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alltheirdamn · 4 hours

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Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 6 Buried Truths

Summary: When the past can only be contained for so long, Joel is there to pick up the pieces. Rating: 18+ MDNI Explicit Word Count: 8.4k Warnings: Pre-outbreak AU, language, mentions of a hospital setting, mentions of injury, mentions of past trauma, a FUCK ton of angst, little sprinkle of smut, another cliffhanger (don't worry, i won't make you wait long) A/N: This is the part where you all collectively say OH...

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Joel’s hand remained wrapped around yours as you stared blankly out the plane window. Everything had been a blur the last twenty-four hours. After you got off the call with Beth, you ran through calling the school to find a substitute, packed what you could into a small carry-on bag, and went online to book the first ticket out to Boston. You tried to talk Joel into staying back in Austin; he had work and Sarah to care for, but he was adamant about coming. He made a quick call to Tommy to make a plan for Sarah and contacted his work to find coverage for the rest of the week. He was only apart from you when he rushed home to pack his travel bag. Then you were both off to the airport: you bleary-eyed and Joel more stoic than you could ever recall seeing. He hadn’t said much between security and the flight gate, but you were too exhausted to try and force conversation.

“Hey,” Joel said, nudging you. “How you feelin’, baby?”

You glanced at him and shrugged, the tears from earlier still drying on your cheeks.

“I’m okay, I guess.”

His fingers squeezed around yours before he brought your hand to his mouth to kiss it softly.

“He’s gonna be alright,” he assured. “Beth said he’s recovering now, right? It’s just gonna take some time.”

While you and Joel were waiting at the gate, you called Beth again to find out what happened with your dad. She explained he had been up on the ladder fixing the roofing above the patio when his foot caught in one of the steps, ultimately forcing him to fall ten feet to the ground. He had a broken hip, a fracture in his lower spine, and a severe concussion—leaving him in a temporary medically induced coma. Beth had said he was lucky to be alive, but the anxiety still bubbled inside you in fear of what he would endure through his recovery. The thought of his injury only elevated the already strong emotions connecting you to the past, making it nearly impossible to cope with your dad’s accident while you simultaneously still struggled with your own.

The plane made a rocky touch-down in Boston well after midnight, the autumn rain causing the plane to slide against the tarmac before coming to a jarring stop. You and Joel rushed around the other passengers, filing out of the plane and sprinting through the airport to find Beth. You singled her out of the crowd, her face rosy and hair piled onto her head in a messy bun. The second she had your arms around you, you crumpled to the ground as the sobs broke out of your chest.

“It’s okay, sis,” she said, her voice breaking. “He’s stable. It’s gonna be okay.”

“What if—what if he’s not?” You sobbed.

You clutched onto her sweater, your head buried into her shoulders. She hushed you, her hand rubbing into your back.

“The doctors said he’ll make a full recovery. We just need to wait,” she said.

“Is there any…” Your voice broke once more.

“No,” she whispered. “There’s no serious damage to his brain.”

You choked on your breath, relief swimming through your veins. This wouldn’t be like your accident; he would be okay.

“C’mon,” she urged, pulling you to your feet.

You wiped your nose across your sleeve, sheepishly turning to Joel. Gesturing from him to Beth, you gave a weak smile.

“Joel, this is Beth. Beth, this is Joel.”

Joel and Beth stood motionless, staring awkwardly at each other. You glanced between them, your eyebrows furrowing. Why weren’t they saying anything?

Finally, Joel cleared his throat and extended his hand to Beth.

“Nice to meet you, Beth. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Beth took his hand cautiously, giving him a friendly smile.

“Same here.”

You’d revisit this awkward interaction later, but you needed to go home.

“Is mom home?” You asked Beth.

You reached for your bag, but Joel gently nudged your hand away. He took it into his hand and walked to the parking garage behind you and your sister.

“Her and Stella are at the hospital,” she explained.

You stopped in your tracks, sending Joel staggering into your back with a soft oof.

“Sorry,” you muttered to Joel. You turned back to Beth. “Take me home.”

“No,” she said sternly. “They want you there. You need to be there.”

“Beth,” you started.

She lifted a hand to silence you, glancing over your shoulder at Joel.

“Can you jump in the car real quick? I need to talk to my sister alone.”

Beth tossed her keys to Joel, waiting until the back door shut before she glared at you.

“Does he know?” She questioned.

“Of course, he doesn’t know,” you argued.

She scoffed, folding her arms.

“Considering everything going on, you didn’t think to mention it to him?”

“Sorry, I’ve been a little busy getting my ass out here as fast as possible. It didn’t register in my mind to share the sad details of my accident with him.”

“You need to tell him, sis.”

“This isn’t the fucking time to do it!” You snapped.

Beth rolled her eyes, her lips pursed for another attack.

“It’s going to come out sooner or later. You know that, right? He’s not going to run away if you tell him.”

“Bennett did, so why is he any different?”

“Stop comparing him to Bennett!” She yelled. “He’s nothing like him, and if you seriously think that, then you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” you mumbled.

“What? The truth? Because the truth is that you are a fucking idiot. And on top of that, you’re a coward.”

“Fuck you,” you spat.

Beth laughed. She actually laughed. Rounding the car, she left you standing teary-eyed and frustrated.

“Get in the fucking car,” she shouted. “We’re wasting time.”

You hauled yourself into the front seat, keeping your eyes out of the window and avoiding the heavy truth sitting between you, Beth, and Joel. If any one of them told him about your past, you’d kill them. It was yours to share whenever you were ready.

Beth drove like a bat out of hell to Mass General. No one said anything the entire drive, and you were grateful for it. After the blowup between you and Beth, you had no more energy left to fight. You just hoped you’d be able to reel in the anger with Joel; he didn’t deserve it.

Mass General loomed above the rain clouds settling over the city. Joel and Beth had already exited the car while you sat inside its warmth, your eyes stuck on the Emergency sign at the front of the hospital. Joel tapped on the window, stirring you from the numbing sensation rolling through your body. You didn’t even flinch at the sound of his knuckles on the glass. Joel cracked the door open, pulling it wide enough to fit his broad between the metal and your shaking body.

“C’mon baby,” he urged, offering his hand. “I know y’can do this. I’m right here with you, okay?”

“I can’t,” you whined.

Joel crouched slightly, leveling you with soft brown eyes, a curl drifting over his forehead. You wished you were both in bed, curled under the covers and far away from Boston. You wanted his soft hair between your fingers and his stubble ticking your skin. But no, you were here in Boston, with a rain cloud hanging in the sky and your father unconscious in a hospital bed.

“Look at me,” Joel breathed.

You wanted to look anywhere but at him. If he looked at you any longer, you’d shatter completely. He cautioned your name, coaxing you from your hesitation. His strong hands cupped your cheeks, holding you firm as he kept your focus on his eyes.

“I’m right here,” he repeated. “Ain’t gonna leave your side no matter what. Y’understand? Whatever happens, I’m right here.”

You chewed on your lip to keep the sobs from escaping. It was surprising you had anything left to cry; all you did was cry… and cry… and cry.

“I can’t go in there, Joel. You don’t—you don’t understand.”

“Help me understand,” he pleaded.

“Go without me. I’ll wait outside, okay?”

“Baby,” he groaned. “Beth will have my ass if I don’t get you inside.”

You scoffed, ripping his hands from your face.

“You speak a few words to her and suddenly know how she’s gonna react?” You glared. “You both acted so fucking weird in the airport and now you’re taking her side?”

Joel straightened to his full height, the shadow of his body blanketing you. You were pushing him away; you knew it, and so did he. You just needed to nudge him a bit more, and he’d run. You’d be alone again and spare yourself the humiliation and heartbreak.

“I ain’t takin’ sides,” he argued. “I’m bein’ realistic. I saw the way she went at you back there. I’m not ‘bout to get the same treatment for leavin’ you behind.”

“Just go!” You yelled. You shoved at his chest, forcing him back into the door.

He didn’t respond in anger like you expected. He did the opposite, pulling you towards him and into a desperate kiss. You tried to push him off—tried to fight it— but he only held you tighter.

“Keep fightin’ me, baby,” he said against your mouth. “I’m only gonna fight back.”

“I hate you,” you cried. “I hate you.”

But you didn’t stop kissing him. You gripped the wild curls at the base of his neck, pinning him to your lips as you sobbed through every slant of his mouth.

“Why won’t you leave?” You cried, the words muffled as his tongue searched for yours. “Why, Joel?”

“I ain’t leavin’ you again, baby,” he murmured. “I can’t.”

Joel pulled away from your swollen lips, tears pooling in his eyes. You instantly felt remorse for treating him so badly. You wouldn’t do to him what Bennett did to you.

“Remember when I said this was real?” he asked. “Do you still believe that?”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears ran down your cheeks.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

“Then trust me when I say I’m never leavin’. Not now. Not ever.”

You inhaled a sharp breath and buried your head in your hands.

“Just give me a minute, okay?” You exhaled. “Catch up with Beth, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, echoing the words you spoke only a few weeks ago.

“You and your deals,” you grumbled, peeking out your fingers.

That garnered a slight grin from Joel, his lips curling upward.

“Take your breather, and I’ll wait by the back of the car. If y’wanna go in, we can go in together.”

You remained silent, hiccuping over another sob. Joel raised his brow, waiting for a response. Avoiding his eyes, you nodded, the Emergency sign taunting you from a distance. Joel leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead and abandoned you to retreat toward the back of the car.

You steadied your breathing, focusing on the slow inhale and exhale of the air within your lungs. It wasn’t you in that hospital bed; it was your dad. He didn’t sustain the same damage you had, and that’s all that mattered. Whatever the outcome, he was better off than you had ever been, and you needed to be grateful for it.

You let your legs move on their own accord as you took your spot beside Joel, his hand instantly grasping around yours. His touch grounded you in the moment, keeping you centered as your mind swam upstream through the rocky waves of the past. You had to stay strong. You had to prove you could do this.

The second your feet crossed through the sliding doors, all that strength collapsed. Joel hooked a strong arm around your back, bracing you to his side as he guided you into the waiting room. Your mom and Beth sat side by side in the worn-down seats, their faces grim and tired.

“Hey,” you said wearily.

Your mom's eyes snapped up, and she broke down at seeing you. She ran up to yank you from Joel’s grasp, smothering you into a tight hug.

“Oh, honey,” she cried. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“How’s dad?” You asked, speaking into her hair that wrapped around your face.

“Doctors haven’t given much of an update, but he’s alright. They’re taking him in for surgery in a few hours to help reset his hip.”

“And his head?” You faltered.

“There’s no serious damage,” she whispered.

You peered over her shoulder to where Beth sat, eyes meeting in a quiet understanding. There was still a tension running thick between you both, but those words from your mom were enough to soothe the surmounting anxiety inside you.

“Mom,” you sighed, tearing away from her embrace. “This is Joel.”

You motioned to Joel behind you, an eerie repeat of what had happened between him and Beth. Your mom stood frozen, her eyes widening as she stared at him. Joel cracked a welcoming smile, extending his hand out to her. No one moved, and his hand remained wavering in the stagnant air.

“Mom?” You pressed.

She shook her head and opened her arms to Joel, inviting him in for a hug. It was strange but not entirely unexpected, considering the circumstances.

“Hi, honey,” she said as she rocked Joel back and forth in the embrace.

“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” Joel replied. You caught on to the way his biceps flexed around her, squeezing her just as tightly as he would with you. He was comforting her, and something softened inside you.

Beth cleared her throat behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your mom released Joel and turned towards Beth.

“She should go up and see him,” Beth told your mom.

“She is right here,” you snapped.

“Oh, now she wants to listen to me,” Beth snorted.

“Both of you!” Your mom shouted. “Enough!”

You shrunk away, folding yourself into Joel’s warm frame. The press of his body against yours quelled the anger rising back up, and you kept focus on his hands rubbing over your arms to keep from lashing out. Beth was pushing, and you knew exactly why.

“Listen, Beth, stay here and chill out,” your mom started. She glanced back at you and Joel before continuing. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll take you to see him.”

You followed your mom up to the ICU, your eyes shifting from one room to another. The repetition of machines beeping and murmurs of nurses through the hall slammed into your head like a hammer, and you found yourself clinging to Joel, twisting his cotton shirt until it stretched between your fingers.

“It’s okay, baby,” Joel crooned. “I got you. Ain’t lettin’ you go.”

Mom guided you to the room where Stella was perched on a chair beside the bed. You averted your eyes from your dad, refusing to look. Stella turned to see you walk in and immediately sprinted into your arms, sobbing into your chest.

“I know. I know,” you cried.

“I was so scared it was going to happen again, sis,” she muttered.

“They said he was okay, right? It’s not going to happen to him,” you assured.

“But what if it does? What if he wakes up and doesn’t remember—.”

“Don’t,” you interjected. “Don’t say it.”

She peeled herself from you and wiped away her tears. Joel stepped forward, his hand pressed to your lower back, as he made his way to introduce himself.

“I’m Joel,” he smiled, extending his hand.

Stella flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and nuzzling into his chest. Your mom watched them with a knowing look, something you couldn’t discern.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” she sighed.

Weird. You only really talked to Beth about Joel and didn’t expect her to share it with anyone except your mom.

Joel rubbed her shoulders gently, then pulled away.

“Likewise, Stell.”

Stell. You didn’t recall calling her that in front of Joel; that nickname was reserved for you and only you. Your head was pounding, and the nagging feeling that you were losing grip on reality was slowly settling in. You worked so hard to remember everything; it wouldn’t happen again. Not now.

“You okay, sweetie?” Your mom cautioned, stepping beside you.

Her voice roused you from your confusion, and you made the mistake of looking at your dad for the first time. He looked so much smaller, lying in the hospital bed: a breathing tube situated under his nose and IVs running through the bend of his arm. Oh God, and his face. Both of his eyes were rimmed in dark bruises, and a thick layer of bandages was wrapped over his forehead. Was that how you looked all those years ago? Your stomach churned with nausea the longer you looked at him. The whirring of the machines in the room dizzied you, and you felt your body swaying in place. Joel quickly steadied you, his arms coming around your front to lock you into a tight hold.

“You’re okay, baby,” he murmured into your ear.

“Do you want to be alone with him, sweetie?” Your mom asked.

“Please,” you said, nodding.

Joel kissed the crown of your head before following your mom and Stella out into the hall. You glanced over your shoulder to see them all huddled together, the cracked blinds inside the room obstructing your view of what they were saying. You’d ask Joel about it later.

Turning back to your dad, you let the real tears fall. The ugly, gut-wrenching ones you had held back for so long. Tears that weren’t just for him, but for you as well. No one in your family knew the fear and pain that came with a head injury. No one could understand you—not even Bennett, despite everything he tried to say and do. You were alone in its entirety, but you’d be damned if your dad dealt with the same.

Cradling his hand in yours, you drew circles over his calloused skin with your thumb. You didn’t have words to express your pain, so you sat in silence. The constant repetition of machinery beeping throbbed through the recesses of your brain, a migraine looming on the horizon. You’d suffer with it later, but it would be worth it just to stay in this moment a few seconds longer.

“I love you, dad,” you whispered.

You didn’t know if he could hear you, but you hoped he did.

You remained silent for a few more minutes and glanced at the clock above the bed. 3: 13 AM. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had drained away, and the fatigue in your body was settling in rapidly. You wanted to lie down and wake up when everything was better, but it all came with time. And you hated that. You hated time and things it had stolen from you.

A light rap on the door startled you from your silent cocoon, and you turned to see Joel peeking in through the window. You motioned him to come in, and he bent beside the bed, his hand resting on your thigh.

“How ya’ doin’, baby?” He asked softly.

“I’m tired,” you lamented.

He smoothed his hand over your legs, the warmth of his touch radiating through your body. You leaned into his touch, letting your head rest on his.

“I’m gonna ask Beth if we can take the car and go home,” you said. “I can’t be here anymore, and I need sleep.”

“We can do that. Your mom said they’re gonna take him for surgery in a few, anyway. No point stickin’ around if we’d just be waitin’.”

“When he’s out of surgery, they can call me, and we can come back.”

“Sounds like a plan, baby. Let’s get you home.”

Joel offered to drive Beth’s car back to the house. You sat beside him, your head propped in your hand, watching as he drove through the city streets. Even cast in the late night sky, he was so handsome. The rich tan color of his skin seemed to be illuminated by the moonlight glinting through the windshield, his brown eyes softer than you’d ever seen. There wasn’t a trace of a smile on his lips, but he still looked so kind and so loving. Joel glanced over at you as the car slowed in front of the red light.

“What’s that look for?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m just really thankful you’re here,” you exhaled. “I’m sorry you had to see me so angry earlier. It wasn’t fair of me to take it out on you.”

Joel leaned over the dash to pull you in for a soft, fleeting kiss.

“There’s a lot happenin’ right now, baby. Be angry all y’want. I can take it,” he said.

You chewed on your lip and nodded, turning your attention back to the street as the light turned green. Joel drove in silence the rest of the way to your parent's house, guiding him quietly with directions every few turns. Even though it had only been a few weeks since you were last home, the streets were scattered with yellow and orange leaves, autumn settling over the neighborhood. The car's tires flattened over them as Joel slowed to the front of the house and killed the engine.

“This where y’grew up?” Joel asked, tilting his head toward the house.

You nodded, but your eyes were glued to the porch. The ladder was still lying on the ground; the metal pressed into the cold grass of the front lawn. Joel must’ve picked up on your fixation and sighed.

“I’ll go pick it up, baby. Why don’t you grab your bag and head in, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” But your eyes didn’t stray from the ladder.

You watched Joel reach the ladder, his body a beacon under the moonlight. His tall figure moved against the cover of the night sky, working quickly to move it off to the side of the house. You took an extra moment to collect yourself before gathering your bags and meeting him on the porch. Joel took them immediately from your hands as you guided him into the house. You’d give him a tour of it tomorrow; you just wanted to curl under the covers of your bed and waste away.

When you opened the door to your bedroom, Joel gave a low whistle, glancing around at the artifacts of your childhood. Miscellaneous pictures of you and your sisters hung on the walls, along with a collection of CDs stacked on the floor in one corner and a reading nook built into the windowsill. The dated white armoire was nestled against the wall beside your vanity, and the large queen bed sat untouched and nicely made with its white comforter and grey pillows.

“Nice lil’ room y’got here, baby,” Joel chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s alright,” you shrugged.

You dumped your bag on the ground, collapsing backward until your back hit the bed with a soft thud. Joel followed your lead, and you both lay there silently, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in circles. It was tempting just to succumb to sleep right in that moment, but you knew you needed a shower to wash off the lingering stress of the day.

“Come shower with me?” You asked, glancing over at Joel.

“Of course.”

The heat of the shower pelted your skin as Joel rubbed a loufa into your back muscles, working out the knots that had materialized through the long day. You basked in the warmth of his body pressed into yours, your head falling back against his muscular chest and eyes drifting shut. His tender touch helped alleviate the pressure building in your head, and you prayed that the migraine would subside soon enough.

“Doin’ okay, baby?” He asked, his mouth pressing into the side of your neck.

You hummed at his lips on your skin, bringing your arm up to wrap around the back of his neck. His fingers drifted over the curves of your body, squeezing your hips softly before trailing between your legs.

“Can I?”

“Mhmm,” you sighed, shifting your body slightly so that he could explore further.

His hand dipped between your legs, your arousal already pooling at your entrance. He was slow with his touch, each graze of his fingers over your sensitive bud eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Joel’s mouth roamed over the expanse of your neck as he continued to draw circles over your throbbing clit. Your fingers tugged at his wet curls, urging him closer. The blood coursing through your veins thrummed with pleasure as he teased the build-up of your release.

“You’re beautiful, baby. Y’know that?” He whispered in your ear.

Maybe it was the gentle touch of his fingers or his words swimming through your mind, but your climax shattered you into pieces in record time. Your thighs clenched tight around his hand as you let out a soft cry.

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Let go, baby.”

You slumped against his body, your heart settling back into a normal rhythm. Joel held you close, wrapping his arms around your front and swaying you under the spray of the water. Your eyes grew heavy the longer you remained in his embrace, so you decided to cut the water and drag him out and into bed.

Under the security of your comforter, you clung to Joel and buried your head into the crook of his arm. He traced circles over your bare arm, letting you lay quietly against him. The familiar pressure of a migraine began forming in your mind, the pounding ache settling behind your eyes. You squeezed your eyes tighter, curling yourself up into his body in hopes it would fade away as you slept.

“What’s wrong?” Joel asked, noticing the tension paralyzing your muscles.

“Migraine,” you choked out.

“What do y’need? I can go get it.”

“No, I’m fine,” you lied. “Just stay here. Please.”

“These happen often?”

“Not in a while.” You couldn’t find the strength to form complete sentences, so the words came out choppy and pained.

“Will sleep help?”

“I hope,” you muttered, tears slipping down your cheeks.

Joel’s arms tightened around your body, anchoring you to his side as he hummed softly into your hair. Pain pulsated through your head as you forced yourself to fall asleep, your limbs shaking as they wrapped around his torso.

All you wanted was for the pain to go away.

A few hours later, the morning light dancing through the window stirred you awake. The residual aching pain in your head still lingered, but it was far more manageable than it had been before you fell asleep. Joel snored softly beside you, and you took the chance to watch him as he slept peacefully beside you. The creases in his skin were softened in his slumber, his face relaxed and calm. His lips were parted slightly, the bottom one plush and pouty and tempting to kiss. You nestled into his body, your mouth roaming over his scruffy jaw and eventually reaching his lips. The strange urge to say I love you nearly tumbled out of your mouth as you kissed him, but you swallowed it and saved it away. It was the first time you thought those three little words in the space with someone other than Bennett. Knowing Joel was digging closer to your heart, breaking down every barrier and wall, it was still frightening. But if this sudden trip had taught you anything, he was right; this was real. You weren’t ready to confess those words, but in time you would.

Just not now.

Joel roused himself from sleep, groaning softly as he pulled you in for a gentle kiss.

“Mornin’, baby. How’s your head feelin’?”

“Better,” you sighed.

“Ready to go back to the hospital?”

You groaned, shoving your head under the comforter.

“I hate it there.”

He squeezed your side, urging you back up to the surface. Your eyes connected with his, the morning light coloring his eyes a rich shade of amber. Flecks of gold scattered through his irises, blending into the rich chocolate brown you were drawn to.

“Why do y’hate it so much?” He wondered.

“I—I just don’t have good memories of it.”

“Y’wanna talk to me ‘bout it?”

You rolled onto your back, closing your eyes as the memories waded through the headache still swimming in your head.

“Bennett, there’s a chance this could actually work,” you begged.

“I’m not risking it. What if it doesn’t work and things get worse?” He argued. “Isn’t it easier to just move forward?”

You rubbed circles into your temples, trying to soften the onset migraine surging to the surface. All this arguing was making you nauseous and tired. Why wouldn’t Bennett be on your side about this? Why wasn’t he agreeing with you?

“I want to remember,” you lamented. “I want those two years back.”

“The doctors said it’ll take time. Why isn’t that enough?” Bennett sighed, crouching down to meet you at eye level.

“You don’t understand, Bennett.”

“I’m trying,” he snapped.

It was the first time you’d experienced his anger in such a way. He wasn’t taking your side, and he wasn’t even listening to your requests. You could only nod and cave to his arguments; he was the one holding the power now. You had to trust him.

Situating yourself against the headboard, you inhaled sharply and glanced at Joel.

“I might as well tell you since everyone is on my case about it,” you groaned.

“Only if you wanna, baby. I ain’t gonna force you,” Joel sighed, looking up at you.

Giving yourself a moment to gather your thoughts, you dove into the story.

“I was in an accident when I was twenty-two, or I guess twenty-four. The last thing I remember was being twenty-two and just moving to Austin with Bennett. We had just moved into our apartment, and I was about to start substitute teaching while finishing my Master's degree. Everything was great. Then, I got in an accident on the way home from school, and the next thing I remember was waking up in the hospital.

“I guess in the crash, my head hit the dashboard hard enough to cause serious damage to my brain. They—the doctors, told me I had sustained enough trauma to cause retrograde amnesia. I woke up thinking I was still twenty-two, Joel. I lost two years of my life. I couldn’t remember a single thing.”

“Oh, baby. I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” he whispered, propping himself on his elbows.

“Bennett tried to fill me in on pieces of it, but trying to remember did more damage than anything,” you continued. “I had migraines all the time. I could barely function for the first couple of months, and that’s when my parents talked me into coming back here. To Mass General. They ran so many tests on me and tried to find solutions, but there was no hope. Bennett was adamant about not causing any more damage to my brain, so I just gave up,” you explained.

“You gave up tryin’ to remember?” He asked, pulling himself up to sit beside you. There was a deep furrow between his brows and a noticeable shift in his body language. Everything was tense, from his jaw to how his fists clenched together.

“Yeah. I trusted Bennett with the memories I no longer had and knew he would take care of me. Or at least, I hoped he would. The doctors suggested I stay in Boston to go through psychotherapy to help try and piece together those memories, but Bennett was against it. It caused a huge riff in my family since they wanted me to stay and get help.”

“He kept you from rememberin’ things,” Joel frowned.

You nodded, digging your knuckles into your eyes to try and push away the pressure building behind them again.

“We were here for almost two months, just constantly going in and out of the hospital. I’d have these debilitating migraines that would lead to fainting spells, so I was always back at the emergency room for more testing. The outcome was always the same, though. I felt so defeated every time like it was my fault,” you confessed.

Joel laid a hand on your thigh, smoothing over your skin as you tried to drag in a lungful of air.

“It ain’t your fault though, baby,” he assured.

“I should have advocated for myself more. I just did whatever Bennett said because he knew things I couldn’t remember. He even proposed here. He made this big, long speech about how he never wanted to face the fear of losing me again, and I went with it because I loved him. I loved him enough to do whatever he said because I owed it to him.”

“You were tryna heal from everythin’,” he offered, trying to make sense of it all. “It’s not your fault for what happened after.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“But it is,” you argued. “It’s my fault Bennett left. If I thought our fights before the crash were bad… It only got worse. We moved out of our apartment and got this big house. We decided to speed through our engagement for the sake of my fucking memory. All the while, Bennett just started to get angrier and angrier. I was trying so hard to remember things, and he just started to remember less. He was always fighting with me over every little thing. He barely touched me or looked at me. For fuck sake, he wouldn’t even sleep in the same bed as me! It’s like he didn’t want me to have those memories back, and I just—I don’t understand why.”

Joel pulled your head into his hands, his eyes darkening as he stared at you. His thumbs rubbed over your cheekbones in an attempt to calm your rambling. You wanted to flinch away from his touch, but he only held you tighter.

“None of this is your fault,” he emphasized.

“It is, though,” you sniffled. The tears were ready to slip at any moment. “He wanted the girl I was before the crash, and I was so hell-bent on trying to fix my memory that I stopped being that version of myself. I couldn’t be what he wanted, so he left. I wasn’t enough, Joel. I couldn’t fight for him to stay because he didn’t want me. I—I’m so fucked up, Joel.”

Joel’s nostrils flared, a wash of anger clouding his eyes. But you knew it wasn’t anger toward you. It was toward Bennett.

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” he snapped. “You’re not fucked up. Bennett was an asshole, and I swear I’d kill him if I could.”

“That’s not funny,” you deadpanned.

“It wasn’t meant to be funny, baby. I’m serious. Ain’t no way y’went through hell and back for him to do that to you. Y’didn’t get the time to heal because you were so focused on tryin’ to make him happy, and he didn’t deserve you. You know that, right? None of this is your fault.”

You shrugged off his hands and scooted out of the warmth of the bed. Digging through your bag, you pulled out a change of clothes, carelessly throwing an outfit together while Joel sat motionless on the bed.

“Baby,” Joel pleaded. “Stop for a minute, ‘kay? Are you listenin’ to me?”

He threw back the covers and strode to where you stood, your arms halfway into a sweater. He helped tug it the rest of the way, settling it over your body before reeling you in for a long kiss. It was his weapon for shutting you up, and he was really fucking good at using it. You dragged yourself away from his mouth, staggering back until there was enough distance between you and him.

“I should have fucking listened to everyone,” you heaved. “I should have fucking stayed in Boston, but I wanted to prove I could do it. I wanted to prove I could continue living with this fucked up part of myself.”

Joel cautioned your name, and you took another step back.

“Look at me, Joel!” You laughed. “I’m fucked up! I still can’t remember a damn fucking thing, and being here is only a brutal reminder of that. I lost so much of myself because of that accident. And I swear to God, if I lose my dad, too. I—I can’t…”

Your knees hit the ground before it even registered in your mind. Joel was quick to drop to the floor in front of you, pulling you into his lap as the sobs wracked through your body. You rocked yourself back and forth as Joel’s arms wound into a vice around your chest. He hushed you softly as you audibly cried loud enough to echo around the room.

“You aren’t gonna lose him,” Joel whispered in your ear.

“What if—.” You choked on another cry.

“Breathe with me, baby. Just breathe. C’mon.”

Joel inhaled loudly, coaxing you to do the same. You followed his lead, exhaling when he instructed to. You both repeated it a few more times until you felt the surge of emotions slow.

“That’s it, baby,” he sighed. “I’m right here with you. Everythin’ is gonna be okay.”

You burrowed your head into his chest, your tears dampening his bare chest. How was he not running away from you? You laid all your damaged pieces out, and he still had his arms around you. You didn’t deserve it. You couldn’t make sense of it.

“What do y’say we get back to the hospital?” Joel offered after a moment. “We can check in and see how the surgery went. It’ll give you some peace of mind.”

“Okay,” you acquiesced.

Joel helped you to your feet, and you both finished changing in silence. You grabbed your purse and followed Joel to the car, and you both returned to Mass General.

“He’s fine, honey,” your mom said, giving you a weak smile.

You were all crowded in the hospital room surrounding your dad as he lay unconscious on the bed.

“The doctors say he’s going to make a full recovery,” she continued. “They’re going to slow the sedative down, and hopefully, he’ll be waking up in the next day or so.”

Beth and Stella stood close together, Stella’s head resting on Beth’s shoulder. Their expressions were painted with relief, and you felt your muscles loosen at the news.

“So, we just wait?” You asked.

“We will wait,” your mom corrected. “You and Joel should go back to Austin. There’s no point sticking around now that we know he’s alright.”

You turned to stare at her, your lips twisting into a scowl.

“I am not leaving until he wakes up,” you argued.

“We’ll call right when he wakes up,” she offered. “I know being here is hard for you, honey. And you’ve got a job that needs you.”

“Mom!” You shouted. It was loud enough to startle everyone. “I’m not leaving.”

“She’s right, baby,” Joel chimed in. “He’s gonna be okay.”

“I want to stay.”

“Look, let’s make a deal. We stay another day and then go home, okay?”

You glanced between everyone in the room, finally settling your eyes on your dad, still unconscious in the bed. Everyone was right, but you didn’t want to leave yet. You weren’t ready. Even if being here felt like hell.

“One more day,” you agreed.

You remained at the hospital most of the day, shifting between the waiting room and your dad’s room. Everyone took turns visiting him and meeting with doctors, and Joel stayed at your side every minute. Stella took a liking to him most out of everyone, spending a good majority of the time talking his ear off about Sarah. Seeing Joel engage with her as he did was endearing as if they knew each other and were old friends catching up. He treated everyone in your family so kindly that it was hard to continue shoving down those three little words. You wanted to say them more than ever…but weren’t sure when you’d feel ready.

Eventually, the day faded into night, and your mom urged everyone to go home while she insisted on staying. You didn’t know when she had slept last, but she was adamant about staying with your dad. Beth drove you all home, humming some song that floated through the radio. As the house came into view, she dialed down the volume and turned toward the backseat.

“Joel, Stella, will you guys head in while I talk to sis?” Beth asked as she parked the car.

You gave her a confused stare as they filed out and walked up the driveway toward the house.

“Did you tell him?” She asked, turning to look at you.

Her eyes were dark with heavy circles, and her lips stuck in a straight line.

“I did,” you nodded.

“What did he say?”

“He just sympathized with me. There’s not much else to say,” you shrugged.

“That’s it?” She pressed, her brows scrunching together.

You scoffed, glancing out the side window.

“What did you want him to say, Beth? There isn’t much to say when you tell someone your memory is all fucked up.”

“I just figured he’d say more,” she offered.

“Like what?” You snapped. “Nothing he says is going to magically make it better.”

“I know, I know. I just thought he’d say more.”

You stared at her, the tiredness creeping into your bones. You didn’t want to argue anymore, not about this or anything.

“Can we just go in? I’m tired,” you said.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

Beth and Stella offered to make dinner that night, all four of you quietly eating in heavy silence as the evening drifted later. Once dinner was all said and done, you and Joel retired to your room, curling up under the covers once again. You tangled your legs between his and kissed up his chest and under his jaw.

“Baby,” he warned. “The girls are right down the hall. Don’t be doin’ that.”

“Why?” You questioned, continuing the path up his cheek and to his lips.

Joel captured your mouth in a hungry kiss, his hands tangling in your hair. You moaned softly as the kiss depended, his hands roaming over your body.

“I want you, Joel,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Baby, we can’t,” he groaned. But he didn’t stop kissing you.

He rolled his body over yours, pinning you to the bed as his hand slid under your pajama bottoms. You bucked into his hand, searching for a fleeting touch to quell the ache growing between your thighs. Joel responded to your desperation, slipping a finger between your slick folds.

“I’ll be quiet,” you promised. “Just keep kissing me.”

Joel relented to your pleas, locking his mouth with yours again. He added another finger, plunging them inside you as you cried out at the pressure. His teeth quickly bit down on your bottom lip, a silent demand to keep your voice down.

“Sorry,” you exhaled.

“Be good for me, baby,” he whispered.

His fingers abandoned you, but it was barely a moment of loss before he sank his cock into you. You used all your strength to hold back a groan of relief as the slight sting of your body stretching to him faded into bliss. Joel kept his hands tangled in your hair as he rocked into you, your bodies moving in unison as he drove himself deeper with each thrust.

“Joel…” You whimpered against his mouth.

“Stay quiet, baby.”

His mouth roamed down the column of your throat, sucking gently at your skin as he reached one arm down to hook around the back of your knee. The change in position only sent his cock deeper inside you, your core clenching around him with every drive of his hips.

“It feels so good,” you panted, rolling your hips. “I’m so close, Joel. Don’t stop.”

“Good girl,” he hummed. “Cum for me, baby.”

His hips snapped harder against you, and you bit back another cry of pleasure. Your body thrummed with the need for release, the waves crashing inside you growing stronger. Just a little more… a little more. Joel’s other hand snaked between your bodies, his fingers brushing over your clit. You arched into his touch and ground your nails into the skin of his biceps.

“Joel,” you choked.

The orgasm exploded through you, fogging your vision as your core pulsated around his cock. Joel let out a strangled groan and tumbled over the edge with you, his release filling you only seconds later.

Joel collapsed against your body, his cock slipping out of you as it softened. You welcomed the weight of him, letting his skin meld into yours. I love you. It was just a breath from escaping your lips, but you kept it shoved down.

Another time, you told yourself.

“Can I sleep like this?” Joel chuckled, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Whatever you want, handsome,” you giggled.

He peered up at you, a grin curving over his face.

“There’s that word again,” he smirked.

“Oh, shut up. You like it.”

“I really fuckin’ do.”

You bent your neck to kiss his forehead before settling back against the pillow. It was easier to sleep like this, knowing you’d have him in your arms when you woke up. It made everything inside you hurt less.

After an extra day at the hospital, nothing new had progressed with your dad. Your mom assured you that she would call if she had any news of him waking up, so you and Joel said your goodbyes and made the trip back to Austin.

Nothing had changed in Austin, not that you were expecting it to. Joel returned home after spending an extra few hours under your bed sheets with you, groaning about not wanting to leave. You urged him to go, knowing Sarah was probably missing him. That first night home alone was the hardest; the nightmares continued again now that you had no distractions. The migraine had returned at full throttle when you woke up the next morning, and you had to make an extra effort to pull yourself from bed and dress for work. Not a single cell in your body wanted to return to a classroom full of loud kids, but you had missed enough days and needed to make up for lost time.

Maria was the first to drill you with questions as you arrived at the school.

“Is everything okay? I asked around and only heard that it was a family emergency.”

You shuffled into your classroom, Maria hot on your heels. You could barely stand the stream of light coming through the windows, let alone the sound of her voice.

“My dad had an accident, that’s all,” you assured. “Everything is okay.”

“Oh, thank God he’s okay.” She flung her arms around you, giving you a suffocating hug.

You peeled away from her, steadying your body against the corner of your desk.

“I’ll tell you more later, okay? I just need to prep for classes before the first bell.”

“I’ll check in on you later,” she announced before leaving.

The day moved on slowly, and before you knew it, your final class was over. As the students filed out, you started gathering your things but noticed Sarah lingered behind.

“Everything okay, sweetie?” You asked as she approached your desk.

“Um, kinda?” She gave you a sheepish look. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course, sweetheart. What’s going on?”

She shifted her weight between her legs, her hazel eyes on the floor.

“Are you dating my dad?”

Your breath stalled, and you were unsure of what to say or do. Was it appropriate to lie? You and Joel hadn’t discussed the possibility of her finding out much and now was definitely not the time.

“Why do you ask?” You were deflecting.

“I overheard him talking to my Uncle Tommy last night,” she explained.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and blood rushed through your ears. God, what had they said? What did she hear?

“Go on,” you insisted, your voice unsteady.

“My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.”

At that moment, her hazel eyes met yours, and everything came crashing down. You tripped over your words and found yourself gripping the desk.

“Miss Smith?” Sarah cautioned.

“I’m sure your dad was talking about someone else,” you lied. “Why don’t you head home? I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

She looked at you with confusion written all over her face but eventually followed your request and left you in an empty room.

You sank into your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew Joel’s feelings were there for you, but you didn’t want to hear it from Sarah. You wanted to hear it from him. Searching for your purse, you found your phone and dialed his number with shaking hands.

He answered immediately.

“Did y’hear from your mom?” He asked in a rush.

“No, it’s not that. Can you—” You steadied your breathing. “Can you just meet me at my house?”

“Of course, is everythin’ okay? You’re worryin’ me.”

“I’m fine, Joel. I’ll see you there in a few.”

You hung up before he could say anymore and be-lined for your car. You drove home on autopilot, the words jumbling together in your head.

I think he’s already falling in love with you.

My dad told Uncle Tommy he loved you.

Over and over again, Beth and Sarah’s voices played on a loop. You turned onto your street and blinked back tears. You weren’t ready to face this. What were you going to say? What would Joel say? What would—

You slammed on your brakes right before you got to your house.

Joel’s truck wasn’t there.

But Bennett’s car was.

#joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel x teacher!f!reader #joel miller #tlou #tlou fanfic #joel miller fanfic #pre outbreak!joel #angst angst angst #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou

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laughableillusions · 6 months

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Hey remember when the ghost said that “a spirit’s love pours with the rain.” And then when Lachchi found out she was pregnant the well diggers literally struck water.

#AND NOT TO MENTION THE RAIN WHEN THEY WERE ON THE ROOF #Paheli #Paheli 2005 #srk #shah rukh khan #rani mukerji #this movie makes me rip my hair out at how all the writing just fucking fits together so well #also in Laaga Re Jal Laaga it goes from like Sandy dunes to green grass #bollywood

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joelsgreys · 3 months

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captive

Raider! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You find yourself missing your captor while he’s out on an early morning hunt with the rest of the group.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. RAIDER ERA. DARK!JOEL. DUBCON. IMPLIED PREVIOUS NONCON. UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 50). READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION. mentions of Joel’s group murdering reader’s group, it’s implied her family members were also killed, Joel pretty much kidnaps reader and keeps her as his own, stockholm syndrome, reader deals with a lot of very distressing and conflicting feelings, Joel isn’t too creepy or extremely dark, but he is still not a good person, mentions of Tommy. VERY BRIEF SMUT in the form of cockwarming, daddy kink but i didn’t go overboard this time, pet names (honey, baby, babygirl, sweetheart) if i missed anything, you can POLITELY let me know because if i missed anything, it was purely accidental. minimal editing.

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS.

if this isn’t your thing, that’s fine, just scroll on by.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: i might actually throw up idk. i’ve had this itch to try dark joel and seeing as i have major writer’s block with all my other wips i decided to just scratch the itch. this is a little out of my comfort zone but i actually ended up feeling pleased with what i wrote. this is my personal take on dark/raider joel, i’m sure it is very out of character but it’s fanfiction so…yeah. here it is.

It’s the rain that rouses you from your sleep.

It beats down heavily on the remote cabin’s tin roof.

Loud. Much too loud.

You roll over, settling yourself on your side.

The mattress is old, worn, rotting beneath the sheets.

You can’t complain, though. At least you have a bed.

Everybody else is forced to sleep on the hard floor.

He always gets the room with the bed.

As his special girl, that means you always get the room with the bed too.

It’s not quite as flattering as one would believe.

He only ever wants the bedroom for one reason—to keep you behind a locked door so you can’t run.

You sigh softly and stare out the window. He’d secured that too, made certain that it couldn’t be opened from the inside.

Closing your eyes, you try and go back to sleep.

Sleep doesn’t come.

His absence is starting to bother you.

You’ve been with him for an entire season now.

You’re getting used to him.

The sound of his voice.

The warmth of his body.

The taste of his lips.

You can’t even sleep without him next to you.

“Fuck,” you whisper, clutching the stale sheets, balling them in your fists out of frustration.

How was it possible? How could you be missing him?

He had taken everything from you.

Your family.

Your home.

Your innocence.

He was holding you captive. He was a monster.

But a monster doesn’t keep you safe.

Doesn’t clothe you.

Doesn’t feed you.

Doesn’t protect you.

He did all of those things and more.

Is that why you feel so empty without him beside you?

Is that why you’re no longer so certain you would run if you were given the chance to escape him?

You fucking hated him for what he’d done.

Yet here you are, aching for him to come back to you.

It’s another hour before you hear the lock clicking.

Joel pushes through the door, quietly closing it behind him.

“Y’awake?” he asks, slipping his pack off his shoulders.

“Mhm,” you answer with your back to him. “I am.”

You hear the sound of his pack hitting the floor.

His worn leather boots being kicked off.

His rifle being set down, propped against the wall.

“How was the hunt?”

You can feel him freeze as he’s taking off his jacket.

Getting you to willingly speak to him had always been a lot like pulling teeth. Difficult, almost impossible.

When he doesn’t respond, you roll over to face him.

There’s a swoop in your tummy.

Joel is drenched from head to toe. His blue denim shirt clings to his broad frame and his dark, graying curls are slicked back away from his face.

He’s got such a handsome face.

Monsters aren’t supposed to have handsome faces.

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re really askin’ me how the hunt went?” Suspicion laces his tone. “Why? Y’worried you won’t eat tonight?”

Of course you weren’t.

Joel Miller doesn’t let you go hungry.

When food is scarce, he makes sure you eat first. If he notices you rubbing your tummy because your portion wasn’t enough, he’ll give you his own portion.

He takes care of you.

“No.” You pause and sit up. The sheets you two share fall away from your body, leaving your soft, supple breasts on full display for him. “Just wanted to know how your morning went. That’s all.”

It’s not your tits that make his cock twitch against the zipper of his jeans—it’s the sincerity that flashes across your features, the sound of it in the tone of your voice.

You’re being sweet to him.

He clears his throat lightly.

“Went real good. Brought down a deer. Female, ‘bout a hundred pounds or so. Enough to keep all of us well fed for the next couple of weeks,” he says with a nod. “Was pissin’ rain the entire time but it was worth it. Tommy’s in the shed out back right now dressin’ it so we can get a stew started.” He pauses. “You’re gonna get a proper meal tonight, babygirl. Belly’s gonna be nice and full.”

He’s not just talking about food and you know it.

You make an effort to meet his gaze, but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to do it, not when you remembered how he’d taken you away from your family—how he had carried you over his shoulder, kicking and screaming as his people raided your camp and slaughtered every last member of your group because that’s what Joel Miller had ordered them to do.

Looking him in the eye might be the one thing you will never, ever be able to do.

“It’s cold,” you murmur after a minute. “You should get out of those wet clothes before you get sick.”

With a subtle nod, Joel turns around and starts peeling off his clothes until he’s completely naked. He uses an old rag to dry himself off as best as he can, although it doesn’t do much for him.

You can’t help yourself and stare—your gaze drags over the strong muscles of his back and shoulders, how they flex and ripple beneath his skin with every single one of his movements. Arousal pools between your thighs and all you can do is fucking hate yourself for wanting it, for wanting him.

“S’pretty early still,” he states, his back still to you as he runs the rag through his hair. “Y’should try to get some more sleep.”

The confession tumbles out of your mouth before you can even think about stopping it.

“I couldn’t sleep while you were gone.”

Surprised, he turns around.

Almost immediately, your eyes fall to his cock.

Even when he isn’t fully hard, he’s still so fucking big.

“Is that so?” Joel asks, sounding rather pleased.

“Yes,” you say, softly. “I—I missed you.”

His lips turn upwards into a subtle, faint grin.

“Yeah?” he coos. “My sweet little girl missed me while I was gone? Hm?” Slowly, he approaches the bed. It dips slightly and the frame creaks as he plants a knee on the mattress and leans over towards you. Gently, Joel takes your chin between his index finger and thumb. “Y’need Daddy by your side so you can sleep, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” you whisper, warm tears glazing over your eyes.

It’s bad enough your body welcomed him so easily.

Now your heart was starting to do the same.

And then there was your mind.

What if that stopped fighting him too?

Part of you is afraid it already has.

Joel climbs into bed, joining you under the sheets.

“M’here, my pretty girl. C’mere, honey.” He coaxes you to lay on your side and pulls you back against his chest. His skin is still damp, frigid from having been out in the elements, but somehow he’s still warm. “That better?”

“Need you closer,” you mumble, wiggling against him.

Joel groans, his thick cock hard and throbbing against the small of your back. He nips at your bare shoulder as his hand drags down the length of your body and slips between your thighs. “Christ, babygirl. Pussy’s soakin’ wet for me. Looks like she missed me while I was gone too, didn’t she, sweetheart?”

He runs his finger along your slick, silky folds.

“Daddy,” you whimper, bucking into his hand.

“Don’t worry, honey. Daddy knows what you need.”

Joel pulls his hand from between your legs.

You almost cry—you’re so fucking desperate for him.

And you shouldn’t be.

He reaches in between your bodies, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock. Without warning, he slips it into your tight, aching cunt, sheathing himself in your warm, wet heat in one smooth stroke.

You choke out a sob.

It’s always overwhelming, that initial stretch.

That fullness, the feeling of him being in your belly.

“S’alright, sweetheart. S’alright. I know you can take it,” he soothes you. “You’re such a good girl for me. Always take my cock so fuckin’ well. So good for me, baby. You feel better now that Daddy’s cock is buried inside your pretty little pussy?”

He drapes an arm around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

“Yes,” you breathe, placing your hand on top of his.

Joel feathers a kiss onto your neck.

“Go to sleep, babygirl. M’here. Ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he promises you.

That shouldn’t be a comfort to you. But it is.

You close your eyes, your fingers subconsciously lacing together with his as you start to drift.

Cunt full of his cock, you fall asleep in your captor’s arms.

divider credit to @saradika🤍

#tw dubcon #tw dubious consent #tw noncon #raider joel #raider! joel #dark!fic #dark! joel miller #dark joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller drabble #joel miller fanfiction #tw daddy kink #dark!joel x reader #fic: captive

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jazjelspen · 3 months

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my angel baby [part 2]

(alastor w/ angel daughter reader)

[caution: NOT PROOFREAD oh and angst hehe]

(notes: alastor joins charlie and vaggie in heaven to convince them about the hazbin hotel. angel reader physically resembles a fawn. )

[tags: @luujjvi @c-lunette @mokisano @ghostdoodlen @wildfire153 @anonymousewrites @bewitchedbymadness @thisbitchreallyneedssleep @22carolina08 @original-person]

[remember if you want to keep in touch with a particular series I write, let me know in comments or messages you want to be tagged! you will only be tagged once unless specified that you want to be tagged till the end of a particular series!]

(also once again, apologies if alastor’s last name isn’t actually altruist qwq it’ll stick till the end of this fic but I’ll try not to mention it as much)

For the first time in years, you feared being in heaven.

Not that you felt unsafe, just that you felt incredibly uncomfortable seeing your serial killer dad who's now a demon be invited to be in the place where light and goodness is it's main foundation.. even reassuring yourself that it was temporary didn't calm you down when you were flying away from him. For your own sake you even avoided where the welcoming was happening.

Ahh but.. it also didn't help that he was following you around after the show without you knowing.

After the angels had performed their song to welcome in the princess of hell, her apparent partner, and-- him.. everyone sort of went their separate ways and the visitors from below started to relax in their new yet temporary places of stay. You felt a bit of relief when you assumed Alastor would also be setting himself in to relax as well.

During heaven's performance you decided to take a breather at a local coffee shop, one where you thankfully always had a spot there where you could hide away from the huge windows of the cafe.

Although right after that, unbeknownst to you at the time, Alastor was looking for you, but obviously pretended as if he was looking for a good bite to eat.. unfortunately for him he had to behave and he couldn't eat a living walking thing until after they came back home.

Oh how bummed out he was.

You were in a far corner inside the shop, as mentioned before anyone that was able to look in through the windows wouldn't be able to see you since you were out of view. Drinking your favorite beverage that the shop offered and eating a filling snack to relax your body and mind. Safe to say you were now more in touch with your feelings and weren't overly panicked as you once were.

'Why is he here.. is he an advisor to the princess? a companion?.. some kind of servant?.. she's really young though, perhaps she's ward to him or something.. but she has her.. dad.. and I'm sure he must be alive still.. ' You thought, different theories and ideas passing by in and out your head trying to make sense of the situation.

'perhaps.. he's here to see me?..' you hoped, then scolded yourself right after,

'nono.. I can't be wanting that.. sure he raised you but he's a monster. he killed you, _____. get a grip..' you sighed deeply while massaging your temples in frustration 'even if he seemed to not.. have meant to do that. he tried to kill someone else anyway, that poor man could've died instead of you.' you tried to reason with yourself, coming to a single conclusion in the end.

Eyes glued to your drink. staring at it with intensity.

"I regret nothing." you claimed to yourself in a low mumble, not enough for anyone close to hear.

Ahh.. but you did miss him very much.. the version of him that you grew up with at least.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were in your warm and humble home with your father. It was a fairly cold night with rain dropping onto the roof of your home yet the warmth of the house seemed to make the cold seem almost cozy to you.

Your small footsteps could be heard running around the house, as your little seven year old self ran around you seemed to be giggling uncontrollably with a peculiar circular item in your hand.

"No running in the house _____, remember what I told you." Alastor exclaimed in slight irritation as he could hear you from afar while he was cleaning up the table from the dinner you two just had, he started slightly missing the times when you didn't know how to walk and when you simply just blabbered baby nonsense.. he definitely doesn't miss the sleepless nights of baby crying though.

You huffed and puffed as you then plopped the item on the sofa, it was a disk, a record. You then climbed yourself up and once your little body landed on the cushions you then picked yourself up once more to then grab the disk and turn to the small table right beside the sofa where a large phonograph rested on.

"Papa!" you exclaimed, "Papa! Music music!.." you pleaded, your little voice begging to once again turn on the music playing machine.

Alastor faintly chuckled at your little demands, amusing how such a small thing dares to command but nonetheless he found it silly at how you tried. "Yes yes my dear, I'll be right there." He then set the last few dirty dishes away to be cleaned soon since he couldn't say no to listening to some tunes before bed.

You smiled brightly as your little feet playfully tapped on the cushions, almost jumping. Noticing your developing excitement Alastor hurried over to you.

"Ah-ah-ahh, no jumping on the sofa my dear. I'm excited as well but I can't have you break your little head open, that'd be no fun at all!" Well.. that and he didn't wanna ruin his cushions, but nonetheless he cared for your wellbeing the most even if he wasn't fond of admitting it.

His hands gently took the disk from your hands, carefully setting the disk on the phonograph to have it play your favorite tunes. Once you two heard the amazing first few notes of jazz was when Alastor settled down beside you on the sofa and you started clapping in delight.

Alastor looked at you almost fondly, letting out a small huff of delight at your reactions. Your innocence seemed to be something that contained him from wanting to continue his murder spree, although his bloodlust always wins in the end, he seems to always willingly pause his life for you.

Plus, he loves jazz just as much as you do.. why would he miss out on this?

Your fit of giggles dwindled down but didn't stop, in a sudden burst of energy you jumped off the sofa and then started dancing similarly yet obviously a bit more goofy to how you've seen couples and single dancers dance in the nights of Mardi Gras or just parties your father took you when he would be invited. Your little dance moves seemed to be fiddled with confidence yet they were so off from what you were trying to attempt, nonetheless you were happy, and that's what Alastor secretly liked to see.

"Dance with me papa dance with me!" you pleaded again, your smaller hands grabbing his larger one and tugging at it, trying to get him to stand up.

"_____ darling no tugging, besides I just sat down my dear and I'm exhausted." He sighed, his constant smile always present yet he was visibly a bit tired from the day he had.

But oh how you persisted, and how darn adorable you were as a kid. "But papaaa!.. pretty please! I wanna dance how you and that singing lady did the last time we went on those big loud places!"

"Parties, dear." he corrected you, but let out a long sigh and got up. Because no matter how tired he was or how annoyed he seemed to be he didn't mind keeping you happy.

So that's what he did, he danced with you. Swinging you, twirling you around to the melody and the beat, your cheers of glee and uncontrollable laughter motived him to keep up with your excitement. Not only that but your smile, genuine and pure, it was what he needed to get himself to match your energy. Jazz music was what always connected you two and it always brought you together no matter what.

At the end of the song Alastor ended it by gently throwing you up in the air and catching you, letting you get your last giggles out. You both laughed together, your bond ever growing stronger. You truly did tame this bloodthirsty killer without even trying or knowing, of course you were too young to know.

Once the giggle frenzy ended you both finished your dancing with a long sigh, the phonograph ending it's segment. You then suddenly yawned and rested your head in the crook of his neck over his shoulder, snuggling for warmth and for a sudden need to sleep.

"Seems like my little fawn needs sleep now, almost past your bedtime young lady." Normally he'd scold you a bit more strictly as he usually did, but seeing as how you were basically ready to fall into a pile of dreams he just felt no need to do that.

"Sorries papa.. I forgot.." your little words muffled by your face hidden in his neck.

Alastor was never one for being touched, let alone hugged or snuggled. Oh but he had no right to complain, he's had you this close since you were a baby.. to him this just felt normal now.

Of course no one but you could be this close to him, you're his little girl after all.

"No need to worry, my dear." He stopped in front of your bedroom, carefully opening the door with a creak following after. With careful footsteps he walked towards your bed, pulling the blanket away to then gently place you on your cozy sheets with care.

Alastor gently moved any misplaced hairs away from your face as he then pulled your soft and warm blanket up to your neck. Your sleeping face reassuring him.

"Sweet dreams sweetheart." His usual smile softening a bit more before backing away and slowly heading towards the door of your room, lingering for a few extra seconds to take one last look at you before slowly closing the door and heading off to bed himself.

After the click of the door closing can be heard, you mumbled "Goodnight papa.." with a smile, even if in the end Alastor didn't get to hear it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You missed him, dearly.

A weight fell on your chest, your eyes begging to form tears. You missed when you had that childhood innocence, when you didn't know what he was capable of, when he was nothing but a saint to you.

It still hurt after all these years, you thought he was a good man.. a bit strict, blunt, a bit too true to himself and definitely peculiar but.. the Alastor that raised you would never do that. Until you were obviously proven otherwise.

Oh but I guess you were too into your reminiscing that you didn't notice the background gasps and small shrieks of surprise and fear, and you didn't yet feel the eventual stares and eerie presence right in front of you.

"What don't you regret, my dear?"

You choked on your drink in surprise almost spitting it out,

that fucking radio voice again.

For heaven's sake how did he find you?? He couldn't have seen you through the windows. Did he follow you??.. did you just not notice.. Oh geez maybe getting used to having your guard down during all your years in heaven definitely didn't help with this situation.

You continued coughing on your drink, even punching your chest a bit to get that last good cough out. The radio demon pulled the chair in front of you to sit across from you, not waiting to ask permission.

To him he didn't need to, he's your father after all.

Once you calmed down you immediately avoided eye contact, only giving him a once second glance to confirm it was him in hopes your ears were playing a trick on you-- they weren't.

"How.. how'd you find me.." you mumbled in slight fear.

"Oh how would I not! Sweetheart I'm your father of course, as your father I must have those parental instincts.. I always know where you are!" he exclaimed, seemingly proud of this.

"I'm guessing those 'parental instincts' didn't kick in when you stabbed me, huh." you spat with attitude, unafraid to be rude to him with so much sin he's committed.

A sharp static sound came from him, as if in slight shock at the disrespect and comeback you gave. "Watch the attitude young lady, you're still an Altruist you know."

You scoffed, hating at how indifferent you felt about your last name.

"Not by blood though.."

"I raised you, don't forget that." he spat back, starting to get irritated.

"And because of that I owe you?"

"Yes, yes indeed! Smart girl you are."

You scoffed at his response, finally getting the guts to look at him in the face. His appearance frightened you, disgusted you even.

Is this truly the man that raised you?

"As a matter of fact, I actually don't." you crossed your arms in annoyance and a huff. Your eyes couldn't help but to slowly drift to off to the people behind him and you see fellow angels you know continue to stare in awe or fear, of course at Alastor. With all eyes on you and mostly him it made you feel a little embarrassed. You cowered down a bit and your wings went over your head and shoulders a bit as if to hide you behind a 'curtain' of sorts.

Alastor obviously noticed this, but could care less about the stares.

You sighed, "Look, Alasto--"

"I think you mean to call me 'father'." he interrupted as he obviously seemed a bit sassy about it. "Even 'dad' is just simply fine and dandy with me!"

"No, I can't," you frowned, wishing you could "I won't. Not after what you did to me, to that man that night, and to every other poor soul you hurt."

Your face slowly scrunched up in disgust "You don't deserve my forgiveness, my mercy."

In embarrassment and feeling tears want to shed you grabbed your drink and got up to walk out, before you could get past Alastor though he grabbed your wrist harshly.

"Uh-- hey.. let go--"

"I didn't mean to do what I did, my dove." His voice turned into a weird version of gentle, almost uncharacteristically gentle. "I never intended to take your life away."

He sounded genuine.

Could he?.. Would he?..

Maybe, just maybe--

"No." you spat, "Maybe you didn't mean to hurt me, but you definitely meant to hurt others. That's something I can't forgive and I'm sure your victims wouldn't neither." you glared at him, setting your foot down. "I refuse to call you my father, not until I know that you repent for your sins but knowing you I highly doubt that." You snatched your wrist away and for a slight second you stopped caring about what others thought when they'd see this "Besides, you killed me two weeks after I turned eighteen.. don't even include the years that passed since the 30s and present time so clearly you can't control me anymore old man."

But Alastor wouldn't go down that fast nor easily.

His sharp smile widened, you felt immense dread.

"Oh little one, no matter how far you are or how much you try to disown me you are forever connected to me. I made you who you are and you can try to run and fly off however long you want but in the end you're tied to me whether you like it or not. Even in death."

He seemed deathly serious with his statements so much so that you could've sworn you could see his shadow giggling and smirking in a way that seemed even worse and more than evil.

Your breath quietly hitched in fear in noticing this to the point where it even forced you to take a step back. He let out a sinister chuckle before you couldn't help but speed out of the shop and flew out.

You couldn't handle him, he was shameless when showing this side of him.. how could he be this shameless and normal?? How could he act like this and be proud about it? He killed people and doesn't regret it, you being the only exception just didn't feel right and it wasn't fair!

Not to you.

He may have been able to silently control you and vaguely manipulate you to believe he was anything but a bad person back when you were alive and young but now your eyes are wide open and so is your heart.

You have such a bad feeling about this whole thing, he was up to no good he just couldn't be-- he had to be using the princess as an excuse to do something shitty.

Good thing you had plenty of connections, if you just played your cards right...

Hey.. wasn't there something about a court meeting happening soon?

On the other hand Alastor stayed sitting there still chucking devilishly, his intentions and true feelings smeared and unclear.

With a snap of his fingers a cup of black coffee appeared and he began drinking it with a sense of casual glee and eyes closed in delight. Until he felt eyes on him, two nearby to be exact. He opened one eye to look at the angels staring at him and they both seemed like more biblically accurate angels, both having one eye and all. The radio demon shot them an evil grin.

"Oh adolescents these days, rebellious aren't they." He cackled before going back to drinking his coffee, the angels creeped out by his interaction soon scurried away from him.

The fear. He enjoyed it, just not really from you.

(thank you all who asked for part 2!! of course I had to deliver since you all really wanted it and honestly I love adding flashbacks to memories Alastor and the reader had when they were alive, makes their ending on earth just that more painful (as if it wasn't clear I love angst). Honestly I don't mind making more parts for this! If the demand is consistent and you guys still want to keep up with it I have a few ideas to keep this going! Once again thank you so much for reading!! Now I must finish writing for other stories lolllll!)

(p.s: i highly recommend listening to any mitski song while reading this I think it fits well especially with the flashback scene hehe)

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mystra-midnight · 5 months

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Holy Roar

summary: eddie watched your face—the way your mouth twisted and tears dripped from the corners of your eyes because of the over stimulation. he listened to your wild breaths and felt how your body begged for mercy while your soul screamed for more, more, more.

tags: 18+ only. unprotected sex; p in v. praise kink. pet names; good girl, sweet girl, baby. overstimulation. mentions of squirting if you squint. teeth-rotting fluff. eddie being a simp for his girl. soft!eddie but also hints of mean/dom!eddie.

w/c: 2.3k

a/n: eddie might not be religious but he's pretty sure heaven is between your thighs. requested by anon, thank you so much. <3 i needed a reason to be sappy and sweet today after all the drama going on. also, for the record. this was meant to be a drabble but evidently i have no self control.

Eddie Munson wasn't religious, but he did believe in heaven.

He'd swear up and down that he'd seen heaven, and no one had been able to convince him otherwise. The truth was, when he was buried in the tight warmth of your pussy with your arms wrapped around him, he could hear the sound of angels singing. It was a beautiful melody, a crescendo that rang in his ears and brought him to tears.

When he was with you, wrapped in the velvet embrace of your walls, his face hidden against the slope of your neck, the world would melt away. Nothing else mattered in those moments. He wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t a freak; he was just Eddie, and you were just you, and when he moved in you, the holy dark moved too.

And when you came, trembling and twitching beneath him, with pretty moans and whimpers pouring from your kiss-bitten lips, it was like he was born again. When he watched your features twist with rapture, he saw the world through brand new eyes—eyes that were filled with the vision of only you, an angel come to life beneath him, your holy light shining so brightly that he wasn’t sure you were real.

He often had to remind himself that you were.

Sometimes Eddie had to pinch himself just to convince himself that you weren't a beautiful, haunting illusion about to slip through his fingers. It was why he touched you with greedy hands at every opportunity. He touched you because he could, gripping the fat of your thighs, the curve of your hips, the pudge of your stomach, your tits, your cheeks, and your hands.

He was never cruel. Firm, yes; mocking, sometimes, but he could never hurt you. Eddie would hold you with strong hands that never stilled unless he was pounding into you, forcing unholy moans from your pretty mouth.

And unless he was kissing you, his tongue in your mouth, twirling and dancing with yours, he couldn’t stay silent. Eddie loved to whisper sweet nothings in between searing kisses. He would growl in your ear while carving his way to your guts. He would babble mindlessly as he chased his orgasm, fucking you through one, then a second, and then a third.

Some nights he was wild and untamed, whereas others he was kind and gentle.

No matter what, it was always a religious experience.

And tonight was no different.

Eddie had you on your back with your hands pinned above your head; he was holding both of your wrists in one of his larger hands. Your legs were around his waist, and the heels of your feet were pressing into his backside to draw him deeper as he rolled his hips and found that sweet spot that made you sing. Tears ebbed at your lash line, and he chased each one that fell with an eager tongue.

It was a cool evening in Hawkins, Indiana. Sometime past ten, a light rain had settled over the town. Eddie could hear the pitter-patter of droplets as they hit the roof of the caravan, the slide as they cascaded down the awnings, and the splatter as they hit the ground. The window was open, and a cool breeze was playing with the curtains, leaving his sweat-slicked skin goosepimpled.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured. His voice was rough and heavy with lust. “Can’t believe you’re mine,” he continued, mumbling the words against the slope of your neck, where he scrapped his teeth over your racing pulse. You arched beneath him when he dragged a ringed hand down your body, cruising from your throat to your chest, where he paused to brush a thumb over your peddled nipple before tugging on it a little meanly.

He listened to the way your breath hitched and the needy moan that tumbled past your lips when he moved his hand lower to the apex of your thighs. Eddie Munson was a simple man who loved you in this state—cock-drunk and floating in the clouds.

He loved to watch you come undone for him. He loved the way your back would arch, the way your muscles would tighten and flex, how you pulled him in and pushed him away when the pleasure mounted, and the way you couldn’t seem to get enough air while riding each orgasm. He couldn’t get enough of you; he was addicted to you.

“Bet you’re sensitive, baby.” Eddie said, gliding his pointer and ring finger on either side of your clit, which was still buzzing from the last orgasm he’d pulled from the depths of your soul. He felt you twitch beneath him, heard the sharp intake of breath, and heard the muffled whine that escaped your pretty mouth. “But look at you—still s’fucking wet. You’ve soaked the sheets, girl. But you're gonna cum again, aren’t you? Good, I need to hear those pretty sounds.”

He posed it as a question, but he wasn’t asking. Eddie took advantage of your delirious state, licking a long, wet strip up the column of your throat and moaned deeply as he savoured the sweat-slicked taste of your skin. Eddie didn't care that you were sweaty, that you were dishevelled, or that you were making a mess of his sheets. He cared that you were here and that you were beneath him.

He watched your face as he rolled his hips, his cock piercing through your velvet walls and his balls slapping against your ass as he drove deeper. Your lips parted in a perfect 'o', and you squirmed, straining to close your legs only to find his slim waist holding them open as a familiar heat sparked to life between your hips.

“I can’t.”

He said the words with you, as he already knew that you would say them. Eddie Munson was a menace that ruled your life, and you were a marionette on a string, so sweet and eager to please him. He could play you like a fiddle. He knew what words built you up and which ones sent you tumbling down again. As though to prove this, he circled his fingers around your clit, slick with arousal, left, then right, then spread them again, trapping your clit between his fingers with just a hint of pressure.

You keened loudly, throwing your head back and exposing your throat—an invitation that he quickly accepted. Eddie smeared hot, wet kisses along your skin, listening to the whimpers and whines that spilt from your lips as he rubbed your nub, enjoying the way you tugged at your wrists and writhed beneath him. “S’too much, Eddie. Eddie, please, please.”

You sounded so pretty when you begged; your voice was breathless and ethereal as you begged for something you couldn't decide on. Mercy or more—you didn't know.

But he did.

"You can," he replied. Eddie buried his face against your neck, his hot breath balmy against your skin, as he nuzzled his nose below the curve of your jaw before sucking a dark mark into your skin. "Just one more, I promise, baby, then I'll let you rest." It was the devil's lie, one that came easily from his tongue.

Eddie Munson was an addict, and you were his drug of choice. In truth, he knew that he would be going to hell, so he was going to enjoy heaven while he could. He kissed you without warning. Hard, slowly, thoroughly, just because he could. It made you moan and made your toes curl.

“Need you to cum again—fuck—just one more, that’s all I want."

“Mhmm, okay,” you whimpered, high-pitched and breathless, as he moved his fingers in tight circles around your nub, switching direction once, then twice. And then he moved. Eddie sat back on his haunches, threw your legs over his shoulders, and pulled you closer so that he could drive deeper, until you felt him in your lungs.

Your obedience and willingness made him smile. Eddie licked your calf, his teeth scraping teasingly at your ankle. Your pussy clenched hotly around his aching length. "You're such a good girl, aren’t you? S’fucking pretty, s’fucking sweet. Fuck, I love you,” he rambled, lost in the moment. The taste of you swimming in his mouth and the sight of you flooding his eyes were too much for him to bear.

You were beautiful; an angel trapped it in a rhapsody of pleasure—all his. Eddie pulled out slowly, your velvet heat clutching at his cock. He watched with wide and wondrous eyes as your hole clenched and winked at him, but it was the combination of pre-cum and slick dripping from you—the way it slid down the crack of your ass and joined the mess you'd made of the sheets—that broke his resolve.

The groan that clawed up the back of his throat was something feral and all-consuming, calling to something buried inside of you. Your answering whine was desperate. Eddie grabbed your jaw, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, so that he could watch the blissed expression in your eyes as he filled you again, hard and to the brim. "Look at you, girl, so cum-drunk that you're leaking on my cock. My pretty, perfect girl."

Time began to slow down. Heat slithered like a snake through your veins, slow to start as it set your body aflame, and then faster, striking with venom and fangs until your eyes rolled so far back that Eddie was sure you'd see your own brain. You were in a trance, and it was no one but Eddie’s fault.

You couldn’t answer him, even if you had wanted to. Each time he fucked into you, his cock spearing through your walls and reaching the depths of your being, the air was forced from your lungs, leaving you breathless and floating higher in the sky. He left a trail of wet kisses along your ankle, lapping at each bite with an eager tongue while he found your mound with the opposite hand, thumb swiping left and right, then, round and round, your clit.

The piston of his hips didn’t slow when you pushed against his abdomen, nails scratching the surface of his skin as though you wanted to burrow beneath it and live there. Eddie watched your face—the way your mouth twisted and tears dripped from the corners of your eyes because of the over stimulation. He listened to your wild breaths and felt how your body begged for mercy while your soul screamed for more, more, more.

“Too much, Eddie,” you gasped, all breathless and sweet. Eddie smiled down at you, a beautiful lopsided grin that had the snake in your veins pulling tighter. It was so tight now that you thought you might die—that your bones would break and your heart would give. But the look in your eyes—that sly come-hither stare—told him you needed that release almost as much as you needed to breathe.

"You're going to be a good girl and cum for me, yeah? You're squeezing my dick so tight, baby, you're going to fucking break it.” Eddie chortled. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripped from his nose, and landed on your chest as he bent to brush his mouth against yours. Your legs fell from his shoulders, knees coming to rest in the crook's of his arms as he shadowed over you like a perfect machiavellian devil.

His lips smashed against yours in a kiss made entirely of tongue, teeth, and saliva. It was messy, sloppy, and desperate, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips when you finally parted. Eddie was lost, chasing his own release that was hurtling towards him like a semi with its brakes cut.

And then it happened, all at once and without warning.

One moment you grabbed at him, clawing at his back and pulling on his hair, and then you were breathless, your limbs locked and your head thrown back. It was like the sky split open and a bolt of lightning speared through you, connecting with that sweet spot Eddie was abusing, only to arch throughout your body. You came screaming his name, and it was the sound of heaven, and he rejoiced.

"You're so good to me, sweet girl," Eddie said. His lips left a trail of blistering kisses from your chin, down your jaw, and to your neck, where he hid his face against your sweat-slicked skin. His breath was wild and balmy as he panted against your skin. His muscles twisted and knotted as the force of his impending orgasm grew. "I'm going—fuck—I'm going to marry you. I'm going to put a ring on your finger and buy you a fucking house."

And he meant it. If there was one thing on God's green earth that Eddie Munson was completely and irrevocably certain about, it was you. He was going to make you his wife. He was going to give you his name. He was going to give you his kids.

He felt you grab him again, your nails reclaiming their position on his shoulders as the world started to fade into background ambience. A haze overcame his vision, glowing orange from the fire raging within him. And then the tension in his body broke, ricocheting through him with the force of a hurricane.

Eddie speared through your walls one last time before settling deep within you, so deep that you could feel him pressing against the back of your throat. His weight above you was like a weighted blanket that is smothering but comfortable. It kept you grounded while you ride the coattails of your orgasm. Eddie came with a guttural groan, his abdominal muscles flexing as he filled you with thick ropes of his seed.

Seconds slid into minutes before he withdrew and collapsed to the bed at your side. The sheets were a mess at the foot of the bed, and the sound of the rain was louder now. The room smelled like sweat, sex, and fresh rain. You were both quiet as you floated through the clouds, content to lay side-by-side and let the silence bloom. There was nothing either of you had to say—the moment was already perfect because, while Eddie Munson wasn't religious, he did believe in heaven.

And with you, he felt born again.

tags: @hideoutside

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you

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amuromi · 4 months

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.9k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! heian era!au, concubine!reader, true form!Sukuna, unprotected sex, established relationship (married), canon typical violence, era typical misogyny/gender roles, unhealthy obsession, mentions of death, mentions of cannibalism and blood, (Sukuna is a lunatic), Sukuna is referred to exclusively as “Lord Sukuna”

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ I got a bit carried away with this one. My love of psychological horror was clawing to be free but I think I kept it pretty contained…

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈𝐈

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ✦ ⋆˙ engawa ┈ a hallway-like path surrounding the house ⋆ shoji ┈ a sliding door/divider ⋆ koto ┈ a Japanese zither/stringed instrument

The winter storm has leached everything into bleak shades of black and white, like ink on parchment. The trees are thick black strokes against the deep gray clouds, dusted with a thick layer of snow as flurries fall like stars through the courtyard. In the moonlight each snowflake shines like pearls, soft and lustrous as they dance on the wind. From the edge of the engawa it almost looks like staring into the great gaping mouth of a beast that’s swallowed the world, spears of ice hanging like jagged teeth from the edge of the roof, the wind shuddering through the estate in howling gusts. The cold night is scented with dreams of spring, sweet smelling coal burning in braziers, wafting gray wisps of floral-scented smoke into the wind.

It’s quiet aside from the sharp whistling of the wind and the hissing of snow melting over hot coals, then, somewhere within the estate, a bell tolls for the Hour of the Rooster. Nightfall, despite the veil of darkness already laid out by the storm clouds. Suddenly there’s the sound of footsteps soft as summer rain, pattering through the estate and the shoji begin to blossom with the warmth of firelight as candles are lit throughout the sprawling house. More snow gathers in soft sheets over the courtyard before there’s a gentle knock to announce a soft-footed servant coming to renew the braziers and light the lanterns. The scent of lavender is renewed as the coals are sifted and replaced and the engawa is streaked with blushing shades of gold as the pink-tinged paper lanterns are lit in turn.

Of all the rooms in the vast estate, yours is the most adorned. Which is to say, it looks as though your room is used for more than sleeping. There’s a modest desk with inks and paper, a small table for combs and perfumes, and a trunk for miscellaneous things beside the chest of drawers filled with kimono. When she’s lit the last lantern, you ask the girl to send for your personal maid. A dowry servant, though not originally one of yours. Life in this estate is fleeting in that way.

An unbalanced teacup had been the undoing of the girl your father sent to accompany you in your marriage. Stained silk and scalded skin, later soaked with splatters of blood. But the tatami were changed and the kimono and girl were replaced. Your new maid is a bit older–a few years your senior–originally belonging to a woman that came before you. Certainly not First Mistress because she would loathe to see you even look upon anything of hers. No, she served a less honored concubine that wasn’t worthy of the title “wife,” even if it’s a hollow honor in itself. Still, your maid had belonged to the unknown mistress before she perished. It all happened before you were brought to the estate, but the haggard weight of the loss still sits heavy on her shoulders. Her face always looks like a crumpled piece of paper that someone tried to smooth flat, creased with hidden worries. She arrives quickly, kneeling to await her orders.

“I’m happy,” you tell her. “A new Mistress is joining the family tonight, isn’t that right? Happy news.” The maid hums something to the tune of affirmation, long since grown used to your unflinchingly jovial disposition. She once asked if you wear a smiling mask throughout the day and take it off once you sleep. It’s a silly question, of course, but you like to imagine that you smile even in your sleep. There is nothing to be sad about. Living a life such as this is no different than a deer grazing in a meadow. There is nothing beyond the grass. Nothing farther than the horizon or higher than the tallest tree. What is there to be sad about when the world has been folded into something small enough to hold in your hands, a piece of origami meant to be appreciated and not pondered. There’s happiness in the simplicity that this life provides, though you seem to be the only one to realize it.

The other two Mistresses of the house say that you should be locked up in a rice chest and left out to die. That it’s cruel to let you live in such a state of delusion. How little they know, yet it’s still too much. At times, it seems that they are far deeper in their minds than you’ve ever been. Caught up in worries and tribulations that haven’t plagued you in a long time, since you let go of your humanity. What use is pretending to be human when you’re treated like a pet. Treasured and pampered but still inferior to the master of the house. Because your husband has no true use for human brides. In keeping the three of you, he has honored each of your families with the knowledge that their blood has produced something too intriguing to kill off just yet. Perhaps if he desires an offspring to assume his legacy he’ll have a true use for one of you.

Other brides have been offered and had their families culled like squashing bugs. It made you feel some air of superiority, knowing that you were chosen from a dozen women to be honored as a new wife to the King of Curses. It only took a few months for you to realize your place in all this and the last thread of your humanity snapped like a frayed koto string. Thinking of yourself as a person is useless when the person that holds your life within his hands sees you as no more than a doll to be toyed with as he sees fit.

“I’m happy.” You always mean it when you say it. Happiness is all you have left when faced with the truth of how finite your existence is. There is no world beyond the walls of this estate. No people beyond its residence and staff. No purpose outside of serving your husband with unwavering loyalty. In that regard you are the most precious of his wives. The others, their devotion wavers. You’ve seen it in the way they still hesitate to follow simple instructions, still tremble and shrink in Lord Sukuna’s presence even as you bloom like a flower in the light of the sun. He is your sun. There is no life without him. Which is why you are happy to simply exist in this small world that he’s made for you.

His power has greatly uncomplicated your existence, turned it to something purposeful, something that will end when you’re no longer of use. And Lord Sukuna will always tell you when you serve no further purpose to him. How many underlings has he executed because they were no longer of use? You imagine they must’ve felt great pride in the moments before their demise at the hands of their King. Pride in knowing that they did what they were made to do. As a child you had scoffed at the idea that your only purpose was to be wed and serve your husband as a proper wife should, but that was when the husband of your future was set to be someone unremarkable. Lord Sukuna is greater than any man that’s ever lived. Perhaps even ascended beyond the concept of a man to become the strongest sorcerer to ever live. As the daughter of a highly regarded family known for birthing remarkable sorcerers, you take pride in your small but purposeful place in all this. The culling of clans, the clashing of factions trying to unseat your husband. History will remember you because you will play your part until the very end. An end you’ll greet with a smile if it should come by your husband’s hand.

“Will the Fourth Mistress be here soon?” A new deer to join the herd, a new flower planted in the garden.

“By the Hour of the Bird, the last message said.” Your maid agrees. Soon, a new Mistress will be here. It’s been so long since another woman has joined hands with Lord Sukuna. The last being yourself nearly two years ago. First Mistress had been collected three years ago, and Second Mistress came along only a short few months behind her. Lord Sukuna had waited half a year after that to marry a third wife, and you must’ve served him well because there’s been no need for another until now. It makes you wonder if death is close at hand. A raven had come earlier in the day, before the snow began to fall, announcing that Lord Sukuna would be returning from his excursion by nightfall. Perhaps he wanted to arrive home in time to greet his new bride.

Fourth Mistress. Unlucky number Four, terrible number Four. Blowing into her marriage with a snow storm. It’s all terribly inauspicious, but Lord Sukuna has reason for everything he does. Nothing is without purpose. Even death has cause when dealt by his hand. Even if it comes tonight you will go towards it fully satisfied. The snowfall looks beautiful, and the cold isn’t so terrible with the legion of braziers burning around you and the thick furs draped over your shoulders. It’s a wonderful night to die if it should come to that.

“Shall we go welcome her?”

“First Mistress insisted that you need not be present for Fourth Mistress’ arrival, your highness.” First Mistress, Jurina, whose hatred towards you cannot be quelled by any manner of platitudes.

When you first arrived, you’re sure it was mere jealousy that compelled her to act out against you. A multitude of wives is not uncommon among high ranking men, but rarely is it expected that they should all live together. Most wives are left in their parents’ homes to be visited whenever their husband deems it fit. To walk the hall of your home and come across the woman your husband sees when he is not with you must be jarring to the first woman he married. Jurina seemed adamant about dispelling you from the family upon your first arrival. Now, her animosity isn’t borne of jealousy, but discomfort.

Your happiness makes her nervous. She’s said it herself. Snapping and raging at you for your unflinching smile even as she and Second Mistress have slowly begun to lose themselves in the monotony of this life. Sitting and waiting, then serving when Lord Sukuna comes home. To them, your complacency, your happiness, is something eerie and othered. Akin to the curses your families seek to eradicate. Unnatural. Inhuman. Though it hardly matters what they think of you. They are not your reason for being, and Lord Sukuna seems to find your smile charming.

Despite the chill, you find yourself reaching for a fan. A gift from Uraume. They’re strangely doting towards you in a way that they aren’t to Lord Sukuna’s other wives, bringing you gifts when they accompany Lord Sukuna on long trips away from the estate. A set of calligraphy brushes, a jade bracelet, a new kimono. You’ve amassed quite a collection of possessions by Uraume’s spoiling, though the fans are your favorite. All made a beautifully lacquered wood, some painted with gilded designs, the folded paper painted by the hands of careful artists. Crashing waves and blossoming trees decorate each of your fans and you take great pride in keeping them all in pristine condition because you’d hate to perform a dance with a damaged fan.

Of all of the things filling your room, your koto is the most precious. It had belonged to your mother and she offered it with teary eyes as your wedding gift, absolutely bereft that she had to marry her daughter off to a monster to appease the head of your father’s clan. But such was your purpose in being born into a highly acclaimed sorcerer clan. Take your blood and lend your body to another clan so that you might make more powerful jujutsu users. Your father had complained of the waste in sending you off to quell the King of Curses, insisting that sending you to Lord Sukuna would be a waste of a bride. Curses have no use for brides nor, truly, does their King. Still, Lord Sukuna keeps all of you alive and well in his home. To what end? It’s hardly your concern.

“Bring my koto,” you hum. “I want to dance.”

The maid goes about carrying the large stringed instrument to the edge of the room where the opened shoji separates the warmth of your room from the chill of the engawa. It is a happy coincidence that your maid had been taught to play the koto some years ago when she was still an eligible maiden. But her father grew ill and when he passed her mother sent her off to find work to support herself because she couldn’t afford a dowry to marry her off properly. So she sits and serves, waiting for you to name your song of choice with her fingers poised over the strings. The song you choose is one of comfort, the first your mother ever taught you when you were learning to dance and play. There’s a practiced grace to your movements, smooth as a flowing river as you dance with your fan. The song is short but it is always your favorite to perform.

A rare beauty in the north, she’s the finest woman on earth. A glance from her, the city falls. A second glance leaves the nation in ruins. There exists no city or nation that has been more cherished than a beauty like this.

Flecks of snow melt against the bare nape of your neck, so cold it feels like burning, but you want to keep dancing. The weather has no bearing on your mood. Rain or shine you are happy to sing and dance, amusing yourself as you wait to be of use to your lord husband. Perhaps he has already returned home along with his new bride but without the order to accompany him you will stay in your room, performing to your heart’s content. Your maid begins to pluck out the notes of your next song request, fingers stuttering over the strings as if she’s forgotten how to play the melody. That’s alright, you will dance even without proper music, swinging your fan with practiced poise as your voice contests with the howling of the storm. It’s a song of longing and melancholy. Fitting for a woman separated from her husband.

Are you going away? Leaving me alone? How could I live if you’ve gone away? Are you going away? Leaving me alone? I want to keep you unhappy with me. I fear you may never return. Sadly, I will let you go–

“Stop whining, I’m here.” A voice interrupts your singing, a smooth timbre that rumbles like a roll of thunder. So please, come back soon after you leave. In a heartbeat you’re on the floor, kneeling before your husband. Lord Sukuna is soiled from his travels. Kimono stained and torn, the scent of blood lingering heavily around him, along with the buzzing aura of excess cursed energy leaking into the cold air around him.

“Welcome home, Lord Sukuna.” He purrs at how you prostrate yourself at his feet, always so satisfied with your absolute submission. He once told you your lack of fear was something intriguing, your unwavering adoration far more interesting than submission borne of fear. It’s something he’s found in so few of his followers and you imagine it’s why he shows such preference for Uraume’s company. Of all of your husband’s subordinates, they are by far the most devout. Perhaps even more than you because they know what Lord Sukuna is trying to achieve with all the calamity he causes. Your lord husband has never made you privy to that knowledge, and as a good wife you remember it is not your place to ask. If you are meant to know something, he’ll tell you.

“Get out.” His voice is thick with something akin to revulsion, though you don’t bother to raise your head. Lord Sukuna hasn’t spoken to you so gruffly since you first proved your devotion to him. Behind you there’s the sound of frantic movements as your maid assumedly makes herself scarce in the presence of her master. When she’s gone Lord Sukuna gives you permission to lift your head. In the low light, you can hardly see his face. It’s hard to tell Lord Sukuna’s mood even in bright lighting. He hardly changes from his stoic expression unless there’s blood being spilled, then a smile–more like a deranged baring of his fanged teeth–finds its way onto his face.

“Come bathe with me.” He doesn’t wait for you to react, already halfway down the engawa by the time you gather yourself enough to stand. Lord Sukuna traverses the estate with practiced ease, as if this was his childhood home and not all place of residence usurped from some affluent family. Though the perks of Lord Sukuna’s minions commandeering such a luxurious home for their leader and his family are the accommodations afforded to only the highest nobility. Because only families with more money than time to spend it can afford to build their home large enough to encompass a hot spring along with all the other necessary land. The air is humid around the bathhouse, curtained with steam as clouds of warm air seep out of the secluded space.

Lord Sukuna stands expectantly at the edge of the rocks surrounding the steaming pool, waiting for you to fulfill your wifely duties. With great haste you begin to undress him. His kimono is ruined beyond repair, delicate white silk tattered and stained with browning patches of blood. Still, you take great care in folding each article as it’s removed from his body. There’s no added layers despite the inclement weather, no added underclothes beneath the outer layer of clothing. Your hands reach skin sooner than you expected, flinching away from the warmth of his muscles as if his skin were an open flame. Despite your status as his wife and your consequently intimate knowledge of his body, you still err on the side of caution when it comes to touching Lord Sukuna. He had only asked you to undress him, not to run your fingers over the corded muscles of his arms. Luckily, your husband seems unconcerned with the wayward touch. Instead of snapping at you he rolls his shoulders as if the layers of clothes had been restricting his movements. In all likelihood, they probably have.

Lord Sukuna is something that is no longer human. A higher being ascended beyond the physicality of a normal man, as if his body could no longer handle the brunt of his power and needed to evolve to fit the newly emerging shape of his soul. Once, before you first laid eyes upon him, Lord Sukuna had the appearance of a mere man. An unremarkable face and body. But now he has become something beyond the shape of a human. “A two faced demon with four arms,” as the members of your clan had called him when talks of appeasing the great King of Curses began whispering through the halls of your maiden home. Of course his rumored differences held no bearing on whether or not the clan would be willing to sacrifice a bride to satisfy the Disgraced One. His four eyes and black markings make no difference to your devotion. He is still the husband you’ve dedicated your life to.

Tentatively, you try to strike up a conversation as Lord Sukuna settles himself in the warm pool. “Has Fourth Mistress arrived yet?”

“Yes, she arrived before I did. I expected you to be with the others, fawning over her. Why weren’t you?” His tone is calculated as if he is trying to decide if there is cause for punishment. Your next words are chosen carefully.

“First Mistress did not think–it was requested that I not attend to Fourth Mistress’ arrival.”

“Are you not my wife?” Lord Sukuna asks, annoyance thick in his tone. Of course you are. In this life you are nothing if not his wife. “I expect that you’ll act your part. The lady of the house is meant to greet guests upon their arrival. I don’t care what Jurina says. You’re of noble birth. You know the rules on how to conduct yourself. Act like it.”

“Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my lord, but I am not the lady of the house. That is First Mistress Jurina’s title.” To go against your husband’s word is wrong, reason enough for him to lash out at you, but it is the truth that Jurina is always reminding you of. She is First Mistress, the matron of the estate. It is you that is a lowly concubine in comparison to her status as a legal wife. Lord Sukuna bristles at your insolence and you duck your head to receive your reproach. He’s a short distance away, submerged to his waist in the warm water, but Lord Sukuna can move like a striking snake. It would only take half a beat of your heart for him to reach you and tear it from your chest if he so desires it.

Tonight’s admonishment is far less violent. Coming in the form of a disparaging growl before he snaps at you to undress. You do so with the same care that you disrobed your husband. As his wife, you are an extension of him, and you dare not mistreat his items in his presence. Once your clothes are folded you approach Lord Sukuna with hesitant steps. You’ve discovered that drowning and burning are the worst means of death and the boiling water of the hot spring is a combination of both. Still, if tonight will be wasted on death, at least it will come in Lord Sukuna’s arms. He reaches to help you into the water, drawing you close while his second pair of arms stay splayed on the rocks behind him. He moves you as he pleases like a doll being perched on a shelf, positioning you to straddle his thigh.

“Look at me, woman.” His tone doesn’t sound angry, but that has never been a successful way to guess at Lord Sukuna’s intentions. He can execute someone with a smile. You hope he’ll offer you that same cruel grin when he pushes hot beneath the bubbling water.

“I do not care what order I married any of you in. It should be clear by now that you are the woman of this house. First or third, it doesn’t matter. Jurina’s words hold no weight over you. Do I make myself clear?” There’s a franticness to the way you nod your head, chirping out a pinched “yes, Lord Sukuna!” as he holds your chin to keep your eyes on his.

“You’re the only wife that matters to me, stupid woman. The rest,” he scoffs, “I wouldn’t spit down their throats even if their lungs were on fire. Even the new one. Jurina is nothing and no one. I will kill her right now if it will please you.”

And that had been the original crux of Jurina’s jealousy. The priority with which Lord Sukuna always seemed to treat you. There were always rumors about the estate that you are the favored wife, the one that truly matters, but it is hard to believe rumors when Lord Sukuna hardly does anything to validate them. Though his constant quelling of his temper in your presence should be evidence enough. It’s a rare thing for your husband to lash out at you, but you always assumed it was simply because you were careful with your actions. Never giving him any reason to turn his ire against you. It’s plain to see now that the reason for your persisted well treatment is simple. You are his favorite wife.

Possessive as he is, Lord Sukuna has favorites in everything. Cursed weapons that he favors over all others, and servants that he calls on more often than the rest. To know you hold weight among his most precious possessions is dizzying. Of course, to Lord Sukuna, a favorite thing is a useful thing. It’s easy to imagine that you’re the most useful of his four wives. Neither of your seniors have remarkable cursed techniques despite hailing from quite notable families in the hierarchy of the jujutsu world. And any technique they do possess is woefully untrained as is expected of women in the world of sorcery. Women of jujutsu-laden clans are meant to be vessels from which the next generation of male sorcerers are born, not taught to be sorcerers in their own right.

It was only by a terrible coincidence that you were able to train your own technique. A jealous cousin and a well. A harsh push to your back after she whispered about how she should be the one to marry first despite her inferior talents as a homemaker. She got her wish, the husband she so covetously desired. Last you heard she’d been returned to your family’s estate after being set aside for a more fitting woman.

When she pushed you, falling felt like flying and dying felt like burning as your lungs filled with water. In the end you’d spent nearly a week at the bottom of that seldom used well, floundering for your life as your cursed technique kept you in a constant loop of dying and reviving, bursting back to life stronger than when you died. Chrysalis is what your family had taken to calling your ability when you were finally fished out with a bucket of water. Death was something impermanent to you, though the manner of which you passed holds bearing on how long you’ll be stuck in your “cocooned” state. You imagine being killed by means of jujutsu would kill you properly, forever, but no one has been bold enough to try. Certainly not now that you are a treasured wife of the King of Curses. Though you’re sure Lord Sukuna will kill you eventually, when your purpose has been served. For now, it seems your purpose is to provide him with the comforts a wife can offer her husband.

“Kiss me.” He commands, hand on your jaw already pulling you towards him. There’s never been anything delicate about Lord Sukuna as far as you could tell. He’s always had an air of harshness to him, something wild and untamed that bleeds into his every movement. You’ve decided it must be because he lives the same as you, unimpeded by the world around him. The King of Curses bows to nothing and no one, so why should he govern himself by the laws and morals of humanity. Kindness, restraint, it doesn’t seem to exist to your lord husband. The same way fear no longer exists to you. So when Lord Sukuna’s hand–large enough to hold your head in his palm–pulls you towards his fanged mouth, you feel nothing but unadulterated lust. It’s unbecoming of a woman to find herself so lost in her bodily whims but you’re no longer just a woman. You’re Lord Sukuna’s woman, and within the walls of his home, shame no longer exists. You melt against him as his sharp teeth find the softness of your lips. Blood spills between your open mouths, dripping down your bodies before dripping into the water with a soft tinge of pink.

“Sweet,” he hums.

It’s no secret that Lord Sukuna is prone to fits of bloodlust so blinding he’ll tear his teeth into anything soft he can find, no matter the origin of the flesh. Animal or human it’s all the same when he’s tearing his claws through a warm body. He’s mentioned sampling your body once. How he’s thought about tearing off bits and pieces of you to taste. Of course, he told you that he would only maim you in such a way as punishment for misbehavior–it hardly matters when death would only find you mended and made anew–though it hasn’t stopped him from sinking his teeth into you when he’s wrapped up in another kind of lust.

Usually imperceptible if you aren’t looking for it, the only sign of Lord Sukuna’s arousal stands proudly between your legs, so large they breach the surface of the water as he holds you steady in his lap. His upper arms are still splayed out on the stone behind him as he reclines as if he is seated on a throne. He’s shown you what a throne fit for the King of Curses would look like, but only once. In his domain. An infinite wasteland bathed in blood with a single shrine standing at its heart. A corrupted chinjusha of flesh and bone. All gaping maws and cracked skulls. A shrine dedicated to the only higher power Lord Sukuna will ever respect; himself. The strange mouth splitting a seam between his muscles always reminds you of his Malevolent Shrine, of the four grotesque mouths that stand where the four doors of a shrine would be. Its tongue is strangely textured, like that of a cat’s as it lolls out of his stomach to lap at your skin. Sometimes you find yourself wondering if Lord Sukuna has control over the appendage or if it acts of its own volition each time the grainy feeling drags over your body, but it isn’t your place to ask. Who has control or not, it doesn’t matter. Lord Sukuna is your husband and you relish even the smallest touch whether it’s intentional or not.

“Are you going to please your husband?” He asks. The answer is always simple. Yes. It is your sole purpose now that he’s taken you as his wife and torn your world into the smallest pieces until only this single scrap remains. It’s becoming so precious no matter how small and defaced it becomes. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you stepped out of line. Tried to leave the estate, tried to defy Lord Sukuna. In truth, you’ll never know. Your husband is your world and your world is your husband. Of course you will do everything within your power to please him. He seems satisfied with just the look in your eyes as you stare up at him, waiting for his next command. If it would please him you’d slash yourself open, spill your innards into his lap and watch him feast on your flesh. His true wish is far more gentle, something a more humble husband would ask of his bride.

“Touch me.” His clawed hand is already guiding yours to his stiffness, wrapping your fingers over the length of him. It’s so strange that curses can bleed, but Lord Sukuna isn’t exactly a curse nor is he a human. He’s something more but his heart beats just the same. You feel it in your palm as his cock twitches in your grip, thick veins thrumming under his skin. Perhaps it’s the water or more likely it’s something innate to your husband because he always feels hot to the touch, his skin is nearly scalding as you wrap your hands around his twin cocks, fingers spread too wide to touch around his girth. Lord Sukuna looks pleased as he leans back, eyes watching you as if to catch a flaw in your presentation. A rogue frown or unintended scowl that would prove your supposed dedication false.

Even after so long he’s waiting for you to break, to truly realize what you’re doing and be disgusted enough to shrink away. The only thing you feel at this moment is heady arousal. It pools like molten lava deep in your stomach, seeping between your legs and into the water. There’s been no permission given so you remain still, but your hips ache to shift against the strength of Lord Sukuna’s chiseled thigh, to relieve a bit of the tension his lingering gaze has caused. But his hand hasn’t strayed from your hip, in fact his grip has tightened with each stroke of your hands. There’s a stinging bite as his claws dig through your skin, burying deep enough to draw blood despite the composure still set in stone on his face. He is still a man in some regard. Still a husband enjoying the touch of his wife. The thought blooms sweetly in your chest, lifting a soft smile to your lips. Lord Sukuna notices in an instant, four eyes still trained on your face. He snatches your chin up, straining your neck with how quickly he guides your eyes towards his.

“What are you smiling about, brat?” Another attempt to catch you in a lie, to find some falsehood in your contentment. Even your lord husband finds himself questioning if your happiness is true. You thumb over the head of one of his cocks, bringing the taste to your lips. And because he is watching you so intensely you make a coquettish show of dragging your tongue over the pad of your finger, gasping when Lord Sukuna’s fingers bury deeper into your delicate skin. There will be cuts and bruises when he’s done with you. There always are. Then your maid–or, on some occasions, Uraume–will come to tend to your body marked by your husband’s touch. You like the way your body burns when he’s through with you, memories of his touch simmering in your mind. He scoffs when you wrap your lips around your thumb. With a cruel smile he hooks his own thumb into your mouth, talon scraping against your tongue as he pulls your jaw until your mouth is as wide as you can bear with only the slightest twinge of pain.

Drool pools in your mouth, dripping out of the corners as they sting with the strain of Lord Sukuna’s strength. He sneers, looking pleased with the mess you’re making as he leans down to lick it up before spitting it back into your open mouth. You nearly choke and rush to swallow with a rattling cough. It tastes like blood, likely your own though you wonder if your husband sank his teeth into something before coming to you. The blood on his clothes looked dry, though you can never be certain with Lord Sukuna. You banish the thought, thrilled with the way he no longer seems to be dividing his focus.

Before he had looked uninterested, as if his mind was elsewhere even as he looked at you servicing him so happily. Now he’s leaned in close enough for you to see his eyelashes, a rare treat with his immense stature. He’s nearly all you can see, all you can feel and you revel in it as your world shrinks to this tiny pinprick. There’s nothing outside this bathhouse. Only the infinite nothingness that surrounds a domain. The world could come apart outside these four walls and you wouldn’t care as long as Lord Sukuna keeps you in his arms. As if he knows your thoughts, the very deepest desires of your heart, Lord Sukuna drags you up his leg by the hand still embedded in the fat of your hips and the feeling sings through your body as your clit catches against the firmness of his thigh. Your hands tighten around his cocks still pulsing in your hands, though his only reaction is the slightest twitch of his lip.

“Am I doing a good job, Lord Sukuna?” You ask around his thumb, truly desperate for approval. If you were any more pitiful he might’ve pet your hair like a loyal hound. Instead he laughs, something short and sardonic as his teeth nip at your cheek. Warmth blooms then drips down the curve of your face and you know he’s broken skin once more.

“Enough with the stupid questions. If you want my praise you know how to earn it. Show me how badly you want it and I might reward your efforts.” You slip from his lap, mourning the loss of his leg pressing between yours as you kneel in the water. It’s up to your neck as your knees meet the bottom of the pool, steam billowing like a veil in front of your eyes as you center yourself at the apex of Lord Sukuna’s thighs. He’s spread out above you like a proud effigy, a statue meant to be worshiped. You feel a transcendent kind of devotion kneeling at the feet of your lord husband. The taste of him lands heavy on your tongue as your lips tease at the head of his dick, swallowing him in slow increments. Despite the harsh preparation of your mouth, you still wish to savor every moment spent servicing your husband.

His face is clouded in shadows again as he leans back, head tilted towards the ceiling. The lanterns flicker playful shadows across his body, highlighting and shrouding pieces of him as you bow to take him into your mouth in earnest. Your jaw still aches from the way he nearly unhinged it, but it works in your favor as your lips wrap around his length.

There’s nothing dignified about the way you’re swallowing his dick, little focus being allotted to your own comfort as you take him as deeply as his size will allow. His body is strange, of course, but it’s all you’ve ever known of a man. Aside from Lord Sukuna you’ve never seen any man bared beyond his chest, although you know innately that humans aren’t meant to have the endowments he does. His second cock presses against your cheek, dribbling over your skin as you hollow your cheeks until Lord Sukuna’s thighs twitch. Muscles seizing tighter as the head of his cock meets the tightness of your throat. Breathing is far from your mind, a need secondary to pleasing your husband. It’s a messy endeavor and you loathe to think of how terrible you must look. It’s always been a point of pride to preen yourself to perfection because husbands like their women to look beautiful when they arrive home, or at least Lord Sukuna seems to prefer it. Though he never seems bothered by what is surely a horrid display as split slicks down your chin and tears dot along your lash line as you gag around his dick.

Lord Sukuna flicks your forehead after a while, likely drawing another scratch between your brows. It’s a fraction of his power. It’s likely he could take your head apart as easily as squashing a peach under his heel yet he hardly puts effort behind the reproach. Only enough to draw your attention as he drags you, coughing and drooling, off of his cock. They’re both gathered into one fist so he can drag the taste of his leaking precum over your parted lips.

“You know better.” Lord Sukuna does not take things in half measures. His intentions are clear. If you’re going to pleasure him, do it right and do it well. Your jaw pops open again, wide enough to take his twin cocks into your mouth. He stretched and strained your mouth but there’s only so much that can be done with the sheer size of him. And while he does well to shield his thoughts at the best of times, you imagine he must be gleaning a fair bit of pleasure from your messy sucking as his hand remains in your hair. His claws scratch against your scalp, gentle enough to keep your skin intact as he keeps your mouth wrapped around him. A burning type of exertion settles painfully in your jaw but you’ll endure. Lord Sukuna never likes to keep you like this for long. With both of his weeping cocks tangled between your lips you can hardly take more than the head of each. In the end, his preference will always be the wet heat brewing between your legs. Another bout of pain sings through your scalp as Lord Sukuna pulls your mouth away from him, leaving threads of spit dripping between your bodies. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip, pressing against the grooves where his teeth bit into your skin until they begin to bleed anew.

He manipulates your body as if you’re merely a puppet dancing on strings. A flex of his arm and you’re lifting off your knees, hips stretched wide to accommodate the width of his body between them. His spit-laden cocks are pressed between your bodies, grinding into the soft expanse of your stomach as he pulls your bleeding mouth to his. He suckles at your torn skin, humming at the taste of your blood seeping onto his tongue. His hands find your hips, pressing into the marks he’s already left there as he hikes you higher against his body. The tongue lolling out of his stomach finds its way between your thighs, lapping at the mess that’s left after the water washed away the first wave of your arousal. It’s nearly too much with how textured the wide appendage is but you welcome any type of relief you can find as Lord Sukuna pulls your head to the side quick enough to send a stinging twinge up the column of your neck. The pain is only intensified as he noses against the soft curve where your neck meets your shoulder, as if he’s looking for something.

His tongue sweeps over your skin before his fanged teeth make a home in it. There’s a rippling groan that thunders in his chest as a true taste of your blood spills into his mouth. Before long, your head is spinning from blood loss. Lord Sukuna must feel the change in your pulse as it turns slippery, harder to catch beneath your skin. He pulls away with a satisfied groan as his hands press your hips deeper into the expanse of his lower tongue.

“Enjoying yourself, brat?” Lord Sukuna sneers, and because you have no sense of shame you find yourself nodding earnestly. He’s hardly touched you and what touches he’s shared have been steeped in equal parts pain and pleasure, yet you’ve enjoyed it all the same. It’s awkward and teasing because there’s no tact to the way his lower tongue moves between your legs. It’s like striking a flint without starting a fire, dull sparks of teasing pleasure that leave you wanting more. You’d rather have his face between your legs and a more dexterous tongue teasing you to the edge, but it would be presumptuous to make any kind of demands of your husband especially when he’s a man like Lord Sukuna.

In most regards, your pleasure is incidental. Secondary to his own. So when his teeth snap over his claws, biting the sharp points into flattened nubs, you feel your excitement growing. He’s learned from experience that his rough treatment of your body should not extend to certain places. After only a few times he pressed his clawed fingers inside you, Lord Sukuna learned that it would better serve him if his nails were dulled before he went poking them inside you. And they’ll be grown back to full length by night’s end. He can manipulate the shape of his body as easily as fire melting snow. His hand smooths over the side of your body, sliding against your ribs and hips as he makes his way between your legs. His fingers plunge inside with little warning, forcing you open with a swiftness you could almost call desperation. If something so undignified could ever be said about the King of Curses.

Lord Sukuna is a behemoth, dwarfing you in every regard, and his hands are no different. His fingers reach deep inside you, stroking over the place that has your back bowing as he makes space for himself inside you. He hums at how easily you take his fingers, sounding somewhere between amused and approving. It flutters through your chest and settles atop the arousal already building inside you.

“Give your body to me, woman. Open yourself to your king.” You try to say something as he slips another finger inside you but it comes out as little more than a breathy whine. This is already too much and yet it can’t compare to how full you’ll feel when he gets his cocks inside you. His fingers are a luxury offered in preparation for his true reward and you take it happily. He smirks at the way your thighs strain as you try to grind against his touch. The heel of his hand is pressed tight against your clit and you buck your hips against the feeling. Lord Sukuna’s skin is thick, nothing like the softness of your own and it feels just the right amount of rough against your clit. One of Lord Sukuna’s hands finds your hair again, yanking hard until you’re looking up at him with tears shimmering in your vision.

“There’s my spoiled brat. This is how you act. This is how the wife of a king is meant to be. Take what you want, woman, take everything I give you.” A dark laugh booms through the room as you whine and paw at Lord Sukuna’s chest. He adds another to the litany of scratches decorating your skin as his teeth nip at your neck, distracting you from the sting of another finger finding its way inside you.

“You were made for this,” he reminds you. “Made to be mine. My bride. You can take it.” He sounds almost patronizing, voice softening to a teasing lilt as his thumb presses against your clit. Like with everything, Lord Sukuna is harsh, forcing you to the edge quicker than expected. Each curl of his fingers yanks at the string tightening inside you, pulling you closer and closer to the edge as he moves his hands with inhuman speed inside you. Everything is hard and fast and your thighs start to tremble in his hold, body shivering as Lord Sukuna all but wrings the orgasm out of your body. You clench hard around his fingers, pussy dripping down your thighs as you try to steady yourself with your hands on Lord Sukuna’s shoulders. He allows it, revels in it as he pulls you into another bloody kiss. But even as you tremble in his arms, Lord Sukuna doesn’t stop. His thumb is still circling your twitching bud even as you try to whine out a plea for mercy. It only brings a fanged smile to his lips.

“Take it,” he grunts, “I know you can.” It really feels like you can’t. The tension brought on by your orgasm hasn’t dispersed and you feel like a knot being pulled ever tighter, back curling until your face is buried against his chest. He smells like the bath. Like sweet oils and wildflowers as your nose is buried against his scalding skin. With your forehead pressed against his chest your eyes have nowhere to look but down. Down at the way his cocks are straining to be touched, flushed and leaking just out of reach. You look up to distract yourself with the black markings etched into Lord Sukuna’s chest. Your kisses are sloppy, wet and open-mouthed as your tongue peeks out to trace the shape of each tattoo. It’s not until your teeth begin to nip at his chest that Lord Sukuna scruffs you once more.

“Trying to leave a mark on me, brat?” As if you could. Your teeth are likely no different than trying to pierce his skin with a blade of grass. “What a greedy little bride I have. So eager to defer to another wife’s authority when you’re this possessive of your husband. Isn’t that right, woman?” You try to shake your head. Of course, you aren’t possessive of him, you know your place. You are the Third Mistress. Perhaps you are his favorite but there is a hierarchy that must be upheld in the household. To so brazenly try to claim full authority over your lord husband would be lunacy. There is no higher authority than the King of Curses himself. You’re simply a pebble lingering in the shadow of the highest mountain.

“Yes you are,” he grins. You whine as he pulls his hand from between your legs. “Look at the mess you’ve made trying to mark me up like a bitch in heat.” There’s no sense of embarrassment welling at his degrading words. What sense is there in hiding how well your husband pleasures you? And Lord Sukuna seems proud as his tongue licks up the mess you’ve made on his hand before pressing a kiss to your parted lips. You taste yourself on his tongue. Your blood and your pleasure.

“You’re going to take me so well, aren’t you?” It’s hardly a question. Simply an ordered phrased as if you could deny yourself the feeling of being split open on Lord Sukuna’s cocks. He starts with one, always. Dragging the leaking head through the mess he’s made of your cunt, tapping against your clit until he finally presses inside. His body is a marvel and you’re blessed to be so acquainted with it as the length not pressing inside you grinds against your clit as he makes you take him as deep as your body will allow. Lord Sukuna has been known to be rash and unpredictable, a being of pure chaos when the mood strikes him, but when he’s with you like this everything he does is deliberate.

He’s rough but not destructively so. Yes, you’re bleeding as he bounces you in his lap, drawing a litany of breathless sounds from your lips, but he’s always intentional when drawing blood. You’ve been trained well in these years of marriage to take him. To weather any storm Lord Sukuna throws at you. His hands are bruising on your hips as he drags you up and down his length, hands that could shatter your bones with the slightest bit of effort and yet he only uses enough strength to hold you close. You’re not deluded enough to think that Lord Sukuna loves you, certainly not in the way a lover should, but he cares enough to treat you with a level of gentility.

“Thank you,” you babble it like a prayer, over and over. Worshiping at your husband’s altar for even the briefest thought given to your safety, your pleasure. It can never be said that Lord Sukuna is a neglecting lover, at least not with you. He’s everywhere all at once. Hands on your hips and at your breasts, pinching at the aching peaks of your nipples. His face is buried against your throat, teeth surely raising welts as his tongue laps at the taste of blood and sweat dampening your skin. You cling to him in turn, nails digging into the thick muscles of his arms with no hope of ever drawing blood. Still, he grunts out a laugh as you drag your dull nails across his skin, leaving nothing but the whisper of claw marks behind. An arm slips out from under your grasp, unbalancing you, but Lord Sukuna is quick to steady your boneless body as he reaches between you to take hold of his second cock. It’s thick and straining, leaking against your skin as he presses it in beside the first. The stretch is harsh, a stinging pinch between your legs soothed only in part by his thumb drawing shapes against your clit. He hushes you when your whining gets too loud, hands clamping tight to your hips to keep you from squirming away from taking all of him.

“Be a good wife and accept your reward.” Lord Sukuna hisses as he presses deep inside you. The weight of him settles like molten heat inside you, his hand pressing over the shape of himself through your stomach. “Hush, you can take it.” He hisses, biting at your cheek as tears well in your eyes once more. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s a strange feeling to be so full all at once.

“My pretty wife.” He’s only this sweet when he has you close to breaking, teetering on the edge of insanity from the way he’s taking his pleasure from your body. “Look at me, woman. Keep your eyes on your king.” It’s hard to look anywhere else. He isn’t sweating, this is hardly more than a leisurely stroll for him, but the humidity has left his skin beaded with moisture. It makes him shimmer in the torchlight like the divine being that he is, wasting his time on a creature as lowly as you. It’s your blessing that he’s so enraptured with you at the moment. Your eyes slip shut, tears streaming down your cheeks as every corner of your body feels lit aflame, the heat only made worse as Lord Sukuna’s hand finds your jaw.

“I said, eyes. On. Me.” He growls. With a bit of resistance, your eyes flutter open, white light swimming at the edge of your vision as Lord Sukuna drags you to the precipice of insanity. He’s close. Far less careful and coherent as he drags you up and down his lengths with startling strength. He’s pressing against every sweet spot inside you, igniting a thousand flames at once that threaten to swallow you whole. There’s a pitchy mantra of “wait, wait, wait” playing on your tongue but it only seems to further entice your husband.

“You gonna sing for me, woman? Go on, let me hear something pretty when you come for your king.” He’s taunting you, laughing at how shrill your voice sounds. It nearly does sound like you’re singing as you wail his name, back bowing as he rips another orgasm from your spent body. It’s as quick as a lightning strike and nearly as blinding, eyes clouding white for a moment as you fight to keep your eyelids from fluttering. From taking your eyes off Lord Sukuna for even a moment. You feel yourself clawing at him, clinging and grasping to keep yourself grounded as pleasure shatters through your body. Vaguely you can hear Lord Sukuna laughing, something tinged dark with amusement as he works you through your orgasm. He has no patience to wait for you to regain your breath, to see the light of coherence return to your eyes. Instead, his hands grip tighter to your waist, nails biting into your skin as he works you faster over his cocks. His voice dips low, a rasping gravel as he grunts, squeezing every bit of his own pleasure from your body. It’s barely a change, just the slightest shift, but you’ve done this so many times that you can almost sense when he gets close.

Lord Sukuna gathers your loosening muscles back into some semblance of an embrace, holding you tight to his chest as he pushes your hips low enough for your bodies to meet in earnest. The feeling is a wet slide of skin against skin, the mess of your joined pleasure slicking up your bodies. It nearly feels like choking as he holds you still, the shape of him pressing every so slightly against the softness of your stomach. He’s more gentle now, but only by a hair’s breadth, as he thumbs over the shape of his body making a home for itself inside yours. There’s always a hint of softness at the edges of moments like this. A bit of the darkness bleeds from Lord Sukuna’s eyes as he guides your hips to grind against him, thumbing where he sees himself beneath your skin. Lord Sukuna has always been smart, his intelligence far exceeding that of your woefully undereducated mind.

There’s never been a time where you were certain of his thoughts, but in moments like these you think there’s a hint of curiosity sparkling in his eyes. Something desirous of the unknown and intangible. He moves in shallow thrusts, thumb dancing lazily over your puffy clit for only a moment more before he’s spilling inside you with a satisfied groan. But, still, he keeps you there. As if forcing your body to take to everything he’s given you. If it were up to you, your womb would quicken to give him a child; proof of your devotion. But even the fantasy sounds impossible. Lord Sukuna has shed his humanity and with it, you assume, his ability to continue his legacy by way of heirs. Though he hardly needs them.

Lord Sukuna is a shining beacon of the height of jujutsu, proof of what greatness can be achieved when you’re willing to go beyond the standards set out by society. He’s immortal, indomitable. Children would only be another jewel in his crown, more pawns to serve his greater will. And it’s unlikely such children of greatness will ever come to pass. In all your years of marriage, there’s never been a single moment where you thought for even a moment that Lord Sukuna’s seed took. And it likely never will. It’s wasted as he lifts you off of his softening length, everything he gave you dripping out into the spring water. The light flickers and for a moment it almost looks like there’s a spark of disappointment in his eye, then the torches shift again and the shadows are gone.

“You did well, woman.” He hums, running his hands over the length of your body. The heat of his palms and the babbling water works to soothe the aches and pains of being so thoroughly used by your behemoth of a husband. “Who do you love, wife?” He asks after the breath finally returns to your lungs. Of course it’s him. There is no one else. No man could compare, like a pebble being compared to a shining jewel.

“Good girl.” He says when you’ve finished your babbling. Like a true king, Lord Sukuna loves to hear his own praises and you’re more than happy to sing them. Sometimes it’s startling how perfectly the two of you exist together. He’s the sun and you’re a flower turning your face to gaze upon him always. Which of his other wives could ever share in a fraction of your devotion? No one will ever love Lord Sukuna as you do, save for maybe Uraume. Perhaps they don’t love him, but there is a fine line between love and admiration. The loyal servant comes bustling into the bathhouse after Lord Sukuna has had his fill of soft caresses and breathless praises.

The fact that both of you are bare makes no difference to Uraume. They lift you from Lord Sukuna’s arms with startling strength, hands frigid against your skin as they guide you to sit and go about drying your body and combing your hair. It’s always strange to be tended to by someone other than your personal maid, more so when it’s by the hands of Lord Sukuna’s most trusted servant, but it seems Uraume sees you as an extension of Lord Sukuna as much as you do. They dry and dress you, sending you back to your room so that they may speak privately with your husband. Some time later when the bells of the estate are tolling for the Hour of the Dog, the strumming of your koto is interrupted further by screaming. Something bloodcurdling terrified as it rings through the house, echoing into the snow speckled night. Vaguely you think of how the screaming sounds like First Mistress Jurina.

#sukuna ★#sukuna x reader smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #★ mine!

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themidnightcrimson · 1 month

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the scarlet siren ࿏ wm

summary: in which you take a trip out to sea that you will regret.

words: 6.0k

warnings: siren!wanda, dubcon/noncon, fingering (r receiving), oral (r receiving), size kink, biting, a lot of blood, violence, fear, suspense, drowning, deep water, mentions of death, i wrote this in an irish accent for some reason, did you know i have thalassophobia?

this is a dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.

masterlist.

Fishing was competitive these days. It was a bad winter and an even worse famine, and with beef and poultry no longer in the shops, the villagers were forced to turn to the shore to fish.

Your little village was nestled on a plateau of land that stuck out into the cold sea. The shore was lined with big, black rocks that had tumbled down from the looming hills over time and landed at the water’s edge with only a thin strip of grainy brown sand between them and the water. Travelling down to the shore over all those rocks was already hard enough, but it was even harder when you had to carry your boat on your back.

People had tried to carve trails through all the rock to make the beaches more accessible, but with all the storms that the area faced, the rocks just got tussled back around and demolished any trails attempted.

In fact, it had just stormed the night before. It pissed rain and spit wind so hard that people woke up to holes in their roofs. Naturally, the beach was all torn up from it, but it would always clean itself up and go back to the way it was at some point before another storm came along. And while most people were at their cottages fixing the storm’s damage, you saw this early dawn as a prime opportunity to fish.

Fish had also been scarce recently because of all the people turning to the water for food sources, but you knew that the previous night’s storm had tussled the waters, which meant the fish were probably scurrying all around. The sun hadn’t even risen yet as you dragged your wooden boat down the rocks in the dim dawn hue, the wood scraping loudly against the rock’s hard and bumpy surface.

Managing to get down the rocks without twisting your ankle, you finally plopped down into the pebbly sand with a huff of breath, pushing your boat off your back. This was only half of your journey, though, because you weren’t even going to fish here on the beach like most people did.

Adjusting the leather strap around your neck that was holding your oars to your back, you dragged your boat through the damp sand to the rickety wooden dock that stood beside the lighthouse. The lighthouse was even more rickety, since no one bothered to upkeep it since this beach was the worst beach for ships to come in at. They almost always hit the rocks because of how deep the water dropped off from the shore and how thin the strip of sand was.

You pulled your boat to the very end of the dock and then threw the oars down in it, and then your bag of fishing gear, along with your pole. Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself as you began pushing the single person-sized boat into the water. When it finally was fully in the water, you quickly jumped into it, causing a splash and a stressful cracking sound as you struggled for a moment to catch your balance. Finally, you sat down in the boat and let it settle before getting your oars and rowing yourself towards your destination.

There was a little cove area almost like an island to the east of the plateau of land. It was your favorite spot to fish because hardly anyone knew about it. It was barely visible from the shore even during a normal day, but it was completely out of sight on this extremely foggy, dark morning. The fog became more and more dense the further you rowed out into the water, until finally you were completely blinded.

“Fucking hell,” you murmured, reaching into your bag for your compass. The fog had completely surrounded you now to the point where you couldn’t even see the front bow of your boat. It was getting colder further into sea, too. Though the air above was tolerable, you couldn’t imagine how cold the water below felt.

The salty, wet air clogged your nose as you finally felt the cold round of metal in your hand, bringing your compass out of your bag. Sniffling from the cold air, you tried to adjust and read your compass when you suddenly heard something behind you—a voice.

Gasping, you whipped around to look behind you but only saw the thick white of fog. The voice had been shrill and steady, calling out some sort of smooth singsong noise that echoed over the water.

And then you heard it again, clear as day, right in front of you.

Snapping back around, you still could see nothing but the fog, yet the voice was still echoing all around you. It was a single note drawn out, not quite a shout or a scream, just an eerie note drawn out through the fog. Chills overcame you, but not from the cold.

Setting your compass down on the boat’s bottom, you grabbed your oars and began to quickly row towards the east. The fog seemed to be squeezing in on you now, some of it even spilling over the edge of the boat like thick smoke. Your heart was pounding—you couldn’t see where you were going, and you could still hear the voice in the back of your head. You wanted to get to the cove fast.

Suddenly, the wooden oar in your left hand stopped against something. You paused and looked over—you weren’t even able to see the paddle of the oar, only the handle you held. You tried to move the oar, but it wouldn’t budge. What could it be stuck on? Even though you couldn’t see, you knew you weren’t at the cove by now, and you were still heading east so you hadn’t drifted back to the plateau. These waters were so deep, there certainly was nothing your oar could be stuck in.

It was when something tugged your oar right out of your hand that you shrieked and jumped so hard that the boat rocked, icy water splashing onto your legs. With your left oar gone, you quickly used your right oar to haphazardly row forward, having to switch it over to the left side to keep going straight, more of the cold water splattering over you. Though you were crippled now with only one oar, you were so afraid that you rowed even faster than you normally would with two oars.

Though your arms ached, you kept rowing as fast as you could until finally the fog started to thin out. You were starting to break out of whatever thick cloud of sea fog you had been stuck in. It felt like you could breathe again when finally you pushed forward completely out of the fog, letting your tired arms go limp as you looked behind you at the cloud of fog. You searched for the silhouette of another boat but saw nothing. What the hell had grabbed your oar?

Turning back around and taking a deep breath, you swiped your forehead with the back of your wrist—now your body was so hot it was steaming in the cold air. Looking ahead, you could finally see the cove just a little ways away.

Glancing to either side of you, you saw nothing but black water. These waters were always dark, mostly because of the black rock and black mud, but it was completely opaque now. All you could see was reflections of the dim grey sky above you and your own face distorted in the lapping water. You wondered what was below it—something that now had your oar, certainly. Shaking your head to rid yourself of the paranoid thoughts, you rowed on to the cove.

The cove was a U-shaped island that looked like a fragmented piece of the plateau your village was on—all black, rocky shores with limited sand, a cluster of dark, woody trees behind it that shielded it from the nothingness of the sea. The shape of the U was wide enough that the cove water leading up to the center of land was deep enough for fish to live. It was the perfect fishing spot, especially the further one went into the cove so that the island’s rocks and trees surrounded them.

Finally, you got to your favorite spot tucked further into the U shape where you were surrounded by the island, and you rowed your boat carefully until it was finally still. You glanced around the island—it was a little spooky in the foggy, dark morning. The trees were blackened, fog stuck all in them. The big rocks were an even darker black from the wet morning, and where there was usually a strip of sand, there was only a bunch of pebbles and rocks that must have been pushed onto shore from the storm. Sometimes, you would sit on the sand and enjoy the quiet alone, but you couldn’t imagine sitting on all those rocky pebbles.

You set up your fishing pole and cast it into the black water, setting the pole against the side of the boat while you opened your fishnet and made it ready for fish. You had even brought a little breakfast along—a pathetic piece of bread with a slice of cheese. Holding the end of your pole between your feet, you relaxed against the boat and ate your bread and cheese.

It took a minute before you got your first bite, bringing up a thick, silvery fish out of the water and tossing it into your net before recasting your pole. You were able to get three fish before suddenly they just stopped biting.

“For fucks’ sake,” you cursed like a sailor, bringing up your pole out of the water to see that something had taken the worm off the hook, even though you didn’t feel a fish bite. “Greedy fuckers. I’m tryin’ to eat, too.” You took another worm from your bowl of bait and stuck it onto the hook.

And then you heard it again.

It was the same shrill voice, but this time, it sounded like an eerie, angelic song. You froze. The voice lilted, echoing through the trees of the cove. This time, it wasn’t just a single note—it was words you could barely make out, but they were there.

Voda glubokaya i golubaya..

Your breath hitched in your throat. You lifted your head, eyes wide, and slowly looked around, seeing nothing but the black faces of the rocks and trees looking back at you.

Ya smotryu na tebya svoimi krasivymi glazami.

The voice was beautiful, etching out every syllable of the foreign language like poetry. It echoed over the waters in a whisper, filling your ears like honey. You held your breath. You wanted to ask who was there, who was singing, but there was a buzzing sensation through your body like fear, but something different. It was like the voice was reaching through your ears and into your brain, its angelic fingers scratching and poking and twisting your brain around until you were in a dumb daze.

It was when you noticed something in the corner of your eye that your fear came through more prominently. The water, black and opaque, to the side of your boat was rippling with motion. It wasn’t the bubbles of a fish. It wasn’t movement from your still boat. The water rippled from one end of your boat to the other, pausing between ripples like something was swimming right there. But you couldn’t see anything.

Your lungs ached as your breathing picked up, yet you stayed completely still. You watched the water ripple around the bow of your boat, and down the other side. It was circling you, and it was entirely too large to be a fish.

Podoydi blizhe, i ya ispolnyu tvoye zhelaniye.

The voice came again, filtering through the cove’s forest, over the rocks, right into your ears. You don’t know why, but you found yourself slowly leaning over the boat’s edge, peering into the black water that rippled as something swam below it. Your vision became hazy. Your skin felt numb all over. Your heart pounded dangerously fast.

Podoydi blizhe i ya tebya potseluyu.

You barely processed the sound of something brushing the side of your boat before you felt the hard vibration of something hitting the underside of your boat, something big enough to rock it.

“Woah!” you cried out, grabbing the sides of the rocking boat. You tried to get to your feet, but something hit the underside of your boat again, and it tipped over.

You had never felt such cold. The splash of your body hitting the water, and then the water flooding your ears, deafened you like the sound of glass shattering from inside your head. It struck your entire body like lighting—pure, icy shock and arctic pain. It almost felt like your bones cracked upon impact like a frozen branch falling off a cliff.

You couldn’t move as your body sank under the freezing black water. You opened your eyes, felt the cold freeze over your eyeballs. You saw nothing at first and wondered if you were dead, or even worse, struck blind from the freezing water. When you could finally see dim light filtering through the water, as much light as the cloudy early morning could give, you realized you weren’t blind. But the water was so cold, too cold to move. You tried to move your arms and legs, but you felt stiffened, shot with pain.

As you stared into the sea of black and tried to clench your frozen muscles, you saw a shadow forming in the water beyond. You could do nothing but watch with fear as the shadow formed into an unrecognizable silhouette.

Quickly, you glanced up and could see the shadow of your boat flipped upside down on the water’s surface above you. You didn’t realize how deep down you were. Even if your body was working again, it would take a minute for you to reach your boat.

You looked back in front of you. The shadow was closer now. You attempted to flail your arms and were able to move them a little. You screamed through your closed mouth, your lungs burning for air.

The shadow came into the glare of light in the water, and your scream intensified.

It was a woman, or something like it. A woman’s head, and neck, and chest, and torso, and waist, but right where her hips stopped, something else started. Where her thighs would have been separated and covered with skin, they were welded together and covered with scales. It was some sort of a fish tail attached to where the lower half of her body should’ve been. Instead of skin and legs, she was dark red and black scales on a long tail with a finned end that gently undulated in the water to keep her floating. Her tail almost sparkled in the light. It was so dark, but you could see hints of a deep ruby color between the dark scales. Her chest was bare along with the rest of her upper body. Her hair, a dark brown with reddish tint, bowed above her head in the shape of an obsidian flame. Her arms floated beside her elegantly, and you noticed her fingertips were black.

Then there were her eyes. A deep red like the color of her tail. Too much white between the bottom curve of her pupils and her lower lashes. Darkened around the lids with some sort of black paint. Even in the darkness of the water, the red of her irises caught you. Even in the fear, there was beauty. She was haunting, and her eyes stared you down like you were her food.

A mermaid, you thought. You’d only ever heard of them when the sailors of your town made it back from faraway fishing trips. Everyone had chocked the stories up to oceanic hallucination, but now here you were, face to face with one.

And then she smiled. And her teeth were ivory white, and in the middle of where there were some human teeth, there was rows of sharp fangs like blades. Her smile was uncanny, unsettling, evil.

And then you realized she wasn’t a mermaid.

Another choked, muffled scream bellowed out from your burning chest when she darted forward. You could feel the vibrations in the water when she swished her tail in a boast of strength, her hair darting behind her as she surged forward through the water with ease. Her eyes seemed to darken.

Screaming as much as you could underwater, you suddenly found that your muscles had defrosted with your fear. You swam upwards, kicking and thrashing as much as you could, your body fatigued from the cold and the lack of oxygen. Your muscles burned and quivered as you overworked them, your lungs aching, your throat burning, vision growing dark until finally you burst above the surface, gulping down a large breath of air and several more after that.

You didn’t have much time to breathe because you became aware that the siren was still below you. Looking around, you saw that your boat had floated too far away, and the nearest place you could go was the shoreline several yards away.

Before you could make a break for the shore, you noticed how quiet everything was. The siren could have easily grabbed you by now. You tried to look into the water that splashed up on your chin, but it was still black. A soft mist came down from the bleary sky, further wetting your head.

What if she was right below your feet where they kicked obscurely in the water? What if she grabbed you and dragged you down? Just the mere thought made you start to slowly float your way towards the shore. Maybe the siren was just like a shark, and it was only sudden movement that made her attack.

You kept slowly swimming backwards, craning your head all around to get a comprehensive view of the water’s surface around you. There was nothing. No swishing of water at your feet. No ripples on the surface except the ones you caused. Not even any bubbles.

Was she gone? Had she decided you weren’t worth the trouble? Or were you just hallucinating? Maybe this was the oceanic hallucinations everyone said sailors had. Maybe all that fog had made you paranoid.

Your body was rocking with how icy the water was, though you just felt numb now. You looked behind you at the island, wondering if you could seek shelter in the trees until someone came looking for you, or maybe you could make some sort of flotation device out of something. That was silly. Your best bet would be to go back to your boat and hand-paddle your way back home.

As you turned your head back around towards the direction of your boat, you gasped and froze.

There the siren was. Only the upper half of her head was above the water. You saw her hair, much more reddish now in the light, slick to her head. Her forehead, speckled with droplets of water. Her red eyes that seemed to reflect a glare of red on the surface of the water in front of her. Beyond that, only the bridge of her nose, the end of it under the surface. She was completely still, as if she was standing on flat ground. She was only maybe two feet away from you.

“P-p-p-p,” you tried to speak, but your body was convulsing from the cold, your lips numb and blue. “Please,” you whispered in a croak. It was getting hard to breathe as the harsh cold invaded your blood. You were begging for your life because, in the haze of your hypothermia, you recognized those eyes.

You’d heard stories from the village sailors about a particular siren. You’d seen her image sketched in books. Always those red eyes, that red tail. This wasn’t a mermaid, and she wasn’t just a siren. She was the deadliest ocean creature that all the myths and legends described. She’d instilled fear in children of your parent’s and even your grandparent’s generations just through stories of her malice. She commanded every corner of the seas, and sailors who were superstitious enough always kept an eye out for her during their voyages, lest she take them down.

She wasn’t a mermaid. She wasn’t just a siren.

She was the Scarlet Siren.

Somehow, she knew you recognized her. Maybe it was the look on your face, or the way you froze. She stretched her lips open in a charming yet malicious smile. And then slowly, inch by inch, she slipped under the water.

Letting out a choked scream, you quickly turned back towards the shore and started to swim. Your heart felt like it was going to rip right out of your chest if the Scarlet Siren didn’t do it first.

When you were halfway towards the shore, thrashing the water and letting out choked breaths, you suddenly felt hands grab your ankles and yank you beneath the surface.

You thrashed under the water, your long hair coming undone and floating around your face as you watched the Scarlet Siren come closer to you. You kicked at her so hard that your shoes came off your feet, your foot hitting her tail and feeling the fishy scales there.

The Siren’s hands were climbing up your body, grabbing at your coat and pulling it off as you spiraled in the water, trying to get out of her hold. Finally, you were able to kick her tail hard enough that the force sent you popping above the surface like a fish. You were able to take one gasp of air before she pulled you right back down again.

This time, the Siren growled and nosedived towards your waist, her teeth clamping down on the fabric of your shirt. You squealed as she ripped your shirt off with her teeth, the fabric so easily tearing. The blades of her teeth had caught the skin of your belly, four long scratches bleeding through your pale skin, the blood clouding in the water. The Siren paused at the sight of your blood diffusing in the water, distracted enough for you to kick her in the face so hard that she turned downwards in the water.

You took your chance to swim, popping up through the surface and pushing yourself harder than ever. The shore was right in front of you. Your body ached and the skin of your stomach stung, but you kept going until finally your fingers touched black rock.

Coughing up water, you lifted your body onto the pebbly surface, the blood from the scratches finally able to drip down your skin, the red following the lines of water on your waist. You flopped onto your back and pulled yourself more onto the shore.

You knew it wasn’t over. The Siren’s head popped out of the water, and her hands grabbed your ankles again. You cried out and tried to kick, but she held your legs down as she lifted herself completely out of the water.

You watched the Scarlet Siren crawl over you, her strong arms planting down in the rocks on either side of your head, entrapping you. The shockingly heavy weight of her tail crushed your legs down on the rock, the smell of ocean filling your nostrils. It felt like the end of your life. You thought to yourself, as the Siren laid herself over you, that this was what rabbits felt like with dogs. This is what lambs felt like with lions. Birds with cats. Fish with fishermen. Sailors with sirens.

“Now, what’s a pretty girl like yourself doing all alone out on these waters, hmm?” Her voice was shockingly heavenly, smooth like butter and sweet like a bird’s song. It caught you off guard and somehow made you more afraid. There was also some sort of foreign accent laced in her words, somewhat Slavic. How could a monster like herself look so beautiful and sound so sweet?

You could only make incoherent noises as you watched the Siren’s tail start to morph. It ripped itself apart, and the scales sunk inwards, and the flesh shaped itself into the shape of a human woman’s legs, and pale skin etched itself over them. She was now the sight of a fully human woman, naked and lain over you, except for her razor teeth and red demonic eyes and murderous intent.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked more seriously, her eyes flickering over you. Her underwater tactics left you in only a brassiere and fisherman pants.

You were shaking from the cold, but her body felt surprisingly warm on yours. Fear had overcome you, leaving you dumb and pathetic.

“Please d-don’t kill me,” you cried, tears rushing down your cheeks.

“You didn’t answer me, detka,” she continued calmly, bringing a hand to your chin and holding it. Her skin felt inhumanly smooth. “Do you know who I am?”

Breathing heavily, you squeezed your eyes shut. “The S-Scarlet Siren.”

The Siren puckered her lips. “What a demeaning term. My scales are more maroon, don’t you think? My name is Wanda.” She paused, pressing the pad of her thumb into the dimple on your chin. ��What’s your name, pretty girl?”

You didn’t answer. She trailed her hand down your stomach, smearing the blood there before she grabbed hold of your pants. Sitting back on her knees, she started to yank them down. Instinctively, you fought her, trying to kick her away.

“Stop!” you screamed loud enough that a few birds from the forest cawed and fluttered. The Siren pursed her lips and used her strength to pull your pants off, but you flopped onto your stomach like a fish and started frantically crawling away.

“Stop it, human,” she growled, grabbing the back of your thighs and dragging you back down the rocks. Using the opportunity, she ripped the last of your clothing off, your brassiere, and threw it to the side. Grabbing you by your wet hair, she turned you back onto your back and lowered down. You were face-to-face with her now, about to try and push her off until she opened her mouth.

Voda glubokaya i golubaya.

YA smotryu na tebya svoimi krasivymi glazami.

Podoydi blizhe, i ya ispolnyu tvoye zhelaniye.

Podoydi blizhe i ya tebya potseluyu.

It was the song you’d heard earlier, before your boat tipped. But as she sang it this time, that buzzing feeling within you grew stronger. Her honey-like voice lilted in your ears as she sang, and you found yourself leaning upwards. Her red eyes, glowing now, watched you tremble as you weakly lifted yourself, your own eyes growing wide as she entranced you. You were very easy for her.

Smiling through her song, she snaked her arm under your waist and easily lifted you up, pressing your bare body to hers. You were so cold against her, so feeble and weak. Your eyes trained on her lips, your irises glowing red from her magic flowing within you. She could feel your mind breaking down, letting her in, growing weaker and weaker. Finally, you closed your eyes and leaned up to kiss her. The Siren held your head with her large hand and kissed you softly, her lips smooth and slippery.

Her song was how she got her victims, but her kiss was how she trapped them. You were under her will now.

Breaking the kiss slowly, the Siren laid you gently back down on the rock. “It’s much easier when you’re calmer, detka. Now, tell me your name.”

“Y/n,” you whispered inaudibly, but the Siren’s ears were trained enough to hear you.

“Y/n,” she repeated in her lilting voice, smiling with her sharp teeth. “You’re the prettiest one I’ve ever caught, y/n.”

Her eyes raked down your limp body that she held in her arm, her free hand pressing against the bloody scratches on your tummy. She gathered some of your blood on her blackened finger and lifted it up to her mouth, sucking your blood off her long finger. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head like a reptile.

Though you felt paralyzed, there was still some consciousness left in your head. You were starting to realize that there was a reason sailors didn’t let their women on their boats, and that the reason was hovering over you.

“You’re right, beautiful girl,” she purred, “But don’t even think about those other human women. You’re the best one of them all.” Her voice had an edge of malice, and it was sickening to hear it through the sweet, complimentary tone.

Her red eyes flickered back to the scratches on your tummy, and she leaned down, letting her long, snaky tongue slither out of her mouth and onto the scratches, licking up your blood. Her breath fanned over the expanse of your stomach, covered in goosebumps. Her hands gripped either side of your ribcage as she grazed her mouth over your stomach, landing on a spot off to the side before digging her teeth into your flesh.

“Ah!” you screamed out, feeling all the blades of her teeth stab into you. She let go, revealing a bloody bite mark on your torso.

“So sweet and fresh,” she growled.

A particular wave of water came up aggressively onto the shore, rolling over her ankles and causing scales to appear before the water receded and human skin covered it again.

The Siren moved to your chest, her large hand grabbing one of your tits and squeezing while she rolled her long, thin tongue over your nipple, her siren eyes flashing up at you. You squirmed, whimpering from the pain but also from another uncontrollable emotion. You were entranced by her, under her will, and had no control over any feeling she gave you emotionally or physically.

Moving her mouth to your other breast, she sunk her teeth into the mound of flesh, causing you to cry out again. You attempted to lift your arms to fight back, but she quickly snatched them and pinned them to the sharp rocks.

Voda glubokaya i golubaya.

YA smotryu na tebya svoimi krasivymi glazami.

Podoydi blizhe, i ya ispolnyu tvoye zhelaniye.

Podoydi blizhe i ya tebya potseluyu.

She sang again, her voice filling you as she gave you more bites between each lyric, blood now dripping down your sides. You were dizzy, from the blood or the trance or the entire situation, and helpless. Your blood was smeared across the entire lower half of her face, dripping from her chin, staining her razor teeth as she grinned. It was so strange, seeing a monstrous look on such a seductive, beautiful woman.

When the Siren glided her tongue down the center of your stomach, you felt a twitch within you. When her hands gripped your hips and scratched downward, coming to grab your tender thighs and spread them open, you obliged. You felt hotter now, as if steam would start rising out of your body into the cold air. There were already billows of fog coming out of your lips with each breath.

“Such a delicate angel,” the Siren purred at you as she lowered her body down. As she settled her elbows over your thighs, her legs tucked back into the water. The waves gushed over her bottom and onto her lower back, and when it receded, she had a tail again, halfway resting in the water, the crimson fin on the very end flipping up in the water instinctively.

You were naked, bleeding on the rocks, being overtaken by a Siren, the Scarlet Siren no less, but you felt overcome with a pleasurable sensation. It was a mix between drunken and sexual as the Siren licked her tongue over your thighs.

When she had you to a point of gyrating your hips for her, she finally put her mouth over your core, sucking on your sensitive nub immediately. You cried out, grabbing onto rocks as she suckled on you, causing arousal to already slowly gush out of you.

Her tongue was long and thin and bumpy, so when she lapped it over your slit and then pushed it deep inside you, you nearly went blind. She snaked her tongue in and out of her, her hands grabbing your thighs harshly as she forced your legs open wider, moaning onto your clit. She seemed hungry, ravenous, as she devoured you, and you felt the terrifying hardness of the very edge of her teeth almost hitting your sensitive skin every once in a while. You could tell that she had done this before, and you wondered what number you were going to be in the list of women she had killed.

“Ah!” you cried out, feeling yourself coming close already. The feeling was something entirely different, and before you knew it, you were clenching around her tongue and crying out, your body arching off the rocks.

“So delicious,” the Siren hissed when she retracted her tongue, staying where she was between your legs while you panted and squirmed. “And so tight.”

Without warning, she placed four fingers in a row at your entrance. You swallowed hard, your consciousness breaking through a little to fight back by thrashing around. You tried to close your legs, but she was amazingly strong.

The Scarlet Siren opened her mouth to sing her song, and you relaxed involuntarily. You could only scream when she forced four of her fingers into you. The pain was dizzying, along with all the blood you’d lost, and you were halfway unconscious as she stretched your cunt out around her fingers, forcing you to take all four of her unnaturally long digits. Your walls resisted, but she kept thrusting, lapping up any arousal and blood along the way. She bit into your thigh, rubbed her face in the wound and curled her fingers inside you, watching you tremble and squirm dumbly.

You finally started to come to when the pain went away, pleasure taking over. The stretch felt otherworldly, her tongue flicking your clit and lapping at it, fingers pumping deep and hard into you so that it was all you could feel. Besides the gentle waves of the water near you, all you could hear was the squelching noises that she committed on you. She devoured you and fucked you eagerly, hungrily, like an animal, becoming more and more carnal the more she had of you.

When your second climax crashed over you and you convulsed uncontrollably, whimpering and screaming and thrashing, the Siren chuckled victoriously between your thighs.

When the climax left you, your body dropped limp on the rocks. Your vision went blurry, and all you could see was red eyes hovering over you staring at you, and the dark crimson of blood on her face.

“You did so good, detka,” she lilted, caressing your cheek with her soft hand. “I think I’ll keep you.”

Fortunately for you, you could feel nothing but bliss. It was the Siren’s entrancement on you that made you feel heavenly as she took hold of one of your ankles and dragged you into the water like a dead fish, swimming away into the black and taking you with her.

Your abandoned boat still floated upside down a ways off from the shore. The cloud of fog was still on the sea’s surface, crowding into the cove. The water washed away your blood from the rocks.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch #siren #siren!wanda #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #lesbian #marvel #lgbt #wanda maximoff x f!reader

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polarisjisung · 6 months

Text

SILENT TREATMENT

synopsis: your boyfriend broke some guy's nose for you, but what he doesn't realise is he also broke his promise to you

wc: 0.9k

pairings: bf!jeno x fem!reader

genre: fluff

warnings: mention of blood like once (feel the need to mention I don't want to romanticise violence 💀)

notes: jeno lee is driving me insane.

Jeno doesn't like it, the silence. He liked to hear you ramble about nonsensical things, the sound of your awkward chatter filling the room, not the incessant pattering of rain against the roof above.

That's the first sign, he figures

On most days, you'd warn him before pressing an alcohol soaked cotton swab against his wounds, delicately pressing down on his jaw with a worried stare. Today you grip his chin firmly, tilting his head upwards and swiping over the cut less gently than before.

That's the second.

The air is cold coming in through the open bathroom window, the dim lighting not sufficient for him to make out your features, when you step a little further away, but still just enough for him to notice the way your nostrils flare and you bite at your lip when reaching for the antiseptic gel kept in the cupboard to your right.

Three of three, he thinks, and jeno comes to the only valid conclusion there is.

Your usually talkative, enthusiastic, and bubbly self now so cold and stand offish, it only meant one thing, something you could argue the lee found entertaining judging by the innocent smile on his lips.

"Are you angry at me?"

A glare is the only response jeno gets.

Not angry enough to leave him to tend to his own wounds, he figures, so really just how angry could you be?

"ow, it hurts" he whines cautiously, taking ahold of your hand as it passes over the deep red, bloody incision in his bicep— which by the way, was doing nothing to help you maintain your rage.

your eyes, however, don't widen, and your lips don't move forward into a pout, you don't react.

nothing except pulling your hand back.

maybe you were a little angrier than he thought.

"silent treatment huh?" he seems amused, a short chuckles escaping his busted lip as you disinfect the wound, the laugh echoing through the room.

You couldn't stay mad at him, not for long at least, jeno knew that much, so despite watching you walk away to replace the first aid kit just where you found it, ready to use the next time jeno got himself like this, he knows he hasn't got a thing to worry about

Equally, you know jeno just as well, and you know that walking anywhere in his reach would end in you wrapped up in his arms, being showered with soft sweet apologetic kisses like always

Only you both realise your phone is left forgotten on the counter beside him, and if bothering your boyfriend after a long day wasnt on your list of things to do, scrolling for unnecessarily long hours through twitter certianly was.

In hopes to outsmart him you try and lunge to grab the device, only to find yourself in the very position you imagined, lee jeno's strong arms wrapped around your waist, sweet brown eyes staring back.

"can't run now can you baby?"

You scoff, only managing to turn your face away from his— getting uncaged from his arms was far beyond you.

Jeno let's his head fall into the crook of your neck, your floral perfume overtaking the medicinal smell in the air as he pecks the corner of your lips, slowly tracing your jawline with soft kisses until you finally turn to face him again.

"I'm sorry" he whispers, calloused, bruised hands holding your chin with utmost tenderness. The rough skin of his thumb traces over your lower lip, a soft kiss placed there once again.

"you said you wouldn't"

jeno pauses, confused.

"you promised you would stop"

the desperate tone in your voice is clear as day, and it doesn't take jeno much longer to realise, this wasn't about what he'd done, it was about what he'd said he wouldn't do

the cracks in your shaky voice are enough for the bitter taste of guilt to bubble in his stomach and rise to the tip of his tongue, your glossy eyes staring back, disappointed

"I'm sorry" he sighs, eyebrows furrowing as he stares down at you, "I'm so so sorry my sweet girl."

The hair messily sprawled across your forehead is pushed to the side by his index finger, an apologetic kiss pressed to your temple. Jeno's hand is placed at the crown of your head, soothingly passing his fingers through your hair when you're pulled forwards into his chest, resting your arms at his side as you let your weight fall onto him.

"Please, don't get hurt because of me" your hands reach for his, and jeno realises you're asking him once again, to promise he wouldn't do it—this time he doesn't know if he can.

"I can't stand it." his tone differs from the sweet one he uses with you, or the mocking one he'd taken on earlier, now he spits harsh words at the floor, eyes rolling instinctively. "those scumbags talking about my pretty girl like that."

you notice the way his fist tightens, the plasters you'd just placed over his knuckles slipping off his skin in seconds.

"if you can fight them for me" with a cold hand against his cheek, you reach up to guide his eyes back to meet yours, "can't you, not, fight them for me too?"

he smiles— you giggle, the very man who'd just taken on another 2 guys almost twice his size just a few minutes ago now looked at you with a wide grin and two crescent moons in place of his eyes.

"I'll try" and suddenly you wear a smile just as wide as his "I'd do anything for you"

You don't doubt it.

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pinkrelish · 1 year

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶It's a dreary start to the week, but as the days go by, the dynamic between you and Eddie shifts. You both ask questions with hidden motives, and after a significant morning, he tells you about Adrie's mom. Then, Steve shows up unannounced with a proposition Eddie can't refuse. Literally.✶

NSFW — slow burn, mutual pining, flirting, light angst, depictions of poverty, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 2/20 [wc: 5.3k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 2: Whimsy as the Wind

Monday was a storm.

There was no better stimulant than the rush of a morning against the rain. Hitting like bullets on the skin when Eddie clutched Adrie to his chest to shield her on the way to the car. Spelling disaster for the braids she asked for, then complained about when he pulled her hair too tight. Dripping into his eyes as he fumbled with the buckle of her car seat in the jet black hours. Drenching the bottom of her favorite pants despite his efforts to protect her.

“Daddy’s sorry,” he mumbled on her wet forehead shining under the dim overhead light.

On the way to preschool she was quiet. The rhythm of the fat drops pounding on the window soothed her, and he was grateful, despite the rising sensation of lateness grating on his nerves.

Everything moved slower on stormy days. Yet he moved faster. It didn’t matter if he skipped eating his breakfast at home to get out the door quicker, the red stop lights took longer, he swore it.

Life was against him. But Adrie was quiet, and Mrs. Teresa was in charge of helping the little ones out of their cars. She was an out-of-towner, meaning, she wasn’t aware of Eddie’s reputation, and therefore was nicer to him than the other teachers, taking care to go beyond superficial greetings.

“Good morning, my dear,” she said to him, voice rough with age. She held an umbrella above his head as he got Adrie out, and followed him to the awning. His coveralls were already darkened by rain, but the gesture was kind, as was him offering his arm for her to hold onto as she stepped over the whirlpool circling the sewer drain.

Eddie sank into a crouch to ease his daughter’s vice grip from his neck. “Give Daddy a kiss goodbye, ‘kay?” Begrudgingly, she stood on her own two feet, and gave him a quick, annoyed peck on his cheek. “You gonna be good today?”

The attitude radiating off her was not promising.

“Your friends are waiting for you inside,” Mrs. Teresa said. “I think they’re playing dress up.”

An offer which proved enticing, as demonstrated by Adrie bolting from him for the front doors.

“No running,” he sighed to himself. The older woman chortled along, and wished him to have a good day as well. He should’ve taken the heart-palpitating lightning strike and simultaneous adrenaline-inducing clap of thunder as an omen when she uttered those words.

If not those things, then certainly his breakfast was a harbinger of the day he was about to have: instead of making two grape jelly biscuits, and two with egg, he ended up making two with both jelly and his daughter’s cold leftover scrambled eggs, and the others were left plain.

He ate the plain ones first before venturing into uncharted territory.

“Fuck no,” he said, mouth full of grape flavored egg-mulch. At least no one had to witness him spit it back into the container.

David’s Auto Repair didn’t have much in the way of shelter to keep him dry during his smoke break, so he sat in his car in the alleyway to pass the time until it was acceptable to arrive early.

‘Early’ being the time when you usually arrived, and an hour before Carl.

Til then, he cranked the heat and reclined his seat back, hugging himself to relieve the constant shiver his damp coveralls caused sticking to his skin.

Now, the heavy rain patter became a lullaby. Pelting the roof, easy on his falling eyelids. Precious seconds, minutes under the guided meditation of tap, tap. Tap, tap. Responsibilities drifting to the recesses of his mind. Thinking back on the days he spent doing this in the high school parking lot, promising Wayne he’d work hard to graduate only to end up napping in his van for most of the morning.

Eddie willed his eyes open. His watch told him he’d been asleep for fourteen minutes. Still early for work, but he felt a jolt of anxiety anyway.

He couldn’t blow things off like he used to. Not with people relying on him. Adrie and Wayne both depended on him to not be a fuck up. And if they weren’t motivation enough, he had another..

You should be sitting at your desk right now. If he timed it right, he’d pass by while the scent of dried coffee still clung to you before it had started brewing, which was an odd association he didn’t know he craved at the moment until it was at the forefront of his mind.

“Already following her around like a lost puppy, Munson,” he chided himself, turning off the car and bracing himself for the sprint to the employee’s entrance at the back of the garage.

And when he entered, the employee’s entrance at the front of the garage slammed open on a flashing cue of lightning, and there stood what he could only assume was a Creature from the Deep.

You huffed in two breaths, “Holy. Shit.”

Eddie tactlessly stared from across the room. You were beyond soaked. Your primary colored all-weather jacket appeared to not be waterproof in a monsoon, sagging on your frame like a melting street light of red, yellow, and green. Much like his coveralls, your once light-wash jeans were now dark blue. Somewhat adorably, though, was your pissed-off face being scrunched in a glare due to your hoodie drawstrings cinched tight in a circle, framing from your brows to your lips.

Your shoes gushed out puddles of rain on the concrete as you shoved your bike forward and let it fall in a clatter.

“I fucking hate this town.”

“Why are you riding a bike?” he asked, thinking you’d gone insane.

“Because I don’t have a car?”

“Why don’t you have a car?”

You sputtered sarcastically, gesturing at your bike. “Because I’m from the city! We have things like public transportation. Trains, taxis, buses.. walking! I've never needed a car to reach my mailbox before.”

Thinking himself helpful, he suggested, “I know a place where we can get you one for cheap.”

“Dude, I don’t even have a license.”

“Why don’t you–?”

“Trains!”

Eddie’s face collapsed into his own glare right back at you, and he waved his hands about the auto repair garage for automobiles where he fixed cars for people in need of transportation in which you answered their calls regarding said transportation and ordered parts to repair said personal automobiles at the garage intended for cars where he worked. You got the irony.

“None of this matters,” you said, dismissing him. True, it didn't matter, and he knew from your exaggerations your anger at him was in jest, but he appreciated the banter regardless. It was a nice break from reality. “It took me so long to get here because my whole street was flooded, and I’m guessing it’s flooding outside of Hawkins where the storm is coming from. We were supposed to get a delivery yesterday, but it never showed up.”

There was a pause where both of you accepted the arduous day ahead.

You said, “I’ll start calling around to see where our delivery might be stuck.”

“And I’ll do what I can without it,” he agreed.

Inhaling a breath of fortitude knowing you’d be informing a few upset individuals today that their cars wouldn’t be ready, you unzipped your jacket and loosened the drawstrings, dropping your hood back. You froze.

“Oh God, don’t look at my hair,” you begged, scuttling through the lobby and into the bathroom.

There were no more exchanges after you ran away. There was no time to entertain the lingering gazes, or small conversations where he thrived on your smile. He had to process what he could to earn money before sundown, and you played phone tag until you yawned, and stared blank-faced at the wall while customers bitched at you.

By normal closing hours, you were both too beaten down to do more than walk past each other on your way out without a goodbye.

A part of him wanted to do the chivalrous thing and offer you a ride, but that seemed too forward, too intimate, too invasive in his small car where his backseat was partially taken up by his daughter’s car seat, and he couldn’t come to a conclusion about your surprise when seeing her, nor unpack the loaded question of why he cared.

Whatever.

At least the rain stopped.

————

Tuesday was overcast.

You looked at Eddie leaning on the countertop to your desk and spun your hand while rolling your eyes, wishing the person on the other end of the phone line would hurry up. Eventually, you hung up, and interrupted him from picking at his nails. “They said it’ll be thirty minutes before they get here.”

“Guess I’ll wait then.”

He didn’t make to leave, and you didn’t have anything else to do, so you laced your fingers and leaned onto your forearms towards him, hoping through giving him your attention, he’d willingly talk to you for once.

“Um,” he drew out, searching the expanse between your hands, where he encroached on your space if only to the wrist. He tapped his knuckles on the vinyl. Swallowed visibly “About your policy thing.. Did you really move here just because your roommate asked you to?”

You drew your gaze up from his descending Adam’s apple, over the soft edge of his jawline, and grainy stubble on his chin. “I mean, kinda, yeah. Obviously, she’s been my best friend for years and needed help moving anyway, so I was up to make the trip, but when she asked if I wanted to stay, I said yes. Seemed intriguing enough; discovering what else was out there after living in cities for so long. See what sorta trouble I could get into when not surrounded by the usual nightlife options.”

“And how’s that going so far?”

“Bobbie’s mom and I are real good at solving the Wheel of Fortune before the contestants.”

Eddie snorted.

He dropped his focus to the looping circles he was drawing with his fingertip. Breathing deeper than necessary, and holding the air in his lungs for a few taut seconds. He rambled, “Sounds like Hawkins isn’t the place for you. Just somewhere to blow through, waiting for someone to ask you to, like, go to Chicago and be a bartender or somethin’.” He ended with a laugh aimed at his hands. Hollow. Empty of the humor he was pretending. “No responsibilities. Ready to get up and go whenever you want. That’s cool.”

“Been there, done that,” you mitigated the tension with a joke. “Bartending in Chicago, I mean.” He wasn’t being purposefully cruel, but the bitterness creeping into his words stung.

You glanced at his ringless fingers. Was he envious of your lifestyle because he was tied down? Your gut instinct told you he wasn’t the type to hold that sort of resentment towards his wife or daughter, so it had to be something else.

“Or,” you countered, “Someone could ask me to stay in Hawkins, and then I’d be obligated to, if we’re abiding by the policy. Who knows, maybe Kevin needs someone to walk his dogs, and then I can lead a nice, quiet, boring life here, absent of any fun or risks, hanging out with dogs for the next eternity. Is that what you want? Me bothering you until you’re in the grave?”

He squinted. “Fair point.” The laugh lines bracketing his mouth enhanced his appeal, joining the crow’s feet, and the harsh crease between his brows as he raised one in smug curiosity.

Perhaps you were staring at him for longer than you realized.

By chance, a chime signaled you both to a customer walking in the door in need of an oil change, and you reaped any opportunity to tease him. “Sorry, but some of us have work to do and can’t chit chat all day,” you cooed with the absolute cockiest head tilt to taunt him.

Shooing him away with a manila folder was extra, you had to admit, but upon recognizing the manner in which he rolled his lips inward to disguise the fact he was smiling, you figured smacking his hands was well worth the weird look from the woman waiting to speak to you.

————

Wednesday was a gale-force.

You went for it.

Arriving at dawn, you prioritized catching Eddie at the beginning of his morning cigarette.

He was leaning against the wall, upper body hunched with his hand cupped around his mouth, flicking his lighter until more than sparks stood against the gusts whipping the collar of his coveralls against his neck. His hair was blown back from his face, granting you the full picture of his raised eyebrows.

“Good morning, Eddie!”

“Hey? You’re early. I thought you’d get swept away on your bike like Dorothy, and I’d have to seek the courage to find you.”

“So in this scenario you’re the Cowardly Lion?” you asked, sidling up next to him to be heard above the wind.

He considered the implication and shrugged. “Guess even in my wildest dreams I’m still a coward.” Like any nice person, you sprung to assure him that despite your very short month of knowing each other, he (probably) wasn’t a coward, and he caught you. He caught you with your mouth wide open, ready to defend his honor.

Smoke slipped from his coy lips.

You tutted, “I think you’re the Scarecrow.” No brains.

“Anyway,” you went on, back to the reason your calves ached from pedaling like a mad man to get here at the same time as him. “It’s not like I bike that far. Bobbie’s parents live on that street next to the big open field, like, fifteen minutes away. Maybe twenty. Or ten?” You pointed vaguely north.

There’s a reason you never navigated on road trips.

“I thought they sold that empty lot forever ago,” he said.

“Well, unless they sold it to a bunch of tiny white mice who scurry every time I open the back door, I think it’s still abandoned.” You took your hands out of your jacket pockets and displayed them. “Not just mice, either. The other day I swear there was a spider the size of my palm in the bathroom.”

Taking the cigarette out of his mouth, he tipped his head back to blow the smoke above him before leaning over to study your hands up close. Contemplating them with keenness under the gray wash sky. Mumbling numbers to himself as if he were taking measurements.

He straightened up, and concluded, “Eh, not that impressive with how small your hands are.”

“Are they small?”

You faced him and presented your right hand.

Take the bait. Take the bait. Take the bait.

Eddie rolled onto his shoulder, body still at an angle from his legs crossed at the ankles. With a blank face, he understood what you wanted and decided to indulge your silliness, even if it meant sacrificing his warmth.

Uncrossing his arms, he wiped his hands on his clothes first out of habit.

Come on, Eddie.

None the wiser, he matched your thumbs. Pressed his left hand to yours.

Holy shit. He fell for it hook, line, and sinker.

“Mm,” you hummed. You leaned in for a better look.

His hand was warm and damp from sweat. Concentrated heat emanated from his palm sealed to yours, securing the soft cups together, aligning the stretch of your fingers. Where yours were soft, his were rough. Lines of thick calluses. Hardened exteriors acting as a barrier from your tender self discovering what his skin truly felt like brushing over your own.

He wore three rings. All gaudy and themed. Costume-y. Definitely not of the wedding variety.

That didn’t mean he was single, but you doubted he was taken when you turned to him, and found his large nose to be inches from yours, and his gaze to be fond of your cheeks before meeting your eyes.

He bent the top joint of his fingers over yours, and slid his thumb to the outside, crowding your bones in a tight squeeze, establishing his advantage. “Still small,” he said, toothy and boyish; mouth crooked, and hand rolled cigarette bouncing on the syllables. “Let me know when you see a spider as big as my palm.”

Hypnotized, you agreed with whatever he said. “Duly noted. I’ll keep an eye out.”

His Cupid’s bow had no business being that sharp, nor his bottom lip that plump.

————

Thursday was raw.

Nighttime was a purple haze chasing the orange glow behind the trees. You walked around the garage with a small trash can in your arms, tidying up the place. Eddie was staying late again. He said it was to make up for Monday’s mess, but those jobs were completed days ago.

You nudged his boots to get his attention on your way to clean up the work bench. Though you wouldn’t consider yourselves close, you collected the few details you knew of his life, and held them dear to your heart, feeling privileged to know them. “Is your uncle not working today?”

His thighs flexed under the strained fabric of his uniform as he cranked a wrench. “He is,” he grunted from beneath the car, “I’m just trying to get in some hours before he leaves for the night shift.”

Fuck it, you’ll just ask. “How come you work late so often?”

The grinding stopped. For a moment, Eddie laid there, stomach rising and falling as he debated with himself. Seconds went by until he set down the tool and rolled out, sitting up on the creeper board.

Your question struck pink across his pale cheeks. Rather, the way you avoided it brought shame to his face. Why don’t you want to spend more time with your family?

The societal judgment of what he was about to admit weighed on him. He curled in on himself. Drew his knees to his chest, and wrapped his arms around them loosely, latching at the wrist. He braced the words on his tongue–raw and vulnerable–and slipped a finger under his bandana to scratch at his temple.

“Sometimes I’d rather just be here,” he began slowly. “As soon as I get home, I’m the problem solver, you know? Whatever needs to be done, I have to do it while Adrie’s talking a mile a minute, screaming every question under the sun at me, and climbing all over me. I’m doing shit like trying to not burn her dinner while switching over the laundry and picking up the living room and telling her not to touch the stove and fighting with her to take a bath and making sure she has clothes picked out for the morning because if she doesn’t, then I have to spend twenty minutes calming her down before we leave for school so she can decide which shirt she wants to wear, and God.” He screwed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers on either side of his nose, muffling his voice. “I know I’m a shit dad, but sometimes I just want to turn my brain off, and stay here instead.”

“You’re not a shit dad,” you said with soft conviction.

He disregarded you with a mean scoff. “I sound like I hate my kid.”

“You sound overwhelmed, and tired, Eddie.”

“Maybe..”

Remembering you were holding the trash can, you set it down and leaned your hip on the workbench, settling into a comfortable position with a gentle ease of kindness to your expression, showing him it was okay to vent. You’d listen. It was safe. It was safe to show you the ugly parts of him. It would be okay.

You approached the next topic with care, though you could infer the answer for yourself now, “Is there no one else you can rely on besides your uncle to help alleviate some of the stress?”

“No. It’s just us. My parents have been out of the picture for a long time, and Adrie’s mom, uh..” He surrendered to the need for eye contact, wanting to see you, and stated evenly, “Adrie’s mom and I were never together. She was a customer of mine–”

Darting your gaze around the room, you pointed at the garage in an expression of ‘Really, dude?’

He turned puckish. He pinched his index and thumb together and tapped them to his smirk, indicating a much different line of work. You ‘ahh’d.

“Yeah, not a frequent flier either, just someone I saw here and there at parties or whatever. All it took was one night of stupidity. One fucking night of mistake after mistake, man.. N-Not that I think of Adrienne as a mistake! God, no. Just–y’know–the events leading up to her weren’t ideal.”

You held your hand up to stop him. “I’m not judging you. My parents never bothered to correct themselves.”

Mutual pain converged in your matching shrugs. Both of you were the undesireables. Though, he couldn’t imagine you being called a mistake when his failures were glaring.

Sinking into the solace of your presence, he explained further, “Adrie’s mom said–at most–three sentences to me after giving birth, and that was it. Everything else was handled by the court. She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with us, so sole custody should’ve been easy, but the system fucking sucks. Not once did I say anything contradictory; I made it clear from the beginning I wanted my daughter, but I know how I look on paper.. Trailer trash through and through. Busted for drugs more than once. Living with my uncle in a single bedroom piece of shit. Taking three attempts to pass high school. No real job at the time, and beyond broke. They kept trying to convince her to split custody, at least for the first year, but no.” There was a cynical dejection about him. One of haunting acceptance, thinking lowly of himself with his head hung, and glazed over eyes staring faraway. “She found someone better. Some guy with money who lived in Indianapolis, and she wanted to start a life with him. Move on from Adrienne. And me.”

“Eddie?” you called out to him.

“Hm?”

“You may not view my opinion highly, but I think you’re a great dad, and person. Money, reputation, criminal record or whatever else can go fuck itself.” You folded your legs under you, and sat opposite him with your back resting against the table leg. He scooted closer on his board, narrowing the swath of concrete between you to a few feet. “Beat yourself up all you want, but your love for your daughter is apparent. She’s happy. She’s safe. She’s fed. You take care of her just fine, and you’re allowed to feel frustrated, and you’re allowed to feel like you need a break.”

When he remained unconvinced, you insisted, “Adrie adores you, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “I know. That’s why Wayne never has these problems with her. It’s only me she’s ultra clingy with. Like if she’s not attached to me twenty-four-seven I cease to exist and she’ll never see me again.”

Something beautiful occurred in his shy glance. In his bashful smile. In the clumsy removal of his bandana, pulling his hair free from the ponytail and shaking it out. Wild.

His big brown eyes regarded you, and you beheld him in a similar light.

Something changed.

No longer casual acquaintances; you two looked at each other like you were friends.

“Sorry for rambling so much,” Eddie said.

“There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Good. Because I’m not done.” He crept forward a few more inches, and aired his grievances in a lighthearted tone, bitching for the sake of getting it off his chest, “This time of year is really rough on us. Gotta buy her all new school supplies with whatever franchise or animal she’s obsessed with now. Which is unicorns, by the way. And, y’know kids grow like crazy. If it’s not an entire new wardrobe, then it’s the shoes. I swear this kid goes through shoes like she’s ruining them on purpose. I’m almost certain I buy new ones every time I blink.”

A car passed on the street outside; the only break in the suffocating silence of a brick building echoing Eddie’s dramatic hand gestures as he sought sanity.

“She starts kindergarten next September and I’m already dreading it. She’s made lots of friends, which I’m grateful for.. Seriously, I’m really grateful that she’s made friends so easily, but she always wants to dress like them, do the things they do, go the places they go, and I try to figure out ways to afford it, but sometimes it’s too much, and I fucking despise telling her ‘no.’ Then there’s also the birthday parties basically every other weekend, and you can’t attend those empty-handed either, can you?”

You nodded patiently. “I suppose you are correct.”

“Kids are expensive, and it’s only worse at Christmas,” he concluded. Your stomach growled. “You want to leave, don’t you?”

Remaining in your slumped over position with your elbow propped on your thigh, and your cheek to your fist with your eyes closed, you asked, “What gave you that idea?”

He could mock you to his heart’s content, but you were right.

“Shit,” he exhaled, reading the wall clock. “We should go. Wayne leaves for work soon.”

“And Bobbie’s probably waiting for me to get home to gush about her girlfriend.” You stood up and stretched. “It’s cute, like a long-lost lovers situation, but yeah, she can go on for hours.”

————

Friday was cloudy with a chance of sun.

Tires screeched to a stop in the driveway of the garage, and someone honked their horn incessantly.

Startled, Eddie hit his head on the hood of the car he was bent over, and hissed between his teeth. He rubbed at the sore spot and glared behind him, ready to tell the nuisance off.

Except, if he did that, he’d be telling off his best friend.

“Of course it’s you,” he projected in a clipped voice, making his annoyance known.

Steve slammed his car door shut, and leaned against it, lighting a cigarette while Eddie made his way over. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, “I’m here on my lunch break, so if you wouldn’t mind gettin’ a little pep in your step, Munson.”

Passing by your inquisitive face smashed to the window beside your desk, Eddie raised his hand to show you everything was okay, and that there was no need to chew someone out for causing a disturbance.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Eddie asked, shuffling up to him. The sun was warm on his skin; a nice change from the shadowy cold warehouse, and Steve basked in it as well, golden hair flopping in the gentle breeze.

There was a moment where they both displayed their nervous habits. Eddie with his tongue prodding the inner corner of his lips, and Steve taking inventory of his surroundings during the drag of his cigarette.

“Look,” Steve stressed. Eddie sighed. “We haven’t seen much of you lately, and Nancy had the idea to go to the theater to see that horror movie that came out a few weeks ago. We’ll probably have the whole place to ourselves, and she, ah, invited someone else. Someone who is also single, if you catch my very obvious drift.”

Eddie’s hand immediately climbed its way to his throat, stroking the column and making a sound of disinterest. “I dunno, man.”

“Well, we’ve already paid the babysitter to watch a third kid, and we don’t mind Adrie sleeping over for the night. You can drop her off at 4 and, uh–” He nodded at his coveralls. “Get cleaned up, or whatever and meet us at 6. Make a good first impression.” At Eddie’s apathetic grunt, he sighed, “I know what you’re gonna say, but your date’s already agreed to go, and it’d be a shame if you left them hanging.”

Rolling his shoulders, Eddie forced himself to stop fidgeting by stuffing his hands in his pockets, and focused on the clouds crawling across the sky. “Fine. What’re they like?”

“Your date?”

“Yes, my fucking date you moron.”

Steve shrugged with a mischievous grin. “Dunno. I said Nancy’s the one who invited her, not me.”

Eddie faltered, “So, you don’t even know if she’s into someone like me?” When Steve quirked his eyebrow, it just increased Eddie’s agitation. He made sweeping motions down his body. Steve continued to smoke with a dumb pout. “Jesus, dude.” He stamped in a circle, making a big show with his arms, imploring with an exhausted bite to his tone, “You know what I’m asking.”

“No, I don’t know if she’s into metalhead freaks who are dads, sorry.”

“You’re the bane of my existence.”

“So it’s an official ‘yes?’” he asked without the sarcasm. “I mean, you might as well show up. Wayne’s got his poker tournament with his friends today, doesn’t he? That means you’ll have the place to yourself. Hey, play your cards right and you’ll get some action tonight. I imagine you haven’t gotten lucky since Adrie’s conception, yeah?”

Steve’s laugh was explosive and loud, but it petered out to a pitying noise the longer Eddie squinted into the distance.

“Really? I was just trying to joke with you. Sorry, man.”

Eddie lifted one side of his mouth in a dull grin. “S’kay.”

“Well,” Steve said, flicking the rest of his cigarette. “Just be yourself. Maybe keep the nerdy talk to a minimum, and you’re golden.” He turned to leave, and stopped. “Oh! And Robin’s back in town, if you didn’t hear. She’ll be there tonight too, serving as the fifth wheel, so at least you won’t be the most awkward one there. Come to think of it, I think it’s her friend who’ll be your date.”

“Sounds promising.”

“See ya at 6!” Steve said as he opened the door and fell into place behind the wheel, beaming pure sunshine up at Eddie.

“Yeah, bye.”

Going back inside the garage, it took a second for Eddie’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, and his first inclination was to look over at you behind your desk, totally filling out the paperwork in front of you, regardless if you were holding a pen or not.

Many thoughts crossed his mind upon watching you open random drawers, and shuffle papers to appear busy. Rationally, he should’ve jumped at the chance for Steve’s offer. A night out with someone without the looming responsibility of adulthood sounded like heaven.. But there was a knot in his stomach telling him to reject the date–not because he couldn’t be bothered, like Steve assumed, but because he pictured someone specific the instant he spoke the arrangement into existence.

The jaded, pessimistic part of him argued it shouldn’t matter what you thought about his love life. You two were hardly friends, and you were a drifter in search of your next big adventure. This small town wasn’t your home. You’d move on. And he should too.

He opened the glass door, and you feigned like you hadn’t been staring at him and Steve attempting to read their lips for the past few minutes. “Hey, I’ve got somewhere to be later, so I’ll actually be leaving on time today.”

“Oh, good!” you said. “Me too.”

Eyeing your thumbs up, he snorted and shook his head.

Yeah, he should move on before this feeling in his chest evolved into something bigger.

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#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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kimberly-spirits13 · 1 month

Text

Rescuer

Pairing: Jason Todd x (hero) reader

Word Count: 2610

Warnings: Mentions of blood, needles, death, stitches, a bit angsty but then fluff, not really proof read

Summary: After getting hurt on patrol, Jason comes to rescue you from your captors, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Maybe you had been captured and moved to a new location. Maybe you were bleeding out in some rat-infested warehouse. Maybe you were- Jason wouldn’t think that. He couldn’t think that. The mere image of your body gone cold sent chills down his spine and sent him into overdrive.

Rain pelted against his helmet as he sped through the streets of Gotham. He knew that splitting up was a bad idea. Bruce had wanted to split the patrol teams up to ensure that Ivy’s shipments were being handled. You were supposed to be fine, the shipment you were going after was meant to be a dud. Bruce had valiantly offered to put himself in danger by going after the suspected live shipment. Apparently, the information had been bad, and now Jason was rushing to your distress call, flying past cars crowding his way and cursing Bruce for making Jason leave you. Jason knew that you could handle yourself, it was why he was okay leaving you alone. You were a match for every member of the family and rouges gallery, he was sure that if you had called a distress signal, something terrible had happened.

Jason felt like he was the only one coming for you. He had left his brothers in the dust when he heard the blaring alarm coming from your comm. The others were coming, but it wasn’t fast enough for him. As he flew through the city streets, he came to a group of warehouses on the West Side where he knew you were located. The signal became stronger and stronger as he reached the roof of the specific warehouse. Looking down, he saw a group of guards standing around you. You were lying on the floor, blood pooling under your body. The site made a harsh wave of fury swell up in his chest. Jason felt his arms go numb and his breathing quicken.

“Those bastards” he thought. They must have been under the control of Ivy’s venom. This was the only way he could justify your current position.

“ETA 5 minutes, do not engage.” Bruce’s voice rang out.

“Bullshit,” Jason spat, “I’m going after her. She’s surrounded.”

“No, stay low and report.” The voice of Bruce rang into his ear, “Don’t leave post, that’s an order”

Jason observed the scene below him and saw one of the men walking towards you, his foot grazing the side of your arm and applying a pressure that made you wince in pain. Dark circles were forming under your eyes, indicating the presence of Ivy’s venom. At this, nothing could have stopped Jason.

The sound of glass shattering echoed through the building as the man who had his foot on you fell to the ground following a piercing boom. The clank of his gun falling on the floor next to your head sent a heavier pounding sensation through your already aching skull. You groaned and tried to roll over away from the noise, only to realize that it was everywhere.

“Jason must be here.” You thought.

Jason saw you try to move, and his heart ached. He knew that you were in pain, incapacitated from whatever happened earlier. The gaggle of men aimed their weapons towards him and opened fire as he ran through the shadows, avoiding the bullet spray as he was trained to. Grabbing for his holster, he drew his pistol and aimed for the would-be leader of the gang. The man dropped to the floor, the familiar sounds of metal clashing against the floor ringing out once more. A call to action rolled through the room as Jason emerged from the shadows, bullets from his pistol now raining on the perpetrators. Two men attempted to tackle him at once, ending in Jason wrapping them together with a line and executing them with little scrutiny of their situation. Another shot at him, nearly grazing the side of his armor before he too dropped to the ground from a shot Jason had sent to him. As the fight went on, Jason steadily dismantled the group, turning his attention to the last man he saw standing who had dropped his weapon, knowing that he was out of ammunition.

The man screamed as Jason leapt onto him, fists flying high and hard, the sounds of cracking under his knuckles filling your ears. Blood spurted from the man’s mouth, signaling not only broken teeth, but internal bleeding. After a minute, the man stopped struggling, Jason continuing his blind rage driven beating. You turned to him, trying to move closer to your only safety when you saw one of the seemingly incapacitated men reaching for a dropped gun from a fallen comrade and reach it around Jason’s head.

“You’ll end up just that like bitch, Hood.” He spat, holding the gun closer to Jason’s head, “Don’t move or I’ll-“

The sound of a shot rang through the room and then the clashing of a body on the floor. You had mustered the last of your strength, grabbing the rifle the man who Jason had killed first had dropped next to your head. Squinting to avoid seeing double, you braced against the floor and pulled the trigger once you were certain your aim would withstand against the drug working through your system. With a groan, you fell back once more, dropping the weapon and sprawling against the concreate floor.

Jason flew towards you, sliding on his knees on the floor once he came within a foot or so of you. You winced when he picked you up into his arms, still on the ground to assess the damage.

“Come on baby, you’re okay. Where’s the wound Y/N/N?” He asked, panic lacing his voice.

“Jason” Was all you could say groaning into the pain you felt.

“It’s okay Y/N/N, I’m here. Where are you hurt?” He started stripping your outer gear, searching for a stab, a shot, something that would indicate what was wrong.

His hands roaming your side were what found a deep stab wound. Ripping open the clothes in the impacted area, he saw that the skin was already bruising, a green liquid staining the outside of your skin.

“They got her with a venom laced knife.” Jason said into the comm.

“Use the antidote, it should treat it immediately.” Dick answered, finally running into the room where you were, “Inject it by the site of the wound, about a centimeter from the center.”

Dick looked around at the carnage and then saw his brother cradling you in the center. The sight made his skin crawl. Blood was everywhere, a mixture of everyone’s who was unlucky enough the stand in the wake of Jason’s rage. If Bruce didn’t show up, Dick wouldn’t say anything to him. You were almost limp in Jason’s arms, eyes fluttering open and shut every minute or so. Dick heard Jason talking to you gently and his heart sank at your condition.

“This is gonna pinch baby. You can do it, I’ve got you.” Jason said, injecting the antidote as quickly as possible.

You groaned, not appreciating the stinging rushing into your side once more.

“ETA 5 minutes.” Tim’s voice rang into the comms, “Batmobile is ready for transport.”

“Forget it,” Jason said into it, “I’ve got the antidote, get the med bay ready in the cave.”

“You can’t take her on your bike Jason.” Dick interjected, “She’s not in condition for it.”

“You got any better ideas Dick?” Jason said, a tone of frustration coming through his voice, “We’re both on bikes and she doesn’t have five extra minutes in her.”

Jason bound a bandage tight around your side, stopping the bleeding as best he could. You had a vice grip around his arm as the stinging and sheer pain of the antidote flooding through and eradicating the venom swept through your body.

“Fine, you take her to the cave, I’ll handle Gordon and venom recovery.” Dick said, the sound of sirens starting to blare in the distance.

Jason gave a nod of thanks to Dick before turning his complete attention to you.

“Y/N/N can you hear me, baby?” Jason asked, running a hand over your forehead and into your hair.

You groaned in response, not able to muster a “yes”. The lights in the warehouse and the bright red from his helmet that he hadn’t had time to take off yet were blinding you and you shut your eyes once more.

“Stay with me babe, I’m going to pick you up now and get you on the bike. Can you handle that?” Jason asked.

“Mhmm.” You mustered up.

Strong arms wrapped around you and hoisted you into the air. You instinctively curled into his chest, an arm wrapped around his neck and onto his shoulder. Your head lulled back, all strength to hold yourself up leaving you.

“Good job doll. I’ve got you now.” He said, breaking into a run towards the bike.

It was still raining when Jason reached where he parked his bike, sliding you onto the seat and placing himself behind you to support you.

“This is the hardest part baby; you can do it.” You heard the clink of the kickstand go up and the load roar of the engine coming to life.

In a sudden motion, you knew you were speeding out of the complex and onto the main road, Jason weaving the bike throughout traffic. Every few seconds he’d glance down to check that you were still breathing. You tried your best to keep yourself up, not wanting to lean against Jason too much as to not throw him off. He seemed to notice this struggle quickly.

“You’re okay Y/N. Relax, I’ve got you.”

It seemed like an eternity yet only a few seconds before Jason rolled into the Batcave. Feelings arms around you once more, you were picked up and ran to the med bay.

“You’re okay Y/N, we’re here now, you’re going to be fine.” It seemed like Jason was saying these things, more so to convince himself that you were alright.

“She’s got the antidote going through her system.” You heard him say, “She needs stitches.”

“Lay her here.” Alfred’s voice chimed in.

You could have smiled upon hearing Alfred. Knowing you were in good hands, you went totally limp on the table, not having a care in the world. Jason’s fingers brushed against your face as an oxygen mask was strapped over your head.

“Indeed, this is a nasty wound Miss. Y/N.” He quipped, not truly confident that you were listening, but merely trying to cut the tension in the room and relax Jason, “No matter, it’s nothing I cannot handle.”

The clear plastic of the mask you were wearing fogged and cleared, giving perfect indication that you were still breathing. Jason was working on removing your gear as carefully as possible to not get in Alfred’s way. Minutes had passed and the stinging sensation of Alfred stitching up and disinfecting your wounds had subsided. A pain killer must have been administered to you as you were out of consciousness. You heard Jason and Bruce talking loudly but not arguing, something that made you feel better about the entire situation. Loud steps came closer to you, the familiar sound of Jason’s boots making thud noises against the stone floor of the med bay.

“She’ll be fine Master Jason.” Alfred assured him, “I say the best course of action is having her cleaned up and in bed, not this blasted table.”

“Will do.” You heard Jason say, “Thank you Alfred.”

“It is my honor, Master Jason.” “I am only glad that you arrived when you did.”

“You and me both.” Jason mumbled, picking you up once more.

“Let’s get you cleaned up doll.” He said gently, walking towards the elevator that led into the rest of the house, “Does that sound good to you?” “yea, sounds great.” You answered softly, strength slowly returning to you as the antidote was steadily working against the venom.

You closed your eyes again and the next thing you knew was the cold sensation of marble against your skin. Looking around, you saw that you were in Jason’s bathroom, and he was standing over the bathtub faucet, adjusting the temperature as to not be too hot or cold.

“You alright baby?” He asked, walking back over to where you were and kissing your temple, “You scared me back there.”

“Sorry Jaybird.” You replied weakly, “Got ambushed.”

“It’s okay doll, you’re okay now.” “Just rest, I’ll get you cleaned up and in bed.” He said, “Is that still okay with you?”

“Yea,” you answered, “thanks Jay.”

He nodded, dipping a soft washcloth into the warm water, and lathering soap onto it. The bubbly water tingled against your skin as he dragged the cotton rag against your skin as gently as possible. You felt safe with Jason, no matter how close to demise you had come earlier.

“It was stupid.” You thought to yourself, “How could I be so careless?”

You sighed in disappointment, alerting Jason of your thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“Just- stupid of me.” You groaned, “Jumped by a bunch of Ivy’s minions.” “That’s not supposed to happen.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. We all have bad nights Y/N/N.” Jason softly kissed your lips, earning another, more satisfied sigh from you.

“I guess.” You weren’t going to argue with him after that.

“Besides, we got the venom shipment covered now.” He tried to assure you, “Don’t worry about anything.”

“I don’t think I have the energy to worry.”

Jason chuckled, grabbing a new towel to dry your air as carefully as possible.

“I’ve got to go to the bathroom now.” You said, sitting up.

Jason nodded, lifting you out of the tub again and into the little room with the toilet. Closing the door after handing you a pair of his sweatpants, he started cleaning up. You walked back out, hair still dripping on the floor.

“Come here love.” He said, pulling you into a tight, yet soft embrace and kissing the top of your head.

Wrapping his arms around you again, he sat you onto the counter and opened the bottle of toner that you kept on your side of the sink. He helped you pull one of his old t shirts over your head and smoothed it out once you had it on.

“You don’t have to do that Jay.” You said, hands softly gripping against his free wrist.

“It’s okay doll, I want to.” “Just let me take care of you.”

A soft cotton pad glided against your face as he swept the toner over your skin. After that, he slathered your other skincare products across your face, following the routine he knew you used. Your heart swelled knowing that he had memorized something so seemingly unimportant. It meant a lot that he cared so much to understand you.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Once again, he wrapped his arms around you to pick you up.

“I can walk there.” You said, grabbing onto his arms for support.

“I know you can baby but let me do it for you.”

Jason carried you to the bed and set you under the covers, pulling them over your shoulders and sliding in behind you. Arms settled around you as you pushed yourself into his chest, taking in the warmth and comfort that he provided.

“I’m glad you’re okay Y/N.” He said, “Wake me up if you need anything. I love you Y/N/N.”

You mumbled a response under your breath, the feeling of safety and comfort flushing out any troubles or worries you carried with you from the mission.

#dc x reader #dc comics #dc characters #batfam x reader #batboys x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader fluff #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd imagine #red hood x you #red hood x reader #red hood x y/n #red hood fluff #red hood imagine

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mooishbeam · 7 months

Text

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago

“Come get me!”

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield. In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs.

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble.

“You scared me!”

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village.

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him.

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill.

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Okay.”

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy.

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm.

“Will you miss me?” he asks.

“A lot.”

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you.

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.”

“You’re a rock” you retorted.

“No, I’m not.”

“Do you want to be a rock?”

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip.

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds.

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle.

“What should be talk about?”

“What are you going to do after you move?”

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?”

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.

“Cool. I hope you do.”

“Me too.”

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns.

“Yeah?”

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.

“Then don’t forget me, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.”

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.”

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion.

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It��s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor.

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent.

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.

“Where is she?”

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture.

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?”

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.

“500,000 mora.”

“194,000 for me.”

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?”

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail—it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do?

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-”

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you. “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman.

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs.

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.”

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?”

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says.

“...What?”

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.”

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-”

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.”

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads.

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes.

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door.

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-”

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood.

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.”

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.”

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point:

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving.

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness.

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior. You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.”

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?”

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern.

“Business...what kind?”

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue.

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.”

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension.

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step.

Click

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it.

You fell into a trap.

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight?

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement.

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants.

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different.

“Come get it.”

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye.

“Come get me!”

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face.

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.”

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head.

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all.

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory.

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists.

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice.

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see.

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.”

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer.

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.

“You still consider me a friend?”

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.”

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you.

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera.

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover.

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?”

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine.

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers.

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose.

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation.

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek.

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace.

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking.

“What is it?” you ask.

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.”

“...What?”

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy.

“Absolutely not” you assure.

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away.

“4.”

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it?

“3.”

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway.

“2.”

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact.

“1.”

“I’ll do it.”

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.”

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you.

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.”

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.”

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there.

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical.

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall.

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it.

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings.

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan.

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast.

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it.

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward.

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes.

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost.

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain.

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core.

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink.

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.”

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-”

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands.

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both.

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling.

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?”

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles.

“Mine. Always.”

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin au #pantalone smut #pantalone #pantalone headcanons #headcanon #pantalone x reader #pantalone x you #pantalone x y/n #genshin impact pantalone

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macfrog · 5 months

Text

secrets cowboy like me chapter fourteen

one day i'll rein my chapters back in. today is not that day. thirteen thousand words of...a little bit of fucking and a lot of fighting. i love you all and i still can't believe the love you continue to show this series. you're all actually insane. i present to you: the penultimate chapter of cowboy.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: the one where...everybody finds out.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), a big argument, a lot of guilt, angry disappointed dad, one mention of alcohol consumption, lil bit of sub!joel, unprotected piv, tiny bit of degradation, tiny bit of praise kink, creampie, cursing, smut, fluff, angst

word count: 12.9k (dry heaves)

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡

You haven’t slept a wink. Not one second.

You and Joel were awake until one in the morning on the phone; you – panicking, spilling words into the receiver, watching different cuts of your dad realizing everything as though projected across your blank ceiling, and Joel – monotone as fucking ever, batting every single theory away.

He doesn’t know a damn thing, he’d said. You didn’t miss the way his words hung over the edge of the sentence, trembling almost.

You scoffed and hissed back down the line. You don’t fucking know that! How can you know that?

You think he just found out about us and thought, Hey, better get some shut-eye before I deal with this? Really, baby?

I think he doesn’t know what he found out. I think he’s probably tryna convince himself that he’s wrong.

So, let him. He’s wrong. We go with that.

Joel knew he wasn’t doing anything to calm you down. Wasn’t offering anything you could seriously take on. You know he wasn’t trying to.

He was as worried as you were – he was just pretending not to be, because what fucking good would it do to have the two of you bouncing off one another with panic?

Still, he stayed on the phone the entire night. When he fell asleep, you lay in bed and tossed everything over in your head like tearing back the pages of a diary. Last night, then Frank’s, then the weekend before that, then the Hillcrest – all the way back to that first ride home. The pissing rain, the boxes of nails rattling in the glove compartment with each sway of the truck. Recalling every word spoken, every move made, every expression pulled and glance stolen and fucking breath taken.

Any sound from beyond your door shot a bullet of adrenaline through your veins, coursing through your body like ice. As if it was your dad, barreling in at 3AM to have it out with you.

You reckon you’d be ready if he did. Wide-eyed, fists clenched, heart hammering.

Joel groans back to life at eight. You hear the ruffling of bedsheets, the crackle down the line as he drags the phone across his mattress and pins it to his ear. You lift your own. Joel and 08:43:36, 37, 38 underneath it on the screen.

His voice drums low and groggy from the speaker. “You are gonna have my phone bill through the damn roof. I’m exhausted, darlin’.”

“I can’t think of anything else. He knows, Joel.”

He sighs. You can see his head falling into his hand, see his thumb rubbing circles into his temple. “Let’s just see what happens, alright? There ain’t any chance you left your phone in the living room ‘n he came across it, thought he’d keep it for you comin’ home?”

“I’ve barely left my room all week. Why would it be down there?”

Joel’s quiet. He just breathes down the line. After a minute, he clears his throat.

“Come over, would ya?”

“Huh?”

“Come over. I wanna see you. I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine, Joel, I’m –”

“Hey. Don’t make me ask again, alright? C’mon, now. I got some errands to run; you’re coming with me.”

He doesn’t have to say much else to convince you; you’re already pulling your bedsheets back and hanging up. Your hoodie and shorts are still hooked over the foot of your bed. The sun filters through the drapes, edges you nearer the door. Your chest fills with something calling itself bravery, and slowly, quietly – you click the door open.

The hallway is silent. A blushing gold in the morning light. The house is still – eerily still. Your dad’s room door is open, bed made, sheets tucked neatly under the mattress. Like he had time to spend on it. Stuff to mull over as he made it.

The carpet softens your footsteps when you finally move for the stairs. The birds are singing outside. The wallpaper canvases your shadow, a little monster creeping along one step behind you, passing picture frames which dazzle with sunrays and mirror a half-lit reflection back to you. One side you – the other, missing.

You lean over the last step, craning your head and shoulders into the hallway. The clock on the wall opposite ticks to no one. Tick tick tick tick. And aside from it, from its taunting tutting, there are no other signs of life. His jacket hangs from the peg. His boots lying below, laces tangled.

The sun separates into brittle shards through the window, illuminating the way to the kitchen. You’re not fucking prepared to follow it.

Shoulders hunched, like it might make a difference, you step forward and lower your thumb and index finger over your keys, aiming for them like a shaky arcade claw machine. Tick tick tick. They jingle as you hook your fingertip through them. Your nose wrinkles.

“Hey.”

He appears around the corner like an apparition. The keys drop back to the unit with a violent clatter.

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah.” Your dad holds a palm up, laughing nervously. “Sorry. Where you headed?”

“Uh, J– Sarah’s. Some errands she wants some help with.”

He nods. “Yeah? You don’t want breakfast first?”

You drag your eyes to meet his for the first time. He looks drawn, skin like webbing, as though it’s just draped over his skull. As though you could put your finger through it like parchment, just push straight through. He looks like he’s had about as much sleep as you have.

“No, thanks,” you say, the sunken, sullen sight of him crumbling your voice to dust. Your lips move wordlessly, waiting for another lie from your tongue to offer over. But between the way he looks, weary and forlorn, and the thin veil of truth left between you – nothing materializes.

“Why don’t you – why don’t you hold back a second?” Dad beckons you forward, folding his fingers to his palm. “Got somethin’ I wanna talk to you about.”

“Dad, I really gotta go, I –”

“Just – come on. I’m sure Sarah won’t mind.”

He disappears without waiting for a response. Shifts back into the living room, shadow following him like a cloak across the door. You hear the creak of his chair as he settles down into it, the unsettling squeal of leather and spring.

Your feet are planted to the hall floor. To move in either direction feels like a trap. To follow after him – sit opposite and swallow back what you think you know is coming. All of his suspicions stuck in your throat like a bitter, powdery pill. Or to turn away – leave him in an empty house, nothing but the sound of his own breathing and that tick tick tick affirming your guilt.

No more excuses filter through – none of Joel’s ideas, none of his explanations. You let your shoulders drop and your eyes close. The only image behind them is that six-foot, graying, droning idiot who’s probably sat waiting for you to pull up so he can take you to fucking Trader Joe’s or whatever.

And his shirt, which he’d probably drape over your shoulders before he’s even said hello. And his smile, which would draw you onto your tiptoes, draw your lips to his. And his hands, and his waist, and his pulse in step with yours as you follow him around the quiet store, the Saturday morning air daring you to hook your fingers around two of his every now and then. The longing a gnawing in your chest, burrowing deep beneath the cage of your ribs.

He's not here, though. It’s just you. And if you call him now, if he shows up unannounced – it’s only going to confirm what your dad thinks. Fuck it – what he knows.

So you unstick your sneakers and haul yourself through to the living room.

He’s rocking in the chair when you sink back into the couch. Balls of his feet pushing him back and forth. His fingers to his lips, like keeping the words at bay for now. Like feeling the jagged shape of them through his skin.

You throw a pillow over your legs, shaggy ivory fringe tickling your bare thighs. Your dad doesn’t speak. When you lift your head, his eyes flit from yours down to your restless fingers knitting the tassels of his pillow.

“What is it?” you croak.

“Mind if I ask you somethin’?”

You shrug. “Go for it.”

He waits a beat. A hesitation. Like he doesn’t want to ask the first question. He’s at the edge of a cliff. One more step and he’s plummeting down the rocky side, into a fog of cloud. Nothing will ever be the same. Only – you’ve already pushed him. He’s already falling. He just hasn’t realized it yet.

Maybe he feels the drop in his stomach, right now. Maybe the wind screams in his ears. He finally asks, “When were you gonna tell me about y’all gettin’ into a barfight on Friday night?”

Unexpected. But keep your fucking cool.

Your fingertip whitens, blood halted by the knot of the cushion fringe. You chew on a torn leaf of skin from your lips. “What?”

“You ‘n Joel. When he picked you up. What the hell happened?”

Your eyes slide from his to the patio door behind him, garden lighting up with the sun scaling higher in the sky. You stare there until it burns, until it’s all just a blur of color in your vision, and then pull a half-blinded gaze back in his direction.

You’re frozen, as if he has you at gunpoint. Shoulders tense, eyes wide. Dontshootdontshootdontshoot. “Who –? Who said that?”

“Hank. Was on the phone to ‘im last night. Anna said Joel was squarin’ up to some kid in Frank’s. You wanna tell me exactly what happened?”

“Nothing.” Liar. “Nothing happened. It was just some asshole. Joel was just lookin’ out for me. For us. Me ‘n Anna.”

“She told Hank he knocked the kid out. That Sam had to stop it from gettin’ outta control.”

He stares at you, and there’s no mask on his face. No cover, no disguise. He’s suspicious. And he doesn’t care that you know it. He’s not just asking about the barfight.

“Are you gonna say it or am I, hon?”

“Say what?”

Your last thread of insane hope that he’s innocently wondering about Frank’s is snapped in two by the words that tear out of his mouth, so quick they rip into your skin like shards of glass.

“What the hell’s goin’ on between you two?”

Your body suddenly drops further into the couch, the weight of your blood freezing to ice in your veins. Your joints seize, your jaw locks. Air passes across your open lips with no intention of carrying words back out the way it came. You forget any ability you had previously to come up with excuses, to cover up, to lie. Hell, you’re not sure you’d remember your own fucking name if he asked that next.

You say nothing. And he cocks his head, drums his fingers on the arm of his chair.

Say something.

“Nothing.”

Say something more convincing.

“Nothing?” you repeat, a shrill pitch in your voice like it’s a question. Like he’s dumb for even thinking there might be something weird going on. Like he’s the idiot.

The clock in the hall ticks to itself, amused. Fifteen little snaps. Each one sounds like a plate of glass beneath your feet, cracking a little more, a little deeper, a little wider. The abyss opening its wide, dark jaws beneath you.

Your dad’s expression doesn’t change. He crosses his arms, head leaning back a little. He almost looks sad. Almost looks like he might give in. Send you on your way, on your errands with Sarah.

But something recharges him, something must flicker behind his eyes, because he sits forward again and watches your reaction intently as he says –

“Then explain the text messages you been sendin’ each other.”

Another blow hits your stomach, rippling waves of white heat through you. You feel hot, a scorching panic right beneath the surface of your skin so hot that it mistakes itself for ice cold. A panic which radiates from your heart, pulsating through your entire body, every limb beginning to shudder involuntarily. Your silence is answer enough.

He sighs. Sits forward with his elbows on his knees. “I knew y’all were close, knew you cared about each other. You sure always talked to ‘im more ‘n you ever talked to me, even before you went off to college. But I’ve been noticing things lately…Something’s different. Something’s changed.”

Your eyes trace his form as he talks. It’s fucking dizzying. He’s animated, like a character from some eighties cop show who finally solved the mystery. He knows. He knows everything. Your jaw won’t move to answer.

“Seeing you two together – talking, laughing. The way you look at each other these days. ‘n you’re always near each other, ain’t you? Always hoverin’. It ain’t anything like before. That day the three of us went to Costco, that – I –” His anger seems to boil over, cascading from his lips in an angry burst of hot breath. “I felt like a spare tire in the back of the truck that day.”

“We’re…We’re just…f-friends…I don’t –”

He holds a finger up. Doesn’t want to hear it. Not until his speech is done. The sun moves behind a cloud; the living room suddenly drains of light. “That day you said you were spending the night at Anna’s. Said you were havin’ a pool day, right?”

“Right,” you whisper, eyes closing over. They feel heavy. Tired and teary.

“Right. Except,” he brings his finger down, aims it straight at you, “Hank says you weren’t never there. Anna was at Sal’s all day Sunday.”

Fuck.

“Dad…”

You’re pleading with him now. Enough, I’ve heard enough. I know you know. As if you might still be able to stop the train, dig your heels in and hold on tight to derail it. Derail his thoughts. Salvage the situation, string it back together with shame and atonement.

But he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t even hear you.

“’n that’s when I got to thinkin’ – last Monday, at Joel’s. I went over to fix his sink – you remember I told you about his sink?” He doesn’t wait for a response. “I went over there, and he’s cookin’ this great big breakfast – pancakes, all of it – and there ain’t no one else in his house. Just him. Sarah was in Nashville, you remember?”

You take a deep breath. This is it. The ship’s beginning to disappear beneath the black waves.

“I thought maybe he had someone over, maybe expectin’ that girl from the plant hire…Anyway,” he bats his hand, bats the hopeful glint in Lois’s eye from his mind, “I’m walking downstairs, on my way out, and I notice somethin’ on the floor by the door.”

His chair squeaks timidly as he moves, his right arm lowering, scooping for something you can’t see yet. But when he shakily lifts it, your eyes fall to your knees. It hangs before you, apologetic and ashamed.

Joel was right. He knew it. You palmed him off. You told him your dad wouldn’t – couldn’t – put two and two together. And here he is, sat feet from you, holding the final piece to the puzzle in a quivering fist. Proof that, when he was in the house that day, you were only feet from him. Wrapped in his best friend’s shirt, dripping wet from his shower.

“This bag,” he hisses, and the tears finally drop onto your cheeks. They scurry to your chin, gathering and throwing themselves to your chest. Your shoulders drop, your eyes still low. You can’t look at him.

He speaks slowly. Speaks through his teeth. Every word like its own poisonous jab.

“Now you tell me: what in God’s name is your bag doin’ in Joel Miller’s hallway, at ten in the mornin’, when you’re supposed to be at Anna’s?”

Your fingers touch your forehead, a burning pain beginning to sting through your skull. You can feel your pulse in your temples. You’ve never wanted Joel to be stood in front of you so badly in all your life; just to deflect some of the interrogation off of you, just to give you breathing space. Just to protect you from the onslaught of questioning from your dad.

“No,” he mutters, shaking his head. The bag hits the carpet with a thud. “No, there ain’t no way. You were at Anna’s, right? You ain’t with Joel Miller, no way. I’m thinkin’, Please, God, don’t let that have been my daughter’s bag that day. But I’m right, ain’t I? You were there, weren’t you?”

You blink rapidly. The tears multiply quicker. The room is glossed in a protective film of salt and adrenaline. Give me something to say back. Give me something to say back.

“Where were you, hon? Musta been hidin’ somewhere, right?”

Give me something please think of something please come over please walk through that door please tell me what to say.

And then it comes to you. You blink the mist from your eyes. He said…he knew about texts you’d been sending Joel. How did he…?

“How did you know about the texts?”

“Pardon me?”

You straighten up and look him dead in the eye. Your voice feels hoarse. It sounds nothing like you. “How – did you know – about – the texts?”

“That’s your concern right now?”

“How – did you know?”

He begins to sputter, like the heat turned up under a pan on the hob. “Look, hon, you had me worried sick. Disappearin’ and I got no clue where you are. Always having an excuse to go off somewhere alone, no explanation. Don’t even get me started on those marks on your neck.”

Your hand immediately clamps around your throat, hot skin stained pink hissing into your palm. Joel’s teeth on you last night. His words cushioning the sharp bite. I love you. The heat hurts, now, when it felt so comforting just a few hours ago. It burns. It throbs. It feels like shame.

Your dad’s voice brings you back into the room.

“There’s another thing – last night,” he flings a laugh to you, “you were so quiet. So damn quiet. Didn’t say a word the entire time, and then I leave for all of ten minutes, and suddenly the two of you are headin’ over to his for – what was it? UCLA pamphlets?”

There’s a break between his words, a gap which makes you think that he wants you to answer. Like he’s giving you a chance, extending his arm. But he fills the space with a jeering laugh, and keeps talking.

“Where are they, huh? These pamphlets? ‘s why you were at Joel’s, right? Go on, go get ‘em. Show them to me.”

Your face solidifies. Lips tremble. There’s a scowl pulling your brows together. You’ve no right for it to be there. “Stop it,” you seethe. “Tell me what you did.”

“He’s the only one. The only one who could get you to talk. I had to check, kiddo. I had to know.”

Your stare doesn’t let up. Your lips bolt shut, refusing to say another word until he confesses. Which he does. Almost breezily.

“I looked through your phone. While you were gone. I – I went upstairs, ‘n I took it.”

He says it casually, as though he’s simply checked the newspaper. As though he’s just relaying the columns to you. Someone’s had a baby. Someone else won three grand on a scratch card. By the way, I know you’ve been messing around with Joel.

So it takes a minute for what he’s said to hit you. But when it does, the wave crashes over your shoulders so violently that it throws you to your feet, tasseled pillow whipped to the other side of the couch.

There are tears searing across your eyes. A twisted grimace of a smile on your face, a laugh breaking roughly from your throat. Some crazed, disbelieving, ugly little laugh.

“You – you checked my…my fuckin’ phone. You – you fucking –”

His head jerks back, offended. “Hey, now, listen to me –”

“I’m not listenin’ to another word! Am I twelve?”

You stalk over to the kitchen. The rattle of your dad’s chair tells you he follows.

“Well – you tell me, hon, ‘cause right now, you’re making a lot of real stupid decisions.”

That same ugly laugh echoes around the house. You grip onto the kitchen island. The room starts to wheel.

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?” you pant, eyes tight shut. Your thumbs begin to slip, sweat gliding between your skin and the counter.

“I’m your father! I’m lookin’ out for you, damnit! You think I wanna be havin’ this conversation with you right now?”

The granite countertop blurs in and out of focus when you open your eyes. You hook onto it, using it to haul yourself around the island until there’s distance between your wobbly figure and his. And you remember one week ago, when the same counter separated you and Joel, and you think of Joel, and think of his fingers around your wrist, and his fist against Knox’s jaw, and his teeth in your neck.

“Look,” your dad’s voice floats somewhere over the image of Joel’s eyes, “let’s just – let’s calm down. You ‘n me – we’re gonna talk this out. We’re gonna have a calm, mature discussion about all of this. You’re gonna tell me exactly what’s been goin’ on, and then I’m gonna head over to Joel’s – alone – and talk to him.”

But his voice doesn’t sound calm. There’s a tremble to it – a tremor as fragile as glass, as thin as ice. It’s crackling as he speaks. He can hardly keep a hold on it himself.

If he goes over to Joel’s – this you know – there ain’t anything calm or mature that will come of it. Suddenly the images in your head warp, and it’s your fingers around Joel’s wrist, someone else’s fist against his cheek, someone else’s teeth and the venom spat between them.

“Dad,” you pant, “it’s over. He ended it. It’s been done for, like, two weeks now. It was nothing.”

“Oh, nothing, was it?” He steps closer. You retreat. Edge further around the counter, further from him. His head tilts, eyebrows curl. He looks like a vulture, eyeing its prey. “Then what were the two of you up to last night?”

“We – we went for ice cream, that’s all. He wanted to make sure I was alright.”

He’s not convinced. And he shouldn’t be, either. He coughs a laugh. “For three hours? You were eatin’ ice cream for three Goddamn hours?” His cheeks wobble as he shakes his head. Then, in a softer voice, like he’s arming himself with a chisel to prick at the weakest parts of the sculpture, “What’d he do to you, girl?”

The marble cracks and snaps wide open. Anger floods out in hot waves. Any composure you’d managed to scrape together flushes clean out of your body.

“Nothing I didn’t want him to fuckin’ do. Stop treating me like I’m some kid who’s – who’s been tricked, or something. I’m twenty-three, Dad, I’m an adult.”

His silence sends another misdirected shot of panic through you.

“I was in on it just as much as he was,” you weep, fingers searching for a scratch of beard or kiss of flannel.

Your dad scoffs then, hands slapping against his thighs, and turns away. “There ain’t no gettin’ through to you,” he announces to the timid living room.

Still bracing yourself against the island, you take the break in his tirade to catch your breath. The only thought running through your head, losing velocity with each circuit, is Joel walking through that door. His face when he notices you with your flushed cheeks and wide eyes. His hands reaching for yours, through all the lies and hurt. Your dad, stood opposite, tight as an arrow and ready to fucking fly for him. Fists balled, teeth bared.

“He doesn’t even know,” you realize, staring at the glow on the floor cast by the front door. “You haven’t told him you know, have you?”

“’course I ain’t told him. I wanted to talk to you first. Not that it’s gotten us anywhere, huh?”

“I’m gonna text him.”

“Hon, don’t you d–”

“I am not having this conversation on my own. There are two people involved here.”

You pull your phone from your pocket and scrawl some messy message to Joel. Three messy messages. Something like he knows everything, can you come over? I need you. Some needy, dramatic, helpless message.

The typing bubble appears for a fraction of a second. So fleeting that you almost miss it through your tears, before it drops back to nothing. He doesn’t reply.

Doesn’t pick up, either, when you call him. Three times in a row. Three missed calls; three Hey, it’s Joel, sorry I missed yous.

The phone rattles off the counter when you drop it, your head falling into your hands. Your dad wanders back over to his armchair and collapses into it with a sigh, his fingers massaging his temples. The two of you mirrored, the same storm circling between you, only ice in his veins and fire in yours.

Fear keeps your feet planted to the kitchen floor; adrenaline alone keeps you upright. Your fingers push hard into your forehead, an ache sat directly behind that dizzies you. Blood thudding its fists against your eyes, screaming in your ears.

How the fuck did this happen? It feels ridiculous to ask, but it’s all you got. When did the two of you get so lazy? Start forgetting to cover your tracks? Or – maybe worse – stop caring enough to even try?

Of course, saying you were with Anna was a dumb fucking move. Her dad is one of your dad’s buddies. One of Joel’s, too. That was always going to fuck it all up. And you were too caught up, too hellbent on seeing Joel, too fucking horny to stop for five seconds and keep your damn story straight.

There’s nothing to say, nothing that might fix this. There’s no winding your way out of it. The trap has you by the throat. Your jaw aches from trying to free yourself.

Your dad sways side to side in his chair, staring silently at the wall ahead of him. Your face burns with shame, with anger, with embarrassment. Your heart stings from the hurt, from wanting Joel here, from his ignoring your pleas for help. And, most annoying of all – from letting your dad down.

It doesn’t matter what you tell yourself. How you spin it. Sure, you’re twenty-three. You can make your own decisions. That much is fucking clear now. Doesn’t mean they’re always good. Even when they make you laugh until your cheeks hurt, make your stomach flip with excitement, make you scream from pleasure.

Make your heart do things you’ve never felt it do before. Things you never knew that it could do.

You let your dad down. He can barely look at you for it. You know damn well that it was worth every second, and yet, right now, nothing but thick, awkward, unbreathable air between the two of you – it feels like it should never have happened.

You’re bent over the counter, head resting on your folded arms, breathing still staggered – when you hear it. The squeal of brakes outside. An engine cutting. A door slamming.

Two knocks on the door, and Joel pushes it open. You’re already in the hallway, watching his heavy head and loose shirt cross the threshold.

He looks up and your eyes meet. His hair’s a mess, he’s in the same tee from last night. He’s gotten straight out of bed and into his truck, and he’s braced, like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Which direction to expect the first punch from.

Your knees weaken at the sight of him. The safe haven of his arms, the home of his chest. The beating pulse behind it whose language you’ve become fluent in. Even now, when everything’s fallen apart, his being here washes relief over you like cool water dousing an inferno. Your body relaxes, your breathing quietens.

Joel nods towards you. You okay?

You shake your head lightly, and he flicks his fingers. You’re in his arms before your brain tells your limbs to move.

“’s okay,” he breathes, lips lined with your ear. His chest is soft, warm; you take fistfuls of his shirt. He strokes your hair, mumbling, “Told you we’ll be alright, yeah? It’s goin’ to be alright.”

You weep into him, lips dripping with salty tears. They part to reply, when a low growl rips between your bodies. Joel loosens his grip and you step back, turning around to face the ghost of your father at the end of the hall.

“Get the hell away from him.”

He advances, takes a few steps forward. You meet him halfway, gripping onto his shirt, planting yourself firmly between him and Joel.

“Woah, woah,” you say, pushing on his small chest, “let’s all just calm down. Dad.”

He’s smaller, scrawnier, older, and weaker than Joel. He’s never going to lift a fucking hand to him. Not if he wants to keep it intact. He wouldn’t square up to a fly, never mind an actual worthy opponent – but your gut tells you to make damn sure he doesn’t even try.

“Get out of the way, hon.”

“No. No way. And let you –? No.”

He’s not even looking at you. You’re nothing but an obstacle. He’s staring a few feet behind.

“Baby,” Joel says, voice weary and surrendered. “It’s alright, now. C’mon, outta the way.”

“Baby?” your dad seethes. “You just call my daughter baby?”

“Called me it as long as he’s known me, Dad.”

“’s different now,” he spits. “What the f–? I mean, what the fuck, Joel? What were you even thinkin’? Putting your Goddamn hands on my daughter?”

You don’t usually hear your dad curse. All through growing up, even when you left home – you could count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard it. It sends a bolt of fear through you as if you’re five years old again, and he can’t do much worse than say bad words in front of you.

You don’t usually see your dad do any of this stuff. Raise his voice, ball his fists. Lean forward, feet planted on the ground, like daring Joel to make the first move. Joel – his best friend. The guy he was supposed to be able to trust more than anyone in the world.

Angry. Furious. And you think: if there were a time he had a right to feel this way, to act like this and throw threats around as though they’re light as air, if ever there were a moment – this would be it. A betrayal. A secret this big.

Joel takes a step forward. He doesn’t seem scared. More – placating. Letting the tantrum run its course. He holds his hands out. “Let’s just – let’s just talk.”

“Talk,” your dad repeats, spitting the word like it’s rotten in his mouth. “You wanna talk? Let’s talk. What the hell have you been doin’ to her? Hm?”

Joel shakes his head, shoulders lifting. “I ain’t been doin’ nothin’ to her. That’s not what this is.”

“Hell,” your dad scoffs, “not what it is. Why don’t you explain to me exactly what it is, then, Joel? If it ain’t you takin’ advantage of a young girl? Takin’ advantage of my kid?”

Your head whips back to face Joel, hand lifting in a bracing motion. He sees it – sees the way your head shakes, imperceptible to your dad. Please don’t tell him. Not yet.

It’s bad enough that he knows you’ve been messing around. It hurts enough that he knows you’ve been lying for the entire summer. Telling him the full story – the conversation in the truck, the words exchanged over ice cream and the quiet tick of traffic lights across the street – would only hurt more. Would only sharpen his anger. He’d ask more questions; he’d drive his dagger deeper.

Joel pleads with you. His eyes do his bargaining. You don’t relent. Please.

“You know what I keep thinkin’ about,” your dad interrupts, “you know what’s runnin’ through my mind? That damn garden party. Those cupcakes. You puttin’ your thumb on her lip. I should’ve known the second you touched her what was happening. You arrogant, shameless son of a bitch, Joel, you got no idea what you –”

“Dad. Enough.”

Sure, you’re trying to calm him down, palms outstretched and motioning like he’s a wild horse, rearing frantically and threatening to crush you. But it also stings to hear him talking about Joel like that. Talking to him like that.

The same Joel he’d sling an arm around, knocking their beers together when the Rangers won. The same Joel you know he’d spent hours sat out back with, talking into the night and sharing stories and secrets with the stars.

The same Joel who covered your legs with his jacket last night, who held you when you were hurting, who reminded you what it was like to feel your heart again, beating rapidly in your chest.

He’s not talking about the same Joel. Not the Joel you know. Yours.

He’s still rambling. “…’n all this time, you pair have been closer ‘n you were lettin’ on.”

“You don’t understand,” you plead, “you don’t know him like I do.”

Your dad scoffs, twisted smirk on his face. “Oh, I know ‘im. I’ve known him a hell of a lot longer and a hell of a lot better ‘n you have, hon. Known him since he was fifteen, askin’ me ‘n my buddies to buy ‘im a case of beer from the liquor store. His little brother in ‘n outta jail like God only knows what. I know exactly what he’s like.”

“What he’s like?” you huff, exasperated. You spin on your heel, arms coming down on your sides with a slap. “Joel, help me.”

“Don’t you dare look at ‘im! Listen, kiddo, I know him. Know what he’s like at Frank’s, takin’ women home left ‘n right, then forgetting their damn names. Know he sure as hell can’t remember that schoolteacher’s name, can you, Joel? You remember her?”

“Quit it,” you tell him over your shoulder, still facing Joel.

Your dad laughs from behind you. It turns your stomach. “I’ll bet he never told you about that one, did he? That’d turn you off ‘im in a heartbeat, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah, he told me about Jess.”

Your dad’s voice cuts. Joel’s head finally lifts, his eyes ungluing from the floor to look at you.

You shrug back. “I figured it out. Sister’s name is Mia – she’s a year younger ‘n me.”

You swear he almost fucking smiles. Almost. It’s funny, or at least, it would be if you weren’t both in the middle of tearing your entire dynamic apart. Any other time, he’d nudge you, or tousle your hair, and say you were too clever for him, or something about being old again.

When you turn back to face your dad, he looks like he’s run out of words. So, he repeats ones he’s already said.

“I…Well, I know him, honey. And he ain’t someone you oughta be with.”

“How’d you figure that?”

He sighs. “I just told you my reasons.”

“’cause he wanted beer when he was a kid and he’s slept with people before? ‘cause Tommy gets himself into trouble – trouble that Joel then gets him out of?”

“No, I –”

“You don’t know a damn thing about any of this. You won’t listen to me. If you’d hear me out – hear us out, then you’d –”

“Don’t you dare tell me I’d change my damn mind. Don’t – you – dare.” Your dad’s voice is quiet and slow. Dangerous. Laced with something you’ve never heard in it before. It’s not worth finding out what.

Your head shakes, knee jerking with nerves. “I don’t…I don’t know what else to say.”

The fire flickers, loses light for a second. His voice softens. “Honey…This –” he waggles his finger between your body and Joel’s, “this thing y’all have been…It ain’t right. It is not right, what y’all have been doin’. You are far too young for him. He should know better, and the fact that he doesn’t – well.”

Your brows tighten, eyes pinching around painful tears. “I know why you’re mad. I get it. I’m sorry. But I can’t –” You sigh. “You are suffocatin’ me, living here.”

His façade drops instantly. He pushes his fingers into his eyes, groaning. “Hon, you’re not hearin’ me.”

“I hear you loud and clear, I –”

He cuts you off, throwing his arms up into the air with another loud yell. The words melt into one long drone, a mountainous ramble which peaks and falls in pitch; one minute low and angry and the next high and frantic.

You sigh, shoving by him for the living room. Joel reaches for your hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“Baby,” he says.

“Ah!” Your dad blocks his advance, shaky finger held to his chest. “You dare, son.”

You’re swipe the bag from the floor by your dad’s chair, your change of clothes still in a crumpled heap at the bottom. Slinging it over your shoulder, you whip past your father and lock your hand with Joel’s.

“Hey,” Joel says, slowing you down. “Darlin’, where are you –?”

“I wanna leave.”

“Huh?” he asks, brows raised.

“I want to go,” you whisper.

He glances over to your dad, dumbfounded by the stairs. “Where d’you wanna go?”

Your shoulders roll. Anywhere. Just take me away.

He doesn’t hesitate; barely thinks it over. He tightens his grip on your hand and pulls you toward him. Your feet stumble over the carpet.

“Where in the hell –?” Your dad’s snarling picks up again, his final chance. “I don’t think so –”

Joel’s backing up towards the front door, led by the pull of your hand. “Emotions are pretty high,” he announces, “why don’t we have this conversation once everybody’s calmed down?”

“Joel, if you take her, I’ll–”

“I ain’t takin’ her anywhere. She’s an adult.”

Liar. His hand wouldn’t let go of yours if you tried to pry it from his clutches.

“I’m leavin’,” he says, “she’s just coming with me.”

Your dad barks your name, and you freeze. Joel stops, too, allows you the time to turn. Like a deer in the headlights.

“I’m going, Dad,” you shakily tell him.

“I swear to God,” he says, “if y’all walk outta that door…”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean for any of this.”

He shakes his head. “Stay, hon. Let’s talk.”

“You’re not talkin’, though. All you wanna do is argue. I wanna go with Joel.”

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere with no one! ‘specially not him!”

You shrug, give your head a solemn shake. “Stop me.”

Joel hears the exhaustion in your voice, the scratch of your throat. The way the words melt into one another. He tugs on your hand, leading you through the front door. Your dad doesn’t speak again, and you don’t turn back to check on him.

The neighborhood is silent in the early morning. Yards empty, curtains still closed. No one, not even the sun, tucked behind a thin veil of cloud, sees when you pile into the front seat of Joel’s truck.

“Baby,” he says, pulling your seatbelt over your body.

Your eyes fix on the asphalt ahead. “Just drive.”

“Hey. Look at me.”

When you turn to him, he takes your jaw in both hands. “I love you,” he says.

“Still?” you squeak, eyes heavy with sleeplessness and tears.

“More.”

“This is fucking insane, Joel.”

He nods. “Yeah. ‘n you’re worth all of it.”

“Hey,” Sarah calls when the two of you spill in through the front door. She’s on the couch, Switch console in hand. “What’s up?”

“We have a – a lodger, for the next…little while,” Joel grumbles, tossing his keys onto the sideboard. He kicks off his boots and slides them to the wall, straightens up and looks to you.

You follow suit wordlessly, slipping out of your sneakers. Joel places them by his.

“Cool,” Sarah says, standing up. “How come?”

“Just – dad trouble,” you whisper, deflated. She’s wandering around the couch. A defeated sound rings from the console hanging from her thumb.

Her head tilts. “I…I got plenty room for you,” she flashes you a warm grin, “it can be like a big-ass sleepover.”

You return her smile, a slow, grateful breath filling your lungs. Joel’s arm wraps over your shoulder as your mouth opens to answer.

“No, uh…” He clears his throat. “She’ll be in my room. With me.”

Sarah’s expression is blank. She blinks between the two of you, arms limp either side of her hips. Your eyes flit from Joel to her and back again, wide, waiting. Waiting for someone to move, or speak, or yell.

Joel looks indifferent. Unbothered. As if he just told her it’s sunny outside.

She takes a step forward, and by instinct, you draw back. “Sarah…” you mutter, and she swings around the newel post. She dodges your outstretched hand, whether accidental or deliberate – you’re not sure.

“No, it’s…Okay. Yeah. I’ll – I gotta…Yeah.”

You watch as she climbs the stairs backwards, still looking from your pleading face to her dad’s stoic. She shrugs, wiggles the Switch and mumbles something about it needing charged, before she’s spinning and taking the last few steps two at a time.

When her bedroom door closes, you slump back. Joel doesn’t let go of your shoulder, catching you and pulling you into his chest.

“Fuck,” you whisper, lips pressed against his tee. He smells like pine, like mint, like you.

“’s okay,” he says into your hair, hand curving the shape of your skull. “She’ll come around. You know Sarah.”

You turn, ear against his chest, listening for his heartbeat. It doesn’t tell you anything new. You miss the days you used to listen for secret messages in the soft rhythm.

Joel’s chin rests on the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “None of this is your fault, you hear? None of it.”

“Now you’re just lyin’ to me. You know that ain’t true.”

A hum rumbles against your cheek like the earth readjusting, rearranging beneath your feet. You lift your head, loosen your grip around his waist.

“You need sleep,” he tells you, thumb swiping gently beneath your heavy eyes.

You don’t protest.

Joel takes your hand, leads you mutely upstairs and into his room. His bed’s not made. The shades aren’t even open. He lifts the sea of sheets, tosses them twice in the air and then pulls the corner back, letting you sit on the edge of the mattress.

He undresses you carefully, like your limbs might crack and burst at the slightest touch. He replaces your hoodie with a fresh tee of his own, one that still smells like the world before its end, and you lay back into bed slowly.

It’s shaped like you – the divot in the mattress. You slot back into it like you never left. The curl of your back and the fold of your knees. You’ve left little pieces of evidence all over the place – all over Joel.

He runs a delicate hand across your head, the repetitive movement lulling you off to sleep. Pushing the boat out.

“You need anythin’?” he asks.

You shake your head, arms wrapping tight underneath your pillow. “I’m good,” you whisper, and the waves pull you under.

His bedside lamp is on when you stir, the left half of the room a glowing honey color. His bare leg slotted between yours, your hands intertwined on his chest. His finger drifts back and forth against your palm, the strokes matching your breathing.

You’re still tired, eyes still rolling beneath heavy lids, but when some commentator screams at the game playing on the TV screen, you snap awake.

Joel curses under his breath, begins tearing the bed apart for the remote – but by the time he turns the volume down, your head is propped against his pillow, knuckles rubbing your eyes.

“Sorry, baby,” he sighs, kissing your forehead as he sits on the edge of the bed.

“’s okay.” You flash him a lazy smile. “What time is it?”

“Almost five thirty.”

“Damn,” you mutter. “Slept all fucking day.”

“You needed it,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “You want some dinner? Or – breakfast?”

You nod. “Sounds good.”

He disappears downstairs. The echoing of pots and pans and the hum of the extraction fan follow in his wake. You groan, stretching out like a starfish across the messy bed, forgetting for just a moment why you’re here, and what’s happened, and how different everything is.

It feels the same, even after eight hours sleep. Same guilt, and shame. Same anger and resentment towards your dad. Same punch to your gut anytime you picture his face, the wrinkled frown. The trembling fist holding your bag in midair.

The blow is soothed only by the swelling of warmth across your chest, looking around the room. The safety you feel here, as though you’re cut off from the rest of the world. Your father on pause the second you left the house; Joel’s room and his bed giving you time to catch your breath and recalibrate.

You’re not thinking about when you’ll have to go back home. You’re just not.

You knot your shorts back around your waist, take one huge swig of the water Joel left for you, and open his bedroom door, your head throbbing with each movement.

There’s a figure at the end of the hall, frozen in space like a phantom.

“Morning,” she says. Her hair is tied back, oversized hoodie over her shoulders.

“Hi.”

“You sleep good?”

“Must’ve. Missed half the day.”

Sarah smiles.

“Are you gonna kill me?”

“Hm,” her head tips back and forth, “not today. Don’t have the energy. Watch your back tomorrow, though.”

For the first time in almost twenty-four hours, a genuine laugh pushes its way past your lips. The knot in your stomach loosens, even if only a little.

“You wanna come help with dinner?” she asks, nodding to the stairs.

You smile. “Please.”

The three of you settle on pasta with some tomato sauce from a jar mixed through. You sit opposite Sarah as Joel sets the plates down, sliding into the seat next to yours with a gentle squeeze on your knee under the table.

The three of you talk. About nothing in particular – college, Rita and her cross stitch, some client of Joel’s whose wife got caught having an affair – but it soothes the ache in your heart. It feels like a blanket over your shoulders, a spot by the fire, a voice in your ear promising you that things are still okay. That they can still be this way: light, alive. The earth is still moving, the stars are still pinned up in the sky. Tomorrow will always come, and the day after that.

Sarah asks about LA. You tell her you didn’t know she knew. She grins and says, “Well, now that I do – you better put an application in.”

You hum around the fork between you lips. “Maybe.”

“Come on. The two of us out there together? For six whole months? You gotta do it. Tell me you don’t wanna do it. Are you gonna do it?”

Joel casts her a glower, his stony expression pushing her back in her chair.

Your eyes shift from hers over to his. He runs a slice of garlic bread around the curve of his plate, coating it in sauce, before he notices you staring. His face breaks into a tiny smirk.

“I don’t know,” you decide, turning back to Sarah. “I still gotta think it through.”

She nods earnestly. “Yeah, you should sleep on it. And then, first thing tomorrow, we’re doing it.”

The two of you let her have the final say, falling quiet until some new conversation is shifted onto the table, and then another, and then another. When you’re done eating, Sarah takes your hand and drags you back upstairs.

Sarah Miller’s bedroom has been baby pink for as long as you can remember. Joel painted it one summer while she was at camp, eliciting help from your dad to shift all the furniture. As she grew up, she covered the walls in posters, changed the sheets, changed the curtains, strung fairy lights to distract from what she saw as a kiddish color.

But she never asked to change it. Always wanted the same blushing pink her dad had picked out when she was ten – even if secretly.

Her blinds are tilted, golden light from the slowly lowering sun filtering through onto her carpet, stained with tiny dabs of nail polish. She throws herself down onto the bed, her curls igniting brown in the summer light, and you slowly sink down beside her.

“Nice Zayn poster,” you note, pointing to the straight-browed, dark-haired figure painted in a moody grayscale on her ceiling. “Interesting placement.”

“Was so I could dream about him every night.”

“You didn’t wanna take him to California?”

“Didn’t have to,” Sarah smiles, tapping her temple, “he’s all up here, baby.”

You snort. Your eyes flutter closed; hands clasped on your stomach. She sighs contentedly by your side, listening to the chatter of birds out front.

“I miss this,” she says eventually, her voice smooth and soothing. She elbows you lightly.

“Me too,” you reply. And then, with a deep breath: “Sarah…are you okay?”

When she turns back, the sunlight catches in her eyes. They twinkle, like she’s some doe-eyed Disney character. Someone who might be able to wiggle her fingers and make the last day disappear.

“Am I okay?”

“Yeah. With…everything.”

She shrugs, mumbles an I dunno. “What can I do about it? It’s weird, but…it’s none of my business. I guess…I guess if y’all are happy, then – you know. I’m gone half the time, anyways.”

“It is your business, too, though,” you tell her. “I don’t wanna make you feel weird.”

“I think you got bigger things to worry about right now. Sounds like your dad’s pretty mad.”

You sigh, looking back up to the boyband poster. “Yeah. He’s pretty mad.”

“My dad told me what happened. Well, parts. I can kinda guess the rest. Can’t really blame him, I guess.”

You shrug. “Guess not, but then…I am twenty-three, y’know? I’m not a kid. I can make my own mind up.”

She’s still staring at you, but you don’t return her glance. Something tells you that you already know what it says. Still, she verbalizes it.

“Would you be okay if I slept with your dad?”

That is so not what I thought you were gonna fuckin’ say.

You shoot her a look. “What?”

“’m askin’. Would you be okay with it, if I –”

You lift your hand to shut her up. “That is…so totally different.”

“How is that different?” she scoffs.

“Because…because…my dad’s not hot.”

Sarah gags.

“And – and also you’re not friends with him. It’s just different, alright?”

“You were friends with my dad?”

You’re laughing with her now. You can hear how pathetic your justification sounds. “Kinda, yeah. I was close to ‘im.”

“Yeah, that much is obvious, now, babe.”

You smack her arm and she giggles.

“I think he’ll come around. Your dad.”

“I don’t. Not ever.”

“Why wouldn’t he? His best friend would become his son-in-law, I would become his granddaughter-in-law –” She gasps and props herself up on her elbow, staring you down. “Does this make you, like, my stepmom?”

You spit out a laugh, and Sarah throws her head back against her pillow, clutching her belly.

“You’re my fuckin’ mom, dude!”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” you reply, covering your face with your hands. “Aw, fuck,” you breathe, giggling.

You settle back into the bed, your heads leaning against one another as you stare up at Zayn and his audience of glow-in-the-dark stars. Sarah hums something softly to herself, her ankle rocking, her fingers tapping.

The two of you were raised together. Sisters, when neither of you knew what that word really meant. You figure she’s as close as you could find – someone who reflects all of your favorite parts of yourself and who calls out the uglier ones without hesitation. Someone who comforts you with a punch to the arm, a mocking quip about your hair or the something in your teeth. A safe little secret keeper, for all of your wildest dreams and biggest fears.

“I guess this is all why you were so down in the dumps last night, right? Your dad knew then?”

You shake your head. “Not at that point. He found out after we all left. Realized it all on his own. It’s all just…so fucking stupid…”

She sighs. “My dad – if he…if he makes you happy, then I don’t even know. As long as I don’t have to see it – we’re cool.”

One cinderblock of weight lifts from your chest, allowing a rugged breath to escape. “Wish my dad would take a leaf outta your book,” you mumble.

“He’s just mad,” Sarah says. “He’s just mad, and he’ll eventually calm down.”

“Doesn’t matter even if he does calm down,” you reply. “My dad has more of a…restrictive parenting approach.”

“Can you really parent a twenty-three-year-old?”

“He finds a way to try.”

She scoffs, saying, “I get it. My dad’s more, try it ‘n see. Your dad is, like, try it ‘n see…what your punishment is.”

You both erupt into laughter, and Sarah reaches for the TV remote.

“Exactly,” you tell her, tugging on the hem of Joel’s shirt. “Although, if your dad found out you were with my dad, I don’t think he’d be cool with it, either.”

“Yeah,” she smirks, flicking through Netflix titles, “y’all got what you deserved.”

The sound of Sarah’s bedroom door closing over stirs you. Her room is the color of rust; the stream of amber sunlight on the carpet replaced by that of the streetlights. Beneath the door, the sliver of light is shifted by the sway of a silhouette walking off down the hall.

Sarah’s snoring quietly beside you, still in her jeans. Keeping an eye on her, you roll off the bed and creep towards the door, a slow groan coming from the handle as you twist it. Joel’s at the opposite end of the hall, disappearing into his room as you shut Sarah back into her warm slumber.

“Thought you were sleepin’,” he whispers when you slip into his room. He’s already sat in bed, leant against the headboard. The room a thick darkness, a black cloud of dusk spiraling around you and cutting you off from the rest of the world.

“Heard you come in.” You wander over, pausing at the side of the bed. “Wanna stay with you.”

“C’mere,” he says, holding a hand out. You take it, pulling yourself into his lap. He slips his hands under the hem of your shorts, fingertips brushing the crests of your hipbones. “You okay?” he asks, thumbs swiping gently on the seam of your thigh.

“Never better. You?”

He sighs in response and looks off to the window, the light catching his eye. You tilt your head and bend forward, kissing below his ear. He smells like whiskey. You breathe it in, inhaling like the sharp scent might fold you under a numb blanket of inebriation, too.

Joel takes a fistful of your hair and pulls you from his neck, watching the shift in your expression before he kisses you – steady, bracing. The first time since everything went so wrong.

For a few minutes you pretend nothing has changed – you’re still sneaking around, shushing one another; someone’s in the next room, there are still secrets to be kept. You slip your shorts down your legs, kicking them over the side of the bed; Joel’s sweatpants follow soon after. His hands surrender and you push up on his chest, dragging your core against his stubborn crotch, lips never losing contact. Tongues rolling against one another, noses bumping; a tangle of breath between you until you’ve no idea which is yours and which is his.

It’s all you know how to do, after all. It’s how this started, it’s how it got out of control. The two of you taking out your needs on one another. Right now is no different. You need to feel something other than the dread in the pit of your stomach, the ache in your heart anytime you look at him and know he feels it, too.

You come up for air and suddenly the feeling dissipates; doubt sets back in and fear washes over you like ice water. Your hips cease, Joel’s hands lift from your body. He pushes the hair from your face to find his own expression mirrored in yours.

Everything has changed.

You watch his movements, the light trace of his finger on your bare skin, the pinch of fabric as he adjusts his boxers. The careful movements of his own hips, trying not to incite anything more.

“I love you,” you offer, when he doesn’t say anything. Whispered, like it’s a question, like something to dangle in front of him to make him bite.

At the very least, it unsticks his gaze from the cotton print over your chest and back up to your face – where he softens and says, “Oh, darlin’. I love you, too.”

He gives you a squeeze and pulls you by the shoulders closer, letting you feel his lips on yours again and again, until you’re out of breath. You nuzzle your head under his jaw, the rise and fall of his chest and the steady beat of his heart at your ear.

Joel trails his hands up and down your spine. He breaks the silence first – stammers his way through a question you’re not sure how to answer.

“Was I – was I hurtin’ you? All this time?”

You lift your head, looking blankly at him. “What –?”

“Was I hurting you?”

“Hurting me?”

He nods. “Everythin’ we were doin’. Everything we’ve done. You wanted me to be doing it, right?”

He looks…scared, as though forty years have been shaved from him over the course of one day. Eyes glassy like he might burst into tears; bottom lip almost trembling with uncertainty.

You sit up and cup his face; he breathes a sigh of relief when you look him dead in the eye and say, “I wanted you to be doing all of it.”

“All of it?” he repeats.

“Yes,” you nod, “nothing you ever did ever hurt me.”

He lowers his gaze. “’cept when I left.”

“You came back.”

His thumb curves beneath the slip of fabric on your hips, toying with the elastic. There’s more in his question, you know it. He’s not convinced by a word you say.

“It’s just…all such a fuckin’ mess,” he groans, fingertips massaging his forehead.

You hesitate, unwilling to agree and unable to disagree. It is a fucking mess – that much is true. But if that’s all it is, then why does your heart pause for breath whenever you see him? Why does the mere thought of his presence, the tiniest glimpse of him – why does it all send your stomach somersaulting?

How can something supposed to be so bad, make you feel so fucking good?

“It was wrong of me,” Joel says, “to flirt with you that night I first saw you again. To put you in that position. But I did, and we ended up here. And I’m glad we did, baby, you know I am, but…it’s on me. This thing with you ‘n your dad.”

“You don’t think he should back off a little? Don’t think he’s oversteppin’ a mark, even a tiny bit?”

He shakes his head. “I’d do the damn same, ‘n you know it. I shoulda known better. Shouldn’ta let it happen. You mean more to me than the world, and I – I caused all this hurt for you.”

Sure, it’s real noble of him to take all of the blame, but it wasn’t just him. You had a part in it, too: your batting eyelashes, your hands where they shouldn’t have been. Your jaw tightens when he says it, holding back from telling him you want as much responsibility in this as he’s taking, even if he won’t allow it.

But an argument with Joel, right off the back of one with your father, isn’t really something you need. It wouldn’t help anything. So, you swallow your words and whisper new ones.

“You shouldn’t have flirted with me?”

His eyebrows flick, concern knotting them together. He sits up, scooping you in his arms. “I meant I should’ve never let it get to this point.”

“’n what about the first time you touched me?”

The memory plays between you: the weight of him on your body, the sound of the stereo system firing up downstairs. One hand between your legs and the other pinching your heart.

The light in your eyes starts to bleed through your body into Joel’s, distorting the projected image of that scene in your bedroom. It ignites somewhere low, travelling upwards until his stare locks with yours: an understanding weaving between you both.

You lean back from him, drinking in the sight. “Nothin’ but trouble, right? That’s what you said, that first night. You knew damn well where it might go. ‘n you still wanted it, just as bad.”

“Darlin’, I’m not sayin’ I didn’t, I –”

“No, no, I get it. I get it.”

You push his shoulders to the mattress. Fire in your belly, some kind of twisted energy pumping through your veins, you grind down on him again.

That thing, about this being all you know how to do? About taking your needs out on each other?

Right now, you need distraction. You need something to tire you out, to drain you of energy, to stop your thoughts for five minutes. You need someone to hold you, and love you, and make you feel good. Joel’s the perfect distraction.

He’s still hard. You’re still wet. It’s easy.

You drag your hips lazily over his, cotton riding against lace. He’s growing harder, bigger; he’s pushing up into you. You respond by pushing down, and Joel groans.

“Hey,” he takes hold of your thighs, “baby, we don’t have to –”

“Then, let’s stop.”

He says nothing.

You reach down past the band of his boxers and take him in your hand. He bites back a moan, his head falling into the pillow. You’re stroking him: long, hard strokes, fist tightening around him, fingers dipping between your folds to apply your slick to his length.

“Say the word, Joel. We’ll stop,” you pant, unsure if even you buy the words you’re saying. “You said it: none of this should’ve ever happened. You should’ve never laid a finger on me.”

His arms lift, throbbing biceps curving around his pillow and crumpling it against his skull. He doesn’t tell you to stop, because he doesn’t fucking want you to. He needs this – needs you as much as you need him, needs you more than he needs the air in his lungs.

And you’re right: it is different now. Now, it’s out in the open. The whole world could know, for all the two of you care. And maybe that’s the kick to it, now. No more hiding. No more fleeing from shadow to shadow.

You tug his underwear down and lower yourself, dragging your folds up and down the width of him while sticky precome gathers at his tip, dappling the trail of hair from his navel. And when you can’t do it anymore, when the mere sight of him drenched in your arousal threatens to send you over the edge, you line him up to your entrance and sink down, slow.

He moans into the pillow, fabric muffling your favorite sound in the world. And he doesn’t stop, his chest doesn’t stop rumbling until you reach his hilt, where he gasps.

“Darlin’,” he whimpers, hands coming back down to hold you in place.

You bat them away. “Uh-uh,” you tut, pinning his wrists above his head. “Not a – fuckin’ – finger.”

Joel grits his teeth, eyes locking onto yours, directly above him as you slide up off his cock, hips circling as you do, and then back down. Your free hand curves around his ribcage, the solid flesh of his torso stabilizing you.

“Poor baby,” you coo, pouting your lip. “Can’t even touch me. Can’t put a hand on your girl when you need to most.”

“Fuckin’ – whore,” he grunts, and your hips grind to a halt. You release his wrists.

“That what you think of me?” you ask, sitting upright on his lap. Joel’s still buried deep inside you.

“No,” he’s breathing, lips curling, “no, baby. Keep goin’.”

“I’m not the one goin’ back on my word here.”

He flashes a thick, filthy smile. “I know, I know. Go on. Make me proud.”

You lean forward again and he sighs, the feel of your wet cunt wrapping like satin around him.

“You think he’d trust you, anyway, after everythin’?” you mewl. “Think he thinks I’m in a different room right now? Tucked up in bed, safe ‘n sound? Nah, baby, he knows. He knows what you’re doin’ right now. Keep your hands off me? You can’t keep your cock outta me.”

Joel moans in agreement, hands gripping into the sheets to ground himself, hips bucking up against yours. You place your hands either side of him on the mattress and start to bounce, skin slapping, bed shaking.

“You like that, huh?” you moan, feeling the sharp kiss of his head at your cervix. Nudging, nudging, nudging. Blunt pain, blissful pleasure. “Like me riding it. Takin’ what I – oh, fuck – what I need.”

He lets out a guttural moan, writhing around underneath you. It’s like he’s forgotten where he is, forgotten you guys aren’t alone in the house; drunk on the sight, smell, sound, and feel of you on him, not even trying to stifle his sounds anymore.

You close your eyes and hope Sarah doesn’t wake anytime soon.

You’re keeping the façade up for Joel, but on the inside, you feel the exact same. His words echo in your ears, shouldn’ta let it happen, and how quickly that melted into make me proud. Your head starts to swim, your eyes heavy, your body trembling.

The thatch of hair at the bottom of his cock brushes against your clit, a gasp drawing between your teeth. Pain begins to rip upwards on the inside of your thighs, forcing you forward.

“Joel,” you pant, leaning over him. “Fuck.”

“Gotta let me touch you, baby,” he whispers, hands lifting beneath the fabric of your shirt. His fingers ghost across the curve of your shoulders. “You need it, don’t you?”

You whimper in response and Joel slips past the moment of weakness, taking a strong grip of both shoulders and pulling himself upright on the mattress. The tee slips from your body in one breath, and his hands follow the incline of your neck to your jaw, holding you steady as he fucks up into you.

“You want me to fill you up?” he asks, leaning back with a palm flat on the bed behind to watch himself disappear between your legs.

You’re nodding desperately. “Mhm.”

“Gotta ask nicely, remember? Be a good girl for me?”

“Dick,” you hiss, draping your arms over his shoulders.

He pouts. Sweat gleams on his upper lip. His voice cracks, weakens like stone beginning to crumble. “’s not v-very n-ice, baby.”

“Comeinme,” you beg, your fingers swirling around the dark hair at the bottom of his skull. “Please, come in me.”

“Atta-girl,” he groans, and his hands instantly lock on your hips. You don’t stop him this time, letting him push you down as hard as he can onto his cock, coming as deep inside you as he can.

And then – that familiar feeling of being his. Filled with him, your eyes and your nose and your mouth and your cunt spilling with the sight, smell, taste and feel of him. He coats your walls, throbs deep inside you as he claims every tiny corner of your body.

He growls as his cock twitches, and you watch his expression go from determined, to blissful, to fucking exhausted when he stills and his head rolls forward into your chest. His breath hot and staggered between your breasts; light kisses peppered onto damp skin.

You watch him through a post-sex haze, the air between you thick and blurry, as he presses his lips into your chest. He sucks along the cushion of your breast until he reaches the nipple, lips cupping around it, tongue flicking with all the effort he has left in him.

When he lifts his head again, one final kiss to your sensitive flesh, you balance his chin under your thumbs.

“You come?” he asks, the words propelled by a heavy exhale.

You shake your head slowly. “I’m tired, anyway.”

“Alright,” Joel groans, flipping you over. He pushes your thighs apart, his spend leaking from your slit and running southwards.

“Joel,” you giggle, “c’mon, I’m tired. You don’t have to –”

He’s already pushing himself lower, whipping the dark cotton tee from his shoulders and brushing his naked chest over your stomach. You lower your arms to hook under his.

“Hey. Come here a sec.”

Joel blinks up at you. “What’s up?”

“Just – come here.”

He kneels back up to you, hovering over you with his hands under your shoulders. His limp cock lies against the inside of your thigh as he lowers his weight onto your hips. You tilt your head, mapping his face.

Your knuckle runs across his cheek, the jagged bristle of his beard on your warm skin. Like running your hand under water, unable to tell whether it’s scalding hot or freezing cold – there is no saying whether you’re so used to him now that the feel of him is unaffecting, or entirely all-consuming. There’s no middle ground. Not anymore.

“I know –” You sigh, your voice swollen with a soft cry. There’s no stopping the tears anymore. They just come. “I know you think you should’ve known better. But I am so fucking glad that you didn’t.”

It’s done nothing but pour all day. You woke up this morning to the rain battering against Joel’s window, your body hooked against his by his arm.

Day four. Still no call, no text, no nothing from your dad. You haven’t exactly returned the favor – the closest you dared was having Sarah drive you to your house while he was at work so you could dip into the hallway, grab your car keys, and drive straight back to Joel’s. You pulled up in his driveway alongside each other and she rolled her window down, checking your expression before snorting.

It’s like a damn Mission: Impossible film, she jested.

The pain feels blunter, more distant than it did on Saturday. Like your father has bowed his head, faded some into the dark background of upstage. You realize, a few days in – the movie nights and the meals homecooked by three chefs; the way Joel’s scent starts to become yours, his T-shirts hanging loose over your shoulders and his boxers snug against your hips – that you forget to check on the shadow of your dad. Forget the spot he once stood in, the thunderous cloud cast over his head. The same one that so regularly used to pour rain over you.

Sarah went out with her friends a few hours ago. She called to say she’d miss dinner, so you and Joel ordered Chinese. You’re sat with your legs in his lap picking away at some noodles, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while he catches up on some baseball highlights show.

“Fuckin’ – idiots,” he mumbles, fork angrily picking at rice.

Your eyes don’t lift from the Instagram caption you’re reading. “Fuckin’ idiots,” you flatly agree.

Joel’s head turns. “Alright, Miss Big Rangers Fan. I remember a time you pretended to be into ‘em to get my attention.” He attempts to grab your phone, and you swipe it from his grasp.

“Shut up,” you giggle, grabbing hold of your takeout box. “Joel – be careful!”

He snorts, settling back into the couch, changing the TV channel. You give his thigh a little kick, tugging your blanket up. As the TV switches from one showing to the next, your phone buzzes.

You glance down, chopsticks halfway to your mouth, and freeze.

Dear Candidate…

“Joel.”

“Hm?” he asks, eyes glued to the flickering screen.

“Joel.”

“Yes, darlin’?”

You unstick your stare from the phone, looking up to meet his perplexed expression. “They got back to me.”

He squints for a second before the remote is dropped to the cushion. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just saw the first line.”

“Open it, baby. C’mon. Whatever it is, you gotta know.”

“You know what,” you shrug, “I’m good. I don’t need to know. It’s all good.”

“Hey.” Joel snaps his fingers scooping your gaze from the floral, bohemian name on the header of the email and up to his own. “Open it, or I’m kickin’ you out.”

You mock gasp. “You’d put me out on the streets?”

“Worse. Put you back to your dad’s. Now open the email.”

Your thumb trembles as it hovers over the screen, one tap away from the biggest change in your life since you left for New York. Like it’s five years ago, and you’re sat in front of your laptop, psyching yourself up to open the response to your college application.

“Okay,” you breathe, slamming your thumb down. Joel leans in, staring at the screen from upside down.

It swipes across and your eyes flit down, focusing hard on the sentence beneath the opening line. You blink rapidly, waiting for the wash of tears to clear and dissolve it to Unfortunately, or After careful consideration, or We appreciate your interest.

But it never does.

Invite to interview stares back up at you, waiting for your face to break. Expectant, a little nervous. Jittering inside your shaking fist. Joel breaks first, when he spots it.

He almost throws his food onto the coffee table, taking your container from your hands and bundling you up in his. He pulls you into his body, presses heavy kisses to the crook of your neck as you laugh, your entire body quaking with joy and terror and relief and anxiety.

“What’d I tell you?” he says, kissing you roughly. “I knew it, babygirl. I knew you would – Fuck, I am so fucking proud of you.”

“It’s just –” sniff, “– it’s just an interview, remember. I might not get it, in the end.”

Joel shakes his head. “I don’t care. You’re a damn sight closer to gettin’ it than you were three days ago.”

You sit for probably twenty minutes, laughing and then weeping and then laughing again – until the food is cold, there’s a new episode of South Park rolling on TV, and Joel’s T-shirt is soaked with your tears.

“I gotta call Sarah,” you whisper, finger sifting through his hair. Your head buried in his neck, your knees either side of his hips.

“She’s going to lose her fuckin’ mind,” he mumbles into your shoulder, laughing to himself. “She’ll sit off-camera in the corner of the room, so they can’t see her, ‘n hold up cue cards.”

You giggle, letting it dissipate into something weaker, something unconvinced. In a small voice, you say, “We just got one step closer to being four states apart.”

He looks up at you, curving a hand around your jaw, and pulls your lips against his. It’s slow, tender – his every thought and feeling translated into physical movement, transformed into a spin of butterflies in your chest.

When you pull away from him, smiling dumbly, he clips your cheek. “That scare you?”

You hesitate, afraid to tell him the truth. But it’s Joel. He knows every thought that passes through your head. You nod, eyes filling with a salty sting.

“Why?” he asks.

You glance out to the street. “’cause I love you. I don’t wanna leave you.”

Joel nods. Considers it. Then says, “You know why it doesn’t scare me?”

You lift your eyebrows in response. Why?

“Because I love you. And we are gonna be just fine.”

And you believe him.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #cowboy like me

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divineei · 4 months

Text

TOOTM zero. old beginnings

! go kyungjun x fem!reader

# relationship lore, first meeting, heavy infatuation, mentions of kyung jun having daddy and mommy issues

a/n. chill yall i swear im putting my whole authorussy on this

months before the school trip…

rain pours on top of the bus stop's roof. although tiny, the cover is enough to prevent kyung jun's clothes from getting even wetter.

if only he had brought an umbrella. he was in such a rush to get out of his house after yet another fight with his parents, he didn't even hear the water falling from the sky before it was too late and was already running around the streets.

kyung jun had no idea how long had passed since he stormed out, not that he cared anyway. he considered this ten times better than all the yelling at home. when he managed to ignore the cold, the little bus stop was peaceful; quiet.

or it was.

he dug in his pocket to take out a cigarette and put it in his mouth when the sound of hurried footsteps stepping on puddles distracted him. he turned his head towards the noise, immediately setting eyes on the figure sprinting towards him: a girl in winter clothes held a bag above her head as a shield from the rain while she ran in his direction. she stopped right next to him, breathing heavily and drenched in water.

kyung jun turned his attention back to his tobacco. he paid her no mind. why would he? he had enough to deal with seeing as he also fell victim to the pouring rain.

he felt the weight of the stranger sitting at the other end of the bench as he took out his lighter. however, rolling the flint wheel was useless as only a spark came out. he tried again. and again. and again, but still no flame. kyung jun's breath rose erratically and his pent-up frustration with it.

"fucking piece of shit", he sent the thing flying with as much force he could manage, making it break into pieces. was nothing supposed to work in his favor? he can't stop misbehaving like he promised his mother, he can't be the top of his class like he promised his father, he can't stop himself from lashing out right in their faces; for fucks sake he can't even light a cigarette. maybe they were right: he was worthless.

out of the corner of his eye, he saw something being handed to him. the stranger had reached her arm out with a lighter in hand. kyung jun's eyes varied from it to the face he'd been ignoring: drops of water were falling from her hair to her cheeks, she wore headphones around her neck and a lit cigarette between her parted lips, with eyes that stared at him through wet lashes, waiting for him to accept the offer.

he reached for the lighter, brought it close to him, and finally took a puff of his cigarette.

"you okay?", asked the pretty girl.

he looked back at her, seemingly taken aback by her interest but nodding nonetheless.

their interaction was cut short with a quick smile from her as she put her headphones on.

in his mind, kyung jun caught himself juggling feelings from shame to disappointment, realizing maybe he wanted somebody to ask if he was alright. he wouldn't have minded an opening to more conversation, even if it was to forget his troubles for just a few minutes. but he understood. i mean, who would care about a stranger on the streets anyway? who would care about him anyway?

the time passed as quickly as did his pack of cigarettes and now, with an empty box in his pocket, kyung jun's anger was rising once again. not because of the distress of his mind though but because of the loud music disturbing his peace.

after what felt like hours of trying to ignore the noise, he decided he had enough and aggressively waved his hand to catch the girl's attention.

"mmh?", she looked at him and removed one of the speakers.

"turn that shit off."

"excuse me?" she scoffed raising her brows.

"i said," kyung jun pointed at the headphones that were now around her neck, "turn it off. it's fucking annoying me."

she let out a teasing chuckle. was she... laughing at him right now? "fuck off. i'll listen to my music however i want."

...the fuck? his mouth opened in disbelief. this was a first. nobody, and i mean nobody, would even think of talking back to him like that.

"who do you think you're talking to?" he turned his body to her with a scowl intimidating enough to make anyone at his school go running with their tail between their legs.

"someone with no taste in music, apparently."

damn, she really was laughing at him.

kyung jun's mouth opened to fight back but no words came out. he couldn't believe it. he was stunned. did the rain wash out every threatening aspect of him?

it could be the cold, the shock, the contagious smirk of the pretty girl, or maybe the exhaustion finally catching on to him, but for whatever reason, he couldn't find it in him to say anything back. so he laughed. just slightly. some probably would consider it more of a defeated sigh. but he did.

"what?"

her smile was taunting him, provoking him to keep talking.

"nothing", yet he didn't have the energy for it, not right now. so today, he'd let it slide.

her smile shifted from cheeky to genuine when he brushed her off. as much as she enjoyed the banter, she had enough awareness not to tease any further.

"you know what," instead, she disconnected her headphones before handing her phone to the guy. "if my music is so annoying to you, show me something better."

kyung jun frowned, but a small smile graced his face, betraying his attempt at indifference.

and so he accepted her offer, for the second time that day.

minutes went by with surface-level conversation and recommended songs. it was a pleasant distraction for him, at least enough to make him miss the way his pulse merged with the beats of the tunes. they enjoyed their time together until the faint sound of wheels appeared in the distance. turning off the music, the pretty girl stood up in front of him.

oh right, the bus.

for a second, he forgot where they were.

"well, that's my ride" she announced, just seconds before said ride stopped before them.

for a second, time seemed to freeze.

the girl said something else, but whatever it was fell on deaf ears. it felt like his senses were failing him all of a sudden.kyung jun sat there, helpless and paralyzed, as he watched her walk away. a chill ran down his spine, causing goosebumps to break out all over his body. his mind was screaming at him to do something, anything, to make her stay just a little bit longer. he wanted to ask for her name, to strike up more conversation, to find out who she was and where she was going. but he couldn't bring himself to move. all he could do was see her disappear, without time to wonder what might have been.

when he came to his senses the bus was out of sight, and the empty spot on the bench felt heavier than ever.

kyung jun looked at the sky. there was not a single ray of sun to be seen, but at least the rain had finally stopped. he leaned back and just as his hands came to rest in his pockets he touched something cold. he took it out, eyes falling on a lighter. her lighter.

he could feel the beat of his heart against his ribcage. why? where did all this adrenaline come from? since when has he become so soft as to let such a flimsy little thing make his head spin and his face fire up?

"fuck", he cursed to the skies.

as the days went by, his intense but short-lived experience with that stranger remained fresh in the back of his mind. no matter how many times he tried to blur her face she was like a ghost that reappeared every time he looked away, a fading memory he couldn't fully forget.

at the back of the school's building kyung jun took the last puff of his cigarette just when the bell announced the start of classes. he dropped what was left of it on the floor at the same time his two companions dropped the innocent student they had been tormenting. they walked together to their classroom with the same enthusiasm as a kid who received a pair of socks for christmas and sat in the back row.

"good morning, class", the teacher greeted as she stood in front of the students, who immediately saluted back.

kyung jun rolled his eyes and laid down on his desk with no thought other than finding the perfect position for the three-hour nap he was about to take until his next break, wondering if his dreams would finally be undisturbed by images of the one he couldn't fail to recall again and again.

"alright," the teacher clasped her hands to get the class' attention. "before starting our lesson, i'm pleased to inform you that we have a new student coming in today and i hope you'll help them accommodate to the school."

already starting to doze off, kyung jun's eyes remained closed even after someone knocked on the door and the tutor welcomed them in. "welcome, please come in and introduce yourself."

"hello everyone, my name is yoon yn. i hope we get along well."

what the...?

his eyes shot open.

there's no way. no fucking way.

he saw the new student politely bowing at the front of the room like she wasn't the same that had been living in his mind rent free day, night, and day again.

"thank you. please, take a sit."

she walked like in slow motion towards the back of the room and, for a split second, their eyes met. the idea that he must've already fallen into a deep slumber invaded him when she sent him a subtle smile before sitting just a few sits away from him.

the teacher regathered the attention of the room and started her lesson. needless to say, his plan of breezing through the school day with a nap got ruined.

hours passed insanely slow until the bell rang through the speakers and announced a much-needed break.

having pulled up two chairs by his side, jin-ha was cracking up at something on seung-bin's phone. whatever it was, kyung jun couldn't care less. his eyes were set on the crowd surrounding the new girl as his classmates smothered her with questions and compliments.

"are you new in town, yn?"

"what school did you use to go to?"

"were you in any clubs?"

"well–", yn tries to answer in between the frenzy.

"O-M-G, you should join our cheerleading group!" interrupted mi-na.

"im not interested in any clubs, thank you" yn declined with a smile.

"oh, of course." said so-mi, "someone like you was probably on the student council, right? you can always help me and jun-hee with-"

"i'll pass. thank you, so-mi."

"woaah, the class president got rejected!" heo yool pointed out and the small crowd joined in the teasing.

in the chaos of it all, she managed to find him staring. the moment was brief, yet enough for kyung jun's heart to skip a beat.

"you know her?"

"huh?"

"do you know her?", jin ha repeated. "the new girl."

kyung jun hesitated but shook his head, "no, i don't."

"could it be?", seung bin dramatised. "does ko kyung jun have a crush?"

his friends patted his back, mocking him, and giggled in unison.

"shut up," kyung jun sighed and leaned back on his chair closing his eyes with his arms crossed, trusting they'd get the hint that his temper was better off not tested.

"he didn't say no," seung bin whispered, gaining a repressed chuckle from jin ha.

boring lessons and occasional glances between the delinquent and the new student continued throughout the day until finally the moment to get out that hellhole arrived.

by the time kyung jun had his bag over one shoulder and ready to go the class was almost empty. yoon yn was putting away her stuff without any rush as if she wasn't the only one left in the classroom.

"hey, kyung jun!" seung bin shouted from the door. "you coming or not?"

"nah," he answered without turning his eyes away from the girl. "i'll see you tomorrow."

with a shrug, seung bin left the room with jin ha following after him, not before exchanging a knowing look.

"move, nerd!" was the last thing heard from the two vandals out on the hall before they left.

kyung jun approached yn with the same caution you do a stray cat in fear it'll run away and with each step, his pulse accelerated. as the girl cleaned up her belongings, he leaned on the desk next to hers wth his hands inside his trousers' pockets.

"the uniform doesn't suit you, you know?"

she turned to him–smirking–their eyes met and, for the first time today, neither looked away.

"i could say the same for you", yn crossed her arms.

"i'd say it's better than wet clothes.", he shrugged.

"please," the girl rolled her eyes, "it was just a little rain."

"a little rain?", kyung jun repeated. "you were literally running with your bag on your head."

"you were watching me?", yn put a hand over her chest and furrowed her brows, yet her smug smile remained. "you weirdo."

"look who's talking, you fucking stalker."

"excuse me? why the fuck would i stalk you?", she pointed at him.

"you tell me," he teased, lifting his hands. "you're the one in my school."

kyung jun kept staring at yn waiting for another one of her snarky comments but instead she tightly closed her lips together.

"what?" he provoked.

unable to hold back any longer, she let out a peal of laughter which made kyung jun's eyes widen as much as his own smile. he couldn't help it, her laugh was contagious and the situation was amusing. randomly meeting someone and obsessing over them to later find out they just enrolled in the same school as you is something you would only see in movies; or fanfiction.

yet here they were.

"nothing", yn smiled, finally gathering her stuff and putting her backpack over her shoulder, ready to leave.

leave?

flashes of the day he thought he'd never see her again flooded kyung jun's mind. he couldn't bear it. to someone else, this might seem extreme; desperate. now that they were classmates he'd most likely see her every day, so why even panic in the first place? but maybe, just maybe, he was desperate. to him, seeing her leave felt devastating. like a reminder of the day his whole body failed to even ask her name. but if the universe saw it necessary for them to meet again, that meant he wasn't supposed to let her go, right?

kyung jun clumsily opened his backpack and took out the trinket he'd been carrying around since that rainy day, handing it to her.

yn stared at him with her eyebrows wrinkled.

"here", the guy insisted, slightly shoving the lighter toward her.

"why?"

"'fuck you mean why? it's yours."

"i told you to keep it. you didn't hear me?"

"oh," he felt what seemed like a heatwave run through his neck and ears. "i guess not."

"all that shit you gave me about my loud music and look at you." she mocked.

the guy lowered his head. he would have run away right then and there to avoid any more embarrassment if it wasn't for the little pride he still had.

"hey, uh..." she paused. "sorry, what's your name?"

all this time and he still hadn't introduced himself? fuck, he really couldn't do anything right, huh?

"ko kyung jun."

"right. so, kyung jun, since it's such a nice day out i was wondering if you'd be free to show me around?"

like on queue, sunshine started squeezing through the window’s blinds.

he wasn't sure if it really was the world roaring at him to see the signs or if she just happened to take pity on him, but whatever it was he felt relieved, and his anxiety washed away the moment he lifted his head to look at the girl with her arm extended.

this was it, wasn't it? the opportunity he keept missing?

how many times will she have to reach out until you take the chance, dumbass?, screamed the universe.

"sure", kyung jun uttered. "i can do that."

she offered her hand, and for the final time, he accepted.

🏷️ @flaneurpastel - @jwijii - @watamotee33

#fem reader #night has come #night has come kdrama #nhc x reader #night has come x reader #kdrama x reader #go kyung jun #ko kyung jun #night has come ko kyung jun #ko kyungjun #go kyungjun #nhc kyung jun #ko kyung jun x reader #go kyung jun x reader #kyung jun x reader #night has come kyung jun x reader #night has come kyung jun

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selfcarecap · 16 days

Text

Backseat [j.p]

pairing: Javier Peña x reader

summary: When Javi has to work late, you visit him to help relieve some stress during his break. Or, as Lana said: let’s get in the back of your cop car officer <3 (kinda)

warnings: my first Javi fic omg and first fic in general in like one and a half years sooo, smut (public sex technically (in/next to a car) but no one sees them don’t worryy, p in v, unprotected, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk (only from Javi though, reader barely says a thing oops) excessive use of ‘baby’, use of ‘good girl’, Javi comes on reader’s belly and face, established relationship, not tooo much aftercare but they’re both fine with it, Javi taps (not slaps) reader’s cheek during sex), I assume that’s clear but this is about the fictionalised version of him lol, brief mention of the reader’s (harmless) crush on Steve lmao, cute and romantic Javi

word count: 2.8k

The threat of rain lingers in the cool air as Javi takes you to his car, his greedy hand placed on your ass as you walk. He’s parked at the other end of the parking lot next to the station, in a roofed corner with walls on the sides shielding it, and no other vehicles in sight. He did say he’d make sure no one would see you.

You haven’t had sex in a few days, both busy with work and other things, and you were looking forward to him finally fucking you again come Friday night. When he called you to say he had to stay at work at least a few more hours, you knew you’d have to go to him if you still wanted sex today. Otherwise Javi wasn’t coming home before you were fast asleep, and you couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

Javi was on board as soon as you asked if he had a few minutes to spare; he knew what your tone meant immediately and he missed the feeling of you naked in his arms as much as you did.

He unlocks the car and pushes the front seat forward to make more space in the backseat. You sit down in the back and grin, pulling him into the car by his jacket.

“Wait, baby, we better do it like this,” he says, pulling your legs to the side of the seat, the car door still open as he spreads you out on the backseat.

“You want to fuck me with the door open?” You ask.

“It’ll make it less obvious what we’re doing, and I can fuck you better like this.” You take in the position of him standing next to the car and think of him squeezing into the backseat with you instead. He’s probably right. You don’t mind as long as he gets on with it.

Javi takes off his leather jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, “You warm enough?”

You nod. The comfort of the car and the corner it’s parked in and, more importantly, the promise of Javi’s warmth provide a pleasant coziness. With a grin on his face, Javi finally bends down to kiss you, and you immediately push your tongue into his mouth.

“We gotta hurry up, you think you can do that?” Javi asks between kisses, and you nod desperately. As if you didn’t come all the way to the DEA station after your own draining workday just to get fucked. You’ve been waiting for this all week.

He pushes his thumb between your lips and you drool around it immediately. You respond to his questioning expression with an enthusiastic nod as he finds the hem of your short skirt and pulls your panties to the side. His wet thumb on your clit makes you gasp and arch into him. You can definitely make this quick.

Javi smirks at you, “You been waiting for this as much as I have? I’m all ready for you, baby, just tell me when you’re ready”. He kisses you and continues to rub circles over your clit as your pussy gets wetter and wetter, and you let out an incoherent string of sounds that’s supposed to let him know you’re ready.

He pulls back from the kiss and gently takes your face in his hand, squishing your lips into a pout, “What was that? You know that’s not enough for me. Need you to properly say it.”

You look up at Javi through your lashes, licking your lips, “Yes, I’m ready, Javi. Please fuck me.”

His face breaks out into a grin, “See, wasn’t that hard, was it? Or are you already too horny to speak?”. All you can focus on is his big fingers that have started fucking you, so you know better than to try and give an intelligible answer that would only come out as gibberish anyway.

Your stomach somersaults when Javi undoes his belt, the clang of metal making your pussy throb. You reach down to pull your panties down your legs, and seeing the wet spot on them makes you even more excited for what’s to come. Javi pushes your legs up against your chest with a hungry groan, and bends down to press a kiss to your pussy.

He decides to stay between your legs for a bit longer when he hears you sigh as he starts to lick sloppy circles against your clit, the taste of your wet pussy making him want to stay there forever.

“Javi,” you mumble, almost sounding as if you’re tipsy. You could easily cum from his mouth on you, but you know you don’t have much time before he needs to get back to work, and you need him inside you now.

He leans down to quickly kiss you as he unzips his jeans, and you break the kiss to look at his hard cock.

“I’m ready, I’m ready,” you repeat before he can ask you to say it again. You lie back but he stands up straighter to scan the area and make sure no one’s there to see and you slump against the backseat, lying down.

You lean your head to the side impatiently and catch the scent of Javi in the jacket of his that you’re cuddled up in, and it makes you want him even more. He laughs when you reach out your hands to him and he finally puts his hands back on your body, grabbing you to pull you to the edge of the backseat. The space is tight, the car door opened as wide as it can be as he stands next to the car facing you, but he’s making it work.

Javi spreads your legs and stands between them, casting one last glance above the car, “We’re good but we still have to hurry before someone sees us,” he says and you grin, ready for him to finally finally start, but he takes your grin as something else.

He smirks as he puts a hand on your jaw to make you look into his eyes, “You like that, baby? You want someone to walk in on you getting fucked, huh? Maybe Steve… I know he’d like that. What do you think?”

You slap his hand away and fake-gasp; he’s been teasing you about your ‘crush’ on Steve ever since you made an offhand comment about him being attractive.

“Just want you,” you mumble, half wanting him to know he’s the only one you want to be with, and half bashful because, well, Steve is attractive.

Javi grins and leans down to kiss you, simultaneously sneaking a hand up your skirt again, “Don’t worry, I know that. I can feel how wet this pussy is just for me. Could get lost in you forever.”

“Then do,” you say, craning your neck forward as he slaps his cock against your clit. You start to open your mouth a bit. You just want one brief taste before he fucks you. He looks at you and gently pushes you to lie back down, and you pout.

“That has to wait until tomorrow, baby. You know I won’t be able to stop if you wrap those pretty lips around me,” he says and strokes his thumb across your cheek. You smile, satisfied knowing the effect you have on him.

You spread your knees as wide as you can in the small space, Javi stepping as close to the side of the car as he can.

“You ready?” He asks one final time, rubbing the head of his cock up and down your wet and aching pussy.

“Mmhm, yes,” you moan, your fingers reaching down to spread your lips for him. Javi adjusts his position and pulls one of your ankles over his shoulder and decides to give one last glance to your surroundings to make sure no one will interrupt him fucking you, even though, right now, you couldn’t care less who sees. His hard dick that rests between your legs and pulses against your clit is enough to make you forget about every other thing in the world.

“So needy, baby,” he taunts when you sigh dramatically to get his attention, and you can tell he tries to tease you a bit more but ultimately gives in after a few seconds and pushes his cock into you. It slides in all the way with how wet you are, and you let out a desperate noise that’s muffled by Javi’s mouth slotting over yours.

He puts one hand on your hip to direct your body better and his other hand holds the side of your face as he caresses it, “Don’t mind you being needy though, baby, so am I. So glad you came, spoiling me with your pussy during my break. I could get used to this, you know?”

His eyes close in pleasure as he starts to fuck you, “Always so tight for me,” he says, voice strained. Every time his hips drive into yours is accentuated by the loud sound of your wet pussy, taking every inch of your boyfriend’s cock as he ruts into you like he hasn’t fucked you in months.

“‘M not gonna last long so you better be quick, baby, yeah? Can you do that?”

You nod quickly, unable to form words and he grins devilishly when only a few sounds of pleasure make their way out of your throat.

“God, I love when you get like this, all speechless because you‘re too horny for me. Love how you take my cock, you’re so fucking tight”, he roughly taps your cheek three times and you lean into his touch, into the sting, as he fucks you harder.

He grabs your face more roughly and you moan as he continues praising you, “Always so fucking pretty for me, oh my— god”, he changes his pace and you feel the difference too, heat building up in your lower belly, the pleasure all flowing into the space between your legs that he’s fucking with what feels like all his strength. Javi puts two fingers in your mouth and you eagerly suck them, your mouth full, drool starting to spill from your lips.

“Fuck,” he moans, and starts hastily rubbing your clit with his other thumb, his wide body keeping your legs apart, “You wanna cum for me, baby? Being such a good girl for me.”

You moan as your orgasm washes over you, your pussy squeezing tightly around Javi and he fucks you through your waves of pleasure, “That’s it, that’s my girl, my good fucking girl”, he speaks to you through almost gritted teeth, trying desperately not to cum until you’re finished.

He can feel the exact moment it gets too much for you, taking his hand away from your clit but he continues fucking you, his hips relentless against yours.

“Show me your tits, baby,” he asks with a hoarse voice, the wetness of your pussy pooling between you both. You messily pull up your shirt, exposing your tits to the cool air, still feeling weightless and slightly out of your mind from your orgasm. He takes his hand from your mouth and greedily grabs one of your tits. He smirks seeing you bare under your top and starts playing with your nipple, making you arch your back.

Javi pulls out of you and strokes his cock only a few seconds before he’s spurting cum all over your belly and chest. As you greedily strain your neck to see every single drop that he’s cumming you get closer to him and some of his cum lands on your lips and cheek.

“Fuck,” you both moan into the space between you as Javi jerks off until he’s drained, and you quickly push your hand between your legs, rubbing your once again pulsing wet pussy.

Javi sees your hand on your pussy and slaps his still hard cock against your clit a few times. He then gently pulls your hand off yourself and replaces it with his mouth as he bends down to suck on your clit. Incoherent words leaving your lips, you grab Javi’s hair and grind your pussy against his face, your thighs around his head.

It only takes a few more moments of his tongue on your clit until you succumb to the weightlessness of your second orgasm as it shoots through you with a new intensity.

You let your legs fall around Javi's shoulders when you’ve finished and smile at him looking back up at you with nothing but adoration in his eyes. He shakes his head, unable to believe you just did this, right here and during his work break. It definitely won’t be the last time.

He stands back up and wipes the cum from your face with the pad of his thumb and you suck it off him until your face is clean again.

“I’m so happy you're mine, baby. Only mine,” he says before attacking your face with wet and sticky kisses. He tucks himself into his pants and gets baby wipes from the pocket of his jacket that you’re lying on.

“Did so good for me, baby,” he praises as he wipes your belly and tits, leaving kisses there after. He gently wipes over your face again, just to make sure, and cleans you up between your legs.

Afterwards, he pulls your clothes back in place and kisses you as he leans down over you in the backseat. You wrap your legs around his waist and let him just hold you, and you let out giggles as he kisses you all over your face again. You brush your hands through his hair to tame it, and just when you’ve deemed him presentable you hear Steve’s voice from not too far away.

“I’ve been looking for you. Break’s over,” he walks around the corner and sees you in the back of the car.

“No sex in our car,” Steve slaps Javi on the back and moves to the front of the car. He gives you a look when he sees the seat pushed all the way to the front.

“We were just cuddling. I missed him,” you say in an innocent tone and Steve seems to buy it, or at least pretends to, and pushes the seat back and sits down, pulling the door shut.

You give Javi a wide-eyed look at how close that was and he grins back, pulling you to sit upright. There really are worse people to walk in on you than Steve, but you’re still glad that he was a few minutes too late.

“We’re driving you home,” Javi declares, and makes Steve get in the back and sits you in the front. It’s not until Javi drives away from your little corner with the roof and walls protecting it that you realise it must have been raining for a while.

It’s a lot colder now and the streets are wet, a steady flow of rain pouring from the clouds. You pull Javi’s jacket around you closer and already dread having to give it back to him when you’re back home and he has to leave to work some more.

Once the car stops in front of your house, Javi walks you to the door. You pout but part with the jacket and Javi puts it back on.

“Now it smells like you,” he smiles and hugs your waist to pull you in for a kiss. Maybe you don’t mind giving him back his jacket after all. You tell him good luck with the rest of his work night and he doesn’t drive away until he sees the light on your floor turn on. Even if you’ll be asleep, he can’t wait to come back home to a bed warmed by your perfect body.

“Man, I’ve never seen anyone so in love,” Steve says, pretending to be annoyed, but really Javi knows he’s happy for you two.

Javi just smiles. He’s never seen anyone more in love either, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

☆.｡.:*support a writer and reblog and let me know if you enjoyed this fic, it helps out a lot.｡.:*☆

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potter-imagines · 9 months

Text

Family Sleepover

Pairing: Choso Kamo x Reader

Prompt: A relaxing friday night for Choso and Y/n takes a turn when Choso's little brother, Yuji, has a nightmare leading to a family sleepover.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warning: modern Choso and reader, non sorcerer world setting, mentions of drinking and smoking, otherwise mainly fluff!

Notes: love love love choso, he doesn't get enough attention in writes so hopefully i'll have more choso x reader to come! <3 (gif credit to @fushiguro)

Rainfall smacked against the shingles on the roof while the weather outside only grew worse. A majority of souls dreaded nights filled with storming rain, although Y/n never truly understood why. Not only did the ‘disgusting’ weather provide her the perfect excuse to remain indoors, the cracks of lighting and the booming of thunder set a cozy mood as the rain poured down from the skies outside. The light from the flashing television brightened the darkened room to a glowing haze. Choso had his arm thrown over his girlfriend’s body and his back pressed up against the black headboard as Y/n curled herself into his side, her hands resting neatly on his chest.

It was a typical Friday night for the couple after an exhausting week for the both of them. Choso had put in three grueling nights of overtime while Y/n had run herself thin juggling her final semester of college writing three separate ten page essays and studying for finals between her part time job.

Instead of going out until the early hours of the morning bar hopping and clubbing like most couples their age, the two preferred the more intimate occasions of peaceful bliss wrapped in each other’s hold. Besides, babysitters weren’t cheap and between keeping up with rent, having enough food on the table, gas to get to work, bills and buying new clothes for a never ending growing boy, there wasn’t a surplus of funds left over to pay some high schooler to watch little Yuji every weekend night.

Yuji was the youngest of Choso’s brothers, his only surviving family member in fact. Shortly after his eighteenth birthday his entire family perished in an electrical fire that tore through his childhood home. The cause was natural yet their deaths hardly felt so. His mother had passed away in the hospital a day after the fire, while his little brother was the only member she could manage to stumble out of the home with. Yuji was a few months old at the time, and if he hadn’t still been sleeping in the bassinet next to their parent’s bed, Choso was sure he would’ve perished as well. He had received a call only hours after the fire was put out, being miles away at university, he rushed to his hometown immediately to discover the life changing news.

That tragic event was four years ago and ever since, Choso has been raising his youngest brother alone- well, they were alone, until through friends, Choso was introduced to Y/n. The couple met at nineteen and had been going strong since, much to his surprise. Choso struggled in the dating field prior to being a near ‘single dad’, and now that he had his kid brother to look after, he naturally assumed he’d never find a partner.

However Y/n proved herself different from any woman he’d ever met, and Yuji adored her. From the child's second birthday on, Y/n had been an essential part of their lives and she had no intentions of leaving, which she once again proved by blowing Choso’s mind and signing on to lease a small three bedroom home alongside him and Yuji. Three years later now and the couple were raising Yuji like a stable, healthy family, and Choso couldn’t be more grateful to have her in both of their lives.

Typical wasn’t an adjective that fit like a puzzle in their dictionary but they still tried to act like a normal 23 year old couple, hence the half full wine glasses sat on either side of the bed and the tightly packed pre roll waiting patiently on Choso’s side. Sure, they had a crazy five year old to look after, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t allowed to indulge in a bit of fun themselves, right?

A mutual favorite horror film of the couples was playing in the background. Y/n laid peaceful alongside Choso and the two cuddled on one another underneath the heavy stack of blankets. H/c hair tickled his skin as Choso situated his chin on the crown of her skull. Screams streamed from the television as a helpless victim took their chance at running through the winding forest trying to escape the crazed killer. Y/n’s body jerked as the girl managed to trip over a perfectly placed tree root and went stumbling down a large, leaf filled hill. The actress cried in fright as the killer stood at the top of the embankment, staring down at her disheveled state. Choso stole a peep down at his girlfriend, a rare smile coating his lips as he noticed her fully clinging to his naked chest. Once the girl was murdered and the screen cut to a new scene, her body visibly relaxed as her hold loosened.

Choso smirked at the action, his lips finding their way to the top of her head, placing a small kiss as his arms pulled her closer. He could feel her hands absentmindedly tracing patterns against his chest while her eyes were glued to the horror movie on the television. Every once in a while her frame would flinch against his as a new victim was slain and killed, making him laugh to himself at her jumpy nature. Not everyone found horror movies ‘relaxing’, so to say, but for the couple, it was their idea of an unwinding night.

Y/n shakily picked the wine glass up from the nightstand and took a reasonable gulp on the red liquid, then placed the cup back on the coaster. Her eyes casually shifted to her boyfriend, a mischievous smile playing on her pink lips as she motioned towards the joint resting on his side. Choso understood her thinking, not needing the use of words, and he chuckled. The mood felt all too perfect and the claming drag of a blunt was the bow to tie their night together in a beautifully wrapped present. However, as the saying goes, if something seems too good to be true, chances are it isn’t true.

Right as Choso went to reach for the bud sitting beside him, a loud, echoing shriek broke through the once mellow air causing both adults to spring in terror. Y/n gasped, sitting up immediately as she looked up to Choso who was already throwing the comforter off and his legs off the side of the bed to stand.

“Shit…” He cursed. Another scream hit the air as Choso grabbed the nearest shirt he could find and threw it on. Watching as he hurriedly redressed, Y/n extended her hand to flick the bedside lamp on, a worried hint to her tired gaze.

“Is that Yuuji?” Concern laced her words as Y/n watched her boyfriend throw a random shirt over his head. He nodded towards her, confirming her worry.

“Mmh, one second, babe. I’ll be right back.” Choso shared a quick kiss with his girl before sliding out the bedroom door. Stepping into the hall he quietly flipped on the ceiling light and walked the few steps to his brother’s room. Yuji’s door was decorated in various drawings, stickers, and paintings the young boy had made, making it hard to miss. The door was closed shut, but that didn’t stop the sound of muffled sobs and shaky breathing from breaking through. Twisting the golden knob, Choso slowly creaked the door open as he peeked his head around the wooden frame.

From his spot in the doorway Choso could see a small lump under the covers that was shaking like a leaf in a storm, much like the raging thunderstorm occurring outside the home. Entering the room, he quietly made his way into the bedroom and sat his body on the edge of the bed, careful as to not startle his younger brother. Choso reached his hand out to rub along what appeared to be the child’s back as he whispered,

“Hey, little man. Everything alright?”

The heavy blanket was ripped from the boy’s body at the sound of his savior’s voice as Yuji flung himself to his big brother’s arms, grasping at his shirt while his teary eyes leaked against the cotton.

“Choso!” He cried out. An iron grip clutched at his skin, tiny hands searching for stability in his hold.

“I’m here, don’t worry. Why’re you crying?” Choso hugged his body close to his chest, his large hand running up and down Yuji’s back in an attempt to comfort him. The small boy buried his head in his shoulder as the broken sobs continued.

“I-I had a-a bad dream a-and the thunder w-was so loud my… my whole room was shaking and… and I saw a monster was outside my window with big claws and sharp teeth- he was going to eat me!” Yuji shouted in fear. His voice trembled as he struggled to get his words free from his dry throat.

The image of a terrifying beast perched up on the branch staring at him through his window replayed on a loop in Yuji’s head, his brain creating a scarier image each time he recalled the monster. Tiny fists bundled the shirt between his fingers as Yuji clung to his older brother. Glancing down, Choso leaned back a pull so the boy was forced to look into his dark violet eyes. Despite his usual solemn look, Choso’s features were warmer- more comforting than Yuji had witnessed on the regular. A serious gaze crossed his stare as his thumb wiped a bundle of tears running down the child’s cheeks.

“Well you know that would never happen. Do you remember what I told you about monsters?” He questioned. Yuji rubbed at his eyes, his head shaking ‘no’ in response. Swiping his thumb across the underside of his leaking eyes, Choso wiped his rampant tears away.

“They’re not real. They’re just in our heads, right?” His finger tapped against his small forehead. “Even if monsters were real, your big brother would never let it eat you, I can promise that.”

Yuji peered up at his brother, his curious wide eyes on full display, as if his big brother had all the answers to life. If Choso told him the grass was blue and the sky was green, he’d believe him. To Yuji, his brother could do no wrong. A twinkle met his large brown eyes as his head tilted to the side,

“You’d beat him up?” He asked hopefully. A crack of a grin broke across his face as Choso nodded in agreement.

“Mmh.” Choso ruffled the pink of his hair, giving him a reassuring smile. Yuji cuddled himself against his chest once more, previous shaky breaths finally evening out to small hiccups. The redness to his plump cheeks were starting to fade leaving tiny blotches of hysteria in its wake. Those tears that seemed never ending like a rushing waterfall growing into quiet sniffles.

A steady silence filled the room until Yuji pulled his head away from Choso’s now damp shirt. With nervous eyes he hesitantly looked down to his fidgeting hands. Rubbing his palm against his heated skin, Choso wordlessly urged his kid brother to speak up, knowing there was clearly something swimming around his mind. Reaching out for the plush brown bear, Yuji held it to his chest as he inhaled steadily.

“Can… can I sleep in your bed, please big brother?” The flush of innocence to his tone was a gentle reminder to Choso that although his little brother was rather brave for his age, he was still only five years old and sometimes, extra reassurance was required.

“Sure, kiddo.”

Yuji leapt towards Choso, his small arms encircling his brother’s neck as he let out a cheer of delight. Smiling to himself, Choso plucked the blue star blanket he knew the child struggled to sleep without and stood from the bed. Yuji’s head laid against his shoulder as the pair started walking towards the master bedroom. Choso flicked the hallway light off and turned the handle to his room, stepping into the darkness with his brother in his hold.

The small lamp on her bedside was still lit as the two brothers entered the room, the sudden presence capturing Y/n’s attention. Choso didn’t fail to notice the smile that graced her beautiful features as she caught sight of the pink haired boy in his grasp, and the way her arms opened up on instinct. A gasp of excitement broke from Yuji’s chest as he met the eyes of his second favorite person in the world.

“Y/n!” Yuji shouted. Shaking from Choso’s arms, he scrambled against the fluffy duvet as he crawled to Y/n. A large grin illuminated on his face as he fell into her welcoming embrace. “Big brother is letting me sleep in his bed- do you think we can snuggle?”

His strawberry scented hair tickled against her chin as Yuji buried himself further in her chest, cheeks still slightly damp from his crying from before now pressed to her skin. Y/n drew her nails up and down his spine, scratching his back as one comforting their young would do, then kissed the side of his head.

“Of course, baby.”

Choso reached out for Yuji from behind and lifted him, allowing Y/n room to pull the blanket down so he could sneak in beside her. Once Yuji was under the covers he yanked the dark material up and settled in below his chin, his arms falling above the blanket then effortlessly positioned himself on his side so his little body was nearly attached to Y/n’s. Yuji innocently cradled his face into the warmth of her chest. Y/n giggled at his forwardness and wrapped her hold around him, pulling Yuji closer and kissing his ruby cheek, to which the boy snuggled in closer.

Choso couldn’t resist the chuckle that broke from his chest making the tattoo line across the bridge of his nose scrunch in amusement as he watched how easy his brother made himself at home in the bedroom he shared with his girlfriend. Yuji pranced in the room and fixed himself up in Choso’s bed next to his girlfriend like he owned the place- like he was the one paying rent. Tugging his shirt off, Choso threw the cotton to the side as he slipped into his side of the bed and shot Y/n an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, angel. Yuuji had a nightmare then was certain he saw a monster outside his window so he’s pretty shaken up.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to apologize for taking care of him, Cho. There’s plenty of room for all three of us up here.”

Choso’s eyes drifted to his nightstand, purple orbs landing on the sealed up backwoods as he mentally cursed himself, thank god Yuji hadn’t noticed it or Y/n was sure to chew his ass out. Looks like they’d have to save their smoke session for another night. Sliding open the bedside drawer, Choso swept the pre roll into the cupboard and shut it, tossing the blue lighter in alongside. The wine swayed in the glass from the movement, and he pushed it back a few inches so it was completely out of Yuji’s reach.

Turning his attention back to the two Choso nudged his finger against the chubby texture of his little brother’s cheek.

“But you’re coming in here to sleep, okay Yuuji? It’s bedtime, not playtime.” Yuji obediently bobbed his head in agreement, a twinkle of mischievousness sparking in his eyes. Choso knew that gleam all too well. Overall his kid brother was a relatively good listener, but there was always some catch, and when it came to bedtime, Yuji’s catch was his ability to ask a million and one questions before actually falling asleep. Y/n bit the inside of her cheek to keep from letting a laugh escape. Yuji was too sweet. Tapping his finger at Y/n’s arm, the small boy gestured towards the tv.

“Can I watch a little of your movie to go to sleep?” His question was suppressed by his face being shoved into Y/n’s neck, but the words were clear enough. Y/n glanced at her boyfriend, an uncertain raise to her brows. Before he could decline his brother’s request, she shook her head softly.

“Well… it’s sort of scary… maybe we should put something different on until you’re asleep.”

Instead of changing the channel, Choso opted for turning the volume down. It was a film he’d seen a thousand times over and he knew there wouldn’t be another scary scene for a good fifteen minutes, which opened the perfect window of sleep for Yuji. Unlike Choso who required a minimum of thirty minutes until sleep could greet him, Yuji could fall asleep at the drop of a pin, and based on the droopiness to his eyes, sleep didn’t seem too far off for him.

“How ‘bout you try closing your eyes for sleep and we can have a fun movie day tomorrow, alright? Y/n and I are gonna go to bed soon, too.” Choso promised. The young boy tilted his head up towards his big brother, almost searching his features for any sign of lies, but Choso only stared back. Once he was sure his brother was telling the truth, Yuji nodded and forced himself to close his large eyes.

Both adults watched the movie without a word, cautious to give Yuji a fair chance to fall asleep. Images passed on the screen of a seemingly happy family as they began moving into their new home. The children ran around outside the home, giggling and shouting with glee as the parents carried loads of boxes into the home. The scene hadn’t struck either Choso nor Y/n as one of importance as they both knew the ill awaited fate to meet the family, but through half lidded eyes, Yuji’s interest was quipped. The quietness lasted for no longer than a minute when Yuji moved his head, pink hair brushing against Y/n’s chin, and knocked at his brother’s shoulder.

“Big brother…”

“Hm?” Choso replied. Yuji’s fixation was back on the television screen as he pointed his finger to the image.

“Are you and Y/n gonna have babies?”

Both heads immediately snapped to the young boy, a gasp of shock sounding from Y/n at the sudden inquiry as her eyebrows shot up towards the sky. If someone was to take a picture of her face, she was sure she’d look like she’d witnessed a ghost. Choso’s mouth hung astoundment, the innocently worded question clearly hitting him like a smack across the face.

“What?”

Y/n quietly stared at her boyfriend for help, unsure what to say in response. Yuji on the other hand sat unwavered as he wiggled against her, trying his best to find the most comfortable position. Choso lifted the comforter of the blanket so Yuji had more access to cover his small body, then provided a brief shrug. Giving his girlfriend a look of uncertainty, Choso sighed at the oddly deep question.

“Not for a while, little man. We’ve already got you to take care of so I think we’ll wait a bit.” Choso spoke softly.

“Oh… okay.” Disappointment flooded his tone. Seeing his face drop in such a sad manner made Choso feel a bit bad for letting him down. Of course the couple planned on having children, it was a topic they’d discussed more times than they could count, but it wasn’t necessarily a priority at the moment for either of them. Choso wanted Yuji in school, and Y/n to have her dream wedding to him before either of them seriously took action to have children of their own. In the meantime, they certainly enjoyed practicing the baby making process- but Yuji didn’t need to know about all that.

Yet it seemed Yuji’s curiosity was not quite settled as he once again tapped Choso on the shoulder,

“Big brother?”

“Yeah?” He tiredly mumbled out. Y/n laughed at the exasperation in Choso’s voice. It was no secret, Yuji had hit that age where his questions and curiosity had no end. Every meal was filled with a game of 21 questions asking what was in the food, how was it made, where did the ingredients come from, why does it call for carrots and not chocolate, and so on. His mind had no limits, and most of the time, Choso was grateful for that, except for now when Yuji was meant to be asleep, not firing inquiries left and right. Stealing a glance to Y/n over his shoulder, Yuji turned back to his big brother, a shade of scarlet painting his skin.

“Can I marry Y/n when I’m a big kid like you?” Large brown eyes bore up at Choso as Yuji hugged his teddy closer, a faint blush flushing his cheeks. Choso was aware of his little brother’s crush on his girlfriend, and honestly, he couldn’t blame the kid. Y/n was attentive, caring, selfless, kind hearted, and not to mention gorgeous, so he could see plain as day why Yuji had a crush on his girlfriend. Still, the question knocked him back a step in surprise. Tonight's line of thoughts racing around the child’s mind seemed larger than normal.

“I’m sorry, little man but I was planning on marrying Y/n. I don’t think it’d be very fair if you stole her from me, do you?” His brows pulled together into a thin line at his brother’s new inquiry. First babies, now he wanted to marry Y/n? Choso was scared to hear what Yuji had up his sleeve to ask next. The child’s expression went glum once again, a heavy pout coating his pink lips.

“No… I guess not… I just really like to snuggle with her…” He admitted. His confession brought a cheesy grin to Y/n’s face. Yuji had always been adorable to her but now she found him even more of a sweetheart. Arms still wrapped around him, Y/n pulled Yuji in further to give him a hug, which he happily accepted.

“You can always snuggle with me, bubs, but I’ll bet when you’re a big kid like your brother, you’re gonna meet a pretty girl you’d rather cuddle with instead.” Y/n laughed slightly as she glanced down at the young boy. She found it irresistibly adorable Yuji had developed a crush on her, but she also knew it was sure to fade as he grew, nonetheless, it was one of the cutest things to her. Kissing his temple, Y/n gave him one last squeeze then loosened her grip as a loud huff tumbled from Yuji’s parted lips.

“Not true! You’re the prettiest girl ever! I don’t want another girl- gross!” Yuji’s tongue fell from his mouth as he made an absurd gagging sound. In his mind, the idea of snuggling another girl was the most disgusting thing he’d ever heard- but snuggling his big brother’s girlfriend? Now that was a totally different story. Choso sent a flick to the side of Yuji’s head, snickering to himself as the boy yelped and grasped for the point of impact.

“We’ll see if you change your mind, how ‘bout that?” Yuji shook his head ‘yes’, agreeing to his brother’s words. Y/n suppressed a giggle as she looked over to Choso, amused by his twinge of annoyance at what she found to be adorably harmless questions from Yuji.

While Choso quietly pondered over his brother’s words, the small boy seemed to be warming up to the idea of bedtime. Yuji’s big eyes were casually drooping lower and lower with every blink he took.

“I think someone is sleepy…” Y/n’s tone was teasing as she poked the chub of Yuji’s cheek. His usual hyperactive nature was calmed down to a simmer, and Y/n could feel him sinking into her hold. Not much longer and she was sure he’d be out like a light. As if reading her mind the young boy let out a loud yawn.

“I’m just gonna close my eyes for a little bit.” Yuji seemed to be making the promise more to himself than anyone else. Choso nodded, feigning belief, his brown strands threatened to slip from the rubber tie holding his hair in two loose spiky ponytails as he moved his head.

“Okay, kid. I believe you.” Choso smirked.

Twisting his body, Yuji pressed his back against Y/n’s chest. She wrapped her hold around his smaller frame, allowing his little arms to lay ontop of hers, then reached his other hand out to hold the edge of his brother’s pillow. Choso could feel his tiny legs folded, Yuji’s knee pressing against his side. The kid was never one for a normal sleeping position, Choso thought to himself.

Nuzzling his head against the plush mattress, Yuji peaked his eyes open and gave his brother a soft smile. The hand clutching Y/n’s arm gave a squeeze as his sleepy voice mumbled,

“I love you, big brother… I love you, Y/n…”

“I love you too, Yuji, sweet dreams.” Y/n leaned down to press a loving kiss to the boy’s forehead. Pulling away, she brought her hand up to stroke at his light pink strands. Choso smiled to himself at the sight, then reached his hand out to pinch at the excess of skin on his little brother’s cheek.

“Love you, little man. Sleep tight.”

A stillness enveloped the room in a circle of quietness, the sound of Yuji’s faint breathing followed by light snores being the only steady sound. Choso waited a few minutes before reaching for the remote and turning the volume up slightly, their mutual resistance to having Yuji listening in now wiped clean. Although both had their outward attention focused on the movie playing, neither were mentally zeroed in on it. In fact, they were both thinking about the same thing, thinking about what Yuji had said; having kids, getting married, spending the rest of their lives together.

Of course this was a common thought that roamed around in Choso’s head, he had just never realized he wasn’t the only one who thought about it. Cracking a smirk, Choso settled his arm around the middle pillow supporting Yuji and placed his hold on Y/n’s shoulders. His fingers unintentionally tickled her skin and her body subconsciously melted into his touch. Letting out a chuckle, Choso turned his head in her direction,

“Can’t believe my kid brother is trying to steal my girl from me.” Y/n laughed at his remark, amused by the idea of Yuji wanting to marry her when he grows up. It was a sweet gesture in her eyes and made her feel grateful that he held such a high opinion on her. Of course, it was his elder brother Y/n planned to wed, the thought meant the absolute world to her.

“I don’t know, babe, give it a few years and he just might do it.”

Choso lolled his head to the side, a look of idiocy gracing his features as he rolled his eyes. Grabbing her free hand he brought her fingers up to his face and pressed his lips against her ring finger. Although the finger was bare of jewelry at the moment, Choso was determined to change that fact soon. Without Y/n’s knowledge Choso had been saving a portion of his work checks on the side, saving for a sparkling diamond ring to adorned her hand.

Knowing his girlfriend, Y/n would accept a bread bag tie or a ring pop even. Money wasn’t something they were swimming in, and she loathed the rare occurrences Choso would splurge on her. However, Choso wanted her to have a diamond ring- no, he needed her to have one. After all she had helped him through, all the times she had been there for him and his brother, Choso wanted her to see how much he truly appreciated her, so no ordinary ring would do for him, it needed to be perfect. Laying her hand against his chest, Choso narrowed his gaze playfully.

“You’re talking like I won’t have a ring on that pretty finger and you tied down to me by then.” Laughing at his statement Y/n simply shook her head at him.

“I’m already tied down to you, Choso. You’re stuck with me forever.” Y/n teased, sticking her tongue out momentarily to tease him. She knew if he had asked her to marry him right then, she’d say yes, zero hesitation in her answer. It was no secret that she planned on spending the rest of her life by his side.

“Good, ‘cause I wasn't planning on letting you go.”

Yuji stirred between them, faint groans of tiredness breaking from his lips as his body jerked in his sleep. Y/n retracted her hand from Choso’s body and soothingly ran her fingers up and down the child’s back, silently lulling him back to his peaceful sleep. Yuji cuddled further into her hold, a sigh of contentment escaping his parted lips. Choso watched the two, his heart fluttering as Y/n effortlessly brought comfort to his brother without even a word.

Glancing up to her quiet boyfriend, Y/n sent him a sweet smile.

“Are you staying up for a while?”

“Yeah, I’m not too tired yet but I won’t be too late.” He nodded. It was no secret Choso had adopted a poor habit of staying awake until the sun rose, especially on the weekends. No matter how much effort Y/n devoted to breaking this habit, it lived on.

Propping herself on her elbow, and cautious for the child in between, Y/n reached across the space between the couple. Receiving the unspoken message loud and clear, Choso turned his face, allowing opportunity for their lips to touch as he kissed her sweetly. The exchange was short and loving, but Choso took every advantage of the moment as he relished in the feeling of his lover pressed against him. His lips greeted hers in a passionate embrace, despite their awkward positioning. A tiny hint of a smile cracked through her lips as Y/n pushed her lips against his, gentle yet determined to prove her love, which he effortlessly felt. Pulling apart, Y/n grinned up at him as she leaned back into her spot on the bed, snuggling up against her pillow. Blinking her e/c eyes up to him, a stroke of red flushed her s/c cheeks as she blushed. Y/n could spend the rest of her life kissing her lover and still would never grow old of the butterflies his lips released inside her soul.

“Okay,” She whispered. “Turn the tv off at a good time, you had a long day.” Choso’s hand ran along the top of her head, petting at her hair with a gentle smile. His insides fuzzed at the sincerity to her words. The caring nature Y/n held always had him feeling so loved and looked out for, it truly meant the world to him.

“Thanks, pretty girl. You’re always taking care of me… well, us.” He gazed down at his sleeping brother. Y/n leaned further into his loving strokes as she reached her arm gently across Yuji’s body to lay still against Choso’s chest. The action was simple, but the effectiveness was strong. A chorus of chills danced down his spine at her touch to his bare skin. There was no element of sexualizing to her touch, no hidden agenda, no further want but a safe place to rest.

“You say that as if two don’t take care of me as well. We all need each other.” Y/n argued. A comfortable silence greeted the pair as Choso basked in the comfort of her hand against his skin. The movie on the TV played on deaf ears while Y/n’s eyes slowly grew heavy in weight.

Reaching around his shoulder Choso grabbed the wine glass from the night stand, bringing the glass to his lips he sipped the red liquid, feeling his body relax at the taste. Red wine had always been a favorite of his, a taste Y/n had developed a liking to after multiple tries of her lover convincing her it was the superior choice. Many things had changed in her life after Choso and Yuji, such as red wine over white, nights in over nights out, and sharing the bed over sleeping alone.

Choso set the glass down, opening his mouth to make a remark about how the chilled beverage was now warm and apologize once again for the bump in their night, when he was suddenly taken aback by the look on his lover's face- the love pouring from just one look.

“About tonight-” A quick roll of the eyes and a motion of the hand caused Choso’s words to fall flat against his tongue.

“Don’t. I wouldn’t choose anything over this.” Y/n smiled.

Careful for the boy laid between them, both leaned across the mattress, unable to resist the need to feel her once more, allowing their lips to meet in the middle. Choso’s hand curled around the side of her face, his thumb caressing the skin as his lips devoted all the passion and love his heart could express. His soft kiss brought a sense of home to Y/n, her hold clasping on the back of his neck, not allowing a chance to break. She swore she could feel her heart physically warming as his lips moved against hers, savoring every moment of his love. Every kiss they shared held a piece of their love, yet this one was received stronger.

Pulling away, Y/n leaned her forehead against his, quickly pressing a final ‘goodnight’ kiss to the corner of his lips, causing a smile to rise. Even in the poorly lit room Y/n could see the red rush of blood to his cheeks. Leaning back she cozied herself underneath the heap of blankets, allowing Yuji to cling to her once more in his asleep state. Resting fully against her pillow, Y/n looked up to Choso one last time before allowing her heavy eyes to finally shut for the night.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, angel.” Choso whispered through the still air.

It didn’t take long for her even breathing to be heard and he was certain she had fallen asleep alongside his brother. Silently slipping out his phone from his side Choso snapped a series of photos of the two snuggled against one another, a grin adorning his lips as he did so. Yeah, he thought, I’m putting a ring on that finger real soon.

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