixed; the idea of just reaching out and touching the faint pink line where the elastic had bitten into your skin, meandered we into his head nonchalantly, sat down and kicked up it’s feet. He pictured squeezing your thick flesh, kneading it, pushing the hem out your panties higher and slipping his thumb inside, touching the tiny, dark pink, puckered rosebud he imagined you were hiding between those luscious cheeks.
Then you’d snuffled a little, wiggling your hips deeper into the sofa cushions, and spread your thighs a tiny bit more. God help him, he’d wanted to touch so much his hand itched.
Thank God, his better nature had appeared out of nowhere and smacked his hormonal desire to do a goddamned sex crime on you in the head. He’d dragged the afghan off the back of the sofa over you instead.
Later, after he’d driven you home, he pulled the van haphazardly off the road half way onto the kerb in his rush to get his pants open, and just about broke his wrist beating off to the memory of those panties.
God knows what he’d have said if one of the deputies had spotted him, parked like a crazy person, and decided to check it out.
“Can you tell me why Eddie The Freak Munson’s shaggin’ wagon is parked up in well-heeled Clerville Heights, Son?”
“Why yes officer, I was bearing off to the thought of molesting a minor!”
He’d have been caught, jizz-handed, and immediately put on some sort of register or watch list and, fuck’s sake, he’d have deserved it.
*
You arrived at the trailer after dinner, a walking pile of books, papers and energy, ditching your bike in the yard and talking a mile a minute before you were even half way through the door.
“...And then he says, ‘no! No, it’s the coefficient’. The coefficient! Like, has ever even read a book?”
“Reeves giving you grief again?” Eddie said from the kitchen where he was upending a bag of chips into a bowl.
Reeves is your lab partner. Eddie cannot believe that the douche gets to spend three periods a week sitting next to you for an hour, and yet has somehow managed to fuck up that sweet deal completely. Eddie loathes the guy almost as much as you do. “Want me to rough him up for you?”
“I want to put a hit out on him. You know people, right? People who will accept cash money to - to ace Hawkins High’s stupidest senior?”
Eddie grins, slightly tickled that despite being a two time senior himself, you don’t think of him as stupid, never have.
“I think you mean ‘ice’ Hawkins High’s stupidest senior, and I choose not to be offended that you only want me for my criminal connections,” he jokes.
“Oh I want you for way more than that Munson,” you reply.
You both go stock still.
“Wow,” Eddie says, managing to deftly disguise the fact he’s just about choked to death on his own tongue.
“I mean the flash cards!”
He just chuckles and give you one of those “sure, sure” looks, so you throw your book bag at him and it devolves into slapping, pinching and tickling as he ducks your half assed attempt to beat him up, giggling like a pair of middle schoolers all hopped up on red sodas.
“Ow! Ow! Help, I’m being assaulted by a nerd! Ow!”
“Gah!” You yell, finally, stomping into the living room to collapse onto the sofa. “You spent 12 hours writing a campaign for five 9th graders and Gareth last weekend, but I’m the nerd?”
“Excuse you, Missy. I’m a goddamned craftsman,” Eddie follows you with the chips and a couple of sodas. He puts them down on the coffee table.
“OK, give me these fuckin’ flash cards,” he says, making grabby hands and throwing himself onto the sofa next you.
The way you kick off your shoes and clamber up on the couch, crossing your legs under you, the way you seem so at home, it does something melty to Eddies’ insides.
And then the melty feeling has to go and ruin things by shooting straight to his dick when you lean over the side of the couch to pull some papers out of your bag, and that God-damned, tiny, little bastard skirt flips up again.
Eddie is a good man, but he isn’t a particularly strong one when it comes to self control, he certainly isn’t strong enough to stop himself from staring at your lap; at the pink and white floral panties barely covering your mound; at the little crease where your sex is defined by the taut cotton. Like a slack jawed don’t, he stared at your pussy way, way longer than is really acceptable considering you are a minor.
The word 'minor' goes off like a siren in his head. He jerks his eyes up to see you staring back at him eyes like saucers.
Without breaking eye contact, you tug your skirt back down.
“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, I’m sorry. That was - I don’t know why I did that.”
You just stare at him, unblinking, breathing hard.
“Please say something,” he says, feeling like the worst kind of asshole.
“Was that - did you - Eddie, have you heard about the Juliette clause?”
That’s not at all what he was expecting you to say. In fact, it was not what he was expecting you to say so much he had no immediate response. Then his brain comes back online with a whoosh.
“Sweetheart, are you fucking serious right now? We’re not discussing English class. We can’t just pretend I didn’t just perv - I just want you to know that despite what I just did, I respect you so much. I lo - I care about you. You’re practically my best friend.”
You take a deep breath and hold your hand up. Your eyelids flutter, not in the come hither way but it the “does not compute” way, like you’re trying to process a bunch of stuff you don’t quite know what to do with.
Eddie’s seen this before at the All State Interscholastic Quiz Bowl last year, when you were the only Junior on a team up of Hawkins High’s biggest brainiacs. There were ten points and two questions between Hawkins and Kenney High. You looked just like this.
(You also got both questions right, and won the All State Interscholastic Quiz Bowl cup.)
Finally, you look up and pin him with your stare.
“I have given you every imaginable opportunity to jump me, Eddie. Every time, every time, you do nothing.”
You hold up one hand and start counting ‘every time’ off: “There was that time in your van, I was wearing a thong, and you didn’t even seem to notice.”
Oh, he’d noticed. His poor abused dick had noticed too.
“And the time at Gareth's pool party, when I wore that yellow bikini…”
He hadn’t even been able to talk to her the entire party, and every time someone male that wasn’t him had gone anywhere near her he'd thought he was going to have an aneurysm. He’d ended up leaving the party early.
“Then there was the time we watched Back To The Future, I thought - I thought if I just… showed you my ass, maybe you’d cop a feel, but no! You covered me up so fast I thought, well. I felt like I was grossing you out. Like I was some kind of freaking sex pest,” you said, looking stricken. “Oh my God, Eddie am I a sex pest?
Eddie realizes his chin is just about on the floor. He thinks about all the times he’s sweet talked women and girls; all the flirting and saying things he thought they wanted to hear. He thinks about how you’ve been his friend first, through thick and thin, and how much he doesn’t just want to bone you, but how much he really likes you, too.
He realizes that for the first time in his young romantic life, he doesn’t want to play any of the cutsie-pie games he’s played in the past. He wants to be real with you because, well, he loves you - the big L and the little l versions.
“Honey,” he says gently, reaching out to take a hold of your hand - you’ve been twisting them together in your lap.
“If your a sex pest, then I am one too, because if knew the sorts of things I’ve been thinking about you, you’d call the fucking cops on me.”
He just about swoons when he sees the heat flood your face and you cheeks go almost scarlet.
“But then, why won’t you - Am I not… I mean, I know I’m not ‘hot’...“
“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, stop,” Eddie says, squeezing your hand. “You are absolutely hot in all the ways that matter to me.”
He could tell you were really struggling with something, but he didn’t want to push you, he’d be honest with you about how he felt, but he wasn’t going to push anything.
Your brow crumpled so adorably, as you processed this new bit of information.
“But Tommy said there was only one reason someone like you would want to hang out with someone like me. That if I wanted you to like me - like me - I’d have to, you know, do…that.”
Eddie tamped down a spike of rage at the thought of your meathead jock brother saying something like that to you. He thought about his first time, about how he couldn’t see clearly after that, what he really wanted from a girlfriend, how he’d always played this kind of dirtbag casanova part because he thought that’s what dudes did. Yeah, he’d been one giant desperate hormone at 17, but no one had ever just… held his hand and kissed him and let him enjoy the longing, the build up, the anticipation.
“You don’t - Sweetheart, I love spending time with you, you don’t need to - to put out for me to like you - to l-love you. I always want you around.”
“Oh Eddie,” you said, covering her face with her hands. Eddie wasn’t sure if it was exactly the right thing to do, but he slid closer, and slipped his arm around your shoulders.
“I’m only a couple of years older than you, but trust me, those couple of years are going to feel like a couple of decades. You don’t have to rush any of this. You don’t have to do one single goddamned thing that you are not ready for.”
And then because he was only one man, he asked, as gently as he could: “Do you, um, do you want - like, are you - do you feel, like, ready?”
You squeeze his hand and giggle.
“No,” you said after a minute or two. “I don’t think so. I mean… all I know is that I kind of think of you as more than a friend. But Tommy says….”
“No offense, Sweetheart,” Eddie interjects, shifting back a little so he can see your face. “But your brother Tommy is a fucking idiot, who once fucked a football for a dare in front of our entire male half of our gym class, junior year.”
“Ewwww,” you wail, pushing him away. Eddie doesn’t let you get too far though.
“Oh my God, my fucking brother? Jesus Eddie.”
“I know… I know, it was fucking gross.”
“Ew!”
Your disgust makes him all but cackle.
“Look, I’m just saying that he’s not someone you should be taking romantic advice from. His idea of romance is when you finally have sex sober, you’re engaged.”
“Oh God.. no, please stop talking!” you put your hands over your ears and scrunch up your eyes and Eddie doesn’t really believe in much, but he believes he loves you.
“For the record, I don’t think we’re just friends either,” Eddie says, when he stops laughing. “I don’t think we’ve been just friends for a while.”
He looks down at your tiny hand in his, you’re pink nails, the way the skin is so thin and fine between your fingers it’s practically blue.
“Wayne calls you my girl, asks ‘is your girl coming over?’ And I always say, ‘she’s not my girl’, but… you know what? I never have to ask him who he means. Because there isn’t anyone else it could be. You are my girl… or maybe, I’m your boy, man… whatever, you know what I mean. I’m yours, if you’ll have me. No strings attached.”
You lean your head on his shoulder and he rests his cheek against the crown of your head.
“For a couple of smart people we really are dumbasses,” you say.
“Damned straight,” Eddie says. He shifts back again.
“OK, listen. Sweetpea, I would love to touch you one day. I would love to - Jesus - to do everything we could want and more, one day. Like I will… lick, suck bite every goddamned last inch of your body…”
“Eddie,” you sigh and shiver a little. Eddie shakes his head a little to clear it himself.
“But! I am not going to do any of that until you are fucking begging me for it. Ask that feminist pamphlet woman, she calls it ‘enthusiastic consent’ and it sounds fucking hot.”
You scramble up onto your knees and throw your arms around him.
“Oh my God, Eddie! You read it?"
“Course!” He says, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “You asked me to.”
You kneel up, till you’re looking down on his upturned face. You cup his jaw between your palms, and stroke your thumbs across his cheeks.
“I don’t think it’ll be long,” you say, so softly. “I mean, you - we - won’t have to wait long.”
Eddie has a bit of a lump in his throat when you say it. Everything will change if he fucks you, if you fuck him. But that doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing. Not it you’re in it together.
“But I’ll tell you one thing, Eddie Munson. I’ve never been kissed, and you have my enthusiastic consent to be the first to -”
He doesn’t let you finish asking. He’s dreamed about this, about the feel of you, slight and tender in his arms, about your mouth, soft and open under his.
He cups your head and tilts you slightly, deepening the kiss, dipping his tongue gently into your mouth, trying to show you, in the only way he can, how good he wants to make it for you, giving you everything he has to give.
Your hands gripping his tee shirt, anchor him, ground him, but inside he is flying. He’s kissed… been kissed by women he regretted, but this - this kiss at once so innocent and chaste, yet filled with a very carnal kind of promise - this feels like the first kiss he’s ever had.
When you lean back, he chases your lips for a single, smacking peck that makes you both grin.
“Mmm,” you hum, melting back into the sofa.
“Ok, for a first kiss?” He asks, “I pass muster?”
“Yeah,” you sigh, lifting your arms over your head to stretch languidly. “Yeah, I don’t think we’ll be waiting long at all.”
Part 3 Coming Soon!
#eddie munson x you#eddie stranger things#orpheus writes#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fic
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Another violent man claiming to be the actual victim. This time use gender ideology.
By Anna Slatz January 1, 2024
CONTENT NOTICE: This article contains graphic descriptions of sexual assault committed against both adult and child victims. Reader discretion is appreciated.
A violent transgender sex offender has launched multiple lawsuits against over 20 members of staff at the St. Francois County Jail and South Missouri Mental Health Center after reportedly being denied female undergarments. Kelly McSean, a violent rapist and pedophile, is awaiting trial after escaping jail while in custody for attacking sex offender treatment program staff.
As previously reported by Reduxx, McSean, born Larry Bemboom, has an extremely long and depraved criminal history.
In 2003, while still living under his birth name, he pleaded guilty to the sexual assault of a 39-year-old African American woman. McSean had offered the woman a ride home, but instead took her to his residence where he both orally and vaginally raped her.
During the assault, McSean made racially degrading remarks to the victim, telling her that his ancestors owned slaves and ordering her call to him “master.” The woman managed to escape and fled nude from his residence. For the brutal attack, he was sentenced to just five years in prison.
Before his scheduled 2008 release, a prison psychiatrist reported that McSean met the statutory definition of a sexually violent predator and, after a second evaluating psychiatrist concurred, the state of Missouri filed a petition to involuntarily commit him to its Sex Offender Rehabilitation and Treatment Service program. A jury trial subsequently found that he met the legal requirements for civil commitment, and he was sent to reside at Sex Offender Rehabilitation and Treatment Program (SORTS) in Farmington.
A SEXUALLY VIOLENT OFFENDER IS BACK IN CUSTODY AFTER MANAGING TO ESCAPE FROM A JAILHOUSE IN MISSOURI.
KELLY MCSEAN, WHO IDENTIFIES AS "FEMALE," HAS A DECADES-LONG HISTORY OF RAPING AND ABUSING WOMEN AND CHILDREN AS YOUNG AS 8. HTTPS://T.CO/3J6H40T4VX— REDUXX (@ReduxxMag) January 22, 2023
McSean appealed the decision, but evidence presented by the evaluating psychiatrist provided insight into the predator’s extensive history of sexual violence dating back to when he was just a minor.
According to the evaluation — at 13 years of age, McSean molested an eight-year-old girl and forced her to perform oral sex on him. He also fondled and orally copulated a 12-year-old boy. The following year, he was sent to counseling after he was found soliciting other boys to perform oral sex on him in his school bathroom.
McSean was placed in sex offender treatment when he was just 15 years old after exposing himself to a younger relative, but while in treatment he molested another underage girl in his proximity.
Between the ages of 19 and 30, McSean would commit several more sex offenses, primarily against minors. He told the evaluating psychiatrist that he repeatedly raped a 16-year-old girl in 1995, as well as engaged in oral sex with her 11-year-old brother. He also stated that he moved in with two girls aged 14 and 16 in 1998, raped a 15-year-old girl, and molested a 14-year-old.
At age 30, he was arrested for sodomizing a 12-year-old girl after giving her marijuana. He received a suspended five-year sentence and three years probation. McSean said that while in the community, he committed a number of sexual assaults for which he was never charged, including molesting children as young as 8 at the Salvation Army, and raping unidentified male and female children.
In 2003, prior to being charged for the rape of the 39-year-old woman, McSean admitted to having kidnapped two teens and holding them captive at his residence where he forced them to perform oral sex on him.
McSean also said that around the same time, he was molesting a younger female relative and threatening to kill her if she told on him. He would sneak into her room at night, cover her mouth and rape her, as well as penetrating her with foreign objects.
While McSean attempted to appeal his sexually violent offender designation, the appeal was denied in 2010 and he has remained in civil commitment since. Sometime between 2010 and 2023, he began identifying as a “transgender female woman.”
While at SORTS, McSean violently attacked a treatment worker, leading to his transfer to the St. Francois County Jail to await trial on the charges.
On January 17, McSean, along with 4 other inmates, escaped the prison via a plumbing-access hole. Cameras that would ordinarily have tracked their escape were not functioning due to construction being done on the building. The prisoners weren’t discovered missing until a routine inmate count. A wild police chase ensued, with McSean and the others being caught on street surveillance camera footage stealing a car in a nearby parking lot.
McSean was apprehended three days after the escape, and has been at the St. Francois County Jail ever since. But Reduxx has now learned that over the course of the past 5 months, McSean has filed a number of lawsuits alleging mistreatment at the hands of staff both at the jail and at the South Missouri Mental Health Center.
Though McSean is alleging various forms of mistreatment, the majority of his complaints appear to stem from his inability to access “gender affirming” items and treatments, most notably women’s undergarments. He also takes issue with being “misgendered” and “demeaned” while in custody, and having been treated as a male despite his state and prison documentation listing him as a “female.”
McSean has similarly alleged sexual harassment, with these claims stemming from “misgendering” incidents, “discrimination on the basis of sex,” and routine searches not being conducted in the fashion he demands. He has also claimed he was “sexually assaulted” during a strip-search, emphasizing that his penis and “breasts” had been exposed to male officers.
McSean has alleged the various “mistreatments” have caused him anxiety, sleep issues, nightmares, high blood pressure, a los of appetite, migraines, crying spells, and more physical and psychological issues. He has requested damages ranging from $50,000 to $100,000 per defendant and per concern. In one of the filed complaints alone, the total requested damages exceed $14,900,000.
One of McSean’s lawsuits was filed with two other inmates as co-Plaintiffs, both of whom were involved in McSean’s escape from the jail in January – Aaron Sebastian, a sexually violent predator who sodomized a young girl, and Dakota Pace. McSean identifies both of the men as “friends” of his. In their lawsuit, the three criminals allege mistreatment at the hands of St. Francois County Jail staff.
Disturbingly, one of the multiple complaints filed by McSean suggests that the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) has intervened on his behalf at least once. In a hand-written complaint submitted in August, McSean wrote:
“After being informed that the ACLU and an attorney has contacted the St. Francois county detention center of [sic] the constitutional rights of transgender persons, I submitted an inmate request form as to the status of ability to purchase and have female undergarments.”
While the ACLU has not commented publicly on McSean’s case, the organization has been known to be a strong advocate of transgender inmates, even those who have committed the most heinous crimes.
In Indiana, the ACLU recently filed a lawsuit against the state’s Department of Corrections after a trans-identified male inmate convicted of murdering his infant stepdaughter was denied “gender affirming” surgeries. The suit, which was filed on August 28 of 2023, challenges a recently-adopted policy stipulating that the Indiana Department of Corrections (IDOC) cannot provide transgender surgeries to inmates.
The ACLU has also lamented the criminal penalties of transgender inmates, including the Florida execution of rapist and murderer Duane Owen.
On June 16 of 2023, the ACLU, through their official Twitter account, lambasted the state of Florida for refusing to provide “medically necessary gender-affirming care” to Duane Owen. Using feminine pronouns to refer to Owen, the ACLU claimed the state had caused Owen “enormous suffering” and had violated “her right to be free from cruel and unusual punishment for the more than 30 years she was in state custody.”
They further stated that Owen, who had raped and murdered two women in an effort to “harvest their hormones,” had argued in legal documents that he “should be afforded the essence of human dignity.”
#usa#St. Francois County Jail#South Missouri Mental Health Center#Kelly McSean is Larry Bemboom#Sex Offender Rehabilitation and Treatment Service program#Sex Offender Rehabilitation and Treatment Program (SORTS) in Farmington#American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU)#Just the ACLU intervening on behalf of male freaks again
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Proof drawn childporn incites men to commit real child rape
A Japanese man imitated the plot of a lolicon childporn manga to get into the house of a little girl and molest her:
http://www.animenewsnetwork.com/news/2017-06-17/saitama-man-arrested-for-obscenity-claims-he-was-imitating-dojin-manga/.117488
https://web.archive.org/web/20170721223414/https://www.animenewsnetwork.com/news/2017-06-17/saitama-man-arrested-for-obscenity-claims-he-was-imitating-dojin-manga/.117488
https://archive.is/39Gpf
Saitama prefectural police arrested 35-year-old Yūya Yazaki on Monday on charges of obscenity. In his deposition, the suspect wrote that he was "imitating an adult dōjin manga." Police then appealed to the author of the dōjin manga to use consideration in drawing works that might be imitated in crimes.
Police arrested the man at his home in Sōka city, Saitama prefecture after the mother of a middle school student reported to authorities that a man had been following her daughter and called out to her.
Yazaki had been arrested in Sōka city before on January 8, 2016 for alleged sexual assault against a minor. According to prefectural police, the suspect had allegedly posed as an inspector checking for radioactive contamination in order to coerce the victim into letting him into her house. Once inside, he allegedly stated that he needed to physically check the victim's body. He then threatened the victim with violence if she didn't remain quiet. Police stated that he was also arrested again for a separate obscenity charge in April. Police are investigating the possibility that Yazaki may be the suspect for as many as 20 different sexual assault incidents against minors of elementary and middle school age that occurred from May 2014 to March of this year.
Police noted that Yazaki imitated a scenario depicted in an adult dōjin manga by an illustrator who lives in Tokyo. Police claimed that the manga contained a similar story of an inspector checking for radioactive contamination as a pretext to sexually assault a character. Police claimed that Yazaki may have used this modus operandi in eight separate incidents.
Police later contacted the illustrator to inform him about the incident, and told him to exercise consideration in creating stories that could be imitated to commit crimes. According to police, the illustrator was shocked at the incident and acknowledged their appeal.
According to a source close to the investigation, the police are considering sending similar appeals to creators when crimes imitating their stories occur again.
Source: The Mainichi Shimbun (中川友希, 遠藤大志), Saitama Shimbun via Hachima Kikō
GameFAQs talking about it: https://archive.is/BtaxS
Both the police and the author of the loli cp porn agree that fiction influences reality and that’s why the author must tone down his work.
Screencaps of 8chan discussing it, and talking about loli artists tracing cp:
We aren't going to gather evidence of these lolicon manga guys tracing cp, we just assume the cp experts on 8chan are correct about this.
Pedophile admitting the manga is inciting him to rape kids:
This is what happens in the story [CENSORED, obviously]:
After the girl gets violently beaten and raped while wearing her randoseru, there’s an epilogue where she’s shown to be suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder:
A real, living girl had to have this happen to her because Japan doesn’t care to ban drawn childporn, and it has probably happened to many other children as well.
The “artist” is called Quzilax and contributes to Comic LO:
Higashiyama Show (the pedophile 8channers say is tracing cp) also contributes to this magazine.
Comic LO is the same magazine Kinuko/Mariel Cartwright has supported (Takamichi is LO’s cover artist): http://archive.is/Sc68v
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bro 😨 i swear some of these are actually psychological horror books
I think the problem at least for me is really how it's handled and a lot of these authors are like obsessed with high school teenagers having sex. Like for example if you just spent like several chapters describing all the ways she's been physically and sexually abused by her own father to the point she literally doesn't even understand what the mate bond or love actually is, like her dad fucked her up so bad he would molest and beat her and say it was love, and she's instantly terrified when she meets her mate because she fears his love too, and then the story will switch to his pov and hes like, LUSTING for her, that's not ok? That's fucked up, like tone wise?
Like for example i know teenagers who are 5'4 and curvy probably do exist but is it like truly appropriate to be describing how sexy and hot to protagonist is when she's 1. A high-school girl, a child 2. An incest victim and has been since she was 13 and 3. The abuse literally just ended like a chapter or two ago and she hasn't even mentally recovered
Rm for length
Like this story goes from her new future Alpha mate who is also a high schooler saving her from being raped, he literally walks in on, ew, her father forcing her legs apart, and then like maybe 4 chapters later "oh maybe to help her understand the mate bond and help her be more comfortable, we can have her spend time with these other two kids her age who are mates" and she's like watching them touch and cuddle and be physically affectionate which i find insanely inappropriate actually, she was molested and told it was love so you're exposing her to other people being touchy with each other? Like an actual talented author would have made the connection that, realistically, the protagonist would probably be massively uncomfortable if not outright triggered by this, like at one point she has a panic attack so bad she passes out. and the dude who is her mate like, tries to cuddle her while they watch a movie and stuff, and she kind of likes it, but from my perspective as an adult and as a reader i just keep thinking "can you guys not even give her like a couple of months before trying to like lowkey manipulate her"
Like for the love of fucking god I don't want to hear about how he's literally getting fucking hard by cuddling with her and his internal monologue about how sexy she is and how badly he has to hold his wolf back from pouncing on her when BOTH OF THEM ARE MINORS like GROSS, what age group is this story even intended for, it's going from really adult topics to like really tropey mid tier highschool drama bullshit? I don't want to hear the fucking boyfriend thinking shit like "she shifted just slightly, briefly putting her hand on my thigh for a moment, and it sent waves of electricity straight to my cock" when she's like. Trying to just watch a movie and let dinner settle into her stomach because she's so poorly malnourished she can't even take full bites of a sandwich, she has to tear pieces of it off and eat slowly bc she feels so sick. Like it's the WHIPLASH.
Like sorry maybe when you're still a teenager, shows that show teenagers being flirty and sexual with each other might be appealing, but im a grown woman, and it rubs me the wrong way, idk? IS there an appropriate way for adults to write about kids in this way? Sometimes it's cultural I guess but imo I basically consider everyone a kid until they're like 20, 21 and it just. It's creepy. Please stop talking about how this like 16 year old is gorgeous and doesn't even need makeup and she has double d size breasts and a flat stomach and a thigh gap and a fat ass but is somehow also dangerously malnourished like, it's very. It's just outta pocket. It's weird man and that's coming from me. I'm gonna listen for a little while longer but I just find the handling of her abuse a little bizarre.
And also like. They have her speak to a therapist about how horrific her abuse was and the therapist immediately goes to her future mate and is like "I'm not supposed to tell you this but you are her mate, so--" and just tells him all her personal shit. That should have been her choice to make. They're not giving her enough time to heal. Maybe it's just upsetting for me because I'm dealing with a lot of mental health stuff and these plotlines involving being manipulated and betrayed behind your back and not respected or having your own autonomy is really hitting me
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going to that heal2k guy’s blog and I’m disgusted, I don’t get if he’s openly admitting to molesting his literal younger sister or if that’s just what he calls young girls/a specific person? I’m confused and horrified. blocked and reported
if he actually has a younger sister then im very afraid for her because he’s openly discussed being a pedophile and his desire to sex traffic female children and has predatorily targeted numerous female minors on tumblr and groomed them and gotten nudes from them. really really sad and disgusting. this man should not be alive.
thank you for blocking and reporting <3
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Things That Are Controversial About Me That Might Get Me A Follow or Unfollow:
I don't support Gold Star Lesbianism. A type of Lesbianism that defines Lesbianism as something that is pure and didn't have any period of comphet at all in any circumstances. I don't think you are some true homosexual, you just got lucky you were born in a place where you knew what the word "Lesbian" meant and was not somewhere the mere mention of "Lesbian" - could get you beaten up. I wanted to marry women when I was 5 years old and I didn't even know what "Lesbian" even meant, all I remember is mom telling me you can't do that, it's a bad thing. So - growing up I fantasized being with men and never liked them beyond wanting attention and social validation. Your existence that you pride on being fully devoid of men is a existence of privilege to me.
I am a Radical Feminist Separatist. I don't support women who willingly date men after calling themselves feminists and involving themselves in feminist activism. Let alone calling themselves misandrists or radfem. Clowns.
I am Trans Inclusive in my Feminism, my focus is heavy on Transsexuals of South Asia.
Lesbians are more oppressed than any other minority in the L-G-B-T-Q1234567 community. And yes, they are more oppressed than Bisexual woman. - "Is it like some oppression Olympics-" -Yes it is and Lesbians are winning. Shut up and Get out if you disagree. - "All of us are oppressed by the Cishets -" All of us are oppressed by the cishets and lesbians are oppressed by both Cishets and By other Queer People. It's not a shock that Lesbians are treated as a last stage outcast from Pride Parades to Lesbian Bars even. All of us are oppressed, it's just lesbians are oppressed like a subhuman. So No, Thank You but I disagree.
I will let a Trans Man call himself a Lesbian if he looks like a Lesbian and acts like a Lesbian. The definition of Lesbianism doesn't need to involve "attraction to men" or "Lesbians can be attracted to Men" -this kind of bullshit for all that. Lesbians don't like men. Full Stop.
I am starting to look into the whole feminist perspective on male celebrity worship culture and it's patriarchal origins, effects etc. I don't have a strong opinion on this yet because I still don't know much about it, but I can get annoying sometimes with my little knowledge. So, if you are just trying to Simp over your Fave Oppar or Something and I randomly drop some unpleasant fact about him being Misogynistic or a Sex offender, or Racist etc. - you have been warned.
I tried to force myself to like men and I couldn't. This.. will be hard for me to talk about as the impact is still fresh- but I forced myself unironically find men attractive. Since I already suffered from Comphet and Sexual Orientation OCD - I actually thought it would be easy for me to find men attractive. It wasn't and in fact it didn't help. It left me feeling frustrated and a bit empty instead. I tried to do self conversion therapy on myself. I tried to look up pictures of men and tried to find something attractive about them. I simply couldn't. I didn't stop. Watched Romantic Video Edits of Straight Couples and I only could look at the Girl. I forced myself to look at a bunch of Naked Pictures of Men and all I felt was Vomit growing up inside my mouth. They are very gross and disgusting and repulsive. And I started to see some of those men I forced myself to like molesting me in dreams. That's the point where I stopped cause I was scared of my brain at that point. I even put "Bisexual" on a secret Tumblr account of mine, as a lie and then removed it because I was feeling weird and strange. I just didn't mention anything at all about myself in the end.
Why did I do it ? Because - I don't wanna be a Lesbian, I wanted to like men. Even just a little bit. Even if I am not gonna date them anyways, I wanted to like Men. Women like men. Most of them do, even the Gay ones. They like women who likes men and talk about Men with them. Everyone, including Gay People. Queer people don't like Lesbians. I wanted to assimilate and belong to at least in the Queer Community. I wanted privileges that comes with being able to like Men. Privileges and humanity that society is willing to provide me with by being interested in men.
I failed in liking Men. I just don't like them- they are ugly and gross and I envy those who do.
I mentioned this useless fact about me to get to a point about something.
The point and fact of the matter is- I get very pissed off when people accuse me and literally every single Lesbian I ever encountered actually - of being "Biphobic" every time they try to talk about how being a Lesbian has Marginalized them a lot, a lot more than any of their Bisexual counterpart. As if Lesbians need to lie through their teeth about the fact that they are getting treated like absolute shit by almost everyone in everywhere in order to not make their Bisexual friends feel "Excluded" - a minority which is literally included in every single part and corner of the Queer Community. As long as a Lesbian plays -"We are all oppressed the Same" - She is Ok. They are a "Cool" one. Once she decides to open her mouth and talk about the reality about her marginalized existence - aha NOW ! This is a UGLY MAN HATING DYKE. The monster, the man hating subhuman. Boom.
Yk, I am not writing all this paragraph to get pity party or sympathy. I already got a lot of them. I am some lesbian who lives in a country where my existence is illegal. I can't guarantee if I will be able to get out one day or just kill myself before that. I don't like my existence. It wasn't like that before. But the constant dehumanization lead me to hate myself. So kindly don't bother being worried about me, I shouldn't matter to anyone for any of this. All I want is for people to listen to what I have to say carefully.
I don't want any other lesbian to feel like this about their existence. And it's just not gonna happen if the whole Queer community stops acting dumb and obtuse about how Lesbophobic their community actually is. Start by stop calling Lesbians Biphobic or Overreacting every time they wanna talk about how they are more oppressed and marginalized than Bi woman or complain about pride stores keeping every single flag and then not even keep one lesbian flag. Stop taking personal level offense when they call a Guy you like Ugly or Misogynistic - they are very definitely just telling you the truth and it shouldn't be on lesbians to deal with your cope about it. Listen to them talking about getting hate crimed by other Queer Men or Cishet Man of a Queer Woman in a Queer Inclusive Space without feeling the urge to call them Biphobic.
Lesbians shouldn't only be talking and crying about getting correctively raped for you to think Lesbophobia is a serious issue when you all consider calling the bf of a Bisexual Woman Ugly some form of hate crime.
Anyways, long post, but the end. Good job if you finished it.
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