𝕂𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕪

“Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”

Armin downright whimpers when you silence his protest with a soft giggle and press your lips to his again, cupping his cheek like you’re trying to ease him into it. He kisses back, but it’s clumsy—his lips too hesitant, his breath shaky. The way his slightly clammy hands tremble as they slide awkwardly onto your waist gives him away completely. His fingers twitch like he’s unsure if he’s even allowed to touch you, like he’s expecting to be jolted awake from some perverse fever dream at any second.

You smile into it. He tastes a little like fruit punch and nerves.

How’d he even end up like this?

Honestly? He’s not entirely sure himself.

All he knows is that about an hour ago, he’d been forcibly dragged out of his safe, sacred little sanctuary—his room—by none other than Eren Jaeger, who’d called him a “shut-in loser” with all the affection of a lifelong best friend trying to get his social recluse ass to touch grass for once. “Just come out for one night,” Eren had said. “You never hang out anymore. You just rot in front of that stupid computer!”

That “stupid computer,” by the way, is the love of Armin’s life. A lovingly hand-built, high-performance rig that he’d spent months putting together with trembling excitement and a YouTube tab permanently open. The tower is pure art—transparent case with perfectly routed cable management, cool-toned RGB fans that change hues with each temperature spike, and a custom water-cooling loop that keeps everything running quieter than a whisper. The inside glows in a soft gradient from blue to violet, illuminating every pristine component like a spaceship console. His mechanical keyboard clicks satisfyingly under his fingers, each custom PBT keycap matte and worn in just enough. The desk is outfitted with dual curved monitors, a steelseries headset perched on a 3D-printed stand, and a carefully arranged line of anime figurines—each one dusted weekly.

He lives there. He thrives there. Not out here.

So when he’d first stepped foot into the frat house—blinking under dim purple lights, instantly accosted by the stench of sweat, alcohol, Axe body spray, and weed—he’d wanted to turn and run. Connie had looped an arm around his neck before he could so much as take a step back, dragging him further inside like a lamb to slaughter.

He would’ve given anything to be home. Back at his setup. Back where he could peacefully queue up for League of Legends or post a hot take on a message board about dungeon tier lists. His teammates were probably on Discord right now, wondering why his little green light hadn’t turned on tonight.

That was then.

Somehow– Somehow, in the haze of being drunk or high out of their minds— Eren was out of it, Connie was asleep on Sasha’s lap, whose head was on a knocked out Jean’s shoulder. Mikasa, for how composed she usually was, was slumped next to Eren, his hand wrapped around hers— you had managed to finally snag the shy boy to yourself.

You’d only recently started hanging out with the gang, weaving your way into their circle with a kind of natural confidence Armin found both mesmerizing and terrifying. You’re funny. Loud in a charming way. You speak your mind, talk to Eren and Mikasa like you’ve known them for years, and make sly little jokes that leave Connie wheezing. Even Sasha likes you—and she doesn’t like anyone new.

But around you, Armin turns into scrambled code. He avoids eye contact. Stumbles over his words. Does that thing where he pushes up his glasses like a reflex even when they’re already in place.

And it wasn’t hard to realize that Armin liked you.

He wasn’t subtle—not in the way he’d glance up from his phone screen when you laughed a little too loudly, or the way his ears would burn pink every time you plopped down next to him during hangouts, hips brushing, thighs touching just barely. He'd sit there stiffly, eyes wide behind his glasses, thumbs still tapping away at whatever gacha game or tactics RPG he was grinding, pretending not to notice how your perfume clung to the air between you like static.

You’d catch him staring sometimes—well, more than sometimes. Once when you bent over to grab a charger, and again when you wore that cropped shirt with the worn-out neckline, his gaze getting stuck right where your collarbone dipped into something just a bit more scandalous. But he’d always look away just in time, pretending to clean his glasses or scroll deeper into Reddit threads.

The boy was practically a walking Tumblr post from 2013. Always in those oversized hoodies with the sleeves too long, fingers tucked halfway into the cuffs, his laptop stickers flaking off from years of aggressive clicking. His room, as you’d come to discover later, was nothing short of a digital command center. Dual monitors—one vertical, one horizontal—cast a cold RGB glow over his unmade bed and tangle of charging cables. His mechanical keyboard clicked loud enough to echo through the dorm floor, each keystroke deliberate. Rows of Funko Pops lined the top of his bookshelf, mostly anime characters and one out-of-place Miku figurine he shyly claimed was "cute."

And that chair—God, that chair. It was one of those ridiculous ergonomic gaming thrones with a headrest, a lumbar support pillow, and armrests that he always adjusted like he was gearing up for war. You could tell it was his pride and joy, considering how he refused to let anyone else sit in it. Except, of course, for that one time you snuck in during a group hangout and plopped down in it just to see how far he’d go before breaking—he just stood there, mouth open, shifting awkwardly until he gave up and sat on the floor beside you. Pathetic. Adorable.

So yeah, it wasn’t hard to realize Armin liked you. He was just painfully obvious about it in a way that made you all the more obsessed.

Especially after that day Eren—loud-mouthed, smug Eren—dropped the most shocking bit of information mid-conversation over nachos and beer.

“Guess who finally let me bully him into getting a tongue piercing?”

Your head had snapped around so fast it almost gave you whiplash. "You're kidding."

Eren had just grinned like the devil himself. “Nope. Took him to the place on 8th. Cried like a bitch but hey, he’s got it now.”

You’d turned to look at Armin, who was red as a tomato, sipping his Sprite like he wished he could disappear behind the carbonation. He didn’t even deny it.

You haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.

Which brings you to now.

So when all of a sudden, you're sitting next to him on the too-small couch, murmuring something about there being something wrong with your phone, and desperately needing someone to fix it for you, and no, the dim lighting of the living room simply isn’t enough to inspect it properly—you somehow manage to drag him upstairs to one of the empty rooms, thigh pressed a little too close to his as you explain how glitchy your phone is, how you're so sure it must be some kind of weird virus, and wow, isn't that so crazy?

But cut the bullshit. Even Armin knew you were lying.

Phone glitching? Yeah, right. He’d seen your screen time stats by accident once—your camera roll was 95% front-facing selfies, memes, and blurry videos from nights out. He wasn’t stupid. But he was clueless—at least about your intentions.

You’d had a thing for him since day one, not that he knew, obviously. The first time Eren had pulled you into the fold, dragging you into their little friend group like some shiny new accessory, Armin had looked at you like you’d be gone by next week. He wasn’t good with new people—too shy, too stiff, too used to lurking in the background with his legs folded crisscross on the floor and his thumbs tapping away at his phone while everyone else drank and talked over each other.

Even now, when everyone hung out, Armin would be half-present—physically there, tucked into the corner of the room with his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, but mentally god knows where. Probably grinding a mobile RPG or replying to a fan theory thread. He liked games where he could build things, micromanage every stat. His phone battery was always draining because he never stopped playing. Long, elegant fingers constantly moving, tapping, swiping. Even when you sat next to him, he couldn’t seem to stop. You once made a joke about how he probably tapped faster during battles than he would during sex.

You remember the way he’d choked on his Redbull.

But now—now he’s stuck. Sitting next to you in a quiet upstairs room, your perfume in his lungs, your thigh pressed right up against his, and your phone held limply between you both like some half-hearted prop.

He keeps glancing at you, lips parted like he wants to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.

“You gonna fix it or just keep staring at my lockscreen?” you tease, your voice low, syrupy sweet.

He blinks, startled, fumbling to grab the phone from your hands with a stuttered apology. “S-Sorry, I—um—yeah, let me just… check the settings, I guess.”

His hands shake slightly as he scrolls, and you bite your lip watching him. The way his jaw tenses, his brows furrow in concentration—it’s endearing. You wonder if he knows how flushed his ears are. You wonder if he knows how loud his breathing is.

You lean in just slightly, enough that your breath brushes the shell of his ear.

“You know,” you murmur, “I still haven’t seen that piercing.”

His entire body jolts. His fingers fumble the phone, almost dropping it in his lap. “W-What?”

You smile innocently, like you don’t already know exactly what you’re doing. “Your tongue. Eren told me. Kinda wanna see it for myself.”

Armin swallows hard, eyes wide as he looks at you like you just asked him to strip naked. “I-I mean, it’s not—It’s nothing, really. I-it’s just… uh…”

“C’mon,” you coax, fingers brushing the side of his knee. “I’m curious.”

He hesitates. Then, shakily, he sticks his tongue out just a little—just enough for the cool glint of metal to catch the light. Your stomach flips.

God, you didn’t expect that to be so hot. On him, of all people.

“You’re full of surprises, Armin Arlert,” you whisper, eyes meeting his.

And you swear to god, if you didn’t know better, you’d say the look in his eyes shifts. Just a little. Like something in him snaps or gives in. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“…Is your phone actually broken?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You grin. “Not even a little.”

And for once—for once—Armin smirks.

It's crooked. Barely there. But it's smug in the quietest, most devastating way, because he knows now. You're not here because of some bullshit glitch or broken screen. You're here for him.

The second you lean in, brushing a strand of his blond hair out of his face, he freezes—like a deer caught in headlights. His breath hitches, lips parting just slightly, and his fingers tense where they’re still holding your phone like it’s a lifeline.

“You’ve never kissed anyone before,” you say softly, not a question. Just an observation.

His cheeks flush bright red. He doesn’t answer.

You cock your head, smiling. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

His breath catches again, sharp and audible this time, and he shifts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands—does he drop your phone? Hold it? Hold you?

You take the decision away for him, gently slipping it from his fingers and setting it down on the nightstand. Then, without breaking eye contact, you slowly slide onto his lap, one knee at a time, until you’re straddling his narrow hips, hands settling on his shoulders.

His whole body goes stiff. “Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”

You kiss his lips again, silencing him effectively.

“Armin,” you say as you pull back, voice low and amused. “Relax.”

He doesn’t. Not entirely. But his hands hover awkwardly near your waist now, like he’s trying to be respectful, like he’s afraid if he touches you wrong, the moment will combust.

You lean forward, just enough that your noses nearly brush.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

He obeys, lashes fluttering shut. You let your lips graze his, soft and tentative, barely a kiss at all—just enough for him to taste your breath, to feel the warmth of you against his mouth.

He shivers.

You pull back slightly, your voice like silk against his ear. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He exhales shakily. “It’s… it’s good. You’re… good.”

You smile. “You haven’t even gotten the full lesson yet.”

And then you kiss him.

Really kiss him.

You press your mouth against his fully this time, slow and confident, your lips moving gently over his like you’ve got all the time in the world. He kisses back clumsily at first, a little too much pressure, a little off with the rhythm, but it’s adorable, and you can feel the way his whole body trembles under you.

You guide him with quiet murmurs between kisses. “Slower… softer, yeah… there. Just like that.”

His hands finally land on your waist, unsure at first, then a little firmer when you deepen the kiss, your fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. You part your lips slowly, and when he instinctively mimics you—nervous, but curious—you feel it.

The smooth, cool ball of metal.

You pause just barely, lips still brushing his, a grin curling at the corners of your mouth. “There it is.”

“Huh?” he whispers, dazed.

“That piercing,” you murmur, voice thick with heat. “Feels so fucking good.”

You kiss him again, and this time your tongue finds his. The sensation of the cold stud sliding against yours sends a sharp little jolt straight through your spine. It’s addictive. You roll your hips slightly against his, and he gasps into your mouth, fingers tightening on your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to pull you closer or push you away.

He tastes like mint and nervous energy, and the little helpless noises he lets out when you suck on his bottom lip are enough to make your thighs clench around his lap.

You pull back for a second, just to look at him. His lips are flushed, slightly swollen, eyes glazed with something between awe and pure panic.

“You okay?” you whisper, thumb brushing across his cheek.

He nods, almost too fast. “Y-Yeah. I just—I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You lean in again, lips ghosting over his jaw. “That’s just the beginning.”

He groans—actually groans—and it’s the hottest fucking sound you’ve ever heard from him. You swear you feel him twitch beneath you. His hips shift slightly, involuntarily, and the friction makes both of you gasp.

You grab a fistful of his hoodie, tugging him back into another kiss, messier this time. Less structured. All tongue and heat and shallow breaths. That piercing catches on your lip as you suck on his tongue, and you moan softly against his mouth.

He's kissing you like he wants to prove something now. Still hesitant, still learning, but eager. Hungry. His hands slide up under your shirt, still shy but bolder than before, fingertips ghosting over the bare skin of your waist.

You roll your hips against him again, deliberately this time, and the noise he makes—somewhere between a whimper and a curse—goes straight to your core.

You smile into the kiss, breathless. “You’re such a quick learner.”

He swallows thickly. “I—I wanna keep learning.”

“Yeah?” You rock against him again, and his eyes flutter shut. “You will.”

You dip your head to press a kiss to his neck, right below his jaw. He gasps, tilting his head back like it’s instinct, and you suck a slow, wet mark into the pale skin, making him jolt beneath you.

“You’re so sensitive,” you whisper. “Bet I could make you fall apart with just my mouth.”

He whimpers.

And fuck, that sound does something to you.

You're grinding against him now, fully, the heat between your legs pressing right against the growing bulge in his pants. The way his hips buck up helplessly, like he can’t stop himself, is intoxicating.

You mouth at his jaw, then his ear, letting your breath tickle the shell of it.

“Armin,” you purr, “do you want me to show you more?”

He looks up at you like he’s ready to beg.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Please. Show me everything.”

You don’t make him ask twice.

You kiss him again, deep and slow, feeling the way he melts into it now. No hesitation—just heat, want, and the softest desperation in how his mouth opens for you like he’s starving. You taste that metal ball again, glide your tongue along it, and the sound he makes—fuck, you’re obsessed.

Your hips move instinctively, grinding down on his lap, and you can feel him. Hard. Pressed right up against your core through his worn out jeans and your shorts. The friction draws a moan from your throat that has his eyes fluttering open, pupils blown wide.

“Fuck,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his. “You’re so hard already.”

He nods, frantic, breath stuttering. “I—yeah, I can’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh.” You cup his jaw, tilt his face up. “Don’t be embarrassed. You think I didn’t want that?”

You shift just a little, rolling your hips down with purpose, dragging your clothed pussy against his cock. He chokes on a gasp, his fingers digging into your waist like he’s trying to stop himself from bucking up into you again. You grab his hand, beckoning him to slip his fingers under your shorts, under the waistband of your panties.

“Feel how wet I am for you?” you murmur, lips brushing his ear.

He nods again, helpless. “Yeah—yeah, I feel it—fuck—”

You smile wickedly and grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one motion. His mouth drops open.

He stares.

Hard.

Like he’s short-circuiting. Like he’s never seen anyone naked before and can’t figure out where to look. His hands twitch like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

You guide them to your tits.

“Touch me, baby,” you say softly. “It’s okay. You can.”

He swallows hard and palms your breasts gently, reverently, like he’s afraid to squeeze too hard. His thumbs ghost over your nipples and you sigh, arching your back into his touch, giving him a show.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes.

“You’re cute,” you reply, pushing your hips down again. “And obedient.”

He whimpers at that.

You roll your hips slow and steady, grinding on him until you feel his thighs start to tremble beneath you.

Then you lean down, lips brushing his. “I want you to eat me out.”

His eyes widen. “I—what? I’ve never—”

“I’ll guide you. Just do what I say.”

You’re already sliding off his lap, standing between his legs and shimmying your shorts and underwear down in one motion. His breath stutters when he sees you like that, bare and dripping, your thighs glistening in the low light.

You make a move to lie back on the bed, but he stops you, pink in the face.

“S–Sorry, I– ah– Can you ride my face? Please?”

He looks like he wants to wipe his existence off the planet because why’d he say that in such a high pitched tone, why’d he stutter like that, why’d his voice crack when he said please, why'd he—

But you just giggle amusedly, pushing him back onto the bed, straddling his face.

His whole body tenses like he’s trying not to combust. “Are you sure you’re okay with thi—?”

You don’t answer. Just lower your hips slowly until you’re hovering just above his mouth.

“Open up.”

He does, and when your pussy presses against his lips, you sigh like it’s relief. He’s clumsy at first—licking too shallow, too soft—but you guide him. “Use your tongue. Flatten it—yeah, just like that. A little harder. Good. Fuck, Armin.”

The moment his tongue finds your clit, you moan, your hips jolting forward. And the pressure of that cold little ball dragging against your most sensitive spot?

It’s over.

You’re grinding on his face now, fingers buried in his soft blond hair, riding him through sloppy, wet licks and messy kisses that leave your thighs shaking. He moans beneath you, hands gripping your hips like he’s into it, like the taste of you is something he wants to memorize. His piercing continuously flicks against your clit, making you whine and shudder, thighs clamping around his head. And soon enough, you’re coming all over his tongue, his name leaving your mouth prettily.

He’s hard again—probably never stopped being hard—and when you finally can’t take it anymore, you slide down his body and palm him through his jeans.

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes wide as you feel the outline of him. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

He covers his face with one arm, flushed and overwhelmed. “I didn’t know I’d get like that so fast.”

“You’re adorable.” You lean down and press a kiss just above his waistband. “Let me take care of you.”

He whimpers again.

And when you tug his jeans down, his cock bounces free—hard, flushed, leaking at the tip. You stroke him once, slow and firm, and his whole body jolts.

“Oh my god,” he chokes, hands fisting the sheets. “I—I don’t think I can—”

“You can.” You kiss the head of his cock, swirl your tongue around it just once, and watch him squirm.

Then you straddle him again.

“Wait—” he gasps. “Are you—are we really—”

You line him up with your entrance, slow and steady, and you moan when the tip slips in.

“Fuck yes, baby,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you sink down inch by inch. “You’re inside me.”

He’s panting, chest rising and falling like he’s about to pass out. “You feel… holy shit…”

“Tight?” you tease, grinding down once you’re seated fully.

He nods, eyes wide, mouth open. “I’m not gonna last—”

“You’ll learn,” you murmur, starting to move. “I’m gonna teach you everything.”

And as you ride him—slow, deliberate, dragging every sweet sound out of him—you know for a fact that this won’t be the last lesson. You bounce up and down on him, watching with a gaze full of lust and amusement as he croons your name, head thrown back, drool escaping the side of his lip, thick glasses askew.

He looks like he’s unraveling. Like his brain stopped functioning five minutes ago. Like all he can focus on is the way your cunt squeezes him every time you drop down.

“F-Fuck, you feel so good,” he whimpers, voice cracking with raw need. “I c-can’t… I’m not gonna last…”

You lean forward, letting your chest brush against his, your lips brushing his mouth as you whisper, “That’s okay. Just give it to me.”

His hands are shaking where they grip your hips, but he tries to match your rhythm anyway, pulling you down harder every time your ass slaps against his thighs. He’s trying so hard to keep it together for you—sweet, trembling thing, so eager to please despite how close he is.

“I–I’m gonna– I’m gonna– I don’t have a condom on, I—”

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, kissing the edge of his jaw, tongue flicking over his pulse point. “Just pull out, baby. I’ve got you.”

And it’s like your voice alone is enough to break him.

His grip tightens—frantic, bruising—and you barely have time to lift off before he comes, gasping your name like a prayer. Thick ropes spill over his stomach, twitching cock pulsing as he groans and writhes beneath you, flushed and utterly wrecked. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose, and he’s too dazed to fix them.

You exhale through a low laugh, trailing your fingers through his release before bringing them to your mouth and sucking them clean, just to tease him. His breath stutters at the sight, and his eyes roll slightly as he pants beneath you.

You collapse next to him, both of you catching your breath in the quiet, sticky air. The room smells like sweat and sex and faint body spray, and outside the door you can still hear the low thrum of party music, muffled now like the two of you are in a different world entirely.

He’s quiet. Still. Hands awkwardly covering himself, glasses pushed to the side. You catch the way his lashes flutter, how red his cheeks are, how he refuses to meet your eyes.

You turn on your side, resting your head on one hand. “What’s wrong?”

He swallows hard. “That was my first time,” he says softly. “Like… all of it. Kissing, sex, everything.”

You pause, the weight of his admission settling into the space between you. He glances up at you finally, face filled with anxiety.

“I… I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

Your heart aches a little.

You reach out and gently remove his glasses, setting them on the nightstand, then cradle his face in your hand.

“Armin,” you say, voice low and sincere, “that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. You have no idea.”

He blinks, surprised.

“You were perfect,” you say, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “And I like that it was me. I like being the first.”

His face turns even redder, if that’s possible. “I–I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

“That’s the fun part.” You smile, brushing a strand of his hair off his forehead. “Means I get to teach you everything.”

He hides his face against your shoulder, groaning. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh softly, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re such a cutie.”

You lay there together in the silence for a while, his head nestled against your chest, his arms tentatively curling around you like he’s not sure he’s allowed to hold you yet. You run your fingers through his hair, gently tugging here and there, and you feel him relax more and more under your touch.

“You still nervous?” you murmur after a while.

“A little,” he admits, voice muffled. “I just… I’ve never done this. Any of it. I don’t want to mess things up with you.”

You kiss the top of his head. “You’re not. I like you.”

He lifts his head to look at you, shy but hopeful. “Really?”

“Mhm.” You brush your lips against his again. “I’ve liked you since I saw you trailing behind Eren with your stupid oversized hoodie and your Switch in your hands like you were allergic to human interaction.”

He laughs, sheepish. “I kind of am.”

You grin. “And I kind of love that.”

He watches you for a moment, eyes soft and a little awestruck. Then he leans forward, kisses you with all the gentleness and hesitance of someone who’s just now realizing he might be falling for someone, and you smile into it, warm and full and smug.

Because you know you’ve got him.

—

It’s official now. You’re Armin’s girlfriend.

It had happened somewhere between all the blushing kisses and stolen glances and slow, breathy I like you’s whispered in the privacy of his bedroom. There was no dramatic confession, no rose petals or fireworks. Just him looking at you one afternoon with that overwhelmed, adoring gaze, thumb brushing over your knuckles while he mumbled, “Do you, um… want to be mine? Like… officially?”

And you’d kissed him stupid in response.

So now, two weeks later, you’re at his place again, perched sideways on his lap in his gaming chair, legs draped over one armrest while his are stretched beneath the desk, twitching slightly every time something exciting happens on screen.

You’re wearing one of his hoodies—big, soft, and smelling like fabric softener and his shampoo—and nothing else underneath. Which he hasn’t noticed. Yet.

His focus is laser-sharp, blue eyes narrowed behind his glasses, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth like he’s fighting for his life on whatever boss battle he’s got going. You shift a little, trying to get comfortable in his lap, but he doesn’t even flinch—just grunts something about “just give me a second, babe, I’m in the middle of something.”

And yeah, it’s a little infuriating. But also?

Ridiculously hot.

Like, his headset is way too big on him. He keeps muttering things under his breath about cooldowns and mechanics and DPS output. His fingers are flying across the keys, long and elegant and twitchy, like they were built to type essays at the speed of sound or code random passion projects no one ever asked for.

At one point, he actually shushes you. A little breathy “waitwaitwait– babe, hold on, this guy’s cheesing—oh my god I swear to god if this fucking healer dies I’m gonna—”

You blink. Then snort.

“You’re so nerdy,” you murmur, voice laced with amusement, “I can’t believe this is my boyfriend.”

He doesn’t look up. “You knew what I was when you signed up.”

“Oh, I did.” You lean in, dragging your fingers up the nape of his neck, just under the headset. “And I like it.”

He shudders a little. “You’re distracting me.”

“I know.”

Still, he plays. Fidgety, intense, mouthing instructions to himself like some kind of adorable, socially anxious commander. You watch the screen for a bit, half-understanding what’s happening—some massive raid, particles flying everywhere, his team yelling in the Discord chat you can hear leaking through his headphones. Armin doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s surprisingly confident. Precise.

“No, back left! You kite, I’ll stun—good—shit, I got hit, that’s fine, I’ve got mana—”

You shift again. This time a little more deliberately.

His hands pause on the keyboard. “...Are you doing that on purpose?”

You blink at him innocently. “Doing what?”

“You’re… squirming.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “I’m just trying to sit comfortably, Armin. Your thighs are kinda bony.”

“I—what? I—”

He falters. And you know he’s starting to get flustered. Because his hand slips on his mouse, and he curses softly under his breath as his character takes a hit onscreen.

“Can’t believe I’m being insulted and sabotaged right now,” he mumbles.

“I’m your girlfriend,” you remind him, turning so you’re fully straddling him now, knees on either side of his hips, “it’s in the job description.”

He swallows thickly. You can feel him beneath you now—half-hard already, tension building the longer you stay in his lap.

“Please let me finish this fight,” he whispers, jaw tight.

You kiss the edge of it.

“Okay.”

So you wait. Sort of.

You shift again. Start pressing little kisses to his throat. Let your fingers toy with the edge of his shirt, lifting it just slightly. Not enough to distract him fully. Just enough to make him sweat.

By the time he finally mutters a breathless, “Got him, holy shit,” and slumps back in the chair, he’s panting and flushed—and not just from the game.

You lean in, both hands planted on his chest now, smiling sweetly.

“All done?”

He nods.

“Good.” And then you roll your hips once against his, slow and deliberate.

He makes a soft, broken sound in his throat. “Y-You’re evil.”

“Mmhm,” you hum, dipping down to kiss him again, this time deeper, tongue teasing the edge of that stupid metal piercing he still refuses to tell you the story behind.

It’s so easy to ruin him.

His hands flutter uselessly for a second before they land on your hips, gripping like he’s still not sure he’s allowed to touch you. You grind down harder, and he whines into your mouth, glasses fogging up, hips twitching like he’s not in control of his own body anymore.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice high and shaking. “I’m—I was just trying to game.”

“You’ll live,” you whisper, licking into his mouth again. “Besides… I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me.”

He groans.

And you know right then, without a doubt, this little nerd is already obsessed with you. Completely and utterly whipped.

author's note: HELL YEAH I LOVE NERDIFYING ANIME MEN!!!! fantastic give me 14 more of them bzzzzz

seriously when i saw this fanart the first thing i did was open up google docs and get my ass to WORK i feel like by now its really obvious i have a thing for nerds :3

When you first meet Armin, it’s easy to be enchanted by his big blue puppy eyes, his cherub cheeks, that little button nose. He looks like the epitome of innocence, but do not be fooled.

You’ll begin to notice how his those same sparkly baby blues tend to sneak glances at any part of you that might be exposed; shoulders, breasts, stomach, legs.

If you attempt to draw attention to his sneaky peeks at your body, he’ll blush and sputter and deny it, and you can’t seem to tell if he’s actually embarrassed, or just gaslighting you.

Make no mistake, Armin is a sweetheart. He’d never want to come across to you as perverted- even if deep down, he knows that’s exactly what he is.

But when he’s at home, locked away in his bedroom all alone, only the filthiest thoughts cross his mind. It starts with remembering how you smiled at him today, how it made him feel when you locked your eyes on his, how you told him he’s funny- no one ever thinks Armin is funny.

And then, the way your tits bounced when you laughed, the way the pendant on your necklace sits so snug between them. How you were wearing a fitted T shirt today, and they looked so round and soft. Your hips, the way your thighs spread when you sit down. Ugh…

He wants you to sit on his face and crush his head between those thighs, he wants to feel them tremble under his palms when he makes you cum.

He wants to watch your eyes roll back while you ride his dick, tits bouncing in his face when you’re telling him he’s such a gooood boy. He shivers at the thought

Your voice, calling him a good boy, calling him names. Even if they’re not so nice.

He’d even be your little bitch if you wanted, your filthy, disgusting, dirty little bitch. The thought of it makes it difficult not to stroke his cock. He’s aching for it.

He thinks, you’d be impressed by how much he knows for a virgin, how skilled he is at pleasing you. You’d probably figure out pretty quickly how desperate he’s been to fuck. He just has to know what it feels like.

He thinks about how humiliating it would be for you to see him like this, he considers lending you something and “forgetting” to take it back, leaving his door unlocked so you’d walk in on him.

He moans out loud at the thought, maybe you’d be so turned on you’d offer to help him out. He just needs you on top of him, touching him, kissing him, fucking him…

He’s going to have to figure something out, he can’t keep running home and beating his dick every time you talk to him, he thinks it may fall off at this rate. Pure desperation, he thinks, and it’s pathetic, but what if you like him that way?

All he knows is, one way or another, he needs to come up with something. He likes you a lot and he’s pretty sure you like him back, but there’s gotta be a way to get you like this. He’d get on his knees and beg if he wasn’t worried it would be off putting.

You crouch down next to the bed, face next to his as he screws his eyes shut, skin glinting with a thin layer of sweat as his jaw clenches. "Oh, Dami," you cup his cheek gently, making his eyes creak open. His pupils were wide, almost swallowing the entirety of his emerald irises as he blinked up at you. "I wonder if you have that bug thats going around."

"I am fine," he grumbles, nose scrunching as he huffs at you. "Do not fuss. We will still attend the party at the manor. I am fine."

"You are anything but fine," you snap, adjusting the cool cloth on his head. "You feel like you've just been in a sauna in a desert in Arizona. You're in pain. Your veins are bulging out of your skin all over your body. And you can barely keep your eyes open in the room with the blinds open."

A faint growl leaves his throat. "I am fine. I am not sick."

You huff. "You're so stubborn. The only good thing about this is you're too weak to even fight me trying to keep you in bed."

He tries to sit up then, jaw ticking as he strains himself. You see the amount of effort it takes for him to simply lift his torso from the mattress, and decide thats enough.

"Nu-uh. Lay down." You gently shove him back onto the mattress, making him groan and squeeze his eyes shut. "You're sick. Or something along those lines." You sigh, thinking for a moment before looking back at him. "Did anything weird happen while on patrol yesterday?"

He swallowed thickly, throat rolling with the action as a tear drop of sweat rolls down his temple. "No. Yes. But it was taken care of." He grimaced before continuing. "There were these odd-huff-creatures. Me and Grayson were scratched by one of them."

You pause, frowning as you scan his trembling body. "Where?"

"My shoulder. It is fine. It's been cleaned and dressed -"You ignore his words, gently pulling his sleeve up to see the wound. There was a bandage covering it, but it didn't hide the almost black veins sprawling from beneath it and down his arm.

You slowly peel back the bandage to see the wound, eyes settling on two small punctures that reached deep into his flesh, oozing a small amount of dark blood, thick and, again, almost black. "Damian… i think you're infected." You cover the wound back up, pulling his sleeve down as you stand. "And that's not a scratch. It looks like some sort of bite."

He lets out a sharp breath, pressing his cheek further into the pillow. You frown down at him, leaning in to kiss his temple before pulling away. "I'll be back in a second." You needed to find out what happened last night.

As you turn, his hand shoots out, snapping around your wrist and wrenching you back so suddenly you stumble, eyes wide as you look at him incredulously. "Damian-"

"Don't go." His voice is firm and sharp and quick as whip as he looks up at you. You could almost mistake his grimace for a snarl as he tugs on your hand again, bringing you down onto the bed with him. He hold your wrist like a death grip, like a python constructing its prey before its about to be devoured whole.

You reach down to gently uncurl his fingers from around you, but they just tighten further. "Damian, I need to find out what happened last night. You're not okay."

"I just told you what happened." He pulls you closer, making you lay down beside him as he wraps his other arm around your waist, practically cleaving you to him. "I am fine. Just stay. Please."

You look at him as he presses his cheek into your shoulder, eyes closed again with his brows furrowed, lips pulled into somethjng close to a pout. A sight that was endearing to you. You sighed and decided to get comfortable for now. You'd wait until he was asleep to go and try contacting Babs or one of his siblings to figure out what happened. That wound looked too weird to be just a simple injury from a fight with a criminal.

He spooned you from behind, his face tucked into you neck as he curls around your back. "Don't move," he mumbles, lips brushing your ear as he relaxes against you. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, in only a few monutes his breathing turned deep and even, and after waiting a bit you slipped from his grip.

You quietly made your way into the living room where your phone was, grabbing it and stepping onto the fire escape to make a call.

"Hey," Barbara's voice is loud in the phone, cheerful. "Where are you guys? The party is about to start."

"Hey, yeah, about that. Damian is feeling sick. He looks terrible and can barely move."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But I don't think its a cold or anything normal. I think he's been infected or something. He got hurt on patrol and the wound looks like some sort of bite."

"Bite? Like from an animal or person?"

"Neither. Well, definitely not human, and I don't know an animal that can make a bite like the one he has. It's like two small punctures in his shoulder."

"Like a snake bite?"

"I guess." You sigh, leaning against the metail railing of the fire escape and looking out towards the street. "His veins around the bite were also black too. I think he got infected from the bite but I don't know what could do that."

"Yeah, me either…" she trails off, and you can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she thinks. "You said it was from patrol?"

"Yeah, that's what he told me. He said he and Dick both were scratched by whatever creature they were trying to take care of. By scratched he meant bitten." You pause. "Hey, is Dick there right now?"

"No, actually. I was about to call him when you called. And I called him earlier but it went to voicemail."

That was odd, considering how excited he was for the holiday all week. He wouldn't miss the party, and if something came up someone would know.

Barbara speaks before you can even open your mouth. "I'll go check on him. He might be sick like Damian is if they were both… bitten by whatever was there last night."

You nod, turning back to the window that leads out to the fire escape."Yeah, thats good. Be safe, Babs."

"Yeah, you too."

You end the call and climb back into the living room through the window, looking up and almost jumping out of your skin as you see Damian standing in front of you.

"Damian!" You gasp, looking at his face and pausing at his expression. He's no longer sweaty. No longer pale. His body isn't trembling with pain like he was not to long ago. No, instead hes standing tall, breathing deep as he just… stares at you.

His eyes are half lidded, dark and almost looking red in this light. It had to be the light. His eyes are green, they always were. Now they were a swirling crimson that swallowed you whole. You frowned. No, it was the light. It had to be.

"You should be resting," you say, slowly moving towards him and placing your hands on his shoulders. He didn't move, his eyes not straying from your face as he continued to breathe slowly, deeply, as if relishing a smell that was sweet to him.

Your frown deepens as he doesnt move, worry knotting in your stomach. "Damian, are you okay?" You cup his cheek, and thats what gets him to finally move.

His hand comes up to hold the back of yours, pressing your hand firmer against his face as he turns it, planting a kiss upon your palm. He sighs. "Beloved."

Your brain stuttered at the softness of his voice, at tenderness and devotion laced within the words as it fell from his lips. At the way he gently held your hand, keeping his eyes on you still and devouring you with his gaze.

You blushed a bit, feeling warm at the affection but then you remembered his previously ill state. "Damian do you feel okay? You're not in any pain or…"

You trailed off as he leaned foward, nuzzling into your neck and breathing deeply, his hands holding your hips now.

"Damian?"

"Hmm?"

"Uh, please tell me you're okay. You were just dying on the bed a few minutes ago."

"I am fine. I feel much better." His lips brushing your ear as he speaks now, his hands sliding up to caress your ribs, making you shiver.

"How? I left for only a few minutes-"

"Dont ask questions," he murmurs, resting his head against yours now. "I am… famished. Thirsty."

"Oh," your brows furrow, you body pulling away from his, which he is visibly displeased at. "Let's get you something to drink then."

He trails closely behind you as you head to the kitchen, so closely you could feel the warmth radiating from his body and bleeding into yours through your costume. Speaking of, you weren't sure if you should change or still go tk the party with Damian now that he was feeling better all of a sudden.

You fill him a glass of water and hand it to him, which he holds awkwardly, staring down at it. His nose wrinkles and he pours it out swiftly, placing the glass down and turning back to you. "I am not thirsty for that."

You pause, frowning in confusion. He wasn't one to drink sodas much… maybe he wanted juice? "Well, what do you want then?"

He doesn't answer, instead cornering you against the counter, hands on the marble on either side of you as he leans in close again. With the way hes looking at you, the thought that maybe he came in contact with a sex pollen pops into your head.

You chuckled, eyeing him warily as he presses himself against you. "Damian, you didn't breathe in sex pollen did you? If you're embarrassed you can tell me, its fine."

His eye lids droop then, and he tsks lazily, tucking his face into your neck again. "Stop with the silly questions."

You sigh gently. "I'm just checking. You're way more affectionate than you usually are."

"Can I not be affectionate with the love of my life? Can I not touch you?" He then starts kissing beneath your jaw, not letting you properly process his words as his tongue traces the fluttering skin above your jugular.

"L-love of your life?" You stutter out, feeling hot all of a sudden. "Wow, thats a first."

"Perhaps. But it will not be the last." Before you can even speak again, his lips are on yours, his tongue immediately slipping between your parted lips to taste you. You make a surprised sound into the kiss, but dont pull away, instead slowly melting into his sudden affection. You clutch at him, holding onto his shirt as he wraps his arms around you tightly. One could mistake him trapping you here.

He deepens the kiss quickly, his hands sliding behind your thighs before hoising you onto the counter behind you and stepping between your legs. He moans softly then, pulling his lips from your to let the trail down your neck. You moan softly, arching your neck into him.

He stops above your pulse, slowly kissing and sucking at the skin above it as he groans. You're so lost in the pleasure, the feeling of him overwhelming your senses, that you almost miss his faint plea of "forgive me" before he sinks his teeth down into your neck.

You gasp at the pressure, then squirm and push against him at the sudden burning pain as his teeth break the skin. The sharp sting before the bone deep ache filling you as you moan, pushing against his chest. "Damian-!"

"Shhh, Habibti," he murmurs against your flesh, pulling off you for a second before sinking his teeth-fangs you realize, back into you. It hurts, pain radiates from the point of contact, but not soon after a warm sense of pleasure drapes over you, and you press you face into his shoulder. "Fuck, Damian, stop-"

"We will be together forever. I promise."He starts sucking then and your eyes rolling back with a groan, agony and escatacy crashing down on you in a torrent. "Mmph-"

He human against your skin, sucking your blood in deeply with each swallow, holding you up as your body goes limp against his. He pulls off after a long moment, licking along the punctures to close them as he murmurs. "There. You will be with me forever in this eternal life. As it should be."

Your eye lids droop, and your mind feels fuzzy, clouded with the opposing sensations flowing through your body and easing you into unconsciousness.

Damian holds you through it all, cradling you as he carries your slack body to the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed gently, kneeling beside the bed and holding your hand, kissing your wrist. "Awaken soon, Habibti. I will be waiting."

do you guys ever get the ick from your own writing? Me too.

Unfortunately for him (and much joy to you), your seats were assigned. He couldn't move even if he wanted to, therefore being stuck with hearing you constantly trying to get his attention or talk about topics he had no interest in.

"Psst!"

He didn't bother in giving you a single response much less of a side eye, he was far too busy looking at his paper, where he scored a 97%. He stared at it, uncaring at first— simply looking over the flaw in his work.

"Damian!"

Hm, there seems to be a lot of flies today. He decided to look over and caught your gleaming eyes.

From there on, Damian felt as if it were now a requirement to wear sunglasses anytime he dared to look at you.

If the light of the sun that culminated from the window beside his desk didn't blind him, your smile alone would do the job.

It was unbearable to look at.

"Dami, look! I scored a 100%!"

This time he wasn't staring at your disgustingly bright face that glimmered with happiness, making him look comparable to a glooming sloth.

"Do you expect me to leap for joy in your honor?"

"hmm your acknowledgement is enough for me!" You let out a soft giggle.

His eyes locked onto that large red mark with a 100%. At first he didn't care, So what? He made a one time mistake. It'll take more than a measley 97% to drag him down.

Until it did, and he was stuck—one score below you.

It must've been fate's cruelest joke in making him have almost each class with you. Almost Every single time. Yet It was just when in every single class, he was seated next to you.

---🫧

You noticed the pattern, you were ecstatic to say the least. you liked your gloomy next door! well..desk.

You found yourself always prodding at his work.

"woah..i finished that question earlier! Need help?" Unknowingly to you, this irked Damian.

You wanted to help him out! You knew he was smart but it was a great excuse to get closer to him.

"I'm perfectly capable of solving this on my own [✿]"

Sure, he can be a tad bit cold at times, but that was the charm! You really liked Damian, ever since your transfer from your previous public school, you managed to get here through a letter of recommendation.

As long as you kept up with your grades, you were permitted to study at such a prestigious school such as Gotham Academy. Even if your social standing here was practically 0%, you never let it bring you down.

You spent a good first half of the semester focused on your studies, occasionally chatting with the second social outcast.

Initally, you were a bit intimidated. You figured Damian would've been quite popular since he was Bruce Wayne's son and more so a Genius.

You were dumbfounded to see that most students avoided him. Considering most people didn't want to be friends with the poor girl, you figured you would shoot your shot in befriending Damian.

You understood that some people simply didn't mind being alone, maybe that was his case considering he didn't mind being on his own—but it also doesn't hurt to try every now and then to chat with someone, even if it was a short conversation.

So then, your 'trying to slowly befriend Damian Wayne' mission was ongoing. You'd sometimes comment on some questions you were stuck on, and even ask Damian's opinion on it and he would often respond —

"It's nothing too arduous, perhaps you should guess."

He would respond with an undertone that was condescending.

You came to the conclusion he was teasing. Therefore, you may or may have slightly lacked a bit when knowing someone was being rude.

"ha, Seems you got this in the bag then!

Even if you did catch onto his backhanded remarks, you always responded in kind.

Maybe he was having a bad day? You shrugged it off and proceeded to give him a small silly drawing of him and you as little cats to try and cheer him up.

He ignores you? Yeah you get it, some days you're simply too tired and you leave it at that. You could always talk to him some other time!

--- 🦇

"Hey Dami!"

"Look at this Dami!"

"psst Dami!"

Damian hated that god forsaken nickname you had given him. Always bothering him. The best he could do was send you a look that spoke on many levels of 'shut your mouth and focus'. Meanwhile you would only send him a fat grin and pull up a small doodle you made of him drawn as a cat.

--- 🦇

You have been promoted to minor annoyance to constant migraine.

Even so, despite of you constantly favoring the art of vexation. Damian had to admit. You were—

"Exceptional."

You blinked.

Did.. Damian just compliment you? It was a shock even for you. That shock didn't last long as you let out a large smile.

"Really?"

Damian paused. He really hadn't meant to say that aloud enough for you to hear. He never does that. He never slips up. So why now?

"no, i was joking."

You blinked..you felt a hum leap out from your throat.

"pf..-pfft! Hehe! Wow—I didn't know you were so funny, You were so serious, i couldn't tell you were joking!" You said, trying to stifle your laughter.

Why were you laughing. That was an insult.

Damian for once had been embarrassed, he kept his head forward to the board. He felt stiff. He knew if he looked to his side, you would still be looking at him. Have you no shame woman?

---🦇

What a pain you are. No matter what he does he always manages to be one step below you. He doesn't care for social status, he already knew he was the best of the best.

Why does he want to prove himself now?

"Man that random poor girl managed to pull one over on wayne.."

"yeah! She's on top of the scoreboard.!"

No. He doesn't want to prove to others how much better he is. He wants you to see how better he is.

Damian cares very little about your lack of wealth. However he never lied about how exceptional you are academically.

That is what irks him. How you mostly fool around yet somehow score higher than he does!

Damian has always been disciplined. From birth to now. Supposedly it is his best and worst trait. He finds himself.. befuddled. How is it that you—with so little discipline. Managed to be better than he was?

--🫧

You found yourself conflicted at the moment. You were in the library studying during lunch. having a slight problem with a certain math question. You barely even moved your pen, your leg bouncing our of sheer anxiety.

You then heard a chair slide over next to you.

"Damian?"

He placed his work books and notes beside you.

"This area is for more quiet. The other students come in here to chat more than study"

You blinked at him before smling

"Well I certainly appreciate the company!"

"I promise you this will only be a one time occurrence."

"uh huh? And you totally don't like my presence?" you chuckled

"I have no reason to like it."

"well, i can certainly name a few!"

Your earlier anxiety had been forgotten. Damian's presence alone had managed to clear up to air. Even if he wasn't a chatter box like you. He listened, you could tell when he did even if he seemed annoyed.

"Oh please, amuse me."

Damian rolled his pretty green eyes. Only showing a small faint smile. As if the thought of you having any sort of redeeming qualities was something humorous to him.

You never noticed how green it was. They were really pretty.

"Pardon?"

You froze.

"oh uhm..see! My charisma is definitely a good quality since I complimented your eyes!"

Yeah great save you dunce.

Your cheeks were getting warm, your fingers fidget with the ends of your mechanical pencil.

"..you are, exceptional."

You perked up, blinking.

"Despite your social standing, you shine brighter above others."

Your jaw slacked.

"uh-..wow thanks Dami...it means a lot coming from you. I always thought you were pretty cool."

You let out a big smile towards him.

--- 🦇

He really hated your smile. Who do you think you are smiling like that? What gave you the right to make him feel so unguarded. With that candid smile of yours.

Your eyes glistened beautifully, the sunlight that peeked from the window framed you like a painting. A photo would've been too simplified in your case.

Damian felt his heartbeat thump, only a second faster before turning away from you.

He released a small breath, keeping his heart and voice steady.

"tt, focus on your work."

He didn't bother looking up as he held his pen and leered down at his work. But he heard it. Your hearted giggle before speaking.

"Yes sir, I won't be too much of a bother!"

Naturally he would find himself responding with something back handed. Something like—

'You've been a constant bother.'

Or maybe

'A highly impossible task for you.'

He couldn't find the words. Nothing other than—

"hm"

Only a faint hum. It was all he could release, probably the nicest way he could dismiss you. A small hum of approval.

-- 🦇

The days passed in which soon, Damian started viewing you.. differently. He still considered you a formidable foe in academics, yes.

But he found himself enamored with different parts of you. Maybe details others would brush off. It started small.

He noticed whenever you would often scratch your right brow whenever you were thinking hard.

Whenever the room was cold you'd always lick your lips.

You'd yawn constantly, that he already knew. He also could tell you were embarrassed about yawning in public anytime you covered your mouth and blinked around to make sure no one saw.

He did, but you didn't need to know that. He was exceptionally fast in making sure you didn't catch him staring.

you would also refrain from rubbing your eye to not smudge your mascara, no matter how tired you are.

Damian began to talk to you more.

Well, mostly remind you of things.

"tt, stay awake. stop making me remind you."

He glared at you. He was still annoyed at the fact you could likely could be barely half-awake and still out-class his best grade.

He wants you at your best so he can beat you at your best.

"you're doing this wrong."

You perked up, blinking as you reread your work.

"huh? I could have sworn—..oh? Thanks Damian! Yeesh always here to save the day huh?"

Hm yes, He did do that a lot, but that was a secret you didn't need to know.

-- 🦇

Speaking of his other persona. He had a tendancy to..look over you anytime he was on patrols.

Outside of school, he found you in other places. He was no fool to know how dangerous your side of town was.

No, it's not an excuse to see you. He's just patrolling and you happen to be nearby.

He noticed you were unaware you are at times, earbuds plugged in as you walked around. Seriously? You know this is Gotham right? Your either brave or foolish.

Luckily he didn't have to step in, but he kept an eye from afar.

--🫧

You were happy Damian talked to you more! He even joined you in the library during lunch most days now!

He calls it 'studying' and that you should be following his steps. Quite frankly, you lost interest in studying as soon as he sat next to you.

There was always something you wanted to talk about. I mean no one bothered you but they didn't exactly try to befriend you either.

It was only natural you would be a radio station to Damian. Rambling about different topics outside of advanced classes.

--

Edit note: uhm okay guys. I may have accidentally pressed post when i was trying to edit more in. im so embarrassed rn, it's NO WAY near finished so uhm..unless yall want a part 2, ill get to work..

He's quiet for a moment before speaking again. "My father and I will be gone for a while for a mission." Your eyes open and he pauses for a second, then continues. "I will only have limited contact with you. Communication through electronic devices will be risky."

You frown. He'd warned you about this, not long ago. Said he may have to leave for a while since something has come up. You were worried, of course, asking for details. Asking if he thought it was dangerous. He'd assured you he'd be okay, of course, presskng soft kisses to your face and murmuring sweet nothings in your ear as you were both tangled in his bed. But you didn't like the idea of him going.

"How… how long will you be gone?" you ask, sitting up in your bed and looking out your window to the slick street below, the streams of black water babbling with the rainbow glint of oil as their small waves slip between the grates of the drains. Focusing ont he constant movement of the fallen rain distracts you from the creeping anxiety knotting in your stomach.

"I cannot give you a set time. We don't know how long it'll go on for, but we expect a few months."

You don't respond, just sighing and focusing on two kids playing with a dog in a puddle next to the neon green sign of the store across the street. The dog runs around the two kids, barking as they giggle and stomp in the water before their mother calls for them and they disappear around the corner.

"Hayati?" Damian's own frown is audible through the phone.

"I understand," you say, looking back at your phone as it sits on the mattress next to you. "Just… just be safe okay?"

"I am always safe."

"That doesnt mean something can't happen. Just… just come back to me. Okay?"

You can hear the smile in his voice. "I will. I always do, Roohi."

Damian calls only twice over the four months, and the rest of the communication you two have is through letters, which he never failed to send each month.

You'd received the first after a long day of classes, tired and sad at not being able to even talk to Damian, let alone touch and cuddle with him after an exhausting day as you usually would. You ran back to your apartment building to open the letter in privacy, reading:

Ya qamar,

How are you, beloved? I hope you are eating enough, and sleeping. I know you tend to shirk the duties of self care and health when you are worried or stressed. I have asked Pennyworth to make sure you are taking care of yourself, and if you aren't, to force you to.

He'll make food for you, and there will always be a room at the manor if needed. You can stay in my room if that would make you feel more comfortable, I do not mind.

I hadn't realized how attached I became to you until you were no longer in my orbit. You've wormed yourself into my life, Habibti, though I would have it no other way.

I miss you as one misses the stars on a starless night. I miss your smell and the feeling of your hands on me. Your scent tends to calm me when I am anxious, and not having you here leaves me overwrought. I would love to simply see your eyes. See them crinkle in the corners as you smile at me, see the flutter of your lashes as you close your eyes with exhaustion or pleasure. To see them twinkle in the night as we take a walk through the gardens of the manor.

I should have taken you somewhere before I left, but of course my stupidity got the better of me and I didn't think to take an opportunity to relish your presence once more before I wss deprived of it.

I apologize for this. I know you are worried for me, but do not be. I have not been injured, and the mission so far has been quite tedious. These criminals are not as smart as they seem to believe they are. You would definitely laugh at them and their idiocy.

Keep me in your thoughts, but do not let them swallow you whole. I love you, Roohi. Take care of yourself, for me.

Your cheeks ached as you smiled while reading it multiple times. You knew you weren't allowed to write him back, since it wasnt safe and you also didn't know where he was.

But that didnt stop you from grabbing a pen and paper and writing your own letter for him to read when he got back.

The second letter came a month later in the same fashion:

Beloved,

The pain of your absence intensifies each day you are not with me. It is october now, and the only thing that could warm my nipped cheeks would be one of your soft kisses. I know how much you love the fall. You'd look so beautiful in one of my sweaters you insist on wearing. Absolutely singular.

There is something I must tell you. I hate to say it like this where I cannot see your face, thought this will have to do since you will scold me when i return to you for not telling you immediately after it happened. I have been injured, a bullet graze to the shoulder. A simple scratch and nothing to be worried over.

I am fine, I promise. Do not worry. The shooter has been dealt with, and the wound has almost healed. Though, this injury has made the urge to return to you almost unbearable.

I stay up some nights simply thinking of you. Thinking of the baked treats you'd have in your oven during this season. Thinking of how I am unable to comfort you after a stressful day of your classes. Thinking of what may happen to you while I am away.

I know I shouldn't. My siblings all watch over you. They consider you family, as i do. I have also told you not to worry for me, yet here I am doing what I say you shouldn't. But I cannot help it.

You know how much I miss you. But there is nothing to be done to soothe the ache of missing you until I return. I love you, Habibti. Please do not let stress and nerves get to you while I am away.

The third came 2 days before Thanksgiving.

Habibti, I apologize for not being able to be with you for Thanksgiving. I know it is a special holiday for loved ones to be together on, and I loathe the fact that I am missing it.

My patience is thinning. It is proving harder to detain these miscreants than we initially thought, and my irritation surmounts each day.

I correct myself on what I said in my previous letter. The pain of your absence doesnt intensify each day, it intensifies each hour-each second. Each dragging and endless hour here i could be spending at home with you. But I am stuck here, much to my father and I's chagrin.

I arranged for you to have a seat at the table at the manor for the holiday. Alfred is planning for you to attend, if you have no other plans. You mentioned previously that your parents are on a cruise, so I arranged for you to spend Thanksgiving at the manor.

Brown has said she hasn't seen you in a while, and and Grayson misses your jokes, so they wouldn't mind you attending, of course.

Go have fun there. I do not want you to be alone. I love you and I miss you, Omri. Stay safe and healthy.

It was December now, and you hadn't received a fourth letter. Gotham had been blanketed with snow by the twenty-fourth, the roads the hadn't been plowed and salted yet slick with ice and thick white flakes.

You drove up to the manor, planning on spending the holiday up there since you had no one else to spend it with. The rest of Damian's siblings all went out to greet you, Dick and Jason carrying presents you had stuffed in your trunk up into the house while Duke and Steph dragged you to the doors.

Cass was inside, sitting next to the large fireplace next to the Christmas tree with a warm mug warming her hands. She smiled at you as you came in and you waved, taking off your gloves and hat. Alfred made sure you had something warm to drink and you sat by the tree with everyone, talking and catching up after not seeing each other since Thanksgiving.

Your thoughts kept straying back to Damian during this time, a small frown tugging at your lips as you stared at the bit of hot chocolate you had left in your mug.

Duke noticed your expression quickly and sat next to you, nudging your shoulder with his own. "You okay?"

You looked over at him, trying to smile a bit. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just… i wish Damian were here. This would be our first Christmas together."

He nodded, leaning back into the couch cushion. "Yeah, I get it. He's been gone for months and he's missing Christmas with everyone for this mission. So is Bruce."

You sighed softly, looking over and Tim and Steph in a silly debate with Jason, all of them smiling and chuckling with each other. "Thats one thing I don't like about him being a vigilante. He misses stuff. I don't hold any of it against him but… it makes me sad, you know? That he isnt even here to spend Christmas together."

Steph suddenly piped up across from you, smirking at something over your shoulder. "Don't speak too soon."

"Beloved." You whirled around at the voice, almost dropping your mug on the couch at the sight of Damian. He was standing in the doorway of the room, wrapped in coat with his hands on his pocket, a scarf around his neck that emphasized his flushed cheeks and nose. He smiled softly at your shocked expression.

"Damian," you breathed, immediately standing and striding over to him. His arms immediately engulfed you, pressing you against his chest as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

He hummed, sighing agsinst your neck. "You weren't at your apartment."

"No, I came here to spend Christmas with everyone," you mumbled into his neck. "I brought presents."

"Did you?"

"Mhm."

"Good thing I brought a present of my own then." You pulled back just enough to see Damian pull a small box from his pocket, along with an envelope taped to it.

Your cheeks flushed. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"Of course I did," he says firmly, lifting your hand to place the box into it. He keeps his eyes on yours, earnest and tender. "Open it. See if it's to your liking."

Your blush deepened, your fingers gently peeling the envelope off the lid of the box and placing it under your arm before opening the box. Inside sat a ring, not a wedding ring (though you wouldn't have minded too much if it was one). The band was gold and thick, engraved with cursive letters along the inside, and had a large emerald sitting atop it. The same shade as Damian's eyes, bold and glinting in the light of the fire next to you both.

Your lips parted in surprise, eyes snapping back up to him as you sputter for a response. "Damian-" your voice cracked and you swallowed thickly. "I-i cant take this. Its gorgeous, and I know it was insanely expensive-"

"It was worth every penny," he interrupts, kissing on your forehead. "I assume you like it then?"

"Damian, I love it," you grin at him, cheeks flushed and eyes glinting in a way that made his heart ache.

"Good." He holds your free hand, stroking your knuckles as he nods toward the letter. "I didn't bother sending it in the mail since I would be back by Christmas."

You glanced down at it before shaking your head. You leaned forward and gave him a chaste kiss on his lips, pulling back to see his cheeks a deep red now instead of pink.

You giggled. "I'll open it tomorrow. I have you here now."

Damian's face softened, the usually firm lines smoothing over as he rested his forehead against yours.

It was a tender moment before you remembered all his siblings were in the room. "Awww, look at the cute love birds!" Dick exclaimed, clutching his chest as if his heart hurt.

Stephanie grinned and leaned heavily into Tim, almost making him fall over. "Young love!"

"Be quiet, you imbeciles," Damian huffed, pulling back to glare at them over your shoulder. He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the room as they kept teasing him, leading you to his room.

"What about your family?" You chuckled, squeezing his hand."

Later. I want to see you alone, hayati. It's been months." He brushed his lips agsinst your cheek. "I want to touch you."

You bit your lip to hide your smile. You knew it was going to be a long night.

a/n: I AM SO SORRY IF ANY OF THE ARABIC IS INCORRECT AND PLEASE TELL ME IF IT IS.

Your whole body is tense, fear pumping deep in your veins and through your body. You’ve been running along the highway for quite some time now, adrenaline is the only thing keeping your wobbly legs up and from collapsing. A simple road trip traveling from state to state with your friends had quickly turned out to be the worst thing you’ve ever agreed to. There were a few other people you hadn’t known who were accompanying you and your friends on this trip, it was all going fine until it wasn’t. The driver got lost, deep in the twisting dirt roads of rural Texas. No one was in a good mood because of this, and the searing hot air of the Texas sun was not helping. Hope was brought back seeing the road sign, ‘Travis County’ in faded bold lettering. A couple of miles down the road passes, and then there is a parked cop cruiser on a small dirt road, as soon as the van passes its overhead lights flash on and the siren begins to blare, making the driver groan, cursing under his breath as he pulls over on the side of the dusty road. “Everyone act cool okay?” He instructs everyone as the sheriff begins to walk up to the van.

The cop was an asshole, there was no doubt about it, and the driver's attitude was definitely not helping the sheriff's temper. The man was completely pissed off and combative, leering at everyone in the vehicle with pure disgust on his face and muttering under his breath something about hippies. The bickering continued before the sheriff seemed to have enough, but what you would have never expected was him to raise his gun and put a bullet into the man’s head. Blood, flesh and bone spray over the van, covering everyone's faces and clothes. It wasn’t long before the initial shock passed and everyone scattered, screaming as they launched themselves out of the van and onto the asphalt, shooting up and running off in all directions. You dared not to look back as you heard their screams cut short after each bullet was shot, fearing any moment spent not escaping would be your end. Each second mattered. Your shoes kick up dust each shaky step you take, the promise of death keeping you from slowing.

The sound of a distant engine roaring up to life is heard in the distance behind you, you’re certain you're the last one standing. Other than the car there are no signs of any others alive, their screams have long since been silenced. The sheriff is hot on your tracks. Seeing that he’s speeding right towards you, you bolt into the steep ditch. Your shoe catches over a loose rock and before you know it your face first tumbling down into the dusty ground below. The car comes to a screeching halt, barely missing the ditch as he turns away from it. You can’t even pick yourself up in time before he’s on you, swinging the door open he’s rushing out of the car, and sliding down into the ditch. You lift your face from the ground and pick yourself up with your arms before you’re shoved right back down into the dirt, you feel cold metal pressing and digging into the base of your skull. The sheriff keeps you down with just the gun alone, making it clear that if you make one sudden move, he’ll show you no mercy and shoot. Your heart beats wildly in your chest, beating and constricting with fear, wanting so desperately to flee but you're stuck, stuck by the threat of this man blowing your head off with his shotgun.

His lips curl in a cruel, snide smirk, yellowed-crooked teeth bared, his breath hot with the faint smell of tobacco. “You just get up nice and slow now.” His eyes roam over each dip and curve of your body perversely, he has no shame as he practically undresses you with his eyes. “Sir please-“ the barrel digs harder into your skull, forcing your face into the ground more, you shut up and comply with his demands. A couple of moments pass, the gun is still pressed against your head but not as painful as before, allowing you to stand up. Shakily, you rise to your feet, being as slow as possible to not trigger his wrath, he’s shown that he is not a merciful man, and you’d rather not test his patience any longer. You keep your hands raised in compliance. His weathered hand grabs the back of your shirt, tugging you back then twisting your body forward and towards the car, pushing you roughly into the back. As you tumble onto the leather seats the door slams shut, and all you can do is watch as he brings the bodies back into the trunk. The bodies of your once best friends, the kind strangers who helped you in your travels lifeless. You regret looking though, your eyes catch sight of the hole shot in through their heads, causing you to recoil in disgust, bile rises and burns in your throat and before you can stop it you’re puking on the floor of the car. Your eyes scan the car for any way to escape, but there is none. The leather seats are torn, covered in dried-oxidized blood that crusts over the aged leather. Scratches along the seats shows you that many before your group have fought for their life here.

The drive is painstakingly long, at least that’s what it feels like. Each turn on the road, each bump that jolts you in your seat makes you realize just how screwed you are. His eyes briefly check to make sure you aren’t up to something in the back, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. This man is not a cop, that was clear the very moment he shot the first bullet into the driver's head. He’s getting off on your fear, palming himself like the damn dog he is as he looks at your teary face. “You’re really pretty when you cry like that.” He says in a sleazy voice, licking his dry lips as he stares at your breasts, blood spots spattered over your low-cut top and breasts. After a couple more minutes of this torturous journey passes the car comes rolling to a stop in front of an old house. He steps out of the car and starts to walk to the back, opening the door he grabs your arm, tugging you out and throwing you to the ground. Before you can get up he hits your head with the back of the gun, black spots fill your vision, you hear the man calling out for someone before you go completely unconscious.

Your eyes adjust to the dark room as your blurry vision clears, no longer are you outside, this place is dark and damp unlike the unforgiving Texas heat outside. A blurry figure stands in the middle of the room, the only light a small overhead lightbulb that flickers weakly. The memories of what happened before come rushing back to you, quickly you try to get up but your arms and legs come to a halt, chains rattling from the movements. This alerts the man at the table in front of you, muddy water sloshes as his bulky frame quickly turns towards you. The man is tall, and big. His bulk covered the light behind him, now his features were hidden in the shadows. Your breathing starts to pick up again, lungs burning from each gasp of air you greedily suck in, the fear makes it nearly impossible to calm and slow your hyperventilating, each gulp of air never enough to sate your body. Looking around the room you’re met with gore, gutted bodies dangling on meathooks, bones haphazardly strewn about each tabletop, shelves filled with human parts, and oh how much blood coats each surface. Meat is packed in butcher paper and wrapped up, stacked, and labeled on the man’s work table in the middle of the room, what little is left of the remains of your lifeless best friend beside it. You whine under your breath, confronted with the fact that everyone from before is dead and you will soon be next.

The shadowy figure wastes no time and starts walking straight towards you, his strides long and heavy, boots thudding with each step he takes to get to you. The small window above you illuminates his face, showing off his grisly appearance. Long matted black curls cling to his forehead, stopping just at his shoulders. A black-leather mask hides the lower half of his face, straps tied around his head tightly. Tattered worn clothes cover his hefty frame, a brown butcher's apron drapes from his neck and is tied tightly around his thick waist, under the apron is a dirty button-up and a sloppily tied tie. He squats down, grabbing your jaw roughly, turning your head to the side, and then back again, inspecting you like a piece of meat. Tears fall from your glossy red eyes, streaming down your cheeks, and slide onto the man’s grubby fingers. His face inches closer to yours, you try to look away, but his grip tightens and snaps your head back forward and forces you to stare back at him.

“Please… Please I'm sorry, just don’t hurt me.” Your voice croaks, throat dry and burning from screaming and the lack of hydration for however long you’ve been trapped down here unconscious. Meekly you beg with the man, traumatized so deeply from the past incident with the sheriff you can no longer fight, just beg pathetically. He stares questioningly, his guard raised. Normally the victims brought home shout and curse at him, they see him nothing more than just a nasty mutt, a filthy degenerate, no matter how hard he tries to pretend those words don’t matter, each time they’re said they cut deep, festering in the depths of his mind, repeated over and over until his anger boils over and he tortures them cruelly. Any moment he expects you to start screaming at him, it’s what he’s used to, he almost wants it so he doesn’t have to face his selfish feeling of want, of need. What throws him off though is you, your lack of anger, your words are different, soft. He craves softness.

His palm rubs your cold cheek, his skin leathery against yours, and you lean into it. He recoils back up as soon as you do so, wrenching away like the very act of you leaning into his touch burned him. He stumbles back and out of the room, his boots thud loudly as he quickly escapes up the stairs. He slams the door shut, leaving you alone and confused in the damp cellar. You slump back against the brick wall, trying to ease the burning sensation of your arms raised and cuffed against the wall. It feels as if your arms are going to pop out of the socket, the tension bubbling deep in your very bones. Panting fearfully you tug and pull repeatedly, fear overtaking you once more. The very room seems to be closing in around you, the blood-curdling screams seared into your mind. Thrashing around you try to forget, but now that you are alone it haunts your mind-your very being. There is nowhere you can look without being met with death, bodies, bones, and limbs strewn about in a macabre manner. You don’t want to be alone, but also you can’t bear being in the room with that man, the one who butchered your friends like animals, and just the very thought of seeing that corrupt sheriff makes you recoil and shiver in disgust. Tears won’t stop flowing, and you can’t help but mock yourself, how pathetic you look trying so hard to escape, when you look weak as you thrash your shaking limbs. You can’t help but laugh, wondering how things would be if you just said no, if you never agreed to tag along on that stupid road trip. Thinking about what-ifs is pointless now.

Thomas slams the door shut behind him, hurrying to get away from the basement. Luda sees his rigid frame and his quick pace. She’s quick to concern and fuss over him, always so worried about her troubled son. “Tommy dear you alright?” She asks warily. His legs come to a halt, he is never one to ignore his mother, turning around he looks over to her, her eyes are deeply concerned beneath her glasses, she takes a step closer but he backs away, causing her more distress. Before she can question him any more Hoyt comes sauntering in, rooting around in the fridge for another beer. He slammed the fridge door shut, twisting off and tossing out the bottle cap. He scans and takes in the scene before him, he couldn't care less about what’s happening. “You done with the meat boy?” He grumbles out, taking a long sip of the amber liquid, guzzling it down. Thomas nods, quick for the man’s approval. Hoyt wipes his lips, grinning wickedly. “Good. Now, get yourself cleaned up, you reek boy.” Pursing his lips and his nose wrinkles is disgust. He doesn’t need to be told twice, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the upstairs bathroom, slamming and locking the rickety door shut.

His mind replays that moment over and over. Like the pathetic mutt he is, he's hard. Over the years he’s liked to fantasize, keeping his mind busy to distract himself from his pain, his loneliness, it was the same pitiful fantasy he’s been dreaming about since he was in his teens, since the days he was working in the slaughterhouse. Her even just giving him a lick of affection-even if he knows it wasn’t what she intended-has him spiraling into a deplorable, lust-fueled mess. His mind muddled with the vision he had, now with her. His hand trails down his stomach, pushing the apron aside so he can grind his palm against his thick length tenting his pants. Oh how grateful he is that the apron hid it from his mother, the last thing he wants is for her to think of him in a bad light. His cock chubs up in his pants as his mind conjures up sick thoughts of that woman, oh how he wishes he would get the guts to take her, fill her up until she’s so stuffed full her body can’t take it. He stops briefly to pull his cock out, the metallic hiss of the zipper can barely be heard over his panting, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his thick cock. He wishes it could be different, that he could have her, and she would want it, could take her as his own, like how he’s always wanted, but he knows it will never happen, even as he begins to stroke his cock fervently he knows deep down he is the dog everyone says he is. The rabid animal everyone called him back in his younger days. A freak, a beast that needs to be put down. He’s confronted with his debased actions as he cums in his hand, spilling rope after rope of creamy cum, wasting it when he could be stuffing a woman full of it. He knows no woman would want it, women look at him with pure disdain in their eyes, that girl down there surely is no different, she would never love him. As he comes down from his high, his mind slowly returns back to normal, he sheds his clothes to bathe himself like instructed. He has no time for feeling, his life purpose is to serve, not want.

The sun has long since set, the man hasn’t killed you, he hadn’t even come back down yet, you wish he would at this point, to stop the suffering quick then whatever those two men have planned for you. You’re brought back out of your thoughts, you gasp when you hear the door atop the stairwell creak open, heavy footfalls thump loudly against the aged wood, dust rising from each step. He’s back, his eyes never leaving yours with each step he takes. He stoops down to your level and sits in front of you, holding out a plate of food as he anxiously waite for your approval on it. When he sees you don’t recoil back from him, he picks up the fork, cutting up a piece of the sausage and bringing it up for you to eat. Your obviously hesitant, who knows what that meat is from, even if you wanted to not eat it, your stomach growls and constricts. You part your soft lips and close in around the fork, taking and chewing the meat as he eagerly starts to cut up more. It almost tastes like pork? You’re not sure, but the texture is off and instantly alarms you, it’s unlike any other meat you’ve had. Your lips purse as you try to hide a reaction, who knows how he would react if you slipped up and acted disgusted by the food he gave you. You're lucky he’s giving you food at all, and besides, he looks happy that you even accepted it, almost like he wanted your approval on what he brought you. After finishing the sausage he scoops up some mashed potatoes and shovels it into your mouth sloppily. He picks up the last of the potatoes and when some slips off and plops on to your breast with a wet smack He leans down, lowering his face onto your chest, the leather mask scraping against your soft skin and his tongue licks and nibbles over the spot. You're taken aback by this, trying to push him off your breast, he groans, tongue swiping and licking his lips as he stares up at you through half lidded eyes. He grabs the porcelain plate and licks it clean, feasting on any scrap he’s given.

“Tommy!” You recognize the voice of the man calling from upstairs, it’s that sheriff again. Your whole body goes cold, fear building up from the base of your spine and crawling up your whole body giving you goosebumps. The man you know now as Tommy whips his head back, looking up at the stairs, he's quick to rush and grab the keys, pushing them into the lock that cuffed your arms. You hiss out a sigh of relief as your arms finally fall down to your sides, but it’s short lived as he drags you over to some closet, sliding a 2x4 into the handles so you can’t open it. The sheriff is marching down the stairs, peaking through the cracks of the closet you watch as he angrily trudges over to Tommy. “Damnit boy you forgot to feed the hogs and they’ve been squealing out there for hours!” He shouts, when Tommy doesn’t move he slams his foot down making both you and Tommy jolt “Boy get your ass out there! You ain’t too old to get your ass beat you remember that now.” With that he's quick to hustle up the stairs. You’re more confused than anything, how could a man of that size be the one getting yelled at by him? Why would he take orders from that filthy sheriff? Your eyes catch on the name tag glinting in the light. ‘Hoyt’. Your lips curl in disgust, you just know he gets off to the feeling of power he holds over people, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face as he saunters up the stairs. A sigh of relief slips from your lips as he leaves, now you are left to await Tommy's return.

Over the next few days a routine is built with Tommy, you spend most of your days trapped in the basement, waiting for his return, he spends most of his time either butchering, sewing or doing laborious chores outside. You’ve come to learn a lot about him in this short time frame, even if he doesn’t speak. Tommy is like the family’s guard dog, eager to please, working hours throughout the day, protecting them when any intruder should come through, all just for a scrap of affection, affection only his mama gives. He’s like a puppy really, begging for the attention it won’t receive, and he sees nothing wrong with it because that’s all he knows, but now that you’re in the picture, he can’t help but spend all his free time begging for your attention. His mama is concerned for him, seeing less and less of him over these few days. She’s always been the one doting over him, if she was out of the picture she knows no one would care for him, she shivers at the thought of leaving her poor boy alone with Hoyt and Monty, she knows how cruel they can be sometimes.

Thankfully these past few days he took off those painful chains, he knows you’re not stupid enough to try and leave, the fear of facing Hoyt keeping you down here, death would be certain the moment you step foot out of this basement. You don’t know how long it’s been, you don't know anything anymore, it’s dark outside of the window but knowing that it's night outside doesn’t do anything to calm you, left alone with nothing but your thoughts all day and all night. After being alone for so long you’re starting to crave any human contact, you even start to yearn for Tommy to be around you, being alone so often is starting to get to you mentally. You don’t even notice he's returned until he's hoisting you up and off the ground, interrupting your train of thought. one of his hands is on your lower back and the other on your bottom keeping you up, you try to ignore him pawing at the fat of your ass. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, fisting the fabric of his dirty button-up. You watch as he takes you upstairs, now fear boils over once more, fear that he’s taking you to your death, ‘but it doesn’t make any sense’ you try to tell yourself ‘if he wanted you dead you’d be dead.’ He cautiously steps foot out of the basement and into the kitchen, listening for any movement. He heads down the hall, each step he takes he makes sure not to make a noise, snoring can be heard through one of the doors he passes. Soon you both reach a bathroom and he sets you down on to the sink counter, pushing past the yellowed shower curtain and turning on the shower faucet. A shower would feel so good right now, your body caked with sweat and grime, your hair greasy.

He starts to take off his clothes, undoing every button and shrugging off his shirt. His body is littered with scars, pink healed cuts adorn his tanned skin. His bulky stomach pudges over his jeans, which he is in the process of taking off, your eyes flick back up so as to not stare at his dick. Your eyes roam his upper body, his body is thick, a thick layer of fat covers his hard earned muscles, and he's a hairy man that’s for sure. Hair coats his arms, dusted along his chest, and a trail leads down to his soft tummy and into his boxers. Soon he’s completely naked save for his mask, and he’s moving to take off your clothes. He’s eager to tug off your pants, he rips your shirt in two and you can’t help but scold him. “Hey!” You whisper at him, he groans and huffs loudly, leaning against you. You let out a small sigh and watch as he takes off the rest of your clothes, tossing them carelessly to the ground, you stare up at him, his hands fall to the sides. He’s too embarrassed to take off his mask in front of you, expecting you to scream as soon as he does so, instead he covers your eyes, you hear the rustle of the mask and it being placed on the sink beside you. Keeping your eyes covered he leads you inside the shower, the water lukewarm as it sprays against you. He uncovers your eyes now that he’s behind you and wraps his arms around you, panting happily, his face nuzzling against the back of your shoulder, you try to ignore the feeling of his cock rubbing against your ass, feeling it slightly harden. You're shocked to feel as he rubs his face against you, his nose isn’t there, even at the feeling you dare not to turn around and anger him, instead you pump shampoo into your palm and begin to wash your hair, he does the same. After you're done with shampooing and conditioning your hair you reach for the wash cloth he brought in for you, grabbing the bar of soap to rub it against the wash cloth and suds it up. Once it’s soapy enough you set the soap down and start to rub the soapy cloth all over your body. He finished cleaning himself before you and is now watching from behind, you swat at his wandering hands that kneed and squeeze your tits, he lets out a breathy moan from the back of his throat, keeping his hands to himself for the time being.

You bend down to begin washing your legs, which you quickly regret. You feel him grip your ass, pawing at your wet, malleable flesh. He can't keep his hands to himself for more than a few seconds, that’s for sure. He groans at the sight of you bent over, his cock nudging and slipping around and through your pussy lips. You speed up washing yourself, and as soon as you're done you shoot back and straighten yourself up. Your fingers grip and turn the faucet until the water stops pouring, now left in the cold air as water droplets clinging and dripping down both of your bodies. He's the first to leave, drying off, the first thing he puts on is his mask, then he opens the shower curtains and hands you a clean towel. As you dry yourself off he puts on his new clothes, jeans and a stained tank top, it clings to the heft of his stomach, your left with the tattered remains of your dirty clothes. You watch him as he brushes his hair, wincing at how he does so. The brush rips through his hair roughly as he tries to get the knots out, he lets out short grunts as he does so. “Hey, let me help” you offer, his blue eyes seem to light up as he enthusiastically hands you the brush, you sit on the toilet and he sets himself down on the floor between your legs, waiting oh so eagerly for your attention. You start gently from the bottom and make your way up, the knots start to come out, his soft hair curling lightly into waves.

His hair is starting to get long, it’s past his shoulders, all brushed out you notice jagged cuts in an attempt to shorten it. “Would you like me to give you a trim as well?” You ask him, your tone soft. You have no idea why you’re being so nice to him, you should hate him, should scream at him and the man who’s killed your friends, but you don’t, instead you gently rub his shoulder and wait for his approval which he is quick to give. You dig through the drawers and find a pair of scissors, you cut his hair, trimming the ends, you have the opportunity to hurt him, but you don’t, you don’t even think it crosses his mind that you could stab him and run, because right now he's so happy that the attention is on him. You couldn’t even if you wanted to. You trim back to the length he likes it, shoulder length. Once you’re finished he holds you again, keeping you up in his arms as he brings you back down into the basement, the rickety steps creaking with each step he takes. He sets you down on the pile of pillows he set up for you earlier this week, he scans you, his eyes landing on the dirty ripped clothes you’re wearing, he turns and starts shuffling through boxers. You watch as he pushes a bunch of fabrics aside to find something, he tugs out a sundress, it’s pink with floral patterns on it. He grabs your clothes completely shredding them from you, he shoves the dress into your hands and waits, wanting to watch you put it on.

When you put it on you turn to look at him, you see that his eyes crinkle softly and can tell he’s smiling, then you look down to see hes hard again ‘when is he not sporting a boner around you these days?’ He grips your hips, tugging you close to him. He likes you in dresses, that’s for sure. He stares at you for a long time before he stands up, turning and heading up the stairs as quick as he can, he shuts and locks the basement door behind him. You sigh softly, leaning against the wall and dropping down onto the pillows below you. You can’t help but be sick at yourself, instead of fighting to escape the clutches of your captor you stay, stay in the jaws of the predator. Your friends surely would be pissed, but you don’t want to fight it, don’t want to leave. Trying to rationalize it in your head over and over, the same thoughts pop up each time. He’s a broken man, he needs healing, he needs love. And maybe you’re the one who has to give it to him..

Upstairs Thomas is spiraling, he feels guilty that he’s hiding her from his family, oh how selfish he’s being, but it doesn’t matter, not when the images of her naked body cloud each crevice of his depraved conscience. The flesh from her body could be feeding his family, instead she’s alive, her heart pumping blood into her veins, she’s breathing. His left bicep covers his mouth as he strokes his cock to her, he’s been at it for so long the tip of his cock near red, cum coats his hand, lathered on his cock each stroke, some sticking to the long wiry pubes from his bush of pubic hair. He can’t stop, won’t stop. He needs her like the air he breathes, Her being fills up his body like the oxygen fills and stretches his lungs. His family would think so low of him, how he’s bringing shame to the Hewitt name for being so selfish, taking away food from their mouths just so he can stroke his cock to her, dress her up in pretty clothes, and hump her in the shower. Remembering the feeling of slipping his penis between her pussy lips has him whimpering out, thrusting his hips in the air, bucking wildly as he cums hard again. He pants like a beast, cock throbbing incessantly, his boner won’t go away, almost mocking him with how hard he is. Soon enough he's back at it again, showing no remorse as he jerks himself silly. she’ll love him, he knows it, he’ll make her love him, she’ll give him everything he’s ever hoped for, and she will do it with a smile on her face. He's so overstimulated, he hasn’t jerked himself off this much before, but he’s doing it for her he believes, he’d do anything for her, because in his mind they are in love, they are together. He hopes that one day, she doesn’t care what he looks like behind the mask, she accepts him for who he is, she will gladly do anything for him, love him, let him fuck her, let him put his babies in her- he cums again, the hardest he has, he yelps as he shoots thick ropes on his stomach. Babies… he wants to give her babies, that thought had him orgasam faster then he has ever before. He wants it now, craves it. His grip on his cock softens, post nut clarity hitting him like a freight train, and now he’s ashamed once more, tears brimming his red eyes.

The morning comes fast, after such an intense night he slipped into slumber quickly. The morning sun peaks through the window and casts warm rays against his skin, which is coated in dried cum that crusted onto the hair of his stomach and bush. A low groan rises in his throat, he has to clean himself up before going to see her. He blushes at the thought of her, god how disgusting he was last night, he’s ashamed of himself, how pathetic he was for her, she would surely think of him as a perverted mutt, she would never look at him again. Now that he isn’t excruciatingly horny, the intrusive thoughts of self doubt and hatred seep back into his head, seeping into his skull like a poison. What a lame excuse of a man he is, but then again, he won’t stop, he can’t stop himself from acting like this, he wants her so bad it hurts. He just wants her acceptance, her approval, her love. Those thoughts are pushed away though, he forces himself to put on his clothes and trudge down the stairs. Seeing his mama always makes him cheer up though, he could never be mad around her. A plate of sausage eggs and toast sits in the table, steaming just for him. “Mornin’ dear” she smiles brightly, inching the plate closer to him, he grabs it and nods thankfully, heading down the stairs and into the basement. Luda frowns, turning to look at Hoyt as he shovels forkfuls of his breakfast down. “Charlie, something's wrong with Thomas, he spends all his time in the basement nowadays, he's even forgetting to do his chores more frequently.” Her voice is laced with deep concern for her boy, she sets the tea kettle on the stove before turning back to Hoyt. He grumbles correcting her first “ma it’s Hoyt, he’s just being weird, himself you know, he ain’t young no more he likes to be alone. What needs to stop though is him forgetting his chores, sick of having to yell at him more often.” He returns to eating. Luda just shakes her head, hands pressed against her hips, “you’re his brother, maybe you need to have a heart to heart with him, he listens to you, you know that.” At her words he's rolling his eyes and groaning, but before he can protest she corrects him with a sharp glare. He might see himself as the man of the house but he listens to his ma. “I’ll get around to it” he huffs, his eyes flickering over the newspaper he's reading, the conversation now ending. Luda just sighs and returns to her cleaning. Her boys are definitely wild ones that’s for sure.

Weeks pass, the longer Thomas is away from you the more you crave his presence, you don’t care anymore, you need him, need him so bad it hurts. You wait anxiously in the basement for him, unable to read the books he brought you because your mind is so focused on him. What if he gets hurt? What if more victims come around and they win? They hurt him? God you don’t think your mind can bare the thought of him getting hurt, possibly killed out there. You ease-drop to the conversations that happen upstairs, ear pressed against the ceiling trying to hear anything about the man that feeds you, bathes you, you even begin to think he loves you just as much as you are starting to love him. Guilt is pushed into the back of your mind, how could you care about what anyone thinks? They don’t matter in the long run, they aren’t the one who cares for you, he does. Another hour passes before he returns, he pants, sweat covering his arms in a light sheen, dripping down his forehead. Waiting was worth it in the end to see him like this, like a love sick puppy, his gaze roams over your body with pure adoration, rising from the chair he trails his eyes up each swell, dip and curve of your luscious body. He trudges over to the box of clothes hes gathered from his victims, he picks out a cornflower blue dress, with a white lace hem, he sifts through another box before grabbing a simple pair of white heels, he's carrying something else you can’t quite see.

You shed your clothes, tossing them to the floor as you wait for him to give you his chosen attire. He does, grabbing what you couldn’t see before you spread it out, it’s a washed pair of scandalous lingerie, a grin spreads across your face as you realize what he wants. He wants you to dress up for him, let him watch your body in different clothes, like an erotic dress up. Slipping into the lingerie and coming back out, his eyes widened, you decide to give him a little spin, letting him get a full 360 of your body is his chosen set. You see him sporting a boner in his pants, looking just happy to be here. You let him touch and grab at your body, pawing and grouping at the fat of your tits, his thick and long fingers grabbing the whole of your chest, his dirty mits rubbing grime all over the pristine clothes. Pulling back you slip the dress on, the back zipper open he stands and swivels you to turn around, his hands grasping the small zipper and pushing it up. It’s a tight fit, definitely a little too short to be proper, the neckline low, it grips your torso making your boobs push up. It’s tight around the mid section, and the skirt flows down to the middle of your thighs gripping your waist. When you turn around to face him you freeze, you’ve seen him look at you sexually a lot of times, but this is the first time that it’s so intense his gaze almost burns. There is nothing but lust in his deep blue eyes, his hands shoot up to grip your waist, pulling and hoisting you up, walking you over to his work table he sets you down on the edge. He lowers himself on his knees, grabbing your foot so he can slip your heels on. The moment is charged with a deep sexual tension, you want so desperately to see all of him, and you can’t stop your begging from slipping out of your plump lips.

“Please take off the mask, I need to see you. All of you” your voice weak as you beg frevorishly, his eyes widen and he looks up at you. The fear of rejection settles deep within his bones, he’s reluctant, but oh he just can’t say no to you, even if he will regret it. He reaches back and loosens the straps of the leather, tugging it off clumsily. Once he sets it down he waits for your rejection, his frame shaking, but your disapproval never comes. He's shocked when he looks up, he sees your eyes full of… acceptance, you don’t pull away from him, the scars, lost tissue and nose, cleft lip does nothing to deter your love for him, and for the first time he cries in front of you. He tries to stop the tears from flowing but he’s just so happy right now, a whine builds from the back of his throat, he wipes his tears with the cuff of his shirt and focuses back to the present, on you, and it calms him. Reaching down he grabs and puts on your left heel, slipping and strapping it on. He grips the back of your ankle in calf in his big meaty hands, raising it so he can kiss it, kissing above the strap around your ankle, slowly trailing up your leg. His lips are so soft as they trail up, above your knee cap he kisses your thighs more reverently, his head disappears under the skirt of your dress, he nips and suckles at the sides of your thighs, you gasp at the sensation of him getting closer and closer to your wet pussy. His fingers grip the damp cloth covering your pussy and tears it open, then he softly holds the tops of your thighs as his lips ghost over your pussy. “Please” you beg under your breath, he hasn’t even touched you there and already you are a mess, moaning under him, he kneads the meat of your thighs tenderly.

You gasp as he gently kisses your folds, cunt clenching around nothing as you beg for more. “Tommy please!” You're reduced to nothing more than a puddle in his grasp, even in his inexperience he has you wrapped around your finger. It’s not long before he shoves his face into your pussy, licking long strips on and down your wet cunt, slurping up the juices that leak from your entrance. You’re unable to hide your sounds, moaning out like a bitch in heat as he sloppily eats your cunt. You could laugh at yourself, spreading your legs and letting a cannibal eat your pussy out, but you don’t care anymore, you need him, only him. His tongue wiggles and probes at your entrance, beckoning for more of your pussy’s sweet nectar. It’s like he's been starving his whole life, thirsting, and your pussy is the only thing that can quench that hunger. He eats you out like it’s his very first time feasting. Crooked teeth mash against your folds, grazing your puffy clit, the feeling only turns you on more, when his lips finally circle and latch on to your clit and sucks hard, you lose it. Cumming all over his face he accepts it eagerly, lapping at your pussy with an eagerness that makes up for his inexperience. He drinks from you like you're the earth's sweetest honey, and he's the selfish man that will keep it all to himself. Your untouched pussy is finally getting the attention it’s yearned for, and that you both have it, you won’t stop, not now or ever. Hses from under your skirt, and the fucked our expression on his face makes you wet all over again. Your juices cover his face, a sticky damp shin coats his cheeks, mouth, and chin, and he licks at what he can reach. He pushes you down on the table, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, your eyes burn into each other as you stare with deep lust for one another, your face flicks down to his cock, and what a sight to behold. He’s a little longer than average, but what makes you quiver is his girth. It twitches, bobbing down from its weight. It’s so thick that you’re sure your hand wouldn’t fit around it, you’d need both hands to deal with a monster like that, and to have that be the one taking your virginity had you shivering in arousal. He tugs at his cock, the skin pulling back and revealing his thick pulsing tip, and he grabs and spreads open your thighs.

You weren’t prepared for how quick he’d try to hump his way into your pussy, hand pushing down your stomach as he nudged the tip inside, just the tip along had you scrabbling to find purchase on any surface, and there was so much more to go. Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as his cock slides in, parting your gummy walls. He moans loudly, the feeling of your pussy resisting his entrance has him weak in the knees. Half of his cock is in before he has to stop, if he keeps going like this he will cum before he’s fully in you, the way your gooey walls clamp on him has his eyes rolling into the back of his skull. After he calms himself he thrusts himself to the hilt inside your pussy, the air is punched right out of your lungs, you struggle to breath, so full of him you’re seeing stars. Heavy balls rest against your ass, and before you know it he's pulling back out, he whimpering under his breath, your pussy trying to draw him back in, clinging to him but resisting each push in, and finally, he snaps. Pounding your cunt into submission with his eager thrusts, the cellar filled with moans and the repetitive thwack! thwack! thwack!.

His calloused hands grip your thighs, holding you still as he fucks deep into your pussy, his cock nudging and battering against your cervix each push in. The bulk of his stomach pushes against yours, keeping you pinned beneath your body.Sweat collects on his furrowed brows and drips down on your chest. His duck pummels your pussy, your release from before dribbling down the length of his cock and into the thatch of wild curls the rub and tickle against your puffy clit. You feel each ridge and vein as he pulls out, just to hump right back in and make you feel it all over again. It’s not long before you’re approaching your second orgasam of the night, your moans heightening in pitch, panting rapidly. He’s nearly there too. His thrusts begin to change pace, becoming sloppy and uncoordinated. He used his weight to fuck into you harder, and when his cock rubs against your sweet spot for the last time you lose it. Your walls clamp so tight around him he's unable to move, cock seated deep in your pussy. Your vision whites as you cum again, harder, and you scream out his name. He follows quickly after, pumping his searing hot creamy cum into the deepest depths of your very being, ropes of the white fluid searing inside of you, pushing so deeply inside of you it feels as if he's in your throat. He makes sure not to move, afraid that his release will spill from your fertile womb, he grinds his hips down into you, his body collapses on top of yours. Whimpers escape the back of his throat as the last of his cum empties inside of you, your legs locked around his pudgy hips, so wide that your ankles can’t lock together. His arms wrapped around your middle, nuzzling against you softly, tears begin to slip from his shut eyes. Your tone is low as you usher sweet words to him, fingers playing with his dark tresses, scraping his scalp softly with your nails ever so often. You're held captive in his loving embrace, and it’s right where you want to be. For the first time in his life, he’s been truly loved by another. And for once, he’s truly at peace.

“Tommy!!”

Hoyt's voice cuts through the air, calling for him upstairs. He groans, not yet ready to leave your warmth. He really knows when to ruin the moment. You smile as Tommy whines and tightens his hold on you. “It’s okay, I’ll be here when you come back, it’s best not to make him wait.” You hiss as he slowly slips out of your tender pussy, his cock soft and covered in his and your release. He stuffs himself into his pants, haphazardly securing the mask on before dragging himself up the stairs. As Tommy locks the door behind him Hoyt scans him, his mask is slightly askew, a few buttons popped like they had been opened by force, and his jeans aren’t zipped all the way up. He hadn’t cared before about Luda’s concerns, now he wasn’t worried, but he is suspicious of him. Watching as he locks the door hurriedly, and eyebrow quirks up as he watches him. “Mama needs you in the kitchen boy, and zip your fly up” he grumbles, eyeing him warily as he shakily zips up and walks over to the kitchen with a new found pep to his step he's never had before.

There isn’t a day that goes by where Tommy isn’t stuffing you full of his seed, breeding your pussy like it’s the last thing he’ll do, and sure enough as the months tick by your stomach starts to swell round and plump. He's ecstatic, how could not be? He finally has what he’s wanted for so many years. A woman in love with him and stuffed full of cum, swollen with his baby. Even if you’re already pregnant he makes sure to fuck you full of his cum every morning, noon and night. He can’t stay away from you, he doesn’t want to, all he wants is to keep putting baby after baby in your stomach, watching you swell up. Even if it’s only been 5-6 months your belly has swelled up, it was expected, carrying his baby. He eats less just so he has more to bring down to feed you, he will starve for days if it means you and the baby are well fed. Hidden in the back of the cellar is his old crib he’s been spending time trying to restore, around the basement are toys strewn about, hand carved by him in his free time.

You're laying on the laid out pillows reading one of the many books Thomas snuck down for you, he wouldn’t want you to be bored all alone in the basement. You gasp, feeling soft fluttering kicks of the baby in your stomach. Your soft palm rubs the swell of your abdomen, a comforting touch for you, knowing that your baby is alive and well. The door creaks open at the top of the stairwell, you recognize his footsteps immediately. He saunters over happily. “Are you finally done with your chores?” You ask softly, he falls to his knees before you, like a worship, a worship of your body, your soul, like you're the only being in his world that matters. He nods softly, much more focused on your stomach. He massages your tummy, a grin spreads across his face and he feels a kick against his calloused palm. Gently he rests his forehead against the bump, his scalp tingles as your fingers brush against it and through his dark tresses. “Hoyt has been overworking you, you need a break don’t you baby?” You coo softly at him, he nods eagerly, he's grabbing your hand rubbing your soft fingers. Your skin is so unlike his, your back grounds, your past lifestyle shows you’ve never had to work like he has, or at least to the extent that he does. Your palms are silky smooth, soft to the touch, like you’ve haven’t experienced strenuous labor each and every day of your life, he wants to keep it that way. His mama raised him to be a gentleman, there is no doubt he is a traditional man. As long as you’re with him you’ll never have to lift a finger. You watch curiously as he holds your hand and splays it out. He turns and rifles through one of his back pockets, pulling out a small object. You gasp when you realize what it is. He holds a wedding band up, slipping it on to your ring finger, then returns to nuzzling against said hand. “Oh Tommy” tears well up in your eyes, already so hormonal from the pregnancy this will have you bawling.

He abruptly stands up, gently grabbing your ass and setting you down on the table. He really isn’t focused on your talking right now, looking at your body filling out your red sundress. Pregnancy hadn’t only affected your tummy and mood, your breasts filled out more, round and ripe for him, and they are only to get bigger. Your curves plumped and hips widened, it turned him on. Your words go in one ear and out the other, unbuckling his belt, tugging down his pants. You stop speaking when you realize he's in the mood, when is he not? It’s like he can’t get enough of you. “So that’s the type of relaxing you came in for huh big guy?” You grin as he nods, your hands roam his chest, then you go to undo every button of his shirt, you grab his tie and pull him down into a kiss, he whimpers softly as he inches in between your spread thighs. He grabs the hem of your dress, flipping up and bunching fabric up. Your arms wrap around his broad, muscular shoulders and your legs around his plush hips. Your lips mask and lock together, our smacking and slurping loud and filthy. His other hand slowly trails down your stomach and down to your dripping folds, he’s gained a lot of experience since your first time together, now he's eager to please with his skillful fingers, cock and tongue. He grabs his cock, giving it a few tugs before lining it up with your entrance and sliding in. His hands move to your hips, holding you still as he humps into you softly. He grunts, this position not giving him the best access, not allowing him to plunge fully into you, he has to be mindful of your baby bump. You moan as he bucks his hips, thrusting into your gooey tight walls, his fat tip battering against your cervix, but it isn’t enough for him. He huffs, cradling you safely in his arms as he brings you over to the make shift bed, ready to fuck you silly.

“God damn it, what's taking him so long!” Hoyt is pissed off, he’s been waiting for Thomas to get back up from the basement, it’s been over an hour and he's had enough. Luda Mae just shakes her head and sighs “I told you what’s been going on with the boy, you just refused to talk to him.” She tuts, wiping down the dining room table. Hoyt tries the door but as expected it’s locked, like it has been the past half year. “Tommy!” He shouts again, and as expected he doesn’t open the door and comes to do his chores for the day. He stomps over to one of the drawers and starts digging through the piles of keys, trying to find the extra one they kept for the basement. “Boy thinks he can skip out on his work huh, well let’s just see about that.” He sneers, a snide grin on his face as he twirls the key around finger, fuming as he marches over to the door, twisting the metal key through the lock, it opens with a loud click! He huffs angrily, mumbling curses under his breath as he swings the door open and stalks down the decrepit staircase. He stops halfway down the stairwell because of what he hears

Thwack Thwack Shlick Thwack!

Wet slapping and moans reverberate in the cellar, at first he thought he just walked in on Tommy jerking himself off, but his jaw drops when he hears a female voice, breathy moans in a high pitched tone. The initial shock passes before a whole new wave of anger and disgust boils over. He stomps fully down the stairs, and as his eyes adjust he's met with a sight that makes his lips curl and nose wrinkle in disgust. His thick, pudgy body laid on top of yours, his bicep holding you in a headlock, all of his clothes off as he humps you like a wild animal from the back. The dress bunched up around your mid section, hiding your belly, tits swinging with each jerk and buck, pummeling your pussy, mashing his cock in your gooey gushing insides. “Thomas Brown Hewitt!” He screams, he’s in so much shock he for once is at a loss of words. You squeak in embarrassment, trying to cover your body, even though Thomas’s bulky frame does a pretty good job at doing so. “Put your clothes on and bring that hussy upstairs immediately!” With that he steps away and up the stairs, out of the basement.

Luda watches as Hoyt storms up from the basement. “What’s wrong Charlie?” She asks, Hoyt is in too much shock to correct her, angrily pacing back and forth in the kitchen, wiping his face he lets out a sigh, stopping at the counter. Luda starts to walk over to the door, her hand gripping the handle. “You don’t want to go down there ma, just wait.” He straightens up. She asks him worried questions, he doesn’t answer, the last thing he expected was to see Tommy down there with a woman. He wasn’t pissed off that he was getting laid, more so that he was hiding food down there, probably feeding her his hard earned dinners as well. Both of their heads turn as the knob twists and the door creaking open, Tommy steps out, no butcher apron, some of the buttons undone from sloppily trying to get himself dressed as quickly as possible. His tie loose around his neck and his hair clings to his forehead. Luda gasp when she sees you step from the basement as well, hiding behind her son meekly. “Look at the slut he’s been hiding from us.” Hoyt grumbles, when his eyes lock with yours and it clicks, he remembers you. “Oh I remember this one, didn’t put up a fight now did ya? Look at you, sleeping with him just for survival aren’t you?!” He steps closer, but Thomas puffs up, not allowing him to touch you. He instantly does not like the defiance. “Don’t you challenge me boy!” He shouts, slamming his fist against the counter. Luda just watches in shock, disapproving with the sinning her boy was doing behind your back. “You better remember your place in this house!” As he yells he grabs your wrist, yanking out and away from behind Tommy. You help in surprise, and that’s when they see it. Luda gasps and covers her mouth, Hoyt just closes his eyes and groans. “You just had to get the bitch pregnant didn’t ya? Couldn’t help yourself!?” He gestures to your round swollen stomach. Luda touches his shoulder “we can’t hurt her Hoyt, she’s expecting!” He rolls his eyes at his mothers words, stuck in a position where he can’t do anything. “Well shit!” He turns around, strides across the room and toward the fridge, looking for a beer.