Chapter Text
Never had you experienced that magical phenomenon called 'Luck.'
Like a lost puzzle piece, you could never claim it and complete the image of your life you desperately crave. Dirty, stolen fabrics clothed your body, worn, rickety wood became your shelter, and small-portioned bread or leftovers from the upper class became your food. Lungs plagued with poisoned air, intestines that churned at spoiled food, blood vessels transporting contaminated blood—everyday it felt as if you were seconds from falling over or apart, from spilling your guts along the already dirtied streets to only hear a click of annoyance instead of sympathy.
Compassion was a lost art that had died long before you were born—for indifference and obedience were the only way to earn the favor of those higher.
Submission, is what it was.
The people that surround you are dogs licking the feet of their abusive owners. Not out of loyalty, but out of compliance in hopes of a second chance that would never occur. The disgusting level of subservience that surrounded you was something that felt filthier then the trash-contaminated atmosphere—perhaps it was that same disgust that had led to you being thrown into the pits of hell.
Distrust was a given around these parts, but making it vocal was damn near a death sentence.
Quite frankly, you don't know what exactly happened that landed you up there—hung by your limbs and hoisted above the seemingly endless dark pit. Anger swelled in your chest, screams of protest and vitriol spilling from your lips. You looked out onto the crowd and found a synonymous expression amongst them; like a hive mind, those stupid fucks couldn't think for themselves. The same expression, the same disgust, the same words—a cacophony of slander was hurled at you.
This, this would be the height of 'the luck that would come around.' Maybe you were only lucky at fucking up?
With one last scream—filled with all of the loathing, revulsion, and callousness you could muster—there was a click! and suddenly you were falling down, down, down. Though, you were less focused on that, and more on the injustice and betrayal you faced. You swore that if you ever had the chance, you'd crawl up there, cuts in your hands and dirt under your nails to kill them.
But now, you were falling, and you couldn't stop until your back hit something surprisingly soft, only to get barraged by other hard and sharp objects until you were face first in dirt that reeked of the familiar garbage smell. After weakly pushing yourself up, you take in your surroundings and realize you are sitting in a giant wasteland of dirt. In every direction was trash, piled high and densly packed. Some of these trash mountains had clearly been around for some time, causing you to wonder what exactly led to the state of this place. Though that process would have to halt as: (1) you hear rumbling in the distance, and (2) you can't fucking breathe.
Anxiety starts to fill in your chest at the exact same time pollution does. Your lungs struggle to expand, your windpipe feeling as if it's closing—and those desperate, large gulps and gasps of air aren't helping matters; in fact, its making them worse.
In a panicked state, you force yourself to stand, and run through the fields of grime. The ground beneath you vibrates with large, harsh steps and you aren't sure if you would even be able to process what the hell is causing that. You trip and stumble, hand clasped over your eyes and mouth as you search for anything, in hopes of escaping this wasteland. Fear resonates throughout your body—violent coughs rise to the surface and with them comes blood. Blood, the crimson color that you can barely see from this angle splatters inside your palm and seeps through your finger—from your nose and mouth essential liquid spills, and you can only become overwhelmed by the smell of iron and taste of copper, not to mention the putrid smell of this land.
How long had you been here?
How long had you been struggling?
You couldn't see a damn thing, and all a sudden there was an abomination of an assortment of trash a couple of miles away. You couldn't see, breathe, or think. Your eyes flutter, your limbs weak, and body polluted.
You don't remember falling, nor do you remember what happened after everything went to black. You do, however, remember someone grabbing you and mumbling "Twice in a couple of months?" or something along those lines, and then you could suddenly breathe.
Once you fully gained consciousness, you weren't in the wasteland any longer, but at what seems to be the opening of a canyon. Quickly, you snap to attention, hard-wired to be quick on your toes. Your back is leaning against a large wall of rock, eyes glossy and blurry while you try to adjust to bright light that had not been here before. 'Is that the sun?' You pondered with squinted eyes. Slowly, you come to full awareness, becoming increasingly conscious of a large figure a couple of feet away. A man, with wild blonde hair, a couple of tattoos, and a really large coat. An umbrella rested next to him and you pondered what the hell he could be using that for in a place that seems as sunny and dry as a desert.
"Finally awake?"
Defensively, you snap up and distance yourself from him, fists up to prepare to fight. You had fully accepted your death back there, only to discover you are not only perfectly fine, but in a new area with the unexpected presence of another human being.
"Whoaa! Calm down," he puts his hands up, "Thats how you greet people who save you?"
You were still skeptical, caution flowing throughout your veins, though you did relax. You noticed a black mask was on your face, and when you took it off you observed the filters on each side which is probably why you could breathe. With a huff, you decided to listen to him. He introduced himself as Enjin, whose something called a "Cleaner." Those abominations were trash monsters, a monstrosity formed by the pollution from the Sphereites, your home. Soon, your physical distance had decreased, especially since you had to get in his...car? but you were still mentally blocked off from the man.
Though, it didn't take long for you to become more relaxed. Enjin had driven you to the Cleaners HQ, the receptionist—Semiu—had described you as someone with potential, but you were completely confused. None of this "gifted" mess made any sense, and you were unsure how you fit into that. Enjin concluded that you should start as a 'Supporter' first and quickly moved on to introduce to the rest of his crew—particularly Zanka, Riyo, Rudo, Follo, and Gris. The first three seemed to be Cleaners, while the last two seemed to be Supporters. You supposed this was Enjin's usual team up for missions and politely greeted them. Zanka was eh, Riyo gave a simple greeting and moved onto something else, Rudo was as stiff as a board and shy, Follo greeted you enthusiastically but quickly moved on with Rudo, and finally Gris, the man took his time with greeting you—an introduction of himself, a joke, shaking your hand, and reassurance.
"You'll probably be with us if the boss approves, don't be afraid to ask me anything," he spoke with a gentle smile.
Gris was the one you took to quickly. He was tall and well-built, kind, and much bigger than you. His hand could nearly engulf yours completely, though he struck you as one of those gentle giant types. His aura was a calm one, if he were the one to greet you instead of Enjin, you likely would have adjusted quicker, and had less of a visceral reaction. Your meeting didn't marinate long considering Enjin wisked you away to meet the boss, but Gris remained prominent in your mind.
Enjin brought you to meet Arkha Corvus, the leader of the Cleaners. The man had accepted you into the organization, and like Enjin said, you were assigned to be a Supporter until you could bring out the potential of your "vital instrument." Afterwards, you were put under your senior, Gris.
There was a party thrown in celebration for another member, but you suspected that was more their excuse to eat a bunch than for you.
Regardless, it had been a couple of months. You participated in a couple of missions, stupid parties, and training with Gris sometimes Ranka, Rudo alongside you. It was getting closer to the end of the year and the entire organization seemed to be vibrating with excitement for some upcoming "Holiday." It seemed both Rudo and yourself were lost when Riyo and Enjin frequently mentioned a holiday called "Halloween."
Gris quickly intervened before you were overwhelmed with information. "It's just a day where people dress up and eat candy."
"Dress up?" You ask.
"Mhm. You could be a princess like Riyo was last year. I was a vampire, you know those monsters with pointy teeth that drink blood?" You nod, surprised that the Sphere and the Ground share similar theology. Of course, the ones you learned were slightly different and scarce, but they still existed. "I still haven't heard the end of it from Enjin," Gris sighs as if recalling a moment of embarassment and ridicule.
"It's in a couple of days, so you have time to choose. Though, I'm sure the girls will yank you away," he lightly chuckles, glancing over at Riyo and Tomme talking a couple of feet away. "It's supposed to be fun, but there's no mandatory stamp on it. Come if you want, relax in bed if you don't."
Playfully, he nudges you with his arm, something you've noticed is a comforting gesture when talking or a hand on the shoulder doesn't seem to resolve much. A smile finds its way to your face, and you nod. Despite living in the Ground for a couple of months, you haven't gone shopping for fun, especially not for some nice clothing. But, as Gris had mentioned, you were quickly dragged outside and to the market with Riyo to shop for an outfit.
'Mm, vampire? No.
Zombie? Ew.
Ghost? Booorring.
Pirate? Absolutely not.'
You sigh, annoyed with being tugged around by your teammates. Neither of them could agree on something, and you honestly couldn't care less. This "Halloween" thing was new to you, hence, you couldn't find enough passion care about what you looked like. Besides, your current comfortable and familar clothing style was enough for you. Gris did say that you don't have to dress up, which is what you're wishing the girls would agree to let you do.
You ended up going with vampire.
With a couple of galla, you purchased a black dress (with a slit at the encouragement of Riyo), some short heels, and some fake teeth. Again, who cares this much about some dress-up?
The Cleaners HQ was buzzing with a lot of excitement for a group of ragtag people who face death each work day. Perhaps it did make the work environment feel more encouraging and less dreadful. And you had to acknowledge that the atmosphere was slightly getting to you.
You've felt more jovial as of late. Ease rippled through your body, a foreign, yet welcome feeling. Being apart of the Tribe folk from above didn't allow for such moments. Perhaps that constant distrust and scrutinizing only aided the 'descended from criminals' belief, but "safe" was not something you called the Tribe folk either. Regardless, you weren't there anymore. Despite everyone being varying levels of dangerous and kooky, the cleaners formed a community that made you feel welcome. Their festive attitudes only encouraged your lax state.
For the next couple of days, it was halloween this, halloween that—red and orange decorations clipped in the corners of the room, small, paper bats hung from the ceiling, and webs (which you question their artifical status), are plastered on tables and such.
A tiny sense of wonder filled you, excitement bubbling at the thought of experiencing something new. Not to mention, everyone, including Gris would be dressed up. Why you felt particular enthusiasm towards the notion of Gris dressed in fancier or more provocative attire like yourself, you hadn't a clue. However, something thumped in your head and spread to your heart, consumed by both the curiosity about his festive attitude, and the possibility of him enjoying your own costume. That would be a ballsy thought process, but it wouldn't hurt to fantasize about, especially since he's a member you feel particularly close to.
Quickly, halloween descended upon the ground, patiently waiting for the sun to start its descent before the streets became alit, and parties began to gear up.
Without haste, you carefully tugged on the fabric you purchased, observing how exceptionally flattering it was for you. Hugged to your skin, a plunging neckline, and a split in fabric by your thigh. There was no doubt, you'd receive several stares throughout the night. Though, instead of focusing on that, you quickly put together the rest of your costume and walk into the decorated cafeteria area of the HQ.
The lights were dimmed and colored by the thin papers hung under them. The room was filled already. You could spot the puffy sleeves of prince costumes, the make-up for some zombies, and the flowing robes of villains. Honestly, the sight pulled a chuckle out of you. Such serious folks during work were dressing up and dancing to their own rhythms. If it were yesterday, you'd be seeing these exact same people swinging around through trash to dispose of a couple trash monsters. As far as your team, Follo was dressed as a prince, trying to get Rudo, who's dressed as some . . . spider . . . . man (?), from the corner. Rudo has consistently been shy, so there's no surprise from you there. Riyo and Tomme were by the drinks, dressed as a basketball player with bunny ears and a ghostly bride. Gris and Enjin, however, were no where to be found.
Still, the change of pace was, surprisingly, nice.
You walk over to the food and drinks table and greet Riyo and Tomme. "Hah, I told you it would look good!" Riyo hums as she glances at your outfit. Tomme rolls her eyes, seeing as she had a different idea for your costume, but she compliments you aswell.
"I wonder where Gris and Enjin are . . . " you ponder aloud as the three of you make conversation. Though, you don't have to wonder long because you can hear Enjin's loud ass voice and Gris's grunts as they thump down the hallway.
When they emerge through the door, Enjin has Gris by the neck, a bottle of booze occupying he free hand. Enjin loudly exclaims that he's got more alcohol, causing an emergance of cheers from the room. "Alright, I'm here, lay off." Gris sighs and pats Enjin's arm, to which the Cleaner removes his arm. Gris stands up, rolling his shoulders and looking around the room. He's dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt, with a dark turquoise vest atop, dark cream pants, and brown bucket-top boots. You couldn't quite pinpoint the character he was going for, but that was certainly not your main focus, especially since the fabric of his costume squeezes and molds around his arms and legs. If his aim was to show off, he succeeded.
Enjin was wearing a costume aswell, something 'princey' but you couldn't find it in you to care.
Gris' eyes glance around the room before they finally land on you, a smile growing on his handsome face. He walks over to you, tilting his head with a sparkle of intrigue in his eye. "You decided to come then? You um- ahem- look good." Beneath the dim lighting of the room, you couldn't quite catch the faint blush blooming on his cheeks, but the effect of the comment itself didn't miss you. Compliments had been flying around for the past five minutes, and you thanked them each time without a strange reaction accompanying the thankful replies. This time, however, there was burning in your face. It felt as if your temperature was rising. You had only had one cup of the mixed drink, and you didn't think you were this much of a lightweight, so confusion settled in your chest.
With a twinge of sudden bashfulness, you nod at his question. "Yeah! I bought something, so i figured I'd come. And- uh, thank you! For the compliment." That sounded stupid as hell.
Awkward laughs fill the space between you, as if neither have a confident subject to mention and converse about. Though, slowly but surely conversation builds between the two of you, and instead of engaging with the others, you're leaning back in the corner talking about whatevever. Music thumps in the background, cheers and authentic laughs rippling in the background. You each speak about hobbies or relationships, Gris joking about some of the other members of the organization, particularly about the embarrassing moments when he first became a Supporter. Through this talking, you had learned that Gris is a rather crazy driver, which urges you to ponder about what that would be like in person. Chuckles, ones that had been absent or scarce from your lips, filled the air between the two of you. It was like you were in your own little bubble—half-empty cups in hand, talking about anything and everything, speaking as if its just the two of you in the area. He's captivating. He holds space in a room with a gentle demeanor, his voice and his words like a soothing balm.
You glance at him. Because you started to feel effects from the drink, you decided to set the drink down; however, your attention could not be pulled.
The deep rumble in chest when he laughs, those soft eyes that sparkle with interest, that small, gentle smile that appears on his face—under the glow of the orange and purple lights, he was undeniably beautiful—a sight that you couldn't seperate from.
There was a sense of intimacy in the proximity to each other, both emotionally and physically. You dont remember when you got this close to him, shoulders touching, heads leaning in, and sliding down the wall slightly from the subtance influence. The enjoyment inside of you did not hide itself, a stupid, bright smile plastered upon your face. Something else that didn't hide, was the longing for intimacy that radiated between you two. Despite the words not being spoken, you were hyperaware of the mutual feeling. The both of you lean closer, turning your heads to satisfy the unspoken need of your lips pressed together, until Gris pauses. "Why don't we leave, hm?" he whispers in a low voice, a delicious grain in his throat, "We'll never hear the end of it if something happens out in the open."
A smile of amusement grows on his cheeks, and you can't help but follow suit. This felt unreal, like something that would happen to a novel protagnist rather than you. He's a friend, your senior, and someone who occupies your mind daily. Never had you been more worried and distraught on a mission than when Jabber was involved and Gris nearly died. To talk to him, lean into him, to leave a party with him—this had to be some random stroke of luck. Something you've lived without since birth.
Quitely, you nod, allowing Gris to pull you away from the party and down the halls of building. His hand is gently tugging you along by your wrist, and you can't help but notice how his hand swallow it.
His walking eventually slows to a stop before a door, "Is it okay if we go in my room?"
Without hesitation, you nod, hands cupping his face. Gris wraps an arm around your waist, the other hand twisting the knob to his bedroom. Without warning, his lips are smashed against your own, an eager but gentle press. Stumbling inside of the room with his foot kicking the door closed, your hands wander along his shoulders, squeezing and uselessly tugging on the clothing. The kisses quickly turn messy as the two of you attempt to remain connected while kicking off heels and ripping off vests. It isn't until he's unbuttoned two on his shirt that he simply yanks on the shirt. A couple of buttons can be heard clacking against the floor along with your accessories of plenty.
His attention seems to have shifted from himself to you, slowly backing into his bed, lips still molded against each other. He gives a little nibble, tugging on your bottom lip as a silent request for entry into your mouth.
The second you part your lips, his tongue slides between them, messily sliding against your own. Gris groans into your mouth, the hear between you rising rapidly. With one, steady hand on your waist, the other explores the expanse of your body. But Gris towers over you.
The quiet strength and confidence he radiates with each touch adds onto the arousal that pools in your lower belly. He briefly lifts you to lay you down in the middle of the bed, earning a cute whimper of surprise. "You're so beautiful," he mumbles into your mouth. "From the first time I saw you, all feisty and skeptical, I've thought that."
Gris parts from the kiss, though a whine of dissatisfaction is stopped by the feeling of his lips trailing down your skin. His lips press short, sweet kisses from your chin, along your jaw, and down the column of your neck. "And now -kiss- I get to see you all dolled up -kiss- in a pretty costume -kiss- showing off so much," his primarily gloved hands are bare, ghosting along your exposed skin with fondness. His hand stops its wandering and rests just below the thigh slit on your dress. "May I?" he whispers, kisses paused just below your collarbone to focus on you.
Your body body squirms, unfamilar with a gentle touch such as this, but you couldn't get enough. And when Gris lowers his face to your chest, hands on your side, lips moving, asking to undress you with more than his eyes—you could faint.
Whatever god blessed you this night, you'd give them the most plentiful of offerings you could afford.
Eagerly, you nod. "Yes, yes please."
His lips resume decorating your skin in invisible marks, except they dip further and more intimatly. Both of his hands work on slowly undressing you, from his right gently tugging down the neckline of the dress to expose your breasts, to his left sliding beneath the fabric and bunching it by your waist.
Gris peppers kisses along your chest, following the path of your sternum as his hands continue to gently tugging the fabric up and off of you. As beautiful as the black and red dress is, he would like to see you and the curves that hide beneath the clothing.
Without a care, he tosses the dress to the floor, leaving you dressed in only a bra and panties. His lips press open mouthed kisses to your skin as he descends down your torso. The damp feeling of his tongue paired with his enthusiam has you squirming, especially so as he's reached your hips. Gently, with his teeth, he begins to tug the underwear down your thighs. His hands are occupied fumbling with the stupid belt and buttons of his damn pants. His cock is straining against his underclothes, suffocating with desire as Gris attempts to patiently prepare you for the upcoming.
You hear the clank of his belt hit the floor, and you feel his hands near rip your panties off and toss them. His lips have left your skin for a moment, his head positioned between your thighs. Hesitantly, his lips wrap around your clit, his fingers gently prodding at your pussy.
His tongue, a foreign feeling on your skin, licks the sensitive bud before he starts to gently suck. Gris slowly slides one finger inside of you, moaning at the way you squeeze him. He can vividly imagine the moment he has you wrapped around his cock, tight and warm with a cute expression plastered on your face like the pretty girl you are. "So pretty . . . " he mumbles, alternating between giving your clit kitten licks and little suckles. His finger rhythmically thrusts, your quiet moans music to his ears. Experimentally, he adds a second finger, picking up the pace and beginning to curl and press.
Gris mumbles praises against your skin, clit sensitive and throbbing beneath his tongue, as his thick fingers penetrate your cunt.
"Ah . . . "
The sounds of your whimpers and moans increase in volume as he increases in rigor. Another finger is added, three of his thick fingers pumping in and out of you with a mesmerizing speed. The slick sounds of your pussy fill the air, the wet squelch of your arousal causing heat to flood to your face. Your hips twitch, thighs tensing as a coil of pressure swells in your lower belly. Your walls clamp down on his fingers, waves of anticipation accompanying the overwhelming arousal you feel.
With twitching feet and pathetic whines leaving your lips, your body tenses, that coil of pressure snapping, and pleasure devouring your senses.
"Good," he coos, kissing your trembling thighs and slowly pulling his fingers from your twitching pussy.
Gris sits up, and with that same hand, he tugs at his cock and slips it from the bindings of his black boxers. His fingers, coated in your release, tug up and down along his erect, above average cock. With hazy eyes, you peer in front of you, taking note of the thick length held in his hand. It had to been thicker and longer than the average man, a light pink tip, and a curve to the right. There are veins on the underside, a sight that makes your mouth water. Quickly, you need him inside of you.
"Nnh, Gris . . . " you pathetically reach out to press your hand against his exposed, yet still clothed chest.
More—you stare up at him with wonder, desiring nothing more than to have him inside of you, to teeter along the line of this newfound luck.
If you held a little more patience, you would've forced him to pull off the rest of his clothes to match you, but at the current moment you simply desired him inside of you. His large, heavy cock. You paw at his chest, your hand trailing down to his waist. His torso is large, your hand feeling tiny against the expanse of your chest. His hand could dwarf yours, his body could hide your own behind him with no struggle, his clothes would probably drown you if you wore them, and he's nearly a head taller than you—he's, so, big.
"Yeah? Want more?" Gris slightly teases, though he tugs of his shirt and pushes down the waistband of his pants. For a moment, he takes in the beauty of you. Your breathlessness, your pretty tits still bound by a bra, your twitching legs and your leaking pussy, your skin, your small hands—oh, you're breathtaking.
Gris leans over your sprawled body, peppering a couple of kisses along your skin with his hand languidly stroking his cock.
"May I?" He asks again, earning a soft 'mhm' from your lips.
Gris aligns his hips with yours and presses his forehead to your own. The both of you have your eyes downcast where he lines the head of his cock, beading with pre, to your eager entrance. Slowly, he pushes in, both of you wincing together. You feel his length bury inside of you inch by inch, fingers shaking and clenching the sheets. Gris gives you coos of praise and gentle, soothing gestures to help you relax. A whisper of 'Good, darlin,' or a caress of your arm—anything to help you relax as your filled to the brim.
Gris grunts when he bottoms out, sitting still for a moment and waiting for your approval.
After a couple of moments, a quiet "You can- can move, please" leaves you and your eyes flutter when his hips move even a small amount. Gris nods at your confirmation, sliding one of his hands against your own to intertwine them. He pulls his hips back, his cock dragging along your sensitive walls.
"Ah—mmh, please, faster!" you whine, desiring more to fulfill the growing sense of need inside of you.
"Yes, ma'am," the words rumble in his throat.
Gris burries his face in your neck, pressing your torso's against each other. He sinks inside of you, groaning at the way you sqeeze around him. His hips pull back once more and this time slams back into your own. You yelp in surprise, though when you feel his hips shifting, you focus back on Gris. You lift your legs, wrapping them around his waist and securing him against you.
You sniff, mumbling 'more' to him with a pout on your face.
More, more, more.
You desire more of him, more of his hips slamming and grinding against yours, more of his cock penetrating inside of you with enthusiasm. Gris chuckles, yet only abides by your wishes. The pace of his hips speed up—an embarrassing cacophany of moans and wet slaps consume the room. The filthy slap of his hips against yours should fill your head with shame. The unfiltered, loud proclaims about Gris should have you burying yourself later on. But at the moment, consumed with lust, you cannot help but desire what Gris offers in the moment.
Cute little 'uh, uh, uh's slip from your lips in time with each of his rapid, heavy thrusts. Your ankles have found their way to his shoulders, his hips rolling into your thighs, his hands digging into the meat of your ass, holding you as he pounds into your warmth.
"Nghh, ah! Gris, m'close!"
Simple, 'I know, I know's leave his plump, kiss swollen lips. "Just a little more, then I can cum in this pretty pussy of yours, yea?"
His response is not in words, but with your cunt tightening around his length. His cock burries into you, building a familiar coil of pressure. Your hands fist the sheets, eyes shut, lips ajar to moan to your hearts content. You were so close—crossed eyes fluttering, toes curling, and a shaky voice. And judging by the increased sloppiness in his thrusts tells you Gris is just as close.
"Come on," he coaxes, "Cum for me."
His words and the feeling of him encourages your orgasm, resulting in loud moans and jerking hips. As a result of yours, pressure tightens and snaps inside of him, a gutteral groan leaving his lips as he's burried inside of you.
You feel the warmth of his cum fill you when he achieves his release. The both of you take deep breaths, attempting to wind down for a moment. Gris carefully pulls out, earning a whine of loss from you. He chuckles lightly and pulls your closer to him, into his chest and beneath the sheets. Passively, one of his hands rubs your arm in a soothing manner. "Need anything?" he asks, ensuring you're okay.
With fluttering eyes, you shake your head and bury closer into his side. "No."
The festivites of tonight had to be some strange act of divine intervention, perhaps a blessing bestowed upon you as pity for the life you've lived thus far. Though you've never been one to accept favors out of pity, you'd take this one. If activities like this exist for every holiday, you'd gladly dress as stupid as possible, especially if it meant it means being wrapped in the arms of the man you desire.