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meat-husband · 5 years

Note

Nasty nsfw piece for our big guy Tommy?

I’m sorry, do you mean the only thing I ever write when left to my own devices? It’s much longer than I meant it to be, but I just love my big boy. I know there’s a lot of set up just for some smut but I can’t help myself lol

Naughty stuff under the cut!

Sometimes it was a little scary how easy it was to bring people home. Maybe it’s just because of the knowledge you have now, but you couldn’t imagine picking a lonely hitchhiker up off the side of the road, much less letting them direct you down old dirt roads and through abandoned fields.

“You sure it’s this way?”

The boy behind the wheel is squinting in the sharp afternoon light, looking hot and tired. You give an easy smile, a quick laugh, and nod your head.

“Of course I’m sure, I know where my house is!”

You laugh again and the other boy, scrunched up in the backseat behind you, laughs with you. They can’t be much older than 18 or 19, you think, with scrawny arms and baby faces. It might have made you feel guilty once, but not anymore. Younger than them had come through town before, and not made it out. Meat’s meat, is what Charlie had told you, and the family has to eat.

They had stopped for you because you were small, unthreatening and pretty. The promise of a place to rest up and a sweet smile had won them over, though the glances they gave you let you know they were hoping for more.

“Look, it’s right there.”

You lean over the driver’s shoulder, closer than you need to be but still trying to sell the ruse, and point out the shadow of the house in the distance. A shaky grin appears on his face and the other boy lets out a happy shout. You keep smiling.

“What’d I tell you?” The other boy asked. “And you thought we were gonna run outta gas and get stranded!”

“We were gonna run outta gas, asshole,” the driver snapped - they had introduced themselves, but you were quick to forget names now - swerving onto the worn path leading up to the house. “You’re lucky she came along and saved our asses.”

As their truck came up to the house, stopping to idle in the front yard, both boys frowned.

“Hey, why’re the cops here?”

You laugh again, this time genuinely.

“Oh, that’s my daddy’s car. He’s the sheriff ‘round here, but don’t worry, he don’t do much but get drunk and tell old war stories.”

There was a role for everyone to play when the meat was brought in. More often than not it was either you or Charlie bringing them home, so together you played the parts of stern sheriff and his daughter. Mama and Monty would fill in where it was needed, and when Charlie has had his fun poking and prodding, it was time for dinner.

They walked into the house with no more motivation than the big smile you’d thrown them, following you into the dimly lit hall. You led them to the kitchen, finding a large pot already on the stove and boiling.

“Go on and sit, I’ll go get my daddy and he can see about gettin’ your car filled up.”

Your part was coming to an end now, and you hurried into the hall, heading towards the little room behind the kitchen where you could hear the TV. Once they figured out that all wasn’t as it seemed in the big country house, people tended to get violent, so you didn’t intend on following Charlie when he took over in the kitchen. Tommy would soon have work to do, so you’d sneak upstairs and wait for the sound of the saw to cut off.

You saw the big metal door, a remnant of the old slaughterhouse, looming at the end of the hall. The peephole moved to follow you as you turned into the sitting room and you threw it a quick wink and a wave before heading in.

Unsurprisingly, both men were slumped on the couch, warm cans of beer in hand.

“We got company,” you announce, moving to turn off the old TV. “And someone left the stove on again.”

“Who’s that?” Monty asks. “Hey, leave it!”

You flicked the TV off anyways, giving him a firm look.

“There’s two boys in the kitchen, truck’s outside and nearly outta gas.”

“Big?” Charlie asks, quickly draining the rest of his can.

“Nah, they’re skinny things, can’t hardly be old enough to be out on their own. I told ‘em they could stay here for the night.”

“They sure can,” Charlie grinned, standing from the couch. “Let me get my things-”

“You don’t need to wear that damn uniform every time someone comes around,” you scowled. “They saw the car anyways, I told ‘em you were the sheriff.”

“Now, you know first impressions are important -” You rolled your eyes, tuning him out, and waving him out of the room.

“Turn the damn TV back on!” Monty called after you.

“Do it yourself!” You called back, ignoring the swears he threw at you.

You ducked into the kitchen to quickly reassure the two boys that Charlie was on his way, noticing that they seemed on edge. Perhaps it was just the cussing coming from the sitting room, or that you had left them alone for so long in a strange house.

“Oh, uh, you’re not staying, then?” One of the two spoke up as you turned to leave the kitchen.

“Work to do!” You answered, eager to make it out of the room as you heard Charlie’s footsteps coming back down the stairs. You were hoping he would take the fun outside this time, you weren’t looking forward to scrubbing down the floors again otherwise.

You met Charlie at the bottom of the stairs, throwing him a quick grin, but he grabbed your arm as you went to pass him.

“Where’re you goin’?”

You huffed.

“To get some sleep before all the noise starts up.”

“Nah, you ain’t done yet. We got a little while before Mama gets back from the station, no need to be rushing things.”

“I don’t wanna mess with ‘em,” you insisted. “I spent all afternoon out by the crossroads, I’m tired.”

You knew by the look on his face that this was the wrong thing to say, and although you really didn’t want to hang around, you wouldn’t put it past Charlie to make things horribly inconvenient for you if you didn’t do as he wanted.

“Alright,” you give in before he could speak. “Let’s get goin’ then.”

The boys were still in the kitchen, huddled together by the back door and having a rushed conversation under their breath. They were probably regretting following you inside, but it was too late for that now that they were here.

They stopped talking the moment you came in, glancing nervously between themselves. One of them opened his mouth to speak, but Charlie got there first.

“Well then,” he drawled, putting on a friendly smile. “One of you boys come on out and help me bring around some gas cans, and we’ll get you on your way after dinner.”

Both boys looked unsure, exchanging a few more glances, before the driver spoke up.

“Yeah, okay. We gotta get going though, we’re on a schedule.”

Charlie’s smile tightened, turning from easy going to forced in a matter of seconds.

“Then hurry the fuck up, that shit ain’t gonna move itself.”

You almost grinned, but managed to keep it hidden, turning your back to them and busying yourself with the boiling pot still on the stove. Someone had been attempting to reheat last night’s leftovers, but hadn’t added enough extra water to keep the broth from boiling down.

“Honey, you keep an eye on this one, and go ahead and get dinner cookin’.”

“Yes, sir.”

You had already started scraping the overcooked meat from the bottom of the pot, dumping it into a small container. Mama fussed about it, but you felt bad for the mangy dogs that hung around the empty pastures, and you figured no one would miss a few scraps every now and then.

A glance over your shoulder showed the other boy, nervous looking and standing in place like he didn’t know what to do with himself. You sighed, figuring you might as well get some use out of him while he was still standing.

“Sorry ‘bout Daddy, he’s just a little strict sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem!” he says hurriedly, waving off your apology. “I’m sure he don’t mean nothing by it.”

Setting the pot to soak in the sink, you turn to him.

“You mind helping me with dinner for a bit?” You make sure to pair the question with a bright smile. “Just gotta get some meat from the freezer, I could use some help.”

His face turns bright red but he gives you an eager nod.

“No problem.”

“Good!”

You lead the way, ignoring the fussing coming from the sitting room as you pass the doorway, stopping at the big metal door. Either Tommy’s behind it, ready to pull the boy downstairs kicking and screaming, or he’s waiting in the basement and you’ll have to lure him down there. You’re hoping for the former, but pulling open the heavy door reveals nothing but the little landing at the top of the stairs.

“Oh, wow, that stinks.” Tensing, he gives you an apologetic look. “Shit, that was rude, I’m sorry-“

“Nah, that’s fine,” your amused grin is genuine and it puts him at ease to see you aren’t offended. “We do our own butcherin’ down here. Smells like a slaughterhouse, don’t it?”

You leave the lights off until you reach the bottom of the stairs, partially to avoid him catching sight of the grooves scratched into the walls of the stairwell, partially to keep him from backing out at the sight of the bloody basement. The big door is locked behind you, so at least he won’t be able to open it without struggling with the bolt.

Perhaps your explanation eased him more than you thought it would, because once the lights are on, casting dim shadows around the crowded room, he doesn’t seem alarmed. The hooks are empty, as is the butchering board, but there are enough bloodstains on both to be concerning. The boy, though, doesn’t spare them much of a glance, before eyeing the two big chest freezers in the corner.

Once you reach the freezers, you hesitate to open them. You’re both well into the basement now, far enough from the stairs that he couldn’t make a run for it through the equipment and furniture that crowded around you, but there’s no sign of Thomas. He wouldn’t have gone outside - Charlie has likely got the other boy ground into the dirt on his own by now - but he hasn’t stepped up to hook the boy following you either.

Seeing you hesitate, the boy moves closer, wringing his hands, and for a moment you think that maybe the environment has gotten to him and he’s about to start freaking out.

“You’re really hot,” he blurts, taking you off guard. “I mean, pretty, ya know, not-“

Your eyebrows raise. This is the opposite of what you were expecting - did he really think you’d brought him into the basement to fool around?

“Uh…”

You can’t manage to bring any words to mind in this situation. Perhaps taking your red face and speechlessness for shyness, he places a clammy hand on your forearm, rethinks it, and moves it to your shoulder. He’s still fumbling with his words, but you’re almost too surprised to make sense of what he’s saying.

You’re at a loss for what to do, staring at the clumsy teenager in front of you with wide eyes. You’re about to open your mouth, not sure what words might come out, when the boy screams. You jump, startled by his outburst, backing up out of reach, and he falls without your shoulder for support.

It doesn’t take long to realize what had happened. He’s writhing on the muddy floor, one arm twisting behind his body to feel for the big cleaver that rests in the flesh over his shoulder blade. A boot, caked in mud and debris, settles on his lower back, pinning him to the floor, while a big hand tugs at the blade. It comes free with a wet sucking noise and the boy screams all the louder.

“Thomas,” you start, relieved but still jumpy. “Where’d you go, I thought you were gonna-”

You stop when he looks at you, still holding the squirming boy down with one foot. He looks furious, eyes narrowed at you and hand gripping the cleaver tightly. You’re confused at first when you realize that his anger is directed towards you, and you spend a few seconds of panicked thought trying to figure out why. He’s never liked you being around the meat, no matter who brings them in, but everyone has to pitch in, even when it comes to the more unsavory chores. He’s never been mad about it before though, so what was different now?

Thomas leans to the side, putting more of his weight on the foot holding down the boy, fingers twitching around the handle of his weapon when the whimpers turn back into screams. He watches you, still glaring, grinding the heel of his boot against flesh and bone.

“What the fuck?!”

The boy is spitting blood and saliva with every word, arching into the ground in an attempt to get away from the pain in his back. The noise is distracting but you don’t dare to look down, not with Thomas snarling like a dog over him.

“C’mon, Charlie’s gonna need help with the other one soon…”

You trail off, unsure. You had hoped the mention of Charlie would snap him out of it, remind him of the work to be done upstairs, but he ignores your words. You’ve never seen him this angry before, not at anyone, let alone you.

Your eyes flick to the boy against your will when he cries out again, cussing and begging, flinging one hand out towards you as though for help. This draws Thomas’ attention as well, and the act seems to only enrage him further. He lets the boy out from under his boot only to bring it down hard on the crook of his arm and you flinch and look away too late to avoid seeing it snap.

“Tommy, lets go outside, we got more to do!” You’re scared now, desperate to calm him somehow. Despite the horrors that regularly take place in the house, you’ve never stuck around when they happen, preferring to wait it out upstairs. You know what goes on down here, but you’ve never seen him hurt anyone like this before.

He turns to you again with a huff, stepping away from the boy and towards you. Your instinct is to back away but you stand your ground, arms wrapped around your middle protectively, trying not to be afraid of him. He’s angry, but he wouldn’t hurt you, no matter how intimidating it is to have him looming over you.

Thomas stands in front of you, chest heaving and hands trembling. You meet his eyes for a moment but can’t keep them there, looking instead at the old, torn collar of his shirt and the black threads that hang from his mask.

“Tommy, put him up and let’s go,” you insist, trying to sound more in control than you feel. “Charlie’s gonna be upset-”

A hand grips your shoulder, big fingers digging into your skin, and you quickly cover it with your own, hoping that the gentle touch will calm him. His hand flexes under yours, tightening his hold on you, and he bends down to press the bloody nose of his mask to the top of your head. His heavy breaths ruffle your hair, the sour smell of dead flesh and stale air drifting down to you. You can feel the nose of the mask bend and turn inwards when he presses his face closer, nothing underneath to keep it from crumpling.

“C’mon,” you murmur quietly, reaching up to grab a handful of his sleeve. “Lets go, Tommy.”

He’s trembling, eyes glaring angrily, but he pulls away, looking over his shoulder at the boy squirming in the mud. He’s crawled a bit away, but only closer to the butcher block, probably trying to find a dark place to hide in. You almost feel sorry for him, but you can’t start pitying them now.

Thomas is still snarling, lips pulled down and teeth gleaming. He doesn’t shy away from the killing or cutting, or any part of the preparation for butchering and skinning, but he’s never enjoyed hurting them, not like Charlie does. To be so violent now, he must have a grudge against this one in particular. You’re almost surprised when the thought finally hits you, feeling his hand on your shoulder where the boy had touched you, remembering the anger when he had reached out in fear. With a jolt of warmth you realize that he was jealous of the boy, angry to see that someone else had put their hands on you.

“I love you.”

His head snaps around to look at you, and you hear him let out a low whine. You smile, tilting your head to brush your cheek against the top of his hand, stroking his fingers with your own. All of the tension and fear has melted away at this revelation, and you’re almost excited to realize that he could get so worked up over something so small.

“Don’t you worry about that boy,” you say, watching his eyes following the slow movements of your lips. “He’s meat now, ain’t he.”

Slowly, Thomas nods in agreement, letting out a heavy sigh. He watches as you press a half kiss to the side of his hand, and you can see by the eager way his eyes watch your mouth that the adrenaline in his veins hasn’t stopped flowing.

“You know how much I love you,” you murmur, seeing him give another slow nod, eyes still focused on your lips as you keep them against his skin. “Let me show you.”

Thomas stills, even the heavy rise and fall of his chest stopping momentarily as he takes in your words. You know the rush of capturing the boy has riled him up, he always seeks you out after the meat has been hung up to wait for butchering, and the heat of anger would have only made it worse. The gentle flick of your tongue against his hand is what spurs him into action, moving suddenly to get you in place.

The weight on your shoulder pushes down, fingers curling into your flesh until your knees hit the floor. The ground is wet with mud, filthy water soaking into your clothes and dirt caking your legs, but you don’t mind at all. You keep the gentle smile on your face, placing your hands on either side of his thighs and leaning to the side to press your face against his arm. He keeps his hand on your shoulder, leaning forward to hunch over you as the other fumbles with his belt.

Somewhere further into the basement you can hear the boy, crying and wailing, too damaged to crawl away. It didn’t matter where he was, the only way out of the basement was behind you, and he wasn’t getting out now. You know he can see you, only a few paces away from where he had fallen in the mud, but it doesn’t matter when you know he won’t be alive much longer.

Thomas slides his hand up to grab a rough handful of hair, pulling you close but not close enough to take him in, despite your open mouth. You can smell the sweat and musk on his skin, stretching your mouth wider and sticking your pink tongue out towards him, but he doesn’t let you close the distance. He holds his cock just out of your reach, and when his wrist rolls, pulling his thick fingers up and down, you let out an eager moan. His grip tightens, squeezing the flesh harder and you watch the slow strokes get rougher and more uneven. He’s not gentle, pulling harshly until hazy precum drips over his fingers.

You strain a little, trying to pull forward and flick your tongue over the slick head, but the hand in your hair keeps you back, a sharp tug bringing tears to the corners of your eyes.

“Please, Thomas, let me-”

You can’t even finish your sentence, pulling against his hold as far as your aching scalp will let you. Your jaw hurts, mouth open as wide as you can get it and tongue lolling out, and you see his own slip out to lick at his lips as he watches you.

He lets up only a little, but it’s enough for the tip of his cock to bump against your tongue, and the groan he lets out at the contact makes your stomach clench so hard that it’s painful. He does it again, slapping his cock hard against the flat of your tongue and you hurry to lick at it while you’re close enough. He tastes like salt and sour sweat but you lap at whatever you can reach eagerly, whining when a pull on your hair jerks you away.

You don’t care about the mud under you when he shoves you down, falling backwards onto the wet ground, or the rough nails scratching at your skin. Letting out a half-moan, you let him hold you against the muddy floor, the rest of your noises catching in your throat when you feel him wedge his knee between your legs. You can feel the heat coming off of him, made warmer by the cold air of the basement around you, and you wiggle your hips to get closer to the heat and the pressure of his leg between yours. He flips the skirt of your dress up, bunching it at your waist and hooking a finger hurriedly over the messy crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side rather than down your legs. You feel blood rushing to your face at that, somehow feeling more exposed than if he had taken them off, and have to fight the urge to snap your legs closed and cover yourself. He doesn’t let you remain on the floor once he’s gotten your clothing out of the way, jerking your hips up and into his lap before pulling the rest of you upright. The wet slick of your hair and clothing, soaked through and dirty, sticks to your skin but you hardly care as Thomas holds you against his chest.

“Hurry up, please.”

You mumble the words desperately as he lines himself up under you, rocking your hips in an attempt to help him find the right angle. You hold onto his shoulders, face buried into his neck and let him hold your bottom half up with one hand, a firm grip on your ass keeping you hovering over his lap. The head of his cock, swollen and nearly purple, nudges against you for a few seconds and you huff out a frustrated groan when it doesn’t slide home.

“Tommy, c’mon, please!”

With a heavy grunt he shifts his hand to hold you by the hip instead, stilling your movements. You think for a moment that it’s finally going to happen, but the moan already building in your throat turns into a high pitched whine when his sticky cock slides over your cunt completely, the head bumping against the underside of your ass. You whine again when he ignores your persistent pleas to let you move your hips - if he would only let you go, then you could easily fit yourself over him, he’s already so close. He lets you squirm, panting above you while you fight his grasp, but making no move to enter you, only a slow back and forth of his hips that drags his cock against you. You roll yourself around desperately, whimpering into his ear and begging, pressing quick kisses to the side of his neck.

Finally he relents, letting you wiggle just enough that the next tilt of his hips upwards forces the blunt head into you, surging forward in one thrust until he’s as deep as he can get. You hear a loud sob leave you, the slight twinge of pain as he bottoms out barely even felt over the satisfaction of finally getting what you want. Thomas pulls you down further, pushing until you’re completely seated on top of him and almost more full of him than you can handle. You jerk away a little, but a rough hand stops you from going further and works you right back down his length until you’re back where you started. You want to hook your legs around his middle, but he’s too big for you to lock your ankles behind him, so you squeeze your thighs around his sides instead. It hurts a little, having him so deep, but you know it won’t stay that way for long.

“Tommy, I love you so much,” you half whisper, the words rushing out of you without any thought. “So much.”

His cock jumps inside you, arms coming around to wrap you up as he leans down and moans loudly into your hair. Both arms crush you to him, pushing you down while his hips grind upwards, and you hear him return your affections with muffled grunts and gasps. You wince a little when he rubs against the depths of you, a dull ache already forming in your stomach, but the short, jerking movements also make your abdomen go tight with small ripples of pleasure.

“Ah, Tommy,” you hiss into his ear, reaching up to slide your hand under the back of the mask and grab a handful of his sweaty hair. “Move…”

You don’t finish your words, trailing off into a stuttered gasp as he lifts you up, dragging your clenching muscles over his cock until he’s nearly slid all the way out. Eyes rolling back, you brace yourself with one hand on his shoulder, wrapping the other into his hair until your fingers are stuck. Your entire body jumps in his lap when he finally drops you again, lurching upwards to meet you halfway and bouncing you on his thighs. A sob slips out when he continues with the same harsh thrusts, but after a few moments of pushing and pulling you in his lap, the slick between your legs eases the friction enough that you can ignore the bulging pressure in your belly. A soft moan escapes you as it recedes, overtaken by the hot thrum of pleasure that drowns out anything else.

His pace isn’t gentle, but you know that even this is him trying not to be too rough, keeping you seated on his cock as he forces his way up and into you. The position keeps him deep, face pressed against the top of your head and arms around your torso, and each push of his hips only forces you more firmly into his chest. You pant against the edge of the mask, bucking down against him wildly and pull hard on the hair wrapped around your fingers. You want to speak, to cry out more I love you’s, but the rough pace is pushing all the air from your lungs and you’re already gasping, so all you can manage is weak, labored breathing. Grabbing at his shoulder with your free hand, your thighs tremble around his waist as you struggle to hold on.

You get a small reprieve when his movements finally stutter, pausing to dig his fingers into the meat of your ass and hike you further up his thighs, moving your weight effortlessly. The cold air rushing in against your wet back makes you shiver when his arms leave you, slipping under your legs to hook them over his forearms and leaving your feet dangling. Once he starts again, lifting you with both hands on your ass, you can feel how wet and swollen the folds between your legs are, stretched open further by your spread legs. Thomas snarls above you, holding you down as he pushes up, and a hot trail of pleasure shoots up your spine, burning all the way down to your toes. You kick your feet uselessly, flailing against him and fighting you keep your hold on his shoulder without his arms to support you. A loud whine escapes you, muscles contracting around him, and it feels like each dragging thrust of his cock into you is getting more and more difficult as your body tightens. You’re sure that the big hands holding you are going to leave their mark, but you don’t feel any pain now, bouncing like a rag doll in his lap.

“Please, Thomas!”

You’re not sure what you’re asking for, but you beg anyways and lock your arms around his neck, every muscle in your body trembling as you jerk and whimper. Thomas huffs and groans into your hair, forcing himself upwards even more harshly as you start to cum, and you’re clenched so tightly around him that you’re nearly overwhelmed by how much of him you can feel. His thrusts change into slow, hard jerks of his hips against you, each one rocking your head on your shoulders and drawing out wet gasps. You close your eyes and bury your face against his shoulder and neck, arching into him until your body seizes up and all you can feel is the throbbing nerves between your legs.

You’re almost numb once it starts to recede, going limp and slumping weakly into his hold. An arm around your back keeps you from falling too far back, but the new wetness leaking down your thighs has only made it easier for his hurried, rutting thrusts to ram home. A hard, sharp push goes too far, hitting the deep spot in your belly that almost hurts, and you squeal in protest, clutching at him with renewed motivation. The next thrusts lands in the same spot, and the next, and the thick, strange feeling isn’t quite pain or pleasure, but enough of both that you aren’t sure if you like it or not. Each bump of his cock against it floods you with a sense of pressure, an overwhelming sensation of fullness that only comes to an end when you’re slammed down into his bucking hips and held there. A broken moan and the abrupt change to slow, grinding thrusts are the only warnings you get before the sudden, hot gush of his cum fills you, and almost immediately you can feel it trailing out of your cunt, smearing against your thighs. You squirm in his lap, but he keeps you firmly seated as he cums, the twitching cock inside of you steadily pouring more warmth into your belly.

Gasping down as much cold basement air as you can, you try to catch your breath. The heat and lust is slowly fading from your mind, replaced with the dull ache between your legs that you know will soon get worse, and the soft, tired feeling of being truly worn out. Thomas finally stills underneath you, grip loosening as he allows your sore legs to slip back down around his waist, huffing heavy breaths against the crown of your head. You can feel the sticky mess where he’s still connected to you, but you ignore the thought of the unpleasant clean up in favor of pressing a few trembling kisses to the underside of his chin. Your body is slowly cooling off as the heat between you dissipates, but Thomas is enough to keep you warm for the moment, cradling you against his chest and making soft noises. Any thought of the boy still in the basement, or the one upstairs, or even of the work you both still have to complete, hasn’t come back to you yet.

“You two done fuckin’ yet, or do I gotta wait some more?”

You jolt up, hands hurriedly reaching out to hold onto Thomas and pull at the hem of your skirt, flipping it down over your thighs. A flush of embarrassment is already burning your face, and although you want to hide, you glance over your shoulder anyways. Charlie is at the end of the steps, hands on his hips and a big grin on his face, looking all too pleased to have caught you in the act. You can’t keep his gaze for long, turning back around to avoid the smug look on his face, and wondering just how long he’s been standing there. Thomas isn’t bothered by his presence at all, but you figured that’s only because he doesn’t realize this kind of thing is usually private, and no one but Mama has ever discouraged him from trying to get his hands under your skirt in the middle of the kitchen.

“...done,” you mumble quietly, hoping that he’ll hurry up and leave. “The boy is taken care of, too.”

“Well, that’s great, but I got the one upstairs ready to go, so if you can spare Tommy for just a moment,” the false politeness in his voice grates on your nerves, but you know he’s relishing the moment. “‘Sides, I don’t expect you’ll have need of him for a while now. If that shit didn’t put a baby in you, I don’t know what will.”

You want to shut him up with a smart comment of your own, he’s in a good enough mood that you could get away with mouthing off a little, but you’re in no position to try anything now. Still firmly perched on top of Tommy’s cock and with a lukewarm mess of cum between you, you don’t have the guts to start up anything.

“Okay, just gimme a minute! He’ll be there in a bit.”

“Don’t be too long, that fucker isn’t going to stay down forever and Mama’s home and makin’ a fuss about all the mess.”

You hear him take a few steps back up towards the door, relief flooding you when you realize he’s finally leaving. This has happened more regularly than you’d like, and he’s always eager to provide some snarky commentary and let you wallow in the shame of being caught, but you suppose it wasn’t a bright idea to start this up when Thomas was supposed to be working anyway.

“C’mon,” you sigh, a little reluctant to part but not wanting Charlie to come looking again. “Guess we still got work to do.”

#Slashers #Thomas Hewitt #Slasher x Reader #Female Reader #damn this is long im sorry #most of it isn't even the smut lol #but i started on this and got carried away again #Anonymous

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spockuhurashipper · 5 years

Text

“A Risk Worth Taking” - Chapter 12 - Hank Voight/OC Fan Fiction

Previous chapters on tumblr and fanfiction.net (here).

Let me know your thoughts! :)

Chapter 12

A few weeks later, Hank was sitting in his office finishing up a case report when his phone rang. Glad for a distraction from his least favorite part of the job, he answered it without looking at the caller ID.

“Voight.”

“Hey Hank.”

At the sound of Erin Lindsay’s voice, Hank couldn’t help but smile.

“Erin. How are you? It’s good to hear your voice.

“You too. I’m sorry I haven’t called in a while, I…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Hank interrupted, “I know you’re a big shot FBI agent now.”

Erin laughed. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Listen, my boss says I can have a few days off for Christmas so… is my old room still available?”

Hank leaned back in his chair, smiling from ear to ear.

“Absolutely, kid. When do you land? I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

“Not sure yet but I’ll let you know.” Erin told him.

“Alright.” Hank said, then he added, “There’s someone I want you to meet while you’re here.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Who am I meeting?” Erin asked, intrigued.

“Layla Martin. She works in IT for the department, and she’s Cindy Herrmann’s sister. We’re…” Hank tried to think of the right word but all he could come up with was, “...dating.”

Erin made a sound of surprise.

“Wow. That’s great, Hank. I can’t wait to meet her.”

Hank could hear some noise in the background.

“Hank, I gotta go. I’ll let you know about my flight. See you soon.”

After he hung up the phone, Hank looked around his office and reflected on the changes in his life over the past year. He’d gone to a dark place after Erin left and Al was killed. Finally, and mostly thanks to Layla’s presence in his life, he was finally coming out of that darkness.

Hank hurriedly finished his report and decided he was going to head home. Layla was supposed to come over after visiting her sister and he was going to be waiting to tell her just how much she meant to him.

------

While Hank was working late, Layla sat in her sister’s kitchen, rolling out cookie dough for homemade Christmas cookies.

“Remind me why I volunteered to help with this again?”

Layla asked, swiping her hair out of her face and leaving a trail of flour across her forehead.

Cindy laughed and transferred a cookie sheet from the oven to a cooling rack.

“Because you are such a loving sister.” Cindy smiled sweetly.

Cindy had recruited Layla to help bake 12 dozen cookies for the church’s nativity play and reception.

“Right.” Layla said, grabbing a cookie cutter to start on her next batch.

As the women continued baking, Layla’s phone buzzed on the counter. Her sister watched as Layla read the text and smiled.

“Hmmhmm, and will Hank be joining us for Christmas dinner this year?”

“We haven’t really talked about Christmas plans yet.” Layla replied. They’d both been so busy they hadn’t gotten around to it yet.

Cindy looked up at her sister, eyes twinkling, and said, “Well, you’re going to be here so I have a feeling he will want to be here too.”

Layla smiled and said, “I’ll talk to him tonight. I’m headed to his place when I leave here anyway.”

Layla finished placing her cookies on the cookie sheet and loaded the last batch into the oven. Chris walked in as soon as the oven door closed and said, “Alright, what’s the gossip ladies? I hear you in hear whispering.”

Cindy, who was busy washing dishes, said, “If by whispering you mean talking normally, then yes we were.”

Chris grabbed a cookie when Cindy wasn’t looking and motioned to Layla to keep quiet.

“Actually, Christopher, I was telling Layla that Hank is invited to Christmas dinner.”

Chris grimaced. “When I think of Hank Voight I don’t really picture Christmas cheer.”

Cindy shot her husband a reprimanding look and he quickly added, “But, he did help out Severide a while back so I’ll allow it.”

“You’ll allow it?”

Chris quickly corrected and turned to Layla, saying, “I mean, we’d love to have him.” As Chris retreated into the living room, he shouted, “The more the merrier, that's what I always say!”

After her husband was gone, Cindy said, “You guys are getting pretty serious then, huh?”

Layla smiled to herself. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

Cindy smiled and said, “It’s nice to see you so happy.”

About that time, Annabelle walked into the kitchen holding a teddy bear.

“Young lady, I thought I put you to bed?” Cindy asked her sleepy-eyed daughter.

“I know, mommy, but I want Aunt Layla to read me a bedtime story.”

Layla turned to her niece and laughed when she saw her bottom lip poked out. She was milking it.

“She is good, Cin, you have to admit.” Layla said to her sister, then turned around and scooped up her niece in her arms, carrying her back to her room.

“Come on, sweetie. I’ll read to you.”

----

When Annabelle finally fell asleep, it was almost 9:00 PM and Layla was exhausted. She’d come straight from work and hadn’t really stopped going all day.

She said goodbye to her sister and headed out to her car.

As she waited for the engine to warm up and defrost the windshield, she texted Hank.

“Sorry. Bedtime story emergency. Still want me to come over?”

She watched the bubbles, indicating he was typing a response.

“Absolutely.”

Layla smiled at his response and put the car in drive, turning the radio from Christmas music to classic rock as she pulled out of Cindy’s neighborhood.

As Layla sang along to the song on the radio, she thought about Hank and what her sister said about them getting serious. They were serious. In fact, Layla was spending more nights at his place than at her apartment now. But neither of them had yet to say the words, “I love you.” It was a big step for both of them and Layla was afraid of saying it too soon. She was finally happy and she was afraid of rocking the boat.

Glancing in her rear view mirror, Layla realized that the black sedan behind her had been there ever since she’d left Cindy’s.

At first, she told herself it was just a coincidence that the car was going the same direction as her, but after making a few unnecessary turns, she was convinced she was being followed.

Trying to remain calm, Layla picked up her phone and called Hank.

“Hey, you almost here?” He answered.

“Hank, I think I’m being followed.”

Hank stood up from where he sat on his couch and walked into the entryway, grabbing his coat from its hook.

“What kind of car? Can you see the driver?”

“I can’t really see. It’s a black sedan, older model. Maybe a Ford? I think it’s been following me since I left Cindy’s house.”

The thought of someone hanging around Cindy’s house, with the kids there, made Layla scared and angry.

“Okay,” Hank said, getting into his car and turning on the blue lights, “Where exactly are you right now?”

As Layla told him where she was, Hank drove as quickly as he could. Due to the holiday season, there was more traffic than usual and Hank cursed more than once at drivers that wouldn’t move out of his way.

Layla stayed on the phone and kept driving, the sedan still tailing her.

Finally, Hank caught up, turning off his patrol lights before turning onto the street Layla was on. When Layla saw his SUV in her rearview, she let out the breath she’d been holding. She watched as he slipped into the lane behind the black sedan.

Using the radio in his truck, Layla heard Hank call in the license plate to dispatch. A moment later he got a response. “Sergeant, the plate is registered to Jerry Blackman. White male. 40 years old. No active warrants. Should we show you in pursuit?”

Now knowing who was following her, Layla felt sick. What exactly was his goal here? To scare her? It had worked.

Layla’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as she heard Hank respond to dispatch, “Negative, dispatch. Disregard plate information.”

Hank put his phone back to his ear.

“Layla, listen to me...” From spending time in Intelligence, Layla knew the tone in his voice. He was all business now.

“... I want you to drive to Precinct 21. Trudy is filling in on desk tonight. I’m going to call her and let her know to be out front waiting for you.”

“Got it. What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to follow this son of a bitch and make sure he never comes near you again.” Hank said, ending the call before Layla could say anything else.

Layla put her phone down and tightened her grip on the steering wheel.

When they got about three blocks from the precinct, Jerry must have realized what was going on and shot out of the lane, almost hitting an oncoming car. As he sped past Layla, she let out a shaky breath and pulled up in front of the precinct.

Immediately, Hank turned on his lights and sirens and took off after him, the roar of his engine almost drowning out Trudy, who said, “You okay?” as soon as Layla stepped out of the car.

Trudy led Layla into the vacant office at the bottom of the stairs and closed the door.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Layla replied, but her shaking hands betrayed her nerves. Trudy smiled and said, “Let me go get you a cup of coffee.”

Layla nodded and Trudy started to open the door.

“Trudy?” Trudy stopped and turned back to face Layla.

“What is Hank going to do when he catches up with Jerry?”

Trudy pressed her lips together and her eyes flickered to window.

“Cream and sugar?” Trudy asked, ignoring her question.

Layla sighed, wondering if maybe it was better she didn’t know anyway.

“Yes, cream and sugar. Thanks.”

As Trudy left and closed the door behind her, Layla tried to ignore the fear she felt. Fear from being followed, fear from wondering what Hank was going to do and fear from wondering if Jerry was more of a threat than she’d originally thought. Clearly, if he was willing to go as far as to tail her car, she’d mis-judged him.

Trudy came back in with two coffees and gave one to Layla.

“Hank can take care of himself.” Trudy assured her, but Layla knew she’d be nervous until he walked back into Precinct 21.

---------

Hank followed Jerry to an old cabin on the edge of town. Jerry pulled into the driveway at a high rate of speed, swerving as the snow and slush caught his tires. Hank pulled in after him, throwing the car in park and jumping out as Jerry tried to run into the house.

“Jerry. Stop running!” Hank called out, loudly.

Jerry, in his haste to get away from Hank, slipped on a patch of ice and went down. Hank stalked over to where he was and put his foot on his back, keeping his face down in the snow.

Jerry, out of breath, started cursing at Hank.

“What the fuck, Voight? I wasn’t doing anything.”

Hank knelt down and drove his knee into Jerry’s shoulder. Then he leaned down and put his face close to Jerry’s ear.

“Listen to me, you son of a bitch. I don’t know what this obsession is that you have with Layla, but it ends now.”

Jerry tried to buck Hank off, but Hank added more pressure.

“All I was doing was trying to apologize for the misunderstanding we had at the mayor’s party. That’s all.”

“Maybe I’m not making myself clear.”

Hank pulled his gun out of it’s holster, placing the barrel of the gun against the back of Jerry’s skull. He stilled immediately.

“Turn in your resignation tomorrow and don’t ever come near Layla again.”

Jerry started to say something and Hank cocked his gun.

“Jerry. You’re not listening. Turn in your resignation tomorrow and get out of Layla’s life within 24 hours or I’ll be coming back here without this badge. Do you understand?”

When Jerry didn’t answer right away, Hank put more pressure on his shoulder and Jerry cried out in pain.

“I understand!”

Hank stayed there for a moment, letting the message sink in, before finally standing up and releasing Jerry.

As Hank walked back to his car, he holstered his gun and called out over his shoulder, “Don’t make me come back here, Jerry.”

#chicago pd #hank voight #hank voight x oc #hank voight x character #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #Chicago Fire

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