#i don't really want to make this fic as long as the other two for many reasons | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mysteria157 · 3 days

Text

Chapter Two

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

**While I personally do not think this chapter is too dark and angsty, I AM NOT YOU, so please be sure to read the CWs before proceeding.**

CW: Profanity, Physical Abuse, ANGST, Emotional Manipulation, Naobito being a piece of shit, Hitman duties (idk what to call it), Blood and Violence, Depressive Thoughts, Obsessive Coping Mechanisms, Comfort, Toji being down bad.

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

Toji hasn't always been cold and calculated. Beneath that harsh exterior is a boy who was made to feel like he never belonged in this world.

Authors Notes: Hello! Thank you all for waiting!

This fic is going to have dark elements as I've stated before. We all know that Toji suffered abuse from his family growing up and that's largely a reason why he acts the way he does. So I really wanted to explore that in my fic and specifically in this chapter.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

| Twitter | Ao3| Masterlist | Previous Chapter

Chapter Three: Coming Soon...

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

look at you.

still standing

after being

knocked down

and thrown out

-Alex Elle

*** Toji ***

The first time Toji tastes freedom, it’s a decade into his bleak existence, amidst the sweltering summer heat. The thick, humid air clings to his grimy skin and makes him feel more uncomfortable than usual. His room—or he supposes it’s a small house—is nestled among overgrown trees and an unkempt lawn.

To an outsider, his ‘home’ looks to be a greenhouse shed but with poorly painted walls and small windows. However, within the compound, it represents the dwelling of the man who tainted the revered Zenin bloodline. While they cannot exterminate the one who is responsible for polluting their family, they can make it seem like he never existed, to themselves and the outside world.

He’s far from the main house, but it’s quiet, and even though the breeze always feels nice between his matted hair, it always carries the undercurrent of trash from the large garbage can that rests against the compound walls next to his abode. It’s all he smells no matter the season. The garbage can is one you would find outside restaurants or large establishments, and when it’s trash day, a large truck parks on the other side of the compound, reaches long metal prongs over the white brick walls, and pulls the can over to dump it.

On trash day, it would be so easy for Toji to jump those walls, to hop on top of the plastic lid of the garbage can and let it carry him over. But like many things, fear and hopelessness hold him back. His entire family has never offered him a kind word or a smile, but they are nothing compared to his uncle. Naobito is the head of their family, feared by many within and outside of the compound. His position requires him to be good at many things, and if there is one thing Naobito is especially good at, it’s making Toji realize his insignificance.

“You think you can just leave? Where would you go, boy? No one in this city wants to take in another child. Especially one of low birth.”

“Insignificant.”

“Useless.”

“A stain on something we have worked hard to uphold.”

These words echo in his ears day after day, month after month, year after year, ever since he could comprehend words enough to know their sting. He’s always felt small, always believed the only purpose he has is to breathe and do nothing else.

But today is trash day…

Maybe it’s the hunger that has been gnawing at his stomach for the past two days or the discomfort of dirt clinging to his skin beneath his sweaty yukata. Maybe it’s the sting on his cheek from his uncle’s morning slap, the mocking reminder for the millionth time not to dare do anything besides what he is told. Maybe staring too long at the garbage can and feeling his heart jump when the truck parks on the other side of the walls is a sign; a fleeting feeling within him, his own body telling him to do something before he withers away.

It all sparks a sudden surge of strength, propelling him to climb on top of the plastic garbage lid as the metal prongs dig into each side of the can and lift him and the trash. Adrenaline helps him dig his fingers into the plastic of the lid as gravity pulls him over the walls of the Zenin compound.

He’s prepared to be tackled and dragged by his hair back inside before anyone can see him. He’s ready to fight back with the remains of his strength if he needs to. But as he slides off the garbage lid and his feet touch the cobblestone ground, only silence greets him. The trash collectors don’t see him and they drive away without turning back and he’s grateful. He’s so grateful, he can hardly breathe.

The compound isn’t in the middle of the city center like he once thought. From the many festivals and jovial sounds he would hear on the other side of the walls, he expected bustling laughter and sounds of merchants advertising their goods. But it turns out, the compound is perched on a hillside. He guesses it makes sense for one of Japan’s wealthiest families to be tucked away for safety and overlooking the world to feel more powerful.

Even though he can see what looks to be a village a walking distance away, the compound also overlooks the city and a large river that Toji doesn’t know the name of. He’s never been taught anything, never learned how to read, never learned basic arithmetic or history. He knows nothing other than the fact that he lives in Tokyo, to eat the rancid food he is given and not talk back when his uncle visits him to teach him a lesson about whatever is bothering him that day.

Laughter echoes in the distance, the unmistakable laughter of children—maybe some his own age. Some who won’t sneer at him as if he’s a piece of shit stuck to their shoe.

His legs carry him towards the village, the sounds of the breeze dying down to be replaced with yelling and laughter and normalcy he’s never heard before. Vaguely, his mind screams at him to go back home so he doesn’t suffer later, but he squashes it down. He will do anything to see faces besides the angry ones of his family, to breathe in scents beyond garbage and contempt, and to taste flavors other than the remnants of meals prepared by the Zenin’s esteemed live-in chef.

Ignoring the persistent growl of hunger in his stomach, his mind focuses on absorbing the sounds of the bustling marketplace that he finds himself in. Vendors haggle with customers, offering a variety of goods—fresh produce, meat, and fish—all waiting to be transformed into dishes that Toji wishes he could eat. The uneven cobblestones are ragged beneath his feet, not smooth and pressed down like in front of the compound. These stones protrude from the soil they are rooted into and catch on the thin shoes that barely protect Toji’s feet. But he navigates the crowds seamlessly, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sights around him even though the brush of people against his body makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

An elderly man dozes off beside a vendor stand empty of customers. A woman, younger but with a haggard face, stands guard at the makeshift register, casting a cautious glance in Toji’s direction. He can feel her disapproval and with her gaze, the weight of his disobedience settles upon him—he should be at the compound, under his uncle’s hateful eyes. Hastily, he averts his gaze and quickens his pace, disappearing into the crowd with newfound urgency.

His ears pick it up before his nose smells it—the sound of sizzling and the smell of dough. Toji can’t help but gawk at the long rows of metal scoops, each containing batter with octopus, pickled ginger, and tempura. The sides bubble and cook, frying from the yellow of fresh yolk before the vendor’s deft utensils turn over each ball of dough, revealing perfectly cooked Takoyaki. He’s tasted it before, albeit soggy and half-eaten, but the memory now stirs a desperate craving within him. He could have it now; fresh and untainted by someone else’s bite. But the lining of his pockets holds nothing but lint; he’s poor with not a penny to his name.

The vendor sets her utensils to the side, pausing in her efforts to catch Toji’s wary attention. When his gaze meets hers, he’s stiff and ready to flee. He’s sure the Zenin family’s influence looms large over the city; she could easily summon someone and report his escape. He’s not ready to go—he won’t. As he edges backward, his thin shoes slip on the uneven cobblestones, nearly causing him to stumble.

But whatever look is in her eyes softens, replaced by something unfamiliar—a warmth that unsettles him, makes him almost nauseous, quelling his hunger while stoking the flames of fear in his belly. Her gaze sweeps over him—his disheveled hair, grimy yukata, the smear of dirt on his cheek. Instead of scowling or sneering and spitting at his feet, she smiles. Soft and warm without any pretense behind it, a genuine smile that makes Toji relax and the fear dissipate. She plates a dozen takoyaki into a long paper bowl, tops them with Kewpie mayonnaise, bonito flakes, and powdered seaweed, and shoves a pair of chopsticks into one perfectly rolled fried dough ball before she slides the bowl over to him.

“Eat up before it gets cold, honey,” she says kindly and the tone almost makes the breath in his throat catch.

Snatching the bowl, Toji’s actions mirror the desperate way he consumes the food that Naobito tosses at his feet after withholding a meal for days. Along with an education, he was never taught manners. His cousins know which forks to use for every dish, he knows to use his hands and savor anything he can get before it’s taken away. He offers the vendor a brief nod, eyes shy and looking away from her for as long as he can muster before he ducks away from the stall.

The takoyaki melts on his tongue and he can taste every speck of seasoning that she added. Ignoring the wary glances directed his way, he licks Kewpie off his fingers, uncaring of the bonito flakes that cling to his chapped lips. It’s the best thing he’s ever eaten—delicious, warm, fills his belly, and when he finally wipes the bonito flakes from his lips some tears collect with it. He doesn’t acknowledge the sadness that climbs up his stomach and nestles in the back of his throat. He can’t—what use would it be to cry over a life that will never change? Over a meal for once prepared for him and not someone else?

He stuffs the remaining takoyaki down his throat to push down the urge to sob, savors the taste for as long as he can, and sucks the seasoning from under his fingernails just as he feels something bump into his feet. When he looks down, he can at least recognize that it’s a soccer ball. The dirt turns the white patterns on it almost black, and it looks well-used.

“You gonna give that back, or just stare at it?” a voice demands.

Toji collects the dirty soccer ball and looks up to find a boy who might—hopefully—be his age. His black hair is short and his eyes hold an expression of boredom and grit that reminds Toji a little of himself. He holds out his hand and gestures for Toji to hand over the ball with so much impatience that Toji glares, tossing the ball back without a word. In truth, he’s struck silent because this is the first time in his life that he’s seen another kid his age who doesn’t look down on him from the encouragement of family.

The kid purses his lips, a bushy eyebrow lifting as he thinks something over in his head before he meets Toji’s gaze. He tosses the ball from one hand to the other, back and forth with a practiced air that Toji wishes he had. He’s skinny but his cheeks are full and his arms aren’t bony which shows he’s well-fed. He doesn’t wear a yukata but his shorts and shirt are freshly washed and free of stains from constant use—just dirt off the ground from playing.

Envy, it’s the only thing that Toji can feel in this moment. Because this kid gets to eat food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He gets to wear nice clothes, play with friends, and breathe air that’s fresh and smells of takoyaki. It’s not fair. It’s not—

“You wanna play?”

Toji’s eyes widen at the unexpected invitation. Play? With another kid? He’s seen his cousins play with each other in the large expansive fields of the compound but he was never allowed to join. He’s familiar with games he’s made up on his own—counting how many times a bird chirps before noon or how many different animals he can imagine in the clouds—but playing with someone else?

“It’s nothing crazy, you don’t gotta think so hard about it. You comin’ or not?”

Toji hesitates, his fingers bending the sides of the now-empty plastic bowl in his hands. He really should head back to the compound because it’s been over an hour. Someone has to have tried to come to his shed and bully him by now. He has to go back. He has to.

But—

“Okay,” Toji replies instead and follows the kid down the cobblestone street.

***

It’s dusk when he finally reaches the white brick of the compound walls again. The evening breeze is thankfully not as sticky as earlier in the day and glides through his hair to cool the sweat on the back of his neck. His skin is dirty from the people he brushed against in the alleyway, from running in fields with a speed he never knew he had, from kicking a soccer ball and falling into the grass to play with a friend he can now call, Shiu. His fingers are tacky from the Kewpie that he licked off hours ago as well as seasoning from the Yakitori chicken skewers that Shiu conned off a vendor.

He never knew he could have so much fun. He’s never been able to experience it once in his life and having to say goodbye to Shiu, to lie and say he would be back in a few days, makes his stomach curdle with sadness and his eyes sting with tears that he’s too elated right now to let fall.

The compound walls, once towering and frightening, now seem conquerable. With a full belly and a newfound sense of strength, Toji takes a running start, vaulting over the barrier and landing with a thud in the neglected grass. He falls to his knees and plops into the cushion of the ground, rolling onto his back with a huff.

He doesn’t know where it comes from, but he giggles, it’s light and unexpected, mingling with the night air, and helps his lips curl into a rare smile. He gazes up at the starry sky, stars that he wishes he had names for but still uses their presence to create warriors and animals to tell himself stories on nights when he can’t sleep.

“No matter what I tell you, you still never listen.”

The sound of his uncle’s voice shoots an electric jolt of fear down Toji’s spine, propelling him to his knees before he can draw another breath. He can’t have his back on Naobito, he needs to have his eyes on every movement even though it won’t make a difference.

His breath is lodged in his lungs, forming a tight knot that constricts his chest and parches his throat. The sight of his uncle, the sound of his voice, and the scent of his overpowering cologne, make him break into a sweat immediately. It’s a Pavlovian response and his body yearns for some sort of survival instinct that has long since been beaten out of him. But he tries, god does he try to defend himself every time.

Toji sits back on his haunches, shooting an ineffective glare up at his uncle that does little to penetrate the unnaturally smooth texture of Naobito’s skin. Toji can’t run, where would he go? To the other side of the compound where another member of his family can grab him by the hair and drag him back to the underbrush? To the front gates that are always locked and manned by security guards who control who can enter and exit?

“I’m guessing you ran your mouth to everyone you saw. Told those commoners that you’re a poor, neglected boy trapped in the clutches of the Zenin family.” Toji should have done that, but he was too caught up in good food and having friends like a kid should. He shakes his head at his uncle, unwilling to form words that bubble with the now overwhelming queasiness within him. “Oh I’m sure you did, didn’t you?”

Toji shakes his head again, more eager, more insistent even though his heart begins to race in his chest. What’s the point in trying to prove himself to someone who’s already made up their mind? It’s useless, Toji knows that, but he continues to be honest, shaking his head over and over, hoping that maybe just this once, his uncle will believe him.

Naobito scoffs, his peppered mustache twitching with the movement of his mouth. The raven hair on his scalp is always gelled and brushed back no matter the time of day. He exudes wealth in tailored suits and eloquence with a nasty edge that cements his authority within the family. He’s a mean man, a rotten man. A man who subjects Toji to torment no matter the time of day.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the authorities are on their way here right now. Ready to arrest your family, to haul away your catatonic mother so she can’t defend you.”

Naobito’s words are a sharpened tool of manipulation, Toji knows the pierce of it against his skin. But the thought that his own actions would endanger someone else, makes him start, to open his mouth in a plea.

“I didn’t—”

But before he can say another word, a searing pain grips his scalp, forcing a hiss of agony from his lips as Naobito yanks him by the hair through the thick grass and drags him away. Knotweed scratches his face and scrapes against his ankles as he kicks desperately, trying to find purchase on the ground before his uncle can do anything else.

His heart pounds in a recognizable rhythm, adrenaline coursing weakly through his veins, its effects dulled by the overwhelming fear. His fighting doesn’t matter. Toji knows the routine all too well—the sensation of the wooden floor beneath his back when he falls onto it, the sting of a slap across his face, the ache of a knee to his gut.

Toji hasn’t sobbed in front of his uncle in a long time, but he can’t suppress the wretched sound that escapes him as the yakitori and takoyaki resurface and leave his mouth bitter. It feels like the worst punishment he’s ever received, the consequence of eating wonderful food that was never meant for a peasant like him. He took it in, and now it’s on the ground.

He shouldn’t have jumped the walls. He shouldn’t have even thought about it.

Stupid.

Worthless.

Insignificant.

“Now what did we learn?” his uncle’s bored drawl cuts through the air, indifferent as his own flesh and blood cries in front of him. It’s just another day for him and he enacts punishment based on ideals that have been hammered into him by his own father and the father before him.

Naobito pulls a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiping away specks of blood from his knuckles. His perfectly groomed hair is now disheveled, falling over his eyes, glowering with disdain down at his nephew. Towering over him, Naobito radiates dominance, his imposing stature a constant reminder of Toji’s weakness. Toji hates it. He hates Naobito. He hates his entire family. He hates that his very existence brings so much distaste to those who should be protecting him.

His ears are ringing and his face hurts, and large, calloused hands grip Toji’s cheeks, squeezing them painfully and forcing his gaze upward to lock with evil eyes. His charcoal irises hold no depth or uniqueness and they’re devoid of warmth. Pure hatred, it’s all that oozes from his uncle’s gaze. He’s endured that hateful look every day for the past decade, yet it feels just as fresh as the day before, just as painful to the inside of him.

Toji chokes on a tight breath, groaning against the pressure of nails digging into his skin. He’s devastated by the stench of sweat, dirt, and vomit, and he’s so tired. All sense of strength that filled his hollow bones on the other side of the walls evaporated as soon as the sound of his uncle’s voice shot into his ears like a rifle.

“I said,” Naobito begins, voice low and filled with venom. His breath smells faintly of whiskey, but Toji knows he would inflict this pain upon his nephew completely sober. “What did we learn?”

Through the delirium of it all, beneath the horrible smells around him and the pain that radiates from his stomach up to his hairline, he registers the tremble in his body. He’s shaking, quaking in the grip of a family member who has done nothing but terrorize him as early as he can remember. Toji wants to spit in his face, wrap his hands around his pale neck, and squeeze until the life leaves his body.

But he’s not strong enough. He will never be strong enough.

So he does what he’s been conditioned to do, what he knows will appease his tormentor.

“I’m useless,” Toji whispers, tears finally welling in his eyes, shame gnawing at his gut. No child should ever have to utter those words, yet Toji speaks them daily.

Naobito hums in satisfaction, sickly sweet, eliciting a sharp twist in Toji’s stomach. If he throws up, he hopes it gets on his uncle’s finely pressed suit. He hopes the stains never come out, hopes he has to throw it away and spend more money for a new one.

“And what else? You are…?”

The pucker of Toji’s lips quivers as they curl to form the words and his vision swims. The sight of his uncle becomes hazy, and Toji is thankful that he can’t see his face if only for a moment.

“I’m…insignificant.”

Even though his uncle’s features are a blur, Toji can still see the whites of his teeth as he smiles. It only makes the tears fall quicker and scalding, dripping down dirty cheeks and onto his uncle’s fingers that still dig into his cheeks. He recoils in disgust, shoving Toji away as if he’s been burned. The fingers are gone, free from their biting grip, but Toji can still feel the indentation of them on his cheeks, branded and there to stay for as long as he lives.

Clutching the wooden floor beneath him, Toji’s nails try to burrow into the hard surface and he desperately wishes the floorboards could open up and swallow him whole. Tears stream down without reservation, smacking onto the dark wood next to his dirty fingers. Since his birth, he’s known not an ounce of happiness, not an ounce of peace or love, and is always the subject of his family’s wrath. He’s just come to accept what he’s forced to repeat day after day. Of what he is.

Insignificant.

Useless.

And that thought, the terrible and ever-present thought that his life has no meaning, only makes him cry harder. They’re harsh sobs that rattle in his chest and make him hiccup with every inhale, and he can’t stop them. Finally, his uncle has taught him a valuable lesson.

Somewhere in the distance, he hears Naobito scoff as he stands on his feet and readies to retreat and leave Toji in his misery. The routine will continue in the morning—cold water through a garden hose to shower him down, leftover breakfast from the main house, and another dusty yukata to wear.

Toji knows it like the back of his hand. And like so many times before, Naobito rolls his eyes, stuffs his dirty handkerchief into his pocket, and utters the same words.

“Stop—

***

“—fucking sniveling.”

It’s the third time Toji has to say it in so few minutes and his patience is wearing thin. They always get like this, it shouldn’t surprise him, yet his annoyance refuses to morph into practiced indifference, despite his years on the job. A part of him recognizes the fear in the man’s voice and the tears that run down his cheeks. He held that same emotion and cried many times through years of beatings.

But that was a long time ago, and this is different. This isn’t a man who has spent years under the abuse of his family, this is a target, successfully hunted down by Toji. Right now, it’s just another Tuesday. Another contract. Another paycheck.

Toji doesn’t give them names; attaching emotion is pointless in a job he is always eager to finish so he can get paid. But he needs something to keep his mind focused; so he uses adjectives or random words to effectively detach himself. His current target’s name? Greasy.

The moniker suits him, evident from the persistent shine on his bald head, the stain of sweat that builds at his collar, and a dingy button-up that hugs his beer belly. His beady eyes are filled with tears, his lower lids red and swollen and a thin chapped lip split down the middle. He squirms and wiggles in his chair and every part of him seems slimy, reminiscent of a snake fresh from its egg. And Toji hates snakes.

What the hell is he again? A stock broker? Hedge fund manager? Toji doesn’t really remember nor does he really care, it’s not relevant anyway. His career is but a small stepping stone for figuring out the best approach for reconnaissance.

It takes Toji a week to track Greasy’s movements in the vastness of the city that is part of America. Despite Toji’s skills in navigation, everything is unfamiliar. But he adapts quickly—he has to.

Greasy works a typical nine-to-five and has a corner office in a nice skyrise downtown that he spends most of his time taking personal phone calls inside of instead of working. Toji knows because the building across the street is empty and just as tall with large glass windows that are blacked out to those on the outside. On the 42nd floor, Toji has a perfect view of the back of his target and watches every day to note every detail of his routine.

For lunch, Toji stealthily follows Greasy to the same 7-Eleven at 12:35 PM, watches him purchase the same cherry slushie and tuna melt for ten dollars, and grimaces beneath the cloth mask that covers his mouth as he watches Greasy scarf down the food like the pig he is on the journey back to the office. At 5 PM, Greasy walks from the office to the train station, takes the Red Line to another city, and arrives home thirty minutes later.

The routine is as mundane and uninspired as the man himself. Yet, it’s the days marked by suspicious behavior from his client that pique Toji’s interest. Those are the days Greasy indulges, presenting the perfect opportunity for Toji to strike.

On Monday and Wednesday, Greasy tells his wife he has to work late and clocks out at 4:45 PM, riding the same Red Line but exiting the train at a stop before his usual. He climbs into a shiny Mercedes, kisses a much younger blonde woman, and disappears until 11 PM when his client reports that he’s arrived home. Like many others of his kind—seedy and grimy and consumed with themselves—Greasy remains oblivious to Toji’s presence. The last thing on his mind is his wife and children as he indulges in infidelity.

He’s climbed the ranks of his job but failed to realize the ease of it is from his wife’s influence. He’s too selfish to recognize that cheating on a governor with a dark side would not only incur her wrath but also put her in the spotlight due to his carelessness. He’s too conceited to realize his mistress only fucks him because her house and car are being paid as long as she continues to entertain him. He’s stupid in the best way for a mission like this, and ignorant of the world around him.

It turns out, Greasy has been fucking on the side for half of his marriage. And he’s been taking a little bit of his wife’s money that she earns as a politician to fuel his alternative lifestyle. His wife is easy on the eyes, gave the loser two kids, and remained faithful even though her husband slept with anything that had a pulse. The only things Greasy gives his wife in return are two children and an STD. She’s angry, distraught, and filled with rage. Rightfully so.

Thanks to the help of the department in his organization that handles all things technological, Toji is able to SIM swap the mistress’s phone and send Greasy a message to meet her in a different location. Specifically, one of the many random establishments throughout the city that have been bought by his organization under the guise of something else.

Greasy walks into Toji’s trap, ignorant and vulnerable, and now here he sits—tied up and squealing. This contract is so easy that it’s almost upsetting. He doesn’t usually like to get his hands dirty, but mental stimulation would have been a nice distraction.

Toji doesn’t get it—cheating. He’s always been one to stick with a woman and take what he can before he moves on to the next. While his intentions are never worth a gold star, he does things one woman at a time. Cheating seems…exhausting. And he’s been exhausted for most of his life to stay away from it if he can.

He’s not one to be tied down anyway.

At least he thought so.

“Earn me.”

Your words echo in his mind, a precursor to what might become a throbbing migraine because he shouldn’t be thinking about you right now. You shouldn’t be in the dark, bloody recesses of his thoughts focused on killing. The room will only stain your smooth brown skin and ruin you, consume you, and corrupt you in ways beyond repair. He can’t afford your gaze to turn into anything other than teasing or annoyed when you look at him.

“I s-swear. I’ll do-do wh-whate-ever you say just—“

Whiny. Sobbing. Annoying.

“Shut up,” Toji grumbles, using the muzzle of his Glock 43 to massage his temple.

He’s tired, his brain now pulsating and being fueled by the stench of Greasy’s body. Despite the amount of money that he can get from revenge contracts, they are typically handled by those ranked lower than him. Revenge contracts deal with anything personal: infidelity, a family member that is despised just enough to warrant making them disappear, two legal companies doing whatever they can to take the other down. Anything with a vendetta.

They are driven by anger, hatred, and bitterness. Heavy and unnecessary emotions that Toji has to deal with before he can complete the job. Clients often demand specific proofs of guilt, from signed confessions in blood to videos of their target with tearful apologies to a picture of a severed finger if they are demented enough. To the client, it’s freeing. To the world, it’s insanity. But to Toji, it’s tedious and he has no choice but to get it done.

He pulls out his phone, ignoring the absence of notifications from you, and dials the burner number provided to all clients.

“Is it done?”

Most wives would be a sniveling mess under such circumstances. But not this one. She’s been wronged to a degree that her sadness washed away a long time ago and all that was left was rage, revenge, and unyielding determination. It takes a special someone who has been really hurt to stoop this low into darkness.

“Not yet, honey. Doing what you wanted remember?”

Toji sighs, putting his phone on speaker as finally rests his gaze on the disheveled and pissy state of Greasy. His other hand steadies the gun aimed at Greasy’s dick and the hiccuping words flow once again. He’s so goddamn loud. Toji needs Ibuprofen, food, a fucking text from you (but he’s not thinking about that right now), and some sleep.

Greasy has already exhausted the usual litany of cries, but Toji endures the same performance again for his client on the phone.

“I’m sorry!”

“I won’t do it again!”

“Please give me another chance!”

Blah, blah, fucking blah.

In the early years of Toji’s time in darkness, he watched this performance firsthand. It’s a feeble attempt to cling to life, words uttered in desperation on the precipice of death, holding little substance. Once the adrenaline dies down, old habits resurface, seeping through the cracks formed by fear. And Greasy’s wife won’t be willing to pay such a hefty price a second time.

Removing the phone from speaker, Toji presses it firmly to his ear to drown out Greasy’s heightened cries. “You get all that, honey?”

“…yes.”

Mrs. Greasy sounds a little unsure, but she can’t back down now. That’s the other irritating thing about revenge contracts. Deeds fueled by emotion are unpredictable, and in a business like this, you need to be absolutely certain of what you agree to. She could back down, but then that means she knows about this little business and Toji’s organization will have no choice but to come after her.

No, he needs this signed and sealed with a deposit in his account by the end of the night.

Toji waves the gun dismissively, rolling his eyes at Greasy’s flinching. “You wanna stay on for the rest?” It’s a courtesy Toji always extends, twisted though it may be, offering some semblance of closure to his clients.

Greasy’s face is a mess of mucus and sweat, and the front of his pants is wet. It’s fucking disgusting, but there’s a part of Toji that revels in the sight. Perhaps it’s the years of desensitization, but Toji relishes seeing those who deserve to get their due. Rotten people. Terrible people. And while cheaters aren’t inherently evil, they seldom learn until their world crumbles around them.

“Just get it done,” Mrs. Greasy replies firmly, though a tremor in her voice betrays her fear. She should be afraid and drowning her worries in bottles of wine tonight. It’s one of many logical responses to ordering the death of a cheating husband. She hangs up without another word.

Normally, Toji has a few words before he pulls the trigger or tightens the noose or whatever nefarious thing he’s ordered to do before his target goes limp. But the throbbing in his head has blossomed into a migraine just as he expected, he hasn’t eaten in ten hours, and he hasn’t heard from you since last night.

To put it quite simply, Toji is pissed off.

So he cocks his gun and does what he needs to do.

Despite the deafening roar of the gun, the ensuing silence is gratifying to his head. He doesn’t bother with the mess, that’s someone else’s job and he shoots off the text to the appropriate party. In a few hours, Greasy’s body will be dealt with in whatever way the cleaning crew decides. A death certificate will be signed by a coroner and an autopsy report will be forged by a pathologist—two of many on his organization’s payroll—and to the public Mr. Greasy will have been a loving man killed by his own heart. It’s almost poetic how efficiently things are run.

Thick red droplets splatter the grimy concrete, falling in a rhythmic cadence Toji knows all too well. Scenes like this are etched into his psyche, a constant hum in the background of his thoughts like a relentless generator. The instinctual response is to recoil, to scream, to flee at the sight.

But Toji has learned to numb himself to the gore and violence of his profession. To reach the level he has attained, to gain that notoriety, he had to confront the brutality without flinching. He had to absorb it, dream about it, and recall it with clarity when necessary, sketching it on a canvas as if it were fresh in his mind.

Despite the beating he received, the small taste of freedom Toji savored at ten years old was just the beginning. Sneaking out became a routine and it didn’t take long for him to learn from Shiu how to swindle, scam, and steal. Every time he scaled the walls of the compound, Naobito’s wrath got longer and more painful. As if to teach him a lesson, as if the pain would make him fall back in line.

But his uncle failed to realize that he took that hope from Toji long before he decided to seek more freedom. He had taken everything from him. He had nothing left to lose.

On the day that he learned of his mother’s passing, he leaped over the white brick walls and never returned.

The streets became his domain, cobblestones his makeshift bed unless a caring vendor offered him a room for the night or Shiu was able to convince his parents to let Toji sleep over for a few days. They ran the streets together with other kids their age, and as they grew, so did the prevalence of crime.

It didn’t take long for Toji to get mean, to embrace the cruelty that always radiated from his uncle’s pores. Survival demanded ferocity and each fight he got into honed his strength and capacity for violence until it simmered perpetually beneath his skin.

Despite the bloodshed ingrained in his past, Toji shies away from memories of his first kill. He was too young, too naive, and too angry. He refuses to conjure the face of his victim, to entertain the image of the man he eliminated in defense of an older woman who was being attacked. He pushes that memory down into a dark corner where he can never see it. He refuses to remember more.

But Toji does remember how cold it was that night—the rain, the tremble of his hands around the gun, the precision he summoned, the hollow emptiness that followed. Naobito’s influence had carved out any trace of emotion, leaving behind a vessel capable only of detached efficiency. It’s so ironic that it’s laughable. He became the very thing he feared.

When larger and more menacing gangs began to cast their shadows, Toji realized it wouldn’t be long until he would have to fall into one just to survive. He remembers a member from one of the more vicious gangs recruiting him. Not Yakuza, but just as structured and disciplined with a hideout, hot food, and warm beds. How could he possibly say no?

In a year, Toji ascended the ranks, earning his place as Wakagashira—second in command—at the age of seventeen. If someone needed to disappear, Toji was the man to get it done. Morals were luxuries he couldn’t afford; his survival depended on their sacrifice.

Those efforts paid off. He moved from the local hardcore gang to a legitimate organization that gave him a mentor who showed him how to read, encouraged him to get his GED, and taught him how to be disciplined and mature. He began to get paid for his work and his world changed.

He no longer had to think about his next meal; it was always within reach. He no longer endured cold showers from a garden hose and the leaky roof of his shed; he had comfort and a cheap apartment. He no longer sought affection; it was thrust upon him by every woman his age who could breathe the same air as him.

Everything that he has earned in his life, has been by his own hand, his own skill, his own diligence.

But no amount of money and comfort can wash away the brutal beginnings of his life.

Toji swipes his finger on his phone screen, a new ritualized distraction that gives him satisfaction when he watches a row of orange jewels disappear. He’s reached level 150. And while he can’t make any money playing Candy Crush, it still fuels the addiction that he used to harness when he places bets. He has yet to admit freely that he’s a gambler, but you’re no idiot. His determination to win as many games of Spades on the 4th of July at your uncle’s was the first giveaway.

“Jesus. You always this messy?” a voice from behind him calls out, prompting Toji’s hand to instinctively fly to the gun on his side as he whirls around. His breathing halts in reflex, ears straining to capture any subtle sound to give him an advantage. Yet, the sight that meets his eyes—a group of people clad in grey jumpsuits, their insignia faded—elicits only a frustrated exhale. “This how you do things over in Japan?”

There’s an undertone to the comment that Toji recognizes, but doesn’t bother to acknowledge as he walks past the crew and out of the warehouse. There’s no point entertaining them. No matter the contract, the cleaning crew always complains. New recruits in the organization, no matter how promising, have to work their way up and show they can handle any job. So Toji knows what it’s like to complain during cleanup.

But it is true, this isn’t how Toji does things. He’s quick and precise without leaving a mess, silent and stealthy—a reputation that has elevated him within the ranks. He’s heard the whispers, and seen the way those of lower rank either tense up or shine their eyes at him when he’s near. His boss boasts of him as Japan’s notorious hitman—nameless yet highly sought after for his efficiency. The Invisible Man.

With his years in the game, Toji can call the shots on how he does things. He only kills scum. Scum lower than himself. Raised in squalor, abused by those meant to care for him, he knows evil intimately. Each bullet he delivers to his targets brings a semblance of peace, and a sense of justice to his troubled soul.

There was a point in his life when he wasn’t so troubled. Somewhere beneath the layers of filth and pain lies a man sheonce knew—a man of tenderness and warmth, embraced for a fleeting moment. A brief, yet exquisite time filled with the gentle caress of her hands, the comforting cadence of her voice, and the birth of a son, a fragment of her very soul. She was able to push through the anger he gave, wrap her hands around his, and never let go.

But like all things in Toji’s life, he’s constantly reminded that he is nothing. That he deserves nothing. And the world made sure to take her away to reaffirm that devastating fact. Six years of barely holding himself together in front of a child who needed him, made him realize he needed to do better.

He’s not ready to give up his career just yet—he’s not sure if he ever can. However, one thing he is sure he can do is provide his son with a better life. He’s not the best father, he will admit to it, and he always has enough connections to give Megumi protection from his family and the dangers of his job. But it’s not enough anymore. He needs to be more involved, more attentive, more of a parent to fill the hole left by his mother. He can make sure his son has a childhood worth remembering.

Not like his own.

America is big, which means more opportunity, which means more money, and an entire continent away from the echoes of his past.

He should forge a future worth pursuing—a future where his kid can have simple joys he never got to experience; maybe a dog, a nice private school, and a father with a convenient job. Retirement flits through his mind more frequently these days, but he knows that truly getting out of the business may be next to impossible. A small part of him longs for that freedom again, a chance to escape all the shadows of his past. However, as his phone buzzes with yet another notification, he’s jolted back to the grim reality that he lives in.

Unknown: Not your usual leftovers but you still got the job done. You should have your payment later today.

Toji: Good. No more revenge contracts. I mean it.

Unknown: I have another if you’re interested, a classic one and done. Want to get you situated in the new market before people start demanding you.

Toji: Gimme a week.

Unknown: I can do that.

***

He’s downed three Ibuprofen, scarfed McDonald’s, and washed away the remnants of blood and frustration from his skin. In the bathroom mirror, his chest is flushed from the vigorous scrubbing, his scars appearing more pronounced against the backdrop of crimson. Each scar serves as a stark reminder of his tumultuous life, where every gain is intertwined with bloodshed and agony.

Under the dim glow of the streetlights outside your uncle’s house, you likely didn’t notice the scars that mar his skin, a fact for which he’s grateful. It would only be more that he would have to lie to you about and he hasn’t thought of the story that he will tell you when you finally ask him.

He has no idea what sort of card he’s pulled to have you in his life. You deserve someone accomplished—a doctor, lawyer, or politician—certainly not a man who deals in bullets and bloodshed, someone like him. Men like Toji don’t deserve the kindness of a woman. Men like Toji don’t deserve the softness of skin scented with Shea butter and a hint of vanilla or the radiance of sunlight dancing on curly hair. Everything good and beautiful in this world slips from his scarred fingers.

He feels insignificant, worthless, a stray wandering the streets, latching onto any speck of attention. Yet, despite your piercing glares and the thin thread that you have him on, you possess a warmth surrounded by fiery edges. The urge to subject himself to that searing heat is almost unbearable.

Both of your lives are consumed with demanding professions; his by contracts, yours by on-call duties and long shifts. It’s been about a week since your date and you both text frequently. You’re busy with your fifth consecutive 12-hour shift and you haven’t messaged him all day. He knows you’re busy, but there’s a piece of him that has been trained to expect unhappiness.

Deep down, he knows you have every right to cut ties with him forever. He’s deceiving you in the worst possible way. If you were to uncover his deeds, the dark agreements he’s made and completed, you would surely turn away without a second glance. He had no intention of wanting more of you after that night. But women like you are rare, fleeting in appearance and he’s a selfish fucker. So, so selfish.

He was ready to ask you out again before the reality of his harsh world dragged him away. A contract that he thought would be simple and quick, had dragged into a week-long affair; interrupting little moments he could be spending with you.

In those moments, alone with his gaze fixed on Greasy as he observed his behavior, he thought of you. He thought of seeing you again when you’re not yelling and screaming at a referee. Maybe for dinner? Somewhere decent where he can snicker at the way you glare at him in the low lights. Somewhere he can see you in a dress besides the red one he met you in, curls framing your face, naturally long lashes narrowing as he flirts with you without shame.

The knowledge that he doesn’t know more about you, leaves an odd fluttering in his stomach that he can only describe as annoyance. He’s known you for over a month but you are as mysterious as you are beautiful. With his skills, he could easily dig into the far corners of his organization to discover more about you. But the mere thought of knowing parts of you without your permission leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He’s slept around enough to know a good-looking woman when he sees one, and you stood out like a genuine gem amidsta sea of counterfeit trinkets. Toji can’t deny that he approached you that night with a certain goal in mind, but the instant he looked down and called you ‘princess’, the minute you shot him a glare that could rival a city’s destruction, he was hooked.

He’s drawn to women who are independent, strong-willed, and able to speak up for themselves. The assertive ones were rare until he met you. That night at your uncle’s, you exuded a resoluteness he had never encountered before. You took pleasure solely for yourself, oblivious to the fact that your selfishness merely made you more enticing, inviting him to sink his fingers into your flesh and take root indefinitely. He had never been so delirious with lust, so utterly out of control with his body as you took and took. The sex was amazing, toe-curling, and intense but it wasn’t just that, it was you.

You, you, you—fuck.

Normally, he’s content with momentary encounters with women; lingering around for a few weeks, taking what they offer until he moves on to the next. It’s a practiced air that he’s used to breathing.

Breathe in—a good fuck on Monday that has a little bit of money for him to take advantage of until Friday. Breathe out—she’s had enough of him or he’s taken his fill and he finds a nice brunette on Saturday.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

But the air is a lot thinner when he tries to breathe you in, tight in his chest and too much but also not enough.

Because you’re a fierce little thing, yet he can see hints of vulnerability beneath the steely resolve of your gaze, a softness rarely revealed to others—especially men and those who challenge you. There’s a familiarity in that vulnerability, a long-forgotten sensation buried deep within him, hidden away in that same dusty recess of his being that’s been rattling for attention a lot more lately.

The allure of you is like a swift current within a crystal-clear stream, beckoning him to immerse himself despite the rocky terrain beneath. Against his better judgment, he’s plunged headfirst without thinking about what he’s doing—about what’s at stake—and letting the current take him away.

You must have seen something in him, because, despite your protests and excuses, you dropped your defenses enough to show more of yourself. Enough to smile at the daisies he gave you when you thought he couldn’t see. Enough to mold your soft lips against his one more time.

His mind wanders back to the present again and falls into a familiar urge that has to be satiated. He knows that whatever it is, it stems from his childhood, but he doesn’t know how to stop it. He runs his fingers over his skin, tracing each scar he’s come to memorize to ensure nothing appears out of place. He can distinguish those from Naobito’s cruel hands and those earned from years in the field. He knows. Yet, he still feels the need to double-check, from the locks on the front door to the latches on every window, even poking his head into the attic before bed just for reassurance.

He has to be sure that he’s safe, that he is secure in his home, away from prying eyes because Naobito could be his neighbor. He could be here in the US, here in this city, here watching his every move and he has to be safe.

His fingers tremble against the cool porcelain of the bathroom sink as his heart races, each breath shaky and uneven as it falls from his throat, his eyes fluttering to push away the sting as he begins his own routine that comes up a few times a week. A steady mantra to quell his rising panic.

He’s not here.

He will never be here.

He will never hurt you again.

You’re safe.

He hasn’t had to worry about Naobito in a very long time, but the logic of that falls to the wayside no matter the time of day. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone about it, he’s fine. The fear and pain will fade away with time.

It will.

The chime of his phone interrupts his thoughts and makes him flinch. He exhales another shaky breath and presses the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, using the pressure to ground himself and get his thoughts back in order so he can go about his day with what remains of his sanity.

“Fuck,” Toji whispers and slides large hands down his face before snatching up his phone and making his way to his living room to plop on his couch.

Toji rolls onto his side, the cotton of the couch pillowing his cheek as he stares at the eggshell wall of his living room. The house he’s purchased is spacious, more than he’s ever had, but it’s not for him. It’s for Megumi. His son deserves a proper home, a place to grow and thrive. But it lacks warmth, devoid of the touches that make a house a home. The hardwood floors have no rugs to clothe them, the living room only has a couch and TV with no stand beneath it and the walls are bare and without character. Maybe he could go furniture shopping this weekend? Invite you if you’re not too tired from working.

When he finally checks his phone, his heart thumps heavily in his chest when he sees the notification from you.

You: I’ve had such a shit day. My car wouldn’t fucking start and work has been so busy. I’m exhausted.

Relief floods him too quickly for him to swallow down and analyze later. There’s no stopping it now, and Toji finds himself sitting up on the couch, his nose almost touching the screen of his phone as he types his response. So many thoughts bubble within him at once. The urge to ask you what he can do, the urge to come over to your house so he can take care of you—so many urges that his late wife would effortlessly draw from him against his own volition overwhelm him.

Toji: How did you get to work

You: I took the bus.

He growls under his breath at your response, his mind flashing with every single danger possible at the thought of you traveling alone at night. Any sleazy man could watch the stop you get off, take note of the street, and come back later. Someone bigger than you, stronger than you. And even though you’re fierce and strong yourself, evil usually wins. The thought makes his blood boil. All you had to do was tell him about your car, and he would have picked you up immediately. But the words from you that shine from his phone are a blatant reminder of just how little you rely on others.

Toji: I’ll pick you up.

You: I get off at midnight. Toji it’s fine.

Toji: I don’t care. I’ll be in the parking lot when you come outside.

You don’t respond, leaving Toji to wonder whether you’re simply swamped with work again or pointedly ignoring him out of defiance. He’s showing up whether you like it or not. He tosses his phone toward the end of the couch and rolls onto his back, his gaze drifting up to the ceiling.

Popcorn ceilings. He despises them. It’s a trivial thing to fixate on, but the textured surface only amplifies the visibility of dirt and grime, reminding him of memories of the dilapidated greenhouse shed where he grew up; of dust and dingy yukatas and soiled food. Toji realizes that the stupid thought is so annoying because of how quickly it reminds him of his life. It’s a vicious cycle of how his mundane thoughts can instantly make him think of a painful memory.

Maybe that’s all his brain can do—think of the bad in his life. He’s not meant for happiness. Wonderful things like you are beyond his reach, and even his own son couldn’t be further detached from him. His thoughts are murky and desolate, so burdened with despair that he’s amazed his body still finds the will to wake up each morning. But he does, for some reason, he still does.

***

A few minutes past midnight when you slide into his car, Toji inhales the weary air you breathe out. Your bun is loose, curls frizzed along your hairline, your scrub top has baby spittle on it, and there are circles under your eyes. You’re absolutely exhausted, but Toji’s heart stutters when he glimpses the determination in your gaze—resolute and fierce even when dead on your feet.

And suddenly, he can’t help himself. He leans over and presses his lips to your cheek, siphoning the softness against the chapped edges of his lips to make the coldness in his chest warm over. You don’t smack him or tell him to behave or call him names for taking something without asking.

“Am I at least allowed to do that without you smacking me?” Toji asks you, a soft smirk on his face as he takes in your familiar glare. It almost washes away the blood and murder he had his hands in this morning.

You wave him away in mild annoyance, but Toji sees something on your face. With his years of perception, he notices the subtle tug of your cheek as it pulls inward for you to bite down on it, your lips fighting to contain the smile that threatens to bloom. One day, he will pull a smile from you freely. One day.

As he drives to your apartment, he unconsciously takes deep inhales to savor the delicate vanilla beneath the sharp tang of hand sanitizer and sterile hallways that radiate from your side of the car. He turns on the classic rock radio station that he played last time you were both in the car together, and you hum along again without thinking. Only this time, your hums are broken, and without strength, your head lolling against the window until you slowly fall asleep.

When he parks the car at your complex, he doesn’t wake you up immediately. In sleep, you can’t scowl at him, but even now, your demeanor remains guarded. Your shoulders are tense, hands clutching the strap of a well-worn leather bag, cheeks flushed with a fever you vehemently deny even though he can smell the common cold in the car.

Only two minutes have passed, yet his thoughts are consumed solely by you. Not about the people he’s killed. Not about the abuse he’s suffered. Not even the echoes of Naobito’s taunts that intrude when he least wants them to.

Just you.

He will earn all of you, just like you asked of him.

That rattling in his chest he felt the last time you were both together makes itself known again, pushing against his belief that his happiness will never be permanently his own. Maybe the sight of you rolling your eyes and offering him little pieces of affection with the smirk you try to hide is the very thing he needs to breathe a little easier.

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t quite figured it out.

So for now, he’ll grasp whatever morsel of solace he can, disregarding the ache in his chest that gets worse when he breathes in your air, knowing you remain unaware of such a significant aspect of his life.

He hopes this never catches up to him, and if it does, he hopes that you can forgive him. He hopes that he can forgive himself for taking from you when someone more deserving should occupy his place.

Until that reckoning arrives, he’ll indulge in his selfishness, because right now, it’s the only thing bringing him a semblance of joy.

Thanks for reading!

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pinegreenapples · 2 days

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Radiostatic Fic Recs

Do you like radiostatic? Are you looking for something good to read? Here are some of my personal favorites that I think everyone should read! As a reminder, if you don't like something listed, just don't read it! And don't bother the author or me! Staying in your lane is free! 😊

Finished works

Control + V

Vox and Alastor are on the cusp of a relationship but Alastor worries that he isn't enough for Vox. Val interferes.

Get Your Thrill Just to Get At Me

Alastor experiences a rut for the first time and Vox refuses to waste good dick on a panic attack.

Hold Me Like A Grudge

This one's ABO and pretty much just smut. Suppressants fail all over the city! Guess we gotta fuck!

Put Your Fingers Back to the Keys

Alastor gets publicly summoned by Lilith and Vox searches for him.

Escape Was Just a Nod and a Casual Wave

This one's a really cool predator/prey fic where Vox chases Alastor.

Keep You Like an Oath

Alastor sneaks into V Tower and discovers Vox's video logs. It causes a revelation.

Lucidity's Fog

Vox has one final sex dream of him and Alastor together.

How to Commission a Radio Demon Body Pillow (and other assorted things)

This one is based off a tumblr ask thread about Vox having an insane amount of Alastor paraphernalia. It's funny, but it is one-sided.

Would You Download a Demon?

Alastor tells Vox and Rosie that he sold his soul. Vox does something so stupid, it's smart.

Classic and Better

Oooohhhhoooo, this bad boy is what made me start writing again. The characterization of them is so good and I love it so much. Alastor tempts Vox back into his folds and Vox follows blindly.

Once Bitten, Twice Shy

Alastor lays claim to Vox by biting him. This one is short and sweet.

Couple's Therapy

This one was funny and sadly too short. Modern day Alastor and Vox decide to go to therapy as a joke and it actually makes them realize a thing or two.

Bambi

I love this piece. It's cute! Vox and Alastor have two different versions of Bambi-their clashing interpretations lead to an adorable misunderstanding.

Joking Matters

Vox and Alastor got married to consolidate their power and have kept their relationship a secret since.

Obligations

Vox trades for Alastor's soul but it isn't at all like how he wanted. They both cope in their own ways.

Meant to Be Yours

This one's one-sided. Vox gets rejected and takes it really badly. An excellent piece exploring his side.

Bargains

This one is also so so so good. Alastor has a rut cycle and the only person who knows is Vox. However, Alastor hates that he has a rut and takes it out on Vox. Vox just wants to know what Alastor actually wants.

Spite

This one is delicious. It's based off the first episode where Alastor says he pulled a few strings to get the commercial to air. Vox demands that he act in a porno for blackmail.

Just a Slave to Your Instincts

Vox researches deer instincts and uses it very effectively against Alastor.

That One Tuesday

Similar premise to Classic and Better but it involves more of the Hazbin cast and the main plotline of trying to redeem sinners.

Vox and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Afterlife

This one is light on the relationship but funny. Basically, every rut Alastor goes fucking nuts and takes it out on Vox. However, no one believes him and they think he's going crazy.

666: Live on Air!

An excellent series that does a good job exploring the push and pull between these two and what a relationship between them would look like with all their hang ups and miscommunications.

Seeking Solace

This story plays with Dom/Sub designations and Vox is a sub who hasn't dropped in too long. He calls Alastor to help.

Radio Made the Video Star

I haven't fully read through this series but it is well written and I'm liking it so far!

Thawing Out

Vox is in an abusive relationship with Valentino. Alastor finds him one night by accident when he's mulling over his relationship. For the first time, Alastor notices that something else might be going on at Vee Tower and he has these awful feelings about it that he can't seem to shake.

The Pitch

Vox swaggers into Alastor's radio tower to propose a deal, he ends up limping out. Wink wonk!

Hypnosis, Live in your Bedroom!

This is inspired by the 666 hypnosis fic and it is quite good! It’s another smut piece of Alastor and Vox exploring his hypnosis.

Other Place

This piece is really sentimental. It made me cry and think about death. Basically, Alastor visits Vox on the anniversary of his mother's death and they talk through his many emotions.

This Wasn't on the Agenda

One-sided but funny! Vox and Alastor start a hissy fit in an overlord meeting about their brief sexual history together.

Staticradio Woodland Fun

This one's cutesy! Vox and Alastor are both mythical creatures experiencing rut and so they spend it with each other.

Feeling from Grace

Angel Dust comes to Alastor with some concerns about Vox’s wellbeing. Alastor manages to fuck it up, as he does all things regarding Vox and feelings.

Music on T.V. and Sex on the Radio!?

This one’s funny and sexy. After their little fight on air, Vox tracks Alastor down in his tower to have some good old fashioned fun.

Stay

Alastor can’t seem to let Vox go, even when Vox decides he can’t keep playing this game anymore.

Like Old Times

Alastor pays Vox a visit in his office after their musical spat to say hello.

Deer in the Backlights

This piece is nice in the way that it explores Vox finally getting closure from his obsession with Alastor. Val and Velvette set up a meeting for Vox and Alastor to finally fuck and get rid of their weird psychosexual tension. Vox wonders if this was really what he wanted all along.

198

This one is pure smut and it’s so delightful. Vox manages to mind break Alastor and turn him into his own personal sex toy. I also highly recommend anything by childishsadism, they write very compelling work!

Undisclosed Desires

Alastor and Vox get into another fight and Alastor finds he likes it a lot more than he thought he would.

To Be Yours

This is my own work! Alastor hears Vox open their personal frequency for the first time in years. Curious, he goes to find out why exactly Vox has chosen to break the silence.

Unfinished works

Addicted

Addicted is really good. Vox finds out he's been drugged by Val for decades and as a result has long term amnesia. He runs away and tries to reckon with a past he can't even remember.

Hypnotic

This one is a rape fic. Vox hypnotizes Alastor against his will and forces him to recount his first sexual encounter as he has sex with him.

Prey of the Video Star

This one is really really good! After the battle, Vox takes Alastor back to Vee tower, determined to finally make the other his. Alastor, weakened, struggles the best that he can even as the noose tightens around his neck.

Safe with Me

This one's good! It's a modern AU where Vox is a CEO and Alastor is a serial killer and podcaster. After separating as childhood friends, Vox and Alastor meet once again and find love with one another.

Equilibrium

Vox saves Alastor and accidentally creates a soulbond between them. This sets in motion a landslide of unexpected events between them.

The Answer is Yes

Okay, this one is extremely well written. It's a fascinating exploration of Vox and Alastor's relationship through a vignette style. It blends all sorts of memories with modern day and it's really cool. I like it a lot.

Bluest Monday

This one is so well written and the romance between them is absolutely heart wrenching. Alastor fears losing Vox to modernity, so he finally accepts Vox’s courting in an attempt to keep the other at his side. This decision has unintended consequences neither could foresee.

Hell’s Televisionary

This one is a really interesting take on Vox and his first few years in Hell. I’m really enjoying it! Vox is new to Hell and looking to make a name for himself. He’s also looking to reconnect with the elusive redhead that helped him when he first fell.

Rival Frequencies

Vox goes after Alastor after the extermination and patches him up. He discovers that maybe his feelings haven’t waned, and he tries to rekindle a friendship with Alastor again.

Tune On In!

This one is based off of an art post where Vox and Alastor got platonically married and details their life together.

Unraveling Emotions

Falling in love makes a sinner’s heart human again and their second death permanent. Vox has never stopped loving Alastor. Alastor makes a mistake and Vox nearly pays the price.

For my friends who liked my post, I hope this finds you!

@rae-does-stuff, @drakepad-luv-2000, @motherarts, @freakshowmemories, @bratpfanne-of-doom, @superpersonpatroleclipse , @nocakesformissedith , @coins-that-never-land , @matrixbearer2024, @dancingafterdark ,@pedi-bug , @starlightthenightwing , @unnecessarilysalty

#radiostatic #staticradio #staticlovetune

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envy-of-the-apple · 2 days

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Hey!! The ask you answered about some satosaugu fic recommendations kinda made me curious if you got any other fics to recommend. Pretty please? <33 (Also, I love your fics so much, been so fascinated with them ever since I found them. Please keep up the good work <3)

considering op didn't specify which fandom they wanted...I'm gonna go ahead and link every single one of my favorite fics mwahahaha

His Savior (geto suguru x reader)

Takes place right after Suguru kills the village and adopts his daughters. Reader is a non-sorcerer but is still able to weasel into his heart! For now its slice of life, super super cute

The Things that Lie beneath the Sea (Mermaid!OchaIzuKatsu x reader)

Reader is hinted to be recently divorced and decides to spend a year isolated on an island and meets three merpeople that are a bit too interesting. Even though im no longer in the mha fandom, i still go back to see if the author has added any chapters. Really really good! And it has a (sort of) language barrier!

Fight Night (MMA fighter!Sukuna x reader)

Reader gets tangled up with MMA fighter sukuna???? Yum???? it's like 80% smut buuuut the plot and they way they both bond is super cute too!

Zero day (Ghost x reader x Konig)

To avoid jail time, reader joins Task Force 141 as their tech support. Super interesting plot! I don't think it's being updated anymore:( but this is one of my favorite COD fics of all time!!!

Simple Math (Poly! Ghostsoap x Nurse!reader)

Soap and Ghost try to flirt with their oblivious nurse...despite soap being currently hospitalized

Bird Song (Jake sully x human!reader x neytiri)

Reader gets taken hostage by the Na'vi and becomes Neytiri's and Jake's babysitter. Yall its such a cute poly fic iloveitiloveitiloveitsosomuchhhh. Technically not completed but i think it ended perfectly!

Something (just like this) (Izuku x reader)

Reader gets hired to make pro-hero izuku a comic book based on his life and they bond! So so so cuteeeee ahhhhhh!!!!

Undone (Squid Game salesman! Kuroo x reader) (noncon)

Reader catches Kuroo with his latest victim player.

It's a vanasha fic. You already know it's gonna be amazing

Love, Death and Circuits (Android! YoRHa!Gojo x reader)

Reader wakes up ten thousand years in the future where humanity now lives on the moon. It's Android's gojo's first time meeting a human and they learn what happened while the reader was asleep.

THIS is the fic that got me into the nier automata hyperfixation for like three months. You do not need to play the game to understand this. It's a super sweet fic:) Yan gojo is there too as a treat!!!!

The Ostensive Fumblings of Being Human (Connor DBH x reader)

Post revolution. Androids and humans are trying to coexist. Reader is part of an organization to help ease this process along. Connor learns what it's like to fall in love

How many times have i reread this???? I'm not gonna answer that. It's so gorgeous. The author perfectly encapsulates a deviant connor. He's so lost and unsure but the way he keeps moving forward is so inspiring! And the mc and connor's blooming relationship is super cute to see. The world building the author is able to make from Cage's chicken scratch is amazing too! And philosophy!

I have like two thousand more but this is already long enough teehee. if yall read any pls pls pls give the authors a kudos/bookmark/comment!!!!

#fic recs

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fluxweeed · 7 months

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WIP Snip

thank you so much @ghostofnoir for tagging me to drop a WIP snip!! a couple of weeks ago i'd've probably said i don't have a WIP on the go, but i'm slooowly starting to accept that i'm probably going to attempt to finish another chaptered fic 😭 atm i'm in the stage of refusing to write anything at all bc i want to "feel ready" (haha) but as it happens i do already have 30k of it sitting there waiting to be whipped (WIP'd) into shape the plot tl;dr: harry sneaks into a nightclub under polyjuice and accidentally makes friends with the slytherins, who don't know who he is. this is a lil chunk from (probably) chapter 4 – a bit from chapter 2 was previously posted here!

“Draco,” he says, “come and dance with me.”

Malfoy glances at Nott, who frowns at Harry. Harry knows he should feel bad for interrupting them, but the alcohol and Polyjuice in his system make him feel like himself again, like he can be impulsive, like he should be—so he keeps his gaze on Malfoy, keeps his hand extended in invitation.

“Oh, all right,” Malfoy says, shrugging—but Harry is watching him so closely that he doesn’t miss the way Malfoy looks at him through his eyelashes with a small, pleased smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

The shots, the anonymity, the thrill of being in Phoenix—it all bolsters Harry, makes him feel confident, makes him feel free. Once they’re in the middle of the crowd, music thumping around them, through them, Harry pulls Malfoy close and murmurs in his ear that he’s sexy when he dances.

Malfoy snorts and tosses his head. “I’d return the compliment, but I have no idea what you actually look like.”

Harry hesitates. The powerful feeling inside him falters. “Sorry,” he says—almost a question.

Malfoy shrugs. “I don’t care what you look like, as it happens,” he says, though his voice is a bit too casual. “You have a hot personality.”

Harry covers the swooping in his stomach with a laugh. “A hot personality?”

“That’s what I said. Now, come on. Dance with me, if you think I’m so sexy.”

Harry dances with him. There’s no hesitation when they touch each other now—just lingering eye contact, hands finding shoulders, waist, hips. Harry presses closer automatically. Malfoy tips his head back and moves to the music.

atm this is about the only bit that doesn't have more square brackets than actual words – much more disjointed than the beautiful snip you posted earlier, @ghostofnoir!!! i hope the editing process is being kinder to you this week!!! ❤️

#tag game #my fic #my last chaptered fic i call The Bastard bc it was so so horrid to me and also ultimately quite mid aha #going to need a codename for this one bc the working title is five words long and that's at least two words too long to say v often #will have to come back to that once i actually start properly working on it again #do pray for me tho bc i really don't want to hate this one 😭#there's got to be a way of enjoying the process of writing something longer other than just making it texts + bad jokes #there simply must be #sdkmn

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raininyourblackeyes · 23 days

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I lowkey both hate and love that the best thing I've ever written is a fanfic I wrote for my friend's birthday. She said she wanted a bsd figure skating au and that I could do whatever I wanted to and I went toxic ice dance!!! And I did have so much fun writing it, a lot less fun doing art and formatting it all and finding someone to actually print it out and bind it. But the story is a banger actually!

#it's so different in tone than the ice dance team i have in my original figure skating story #because they are wholesome #and these two are for a mental institution #horrible people to everyone around them and each other but would also die without each other so they have to make it work #i would even consider posting it on ao3 because i genuinely am proud of how it turned out #but i did have to genderbend just chuuya for it to work #and i don't really want to have my 'first' work in the bsd fandom be like that #and the target audience for the actual bsd fic i've been working on for a long time is me and 5 people more and i do not want it online #sooo pattern of pain also gets to stay in word documents and on my friend's bookshelf

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kadoodles-on-ao3 · 1 year

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Sickness update: Still coughing, but it's (mostly) dry coughing now, and my headache is gone! But I'm not at 100% back-to-normal mental capacity yet either :(

Writing update: I've been hard at work on my angsty longfic! I was going to work on something lighter (especially with my cold) but all of a sudden more and more ideas to add to my AU kept popping in my head and I just had to jot them down.

Before long I was finally organizing my outline by putting all my previous bullet-point came-to-me-at-random-times-of-the-night-and-put-in-an-equally-random-order concepts into plot-chronological order as they should be, and making headings/sections for the major location changes to find stuff easier, and getting down how exactly series-and-collection-wise I want to go about categorizing the fic and its sequels, and finalizing their titles (which are all names of songs on The Glitch Mob's Drink the Sea album, give it a listen with good headphones if you haven't before, it's great background music!!) and oh yeah I needed to go over the h2hs again better open that doc, and I definitely need to have the game's script and cutscenes on hand for reference as needed (which was very frequently) and now baby I've got a stew going

I'm having so much fun writing characters I haven't gotten to write before, and (minor/vague Xenoblade spoilers) digging into the details of the lore about Face Mechon and expanding on my take of what was happening on the Mechonis before the party got there, and fitting lots of little puzzle pieces that the game gives you but doesn't directly tell you they belong together which is why I love it so much, and getting into such a nice flow state with it all and gjshfhskfh I love Xenoblade 1 so muchhhhhh!!!

So all that is to say I will hopefully be posting the prologue tomorrow or the day after! :) No promises as it's gotten much longer/more-detailed than I planned for (although I really should have expected that, it's always how it goes with me when I'm having fun writing I just can't stop haha) but it is most definitely on the way to being published soon!

#aside #before i get into mild spoilers for my fic (as in no details about the plot itself but i mention #which characters i'm writing in the prologue so if you want to go in completely blind turn back now!)#i will fill space by reiterating that drink the sea is such a good album and you should listen to it #my favorite track is Starve The Ego Feed The Soul :) listening to it with really good headphones and no other background noise is so #mmmmmmm it tickles my brain in the best way #as for the fic though i am having SO. much. fun. writing egil and mumkhar #i don't mention egil much publicly but he's one of my absolute fav characters from xc top 5 for sure #finally getting into his headspace and delving into his subtleties like his arrogance and loss of empathy is very :)#quite different from anything i've written before but in a good way. hope you like it as much as i had fun writing it!#and writing mumkhar's enthusiastic and sarcastic dickishness is a blast lmao #he was only supposed to be a small feature and likely even just an offscreen mention or two from egil #but then i realized how much i had written with zero dialogue (i like to do that especially in the middle of a conversation lol) and #i thought ''hm let's fix that! in fact part of my reason for having mumkhar here is that #he talks way too fucking much and it annoys egil to the point where he literally stitches his mouth shut so yeah having him actually #talk with specific words is important to the point i'm trying to make!'' and then oops my draft is an extra page longer now #but i had fun writing it and if it serves the story and the points i want to get across then i can't find the heart to delete it #and hey it's been so long since i've published anything so more is better anyway right?

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sheogorad · 2 years

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ohhh man. reading soft harrykim fic and i just... ohhhhhhh god. i am a decorated member of the homo-sexual underground. and i am extremely touch starved.

#there is just... something about them #they're like. they're guys. they're literally old men. and they're masculine. and they love each other. they're men in love.#it's fic where they're masculine men being gentle and soft with each other. and i just. i feel so... oh my god #like i don't know how to properly describe it but this is like the first time in forever that i'm Shipping something to the point of #reading fic about it. and the last time it ended up being like... i was writing my own as a way to figure out my gender and sexuality so #it ended up morphing into this thing that is very distinctly Not Masculine as a whole #it's hard to describe but i projected a lot of pain as well and it just. it served a purpose but it's not who i am now? and it doesn't #represent what i want in my life now if that makes sense. but harrykim does and it just sends me to this place... i just Yearn #i haven't felt so deeply emotional about fictional characters in a long while and i certainly haven't read fic in a long time #so like reading fic that's just. two middle aged men who are both masculine and are independent people with problems and emotions just...#it is sending me y'all like. obviously some of the fics are really not great and enforce roles and personalities that just. suck. and are #super ooc as well. but the ones that i've been enjoying are so balanced and just make me crave a relationship so fucking bad #like i know i'm projecting again but it feels different and better this time and it's just. they're MEN. OLD MEN. MASCULINE.#there's no weird power dynamic in the fics i like. they're equals with personalities and problems and they're MEN. i'm just. this is really #getting to me now that i'm way further into my transition and am very firm around my gender and sexuality. /I/ am a masculine man. i am #am a homosexual adult male who is masculine who loves other masculine men. i'm not macho. i'm masculine. and i love that in other men #so reading about it is just... my BRAIN!!!!! mha HART!!!!!!!! mah SOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#i know i'm rambling i just... i am Yearning so Deeply and i just want what they have... i wanna be an old man in love w another old man...#where is my hdb. like yas king we stan a recovering alcoholic who is working on being a better person and moving past his traumaaa #also...... dad bod...... facial hair.......... i even love The Expression............... and he's DISCO............ I Want Him.#i could fix him........ i could make him better................ i could disco with him.................... no one look at me i'm YEARNING #anyway it's 4am so lmaoadso goodnight i'm gay as fuck sdjakaflh #.txt

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heeliopheelia · 1 month

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𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅𝐅 𝐃𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

word count: 4.3k

warnings: cursing, crying, neglect, tiny mention of bleeding

a/n: i think i win the contest of overusing commas with this one 🤍 tbh this fic is just yapping so pls deal with me... it's good to write some proper angst again tho, i missed it :(( hope you guys like it and don't find them too repetetive!!

masterlist

LEE HEESEUNG

It's been two weeks since you got the opportunity to take a proper look at Heeseung. And now as you do, you find it hard to recognize your fiancé who looks like he's about to collapse from exhaustion, to say the least.

“I never asked you to mother me or worry about me so much. Stop getting into my business so much. I’m not a child, YN.”

It’s like he was blind to how hurt his words and actions were making you feel. It’s so unusual for him, so out of character and unfamiliar to you, that you can’t help but think that maybe it really is your fault for riling him up this much.

“I worry about you because I’m your fiancé and I love you, you jerk!” You scoff at his careless words and take a step back, the aching in your heart only increasing. “I only want to look after you because you clearly don't know how to do it yourself. I mean, look at yourself! You look as if you haven’t slept in a week and I know you haven’t been eating either. How can I not worry about you when all you do is neglect yourself?”

“Dunno, maybe find yourself something to keep you busy enough. You stay at home all day, do as much as nothing, no wonder you’re so damn nosy. I would be too with this much time on my hands.”

He’s so indifferent to everything you say, you try to recall where it all started going so wrong. All you did was ask whether he’s eaten at work or not, and now the two of you are snapping at each other as if you weren’t lovers, and trying not to hurt each other was a long forgotten thought by now.

“If you’re so unhappy with our relationship – with me, maybe it’s best we take a break,” you say as you feel your throat tighten painfully.

“Agreed. I never even wanted this marriage in the first place,” he scowls, silencing you, words rolling out of his mouth way quicker than his brain is able to process it.

He bites his words back quickly when he watches your face dropping along with your shoulders, and fuck, you look as if you’ve given up on him right then and there.

You walk away then, tears streaming down your face, muttering something about how ungrateful he was being, and all Heeseung could do was stand still as if plastered to the floor, in utter disbelief of his own, untrue, words.

After his cruel statement echoes through his head for the fourth time, he finally snaps out of the self pity and rushes after you to the kitchen where you’re leaned over the counter, head buried in your hands as you cry.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly. He walks up from behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his forehead on your shoulder blade. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry for everything I said, sweetheart.”

He turns you around gently and feels his chest tighten at how fucking sad you look. He never wants to see you like this. He never wants to be the cause of this ever again.

And when he looks to the side, his throat closes and dries completely at the sight of your engagement ring laying on the counter right behind you.

“Are you sure you didn’t mean it?” You ask, wiping the tears away with your hand pointlessly as another stream follows right after. “Things like that don’t come out of nowhere.”

“I didn’t, love, I swear I didn’t. I’m so fucking sorry,” he breathes out, pulling you closer to him by your neck again.

Never again. Never fucking again. He keeps telling himself in his head as he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles, just where your ring was supposed to be sitting snugly. Then he lowers it and places your palm against his chest, right above his heart, and covers your smaller hand with his.

That was too close to losing you, and himself, for that matter. Because he would never recover if you were gone from his life and all because of him.

“Then why did you even say it?” You sob pitifully as you feel the warm tears dripping down the tip of your nose.

“I don’t know,” he shushes you gently, trying his best to not break you any further.

You pull away once you feel calm enough, hands clutching his t-shirt. “It's not too late to call off the wedding, Seung,” you manage out breathily, raising your palm to cup his cheek. “I'd rather not take the step further than have you unhappy.”

“Darling, no.” Heeseung bends down to minimize the distance between the two of you and peppers your face with loving, warm kisses. He just wants to erase those atrocious thoughts out of your mind as quickly as possible. “Please, there's nothing I'd ever want more than to make you my wife. That was stupid of me to say. I'll never be happy if I'm not with you, my love.”

“I just don’t want to force this marriage on you. You need to want it as much as I do, otherwise it’s pointless.”

Heeseung almost chokes on air when he rushes out his answer even before you can properly finish your sentence. “I do want it. Please, you have to believe me.”

“Really?”

Heeseung smiles at you softly as he wipes your wet cheeks with his thumbs. “Really. Scout’s honour.”

You breathe out, feeling relief, and look up at him with squinted, puffy eyes. “Sometimes I just wanna strangle you to death, Lee Heeseung.”

He chuckles lightly before pressing one last kiss to your cheek. “Aren't you just so adorable? You should add this to your wedding vows.”

“Maybe I’ll add this to your eulogy instead if you pull shit like that again.”

Heeseung clicks his tongue with a grin pulling on his lips. “Touché.”

PARK JAY

The atmosphere in the living room is so heavy that your chest starts to hurt. You’re standing barely two steps away from the man you love the most, yet you’ve never felt more far away from him than in this moment.

His eyes – cold but still undoubtedly full of love, drill holes in the side of your head as you turn your face away from him to try and gather your thoughts.

Arguments with Jay were rare. You always tried to work things out immediately, keeping your heads cool. But something has broken over the last month and you can’t see each other eye to eye anymore. At the very beginning of your relationship you made a promise to never go to bed angry. To never leave things unresolved. Yet now Jay’s been sleeping on the couch for the past week, and you fail to understand what the fuck has happened to the two of you.

And you can’t help but think that, maybe, sometimes love is just not enough.

“You’re not even trying to find the middle ground anymore. All you do is snap at me the second I come home. I’m fucking tired of it! Would it hurt to give it a rest for a day?”

The tension is almost palpable. You hate how you can’t seem to back away from any argument but only keep hurting him instead.

“Put effort into our relationship first, then we’ll talk,” you spit out instead, against your better judgment.

“It’s funny coming from you who’s done nothing but put a fucking distance between us!”

“This doesn’t make any sense anymore, Jay. We need some time apart,” you finally speak into the dull silence, eyes casted downwards at the floor as your hand keeps twitching, only to finally grab for your ring finger and slip the silver band off of it. You didn’t think much of your action, hell, you didn’t even process it properly.

Well, not until you hear the shaky exhale leave Jay’s lips.

Silently, he presses his lips together and nods his head before turning on his heel and leaving the room. You listen intently to the shuffling, then ringing of the keys and eventually the door being shut.

A moment of silence turns into minutes of you staring at the ring on your palm with tears burning your eyes mercilessly.

With your heart falling low to your stomach, you drop down on the couch and tug on your hair slightly, cursing yourself for acting so mindlessly.

You wallow in self pity in the dead quiet room. The shiny ring feels so heavy and burning in your clenched fist. You take in a deep breath, then quickly slide the band back onto your finger, feeling instantly shielded with it being on its righteous place again.

And just like that, you spend the next three hours on the verge of losing your sanity. With no word from Jay. He’s left your messages unread. He’s left your calls unanswered.

You don’t know whether he’s okay or hurt or simply gone. All that combined is enough to leave you panicked and terrified, unable to have a second of peace.

You never meant to take it this far. This – your words and rapid actions, that will forever remain as one of your biggest regrets. You don’t like the idea that you made your other half feel like you’ve taken him for granted. Or for what’s worse, like a person that you can use for unloading your frustration.

There’s this throbbing pain in your chest as you realize that maybe he’s not coming back because why would he if you can’t even love him properly?

Your fingers are bleeding from how hard you’ve been picking on your cuticles.

And then you hear the jingle of keys and soon the front door opens quietly. You know that even after all of this he’s still being careful to not wake you up. It’s killing you how he thinks you’d ever be able to get a wink of sleep without knowing he’s safe.

You’re quick to drop your phone on the couch and shoot up on your legs, rushing over to the door and throwing yourself on Jay’s neck.

“I was so worried about you!” You gasp out, clinging onto your fiancé desperately as tears unknowingly make their way down your cheeks. “Please, don’t ever do that again!”

“Sorry, my phone died,” he replies after a second or two, bringing his arm up to wrap around your waist and keep you close to him.

He’s still upset but he understands where you’re coming from, knowing well that if it was you instead of him he’d probably go insane from worry.

He can feel your heart hammering against his chest, so he lifts his hand and strokes your hair to help you calm down. But then you start crying, feeling his gentle touch even after everything you said, that was enough to push you over the edge. You clench your trembling hands on his sweater as you burst out with choked sobs, slouching against his warm and comforting body.

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry,” you weep into his chest like a mantra and Jay can quite literally feel his heart cracking at your miserable state.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, hot air hitting your ear before he presses a soft kiss to its tip. “Don’t cry anymore, honey. We’re okay.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve you,” you whimper quietly. “Please, don’t leave me.”

“Don’t say that,” he scolds you with a frown. Your whimpers twist his guts even more than your harsh words from before. “It’s not the first nor the last time we’ll have an argument. It’s not worth losing your pretty head over it, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat one last time. “I promise I'll never take it off again. I’ll never lash out on you like that ever again too.”

Jay grabs your hand and runs his thumb over the thin silver band, the same one he was picking so carefully for weeks, and a small smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. He hates how shameful you sound.

He’ll never tell you how the sight of you pulling your ring off your finger made him physically sick to his stomach. He can't have you feeling even worse than you already do. So instead he brings you close to him and rests his forehead on yours.

“I’m so stupid,” you whisper quietly as you close your eyes, your heavy eyelashes letting go of another few drops of crystal tears which Jay’s lips soak up instantly. “I don’t know what I’d do if you actually left.”

“You know me better than to think I’d let us break it off over such a petty fight.” And, yes, you do. But your lip wobbles with silent agony at the sole thought of that. “Hey,” he tries again as he presses a loving kiss to your red nose. “I’m not leaving, okay? How could I ever?”

“I love you.”

With his thumb caressing your burning cheek so tenderly, you feel at peace again.

“I love you too,” he replies without skipping a beat. “No one can handle you as well as I do. And no one sees me for me like you do. We complete each other. We belong together.”

He kisses you silly then, until there’s no more tears left in your body and you’re barely able to breathe anymore. He kisses you until your legs give in and he swoops you up to carry you into your shared bed for the first time in what seems like forever.

He kisses you until it engraves in your mind that there’s no other person for him in this world but you.

SIM JAKE

“Baby, I already apologized.” A groan lingers at the back of his throat but for his own sake he stifles it inside. “I don’t know what else you want me to do.”

You sit on the verge of your shared bed and clench your fingers on the silky duvet. “How about you start showing up to things we both agreed on attending?”

He runs his hand down his face. “I know. It just slipped my mind, that’s all. You know how busy I’ve been this week.”

“This shouldn’t be my business only, though. I mean, for christ’s sake, it’s our wedding! I would really appreciate it if you participated in something for once!”

Flowers and cake. That’s literally all you’ve asked of him to go and pick with you for the wedding reception. Knowing his tight schedule, you picked the date carefully so that it wouldn’t meddle with his work and you could even go grab some dinner afterwards. But your plans all went out the window when he didn’t even bother showing up or giving you a heads up text, standing you up yet another time when it comes to your wedding preparations.

You’re honestly getting tired of it.

“I’ll be there next time,” he assures you quickly as he nervously taps his fingers on the doorway of your bedroom.

“You said you wouldn’t do that,” your voice wavers as your shoulders drop with resignation. With the back of your hand, you wipe off the tears that made their way down your cheeks. “You promised to help, Jake. But you left me alone with everything, as usual.”

“It’s not even that big of a deal. This can be rescheduled any time. Baby, stop stressin’ so much.”

“But it is a big deal to me!” You cry out, palm reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. You breathe out heavily. “I don’t want to do everything by myself! We’re supposed to be in this together! If getting married means that I’m gonna be alone with all the responsibilities that you don’t consider important enough, I’m not even sure if I still want it.”

To back up your words, your hand moves half-consciously to your ring finger and you twist the cool piece of jewelry in between your fingers.

“No, no, no, no.” Jake moves quickly, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes towards you to desperately clasp your hand in his two and stop you from whatever the hell you were about to do. He drops to his knees in front of the bed, right at your feet. “Baby, you promised you’d never take it off.”

You’re at a loss of words as you look into his wide eyes, the seriousness of your actions only catching up to you now. You gasp quietly, eyes watering just like his, quickly relaxing your tensed hand in his and letting him slide the ring back down your finger, just where it belongs.

Silence envelopes the two of you, besides the sound of your sniffles.

You feel awful.

Jake feels even worse.

Leaning forward, you press your face to his shoulder and melt instantly when he brings a hand to caress your hair.

“I'm sorry,” you whisper, clenching your hand to feel the cool ring against your skin. “I don't know why I did that. I didn't mean to.”

“I know,” he soothes you just as softly. He stands up from the floor and carefully maneuvers the two of you so that you’re placed on his lap as he sits with his back against the headboard. “It's my fault. I'm sorry. I never meant to disregard your feelings like that.”

At the end of the day, both of you would rather set themselves ablaze than watch the other one hurting.

You nod silently, heart pounding in your chest before you bring your arms up and throw them over his neck.

“I’m sorry I was so impulsive.”

“No. You did nothing wrong.” His soothing voice carries over the room, enveloping you with warmth. “I promise I'll be here whenever you want me to from now on. I don’t want you to feel neglected by me, especially now when you’re this stressed over the wedding. I won’t let you down, again.”

“I just need a little help, that’s all,” you mumble tiredly into his skin.

“I know.” His warm lips press to your forehead lovingly. “I’m sorry for being an insensitive douche. It won’t happen again. I’ll take some days off next week, hm?”

The tears on your face dry slowly as your hold on him tightens. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Then it’s done. I'll be all yours and you’ll be all mine then,” he hums and noses at your cheek, finally bringing out a small giggle out of you. After all these years, he still melts at the sound. “I won’t let things get this out of hand again, YN. I promise.”

“Okay,” you whisper. Tilting your head up and bringing his down towards you, you join your lips in a kiss that you’ve been longing for for days. His movements are slow and careful as he tries to soak up as much of the moment as possible.

His kisses slowly put your broken pieces back together. He never knew how much seeing you cry like this would hurt him. And he’ll make damn sure he won’t ever have to experience again that for as long as you're with him.

“If I have a life to spend, it'll only be with you, sweetheart,” he lowers his voice to match yours, cradling your cheek in the palm of his hand. “You're it for me. I'll never give you a chance to doubt that ever again.”

PARK SUNGHOON

“You’re never home! There’s always a hundred things more important to you than spending an hour of your time with me. Your fucking fiance! Are we really about to get married when you’re clearly so tired of me already?”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you finally voice out everything that’s been sitting on your chest for the past month. Things have not been working out well with the two of you, much to your despair. He’s been neglectful, always too busy to help you with anything – even the wedding related things that you should’ve gotten done weeks ago.

And you know that he’s swamped with work and it's not his fault. You understand everything. But to ask him to spare you an hour or two of his day shouldn’t be too much. It shouldn’t make him snap at you unlike what he just did the second he came back home. You slowly begin to lose your hope.

“God, have you always been this needy? Why can’t you accept that I can’t always put you first? No matter how much I’d want to, sometimes I just can’t! Deal with this!”

“Fucking- Fine.”

Your hand moves quicker than your brain, and the next thing you know, your shiny ring is being pulled off your finger and resting in the palm of your other hand.

You can see the disbelief flashing through his face briefly before it completely morphs into a scowl.

“You really think that this will solve the problem?” He asks, eyebrows narrowed as he glowers at you from across the room. “Really? Does that ring mean so little to you that you go and throw it away with any minor inconvenience?”

You try to blink away the frustrated tears, hand raking up to brush your hair away from your face. “No, fuck, I just- I don’t know what to do anymore, Sunghoon. I feel like I’m the only one in this relationship. I need you to give me something more because whatever you’re doing now is not enough for me.”

“Well, I’m putting out everything I have, YN! I love you! If that’s still not good enough for you, then maybe it’s not meant to be.”

The silence that falls in the room doesn’t last long as your sudden sob pierces Sunghoon’s ears quickly, making his stomach drop to the soles of his feet. His heart wrenches and twists as the anger simmers down and evaporates from his body within a second, and he’s quickly coming back to his senses at the sight of you breaking down right in front of him.

“Can’t you just try?” You cry into your hands, shielding your face away from your fiance. “That’s all I’m asking of you. Is it really so hard to try?”

No, it’s not. Sunghoon knows it without a second of thinking. It’s not too hard to try, never if it’s for you. And his throat dries so quickly when he basks in the weight of his words that finally made you break as well.

“You don’t know how much it hurts to feel like you’re too much for your partner,” you wail with a small voice, shoulders trembling and hands quickly getting damp with tears. “You’ll never know how it is to feel unwanted, because you’ll never have to when you're with me. Because I love you, asshole, but now I’m doubting if you’re saying it back just for the sake of it.”

With air getting stuck in his throat, Sunghoon looks at you wide-eyed before quickly crossing the living room and enveloping you in his arms. His warmth wraps around you in what you've always considered to be safety, but now it just makes you cry more.

He finds it hard to breathe. The hesitation in your eyes feels like a stab to his chest.

“Of course I still love you,” he says, voice muffled by your hair.

He hates how he made you feel the opposite. He hates how you’re right and he never had to worry about any reassurement of such kind from your side because you’re just that good to him. And his heart breaks with the realization of how much of a lousy partner he’s been to you when all you ever were was nothing less than perfect.

So he places his hand on the back of your head and presses you even closer to his shoulder as you cry, his own eyes burning with tears at the sound of your sobs and sniffles.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, my darling,” he apologizes with a heavy heart, fearful of what’s about to come next. “I didn’t mean to neglect you this much. I could say that I’m tired and the work has been a lot lately, but I know these excuses are not enough to make up for my actions.”

You’re mad and hurt, but you love him and would never want to give up on him, so you wrap your arms around his middle and hold him almost as tight as he holds you, burying your wet face in his chest.

“I love you more than anything, YN.” He pulls away from you only to cup your face and make you look at him. His long fingers wipe away the tears with gentle touch, soothing your stinging skin instantly. “You could never be too much for me. I want all of you. I promise I’ll do better. I’ll love you better.”

And when you’re looking up at him with these shiny eyes of yours, he closes the distance and presses a loving kiss to your swollen lips, hoping to take at least some of the pain away. He doesn’t think he can hold you any tighter. He can’t love you any stronger than right now, and it messes with his head how easily he could’ve had it all ruined only minutes ago.

He’ll never take your love for granted ever again. Because if he did, he’d never be able to pick up the parts of whatever was left of him, and put himself back together ever again.

You can feel his warm hand opening your closed palm before he takes the ring you've been clutching so tightly and holds it in between his fingers.

“Can I put it back on, baby? Please.”

You nod wordlessly while you try to tame your tears. You hold your slightly trembling hand up to him. He takes it, gently, and watches as your bottom lip wobbles while he slides the ring on your finger just like he did months ago.

“I'll never screw up like that again. You have my word for it.”

You sniffle quietly when he kisses you right on the cool band adorning your skin. “You better not, Park Sunghoon.”

His long fingers caress your cheek, wiping the remains of the tears away. “Can you forgive me, darling?”

You don't need to think long of an answer. “You know I can never stay mad at you. Even if you're a idiot, I'll never stop loving you. You have my whole heart, Hoon. Please, don't ever make me regret trusting you with it.”

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kamaluhkhan · 3 months

Text

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window.

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer.

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.”

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous.

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?”

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in.

“what? n-no!”

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you.

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp.

it just didn't seem fair.

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods.

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest.

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest.

every demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself.

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?”

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching.

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.”

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.”

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze.

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too.

“she deserved more.”

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there.

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do.

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise.

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.”

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm.

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day.

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.”

luke bristled at your nickname for him.

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go.

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in.

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly.

the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again.

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down.

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse.

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled.

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning.

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone?

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one.

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward."

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you.

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp.

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready.

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him.

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through.

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him.

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power.

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood.

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased.

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess.

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson.

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?”

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken.

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.”

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer.

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too.

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time.

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more.

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips.

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die.

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy.

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away.

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze.

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse.

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.”

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality.

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie.

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat.

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him.

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for.

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did.

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it.

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair.

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates.

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes.

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.”

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes.

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that.

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you.

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?”

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush.

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….”

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right.

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for.

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached.

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?”

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?”

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him.

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.”

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said.

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow.

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air.

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch.

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion.

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp.

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him.

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment.

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door.

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire.

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god.

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy.

everything was falling into place.

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you.

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles.

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist.

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him.

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey.

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy.

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?”

“they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true.

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him.

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it.

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down.

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet.

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog.

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more.

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously.

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated.

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind.

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated.

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well.

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.”

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe!

would you hate him, if you knew?

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage.

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?”

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns.

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.”

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment.

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips.

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe.

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his.

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath.

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time.

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted.

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor.

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother.

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock.

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.”

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being.

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.”

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone. we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance.

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor.

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape.

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice.

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head.

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life.

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

#this is my baby fr #really feeling the tragic hero vibe down to my core #will prob do a part 2 from reader's POV!#ofc inspired by get him back! bc nemesis!reader....#percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan angst #luke castellan imagine #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan smut #saf writes #Spotify

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wheresarizona · 11 days

Text

but I would die for you in secret

summary: The relationship you have with Joel Miller is… complicated, and you’re not entirely sure what to even call it. There’s the fact no one can know, so his kid doesn’t find out, and you’re pretty sure he’s ashamed of your age difference—he’s not your boyfriend, but you only fuck each other; this thing started months ago, and Joel does not like it when men give you attention, because he wants you all to himself. But again, he’s not your sexy, older boyfriend.

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, porn with some plot, explicit smut, Possessive Joel Miller, Joel being a lil dominant, age gap (unspecified, reader is an adult), secret relationship, sneaking around, accidental voyeurism, edging, orgasm denial, mutual masturbation, dirty talk (so much), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), rough sex, explicit consent, creampie, spanking, spit as lube, love confession, Good Parent Joel Miller, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, TLOU AU where Joel doesn’t lie to Ellie and they’re good when they get back to Jackson)

word count: 7.1k+

a/n: Hey! I needed a break from my long fic that I’ve been writing nonstop for five months, and I was really missing Joel and Ellie, so here we are. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to @juletheghoul for betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Masterlist

The relationship you have with Joel Miller is… complicated.

To start with, there’s the age difference. It doesn’t bother you at all, and why should it? You’re both consenting adults who know what they want, but he’s got this idea in his head that he shouldn’t be chasing someone so much younger than him and that you should be with somebody your own age—he mentions this almost every single time you’re alone together, and you've learned a simple flash of your tits or a sudden kiss will make those thoughts disappear.

Then there's the fact he isn't your boyfriend, yet you only fuck each other. His days are spent working whatever job he’s assigned here in Jackson and he’s at your place most nights after his daughter goes to bed—however, that’s a secret; No one can know about you two, even though Joel’s a tiny bit possessive and doesn't take kindly to other men giving you attention; which you're not one to judge because you can't stand when women flirt with him, especially Sandra, his next-door neighbor who won't leave him the fuck alone after the many times he’s told her he’s not interested.

So, again, he's not your boyfriend, but neither of you wants to fuck anyone else; whatever this thing is between you has been going on for over eight months, and he doesn’t want people to know you’re together—yet, any time he catches a man being too friendly with you, there's a 100% chance a grumpier than usual Joel will show up at your house that night, and at some point, while he’s fucking your brains out, he'll let a 'Mine' slip out.

Clearly, you have some kind of relationship with him, and it borders somewhere between fuck buddies and him being your boyfriend; where it gets confusing is it's not all sex with him. If his kid is staying over at a friend's, he'll show up at yours earlier than normal, and usually, with a movie he hadn't seen since the world ended or a record he thought you'd enjoy that you both listen to all the way through for him to tell you facts and anecdotes that he could possibly be the only person on the entire planet who knows.

If you need anything fixed around your house, he'll do it, and sometimes you don't even have to ask. You'll mention something, and the next thing you know, he's at your front door with a toolbox—sometimes, he uses doing repairs as a ruse so people will see him arriving at your place with his tools when, in actuality, he’s there to spend the day with you.

You’re also probably the only person, unrelated to him, he has actual conversations with; there’s hardly any grumbling or muttering.

There is a reason he won't acknowledge you’re dating, and it's his sixteen-year-old daughter whom he doesn't want to know he has a love life—it's to where Joel's basically taken the role of the rebellious teenager, sneaking out of his own home in the middle of the night to ensure she's unaware he left.

It's an accumulation of factors why she can't know. The big two, you think, are your age, and you know for sure he doesn't want Ellie to think she'll be any less important to him or that he's abandoning her if he's seeing someone—he worries she won’t take it well, and from what you know she's been through, you can understand why he’s being so protective.

Do you wish you could openly be in a relationship with Joel? Sure, it'd make you happy to shove it in Sandra, his stupid neighbor's face that he's taken.

That isn't a possibility, though, and honestly, what the two of you have is good, so you're not going to make a fuss about labels.

It's been a few nights since Joel has snuck over to your place, and you know why he hasn't stopped by—Ellie—she's sick with a cold, and to put things mildly, her father is freaking the fuck out that it could turn into something worse, and he won't let her out of his sight.

Now, if a person didn't want their child to know they were dating anyone, they’d keep them separated, right? Well, you live across the street from them—that's how you met Joel; he saw someone had moved into the tiny one-bedroom, one-bath home across from his and came over to introduce himself—and since you live across the way from him, and Ellie, the two of you have this, 'Just being a good neighbor,’ act, where any interactions you have in public, are under the guise that you’re just friendly neighbors. So, Ellie has spoken to you many times and has even invited you to hang out and eat meals with them at their house or in the mess hall, where Joel always does his damndest to act indifferent.

Joel left a simple note three days ago stating Ellie was feeling under the weather on your front door. The next day, you stopped by, as the good neighbor you are, to drop off some chicken soup you convinced the kitchen at the mess hall to make. Joel had let you in with a ‘Thanks’ and took the large bowl from you to the kitchen, and you followed the sounds of sniffles to the living room, where you found the teenager wrapped in a blanket on the couch, her stuffed-up voice exclaiming when she saw you in relief you were there so she’d have someone other than her dad to look at or talk to; obviously, she was tired of him, and with how he was hovering, and fussing over her like a mother hen, you would’ve been tired of him, too.

The man had bags under his worried eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept since she’d gotten sick. After he served her some soup and saw she was eating it, Ellie and you convinced him to take a nap while you hung out with his kid—the kid you’ve had a suspicion for a while knows there’s something up between you and her father, simply because every time the two of you are alone, she grills you about your love life.

The thing is, she always fishes for information you won’t give her, but she never seems bothered by the prospect of Joel dating; frankly, she’s supportive and wants him to be happy. However, that wasn’t something you could tell him because he’d probably end things with you immediately, so you’d have to wait for them to eventually have a heart-to-heart for him to find out—which, you’re not holding your breath with how bad they both are at talking to each other about their feelings.

And now it’s been over three days since you last got laid, and after having great sex regularly, the horniness is hitting you hard tonight, and you need to come.

It might be the dead of winter, but you’ve pushed the blankets to the end of your queen-sized bed, the old sheets not as soft as you imagined they’d once been when they were new, your bare, heated skin pressing into them. You’re lying in the middle of the mattress, your head cushioned by a pillow that’d lost its firmness long ago, your naked legs spread while your fingers rub at your swollen clit just right, the others pinching at your pebbled nipple to have the pleasure welling up inside you. You’ve been biting your bottom lip so much it’s sore, your breaths panting from your lungs, the wood stove in the living room keeping your house warm, and that, combined with your arousal, has a thin layer of sweat coating your body.

Sure, you can get yourself off, but the orgasm will be nowhere near as good as what Joel coaxes from you; it’ll take the edge off, at least, so you’ll feel a little better.

For the last hour, you’ve been building yourself up, almost hitting your peak, and stopping, edging yourself over and over again to try to make yourself come as hard as you can by your own hand to assuage some of your need—the sheets are wet under your ass where you’ve dripped onto them.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, thinking about that one night Joel saw some guy about your age at the bar laying it on thick to get you to leave with him, and how after you turned him down and left, a familiar presence followed you along the dark streets. You had to keep quiet when those big, gun-calloused hands you knew all too well pulled you into the stable that had nobody in it except the horses—Joel fucked you from behind against a wall, having to brace yourself with your arms on it. You remembered his palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds and him blanketing himself over your back to have his lips at your ear while he pounded into you hard and fast, quietly grunting about how you were his and that no one could make you feel as good as he did. There was no forgetting how his cock stretched open your cunt, or how before he sheathed himself inside you, you heard him spit on his fingers to slick himself up; the way he made you come around him while he circled your clit with those same digits. The memory of how he’d worked himself up so much he’d forgotten to pull out and spilled deep in your pussy, has you so close to coming by your hand you moan loudly, “Joel.”

“Stop,” the familiar gruff voice makes your eyes snap open as you gasp, immediately sitting up on your elbows.

There at the foot of the bed is the man on your mind—he must’ve taken off his winter jacket in the living room—his green flannel shirt is gaping from most of the buttons being undone, revealing his chest, his grey waves of hair looking to be slightly damp from melted snowflakes. What steals your attention is the fact his jeans are unbuttoned and open, and he’s slowly stroking his hard dick; from how the tip is angry red, leaking precum, and his shaft shines, he’s been watching and jerking off for some time.

“Joel,” his name comes out as a whisper, and your eyes flick up to his, finding them dark and staring hungrily between your legs at your glistening cunt.

You’re so happy to see him you’re not even mad he ruined your orgasm, knowing he’ll make it up to you.

“How many times have you made yourself come while I’ve been busy?” he asks, finally meeting your gaze, his expression grumpy.

“No-none,” you stammer.

His eyebrow lifts. “You lyin’ to me, sweetheart?”

“No.” You shook your head. “Are you mad at me…?”

His face pinches in confusion. “What? No. I’m not mad at you, baby. I’m mad at myself for leavin’ you hangin’.” He undoes the last two buttons on his shirt and shrugs it off for it to fall to the floor, pushing down his pants to step out of them, now standing before you completely naked.

His body is a tapestry of littered scars that tell of his fight to survive this long, some from injuries you’re sure should’ve killed him. Yet, somehow, if by spite or the grace of God, he managed to stay alive—your fingers have traced many of them, mapping the silvery and pink lines in the quiet of the night with only the glow of a bedside lamp. With what people have to do in order to keep living these days, they rarely like to share the stories behind their close calls to death. Still, there’s a jagged scar low on the right side of his stomach lesser men would have died from, you noticed the first time he took his shirt off, and you always wanted to know the story of. Surprisingly, he told you how he got it a few months into this not-not relationship when you asked.

Excitement pools in your belly, your pussy throbbing needily, watching as he climbs onto the bed to kneel in front of you, between your legs, down by your ankles.

“Touch yourself,” he orders and takes himself in hand again, languidly pumping his cock. “I wanna watch you make yourself come; then I’m gonna show you how I’m better than everyone, includin’ you, at gettin’ you off.”

Your cunt clenches because he is better, and the promise has you doing as he said, sliding your hand down to the apex of your thighs to rub your clit the way you like while you watch him fist his shaft. This isn’t the first time he’s watched you touch yourself, and you’re sure if it was anyone else, you’d feel embarrassed, but with how the desire is clear as he stares at what you’re doing, it spurs you on.

Having been so close to coming when he told you to stop, and now, it’s turning you on so much that he’s jacking off to what you’re doing, all of it is building you back up quickly, the familiar heat growing at the base of your spine.

“Just like that, baby,” he rasps and wets his bottom lip. “Keep rubbin’ that pretty pussy—did you miss me?”

“Yes.”

He hums in the back of his throat. “Missed how good I make you feel—how I stretch open that perfect cunt with my cock? Do I fuck you so good, you were thinkin’ about me to make yourself come?”

The strokes of his hand sound wetter, your arousal drooling onto the bedding while the muscles in your belly begin to tighten.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“That’s right, you were. So fuckin’ pretty spread out like this for me—I wanna taste you, shove my face in your pussy, and drown in it; just look at how you’re drippin’ for me.”

“Joel,” you moan. You’re so close it’s not going to take much more.

“God, I fuckin’ missed that sound; I missed hearin’ your voice and how good you smell, how soft your skin is, and the few hours I get to sleep next to you—come for me, baby. Come all over your fingers, and I’ll give you my dick—I’ll make those gorgeous eyes roll back in your head and give it to you so good, I ruin you for anyone else.”

He’s already ruined you for anyone else, and you doubt there’s another who’d fuck you as good as him.

It’s the thought that he’s yours and no one else can have him like this that sends you over the edge, your body seizing up as you come, pleasure erupting from your center as you moan his name.

He doesn’t give you a chance to recover, batting away your hand to dive in and bury his face in your wet heat. He shoves his tongue inside your soaked hole, groaning loudly as he laps at your come, your body trembling when he drags the flat of it up through your folds to suck your clit between his lips. Your fingers press into his hair, soft sounds leaving your throat at how good it feels.

The one orgasm isn’t enough—you need more, his mouth igniting arousal to burn hot in your belly, making you feel achingly empty. He’s licking up every bit of your need, coating your sex, moving to flick his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re feeling greedy; what he’s doing isn’t enough, and you want, no, need him inside you.

You pull at his hair as you tell him in a somewhat whiny tone, “Fuck me, Joel—stop making me wait.”

His chuckle vibrates into your sensitive skin before he rises to kneel with a groan. “Impatient.” He smacks your thigh. “Flip, ass up.” And it’s not a suggestion, his hands on your waist helping you to roll over, pulling your backside up into the air while your torso is against the sheets. Your knees are sinking into the bed and spread a little, putting yourself on display for him, the mattress jostling when he shuffles forward, feeling his body heat behind you. His palm lands on your asscheek hard, the sharp sting making you moan. “Now, ask me nicely to fuck you.”

You should’ve known he wouldn’t care for your lack of manners.

Your head is resting on your crossed arms in front of you.

“Joel, will you please fuck me?” you ask as sweetly as possible.

“Yes.”

The sound of him spitting on his fingers meets your ears, and you know he’s slicking himself up. One of his hands holds your hip, the other guiding his cock through the lips of your pussy to wet it even more, nudging your clit—it doesn’t seem like he’s in a mood to tease too much. Your eyes slip shut when he notches himself at your entrance and starts slowly feeding himself into you, your tight, velvety walls expanding to take the considerable girth of him, whining as he fills you. He slides all the way home, your cunt throbbing around him.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he groans. “Is this what your needy little pussy wanted?”

“Yes,” you moan.

He’s as deep as he can go and pulls out until just the tip remains, and slams back into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs—oh, this is going to be one of those times where he fucks you to the point your legs are too shaky to walk on afterward. The pace he sets is deliciously brutal and has your eyes rolling back, all thoughts leaving your brain, unable to think with how he’s pressing into so many heavenly spots, his grip tight on your waist.

The sounds in the room are obscene—the springs beneath you are squeaking, and there’s the noisy slap of his hips colliding with your ass, Joel grunting with each dull smack of his skin to yours, while you gasp out moans.

He’s fucking you so good, your orgasm is already taking shape, its fiery tendrils tightening in your core with each stroke.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re so fuckin’ wet—I could live in this perfect pussy.”

His hand slaps your ass hard enough the crack echoes amongst the four walls, the sweet pain making you clench around him and press back into his thrusts, crying out his name.

“Does it feel good, baby?” he asks. “Did you miss getting fucked like this? You love this—this pussy is mine, isn’t it? You’re mine.”

He’s not wrong; you are his, and all you can do is mewl in reply, waves of your arousal seeping down his shaft to catch on his balls.

His gun-calloused hands adjust on your hips to get a better grip, pulling you back each time his dick impales you, fucking you harder and faster, hearing him panting behind you—the wet sounds of him working himself in and out of your drenched cunt, are loud, and lewd.

You’re so close; you’re just needing—

Joel leans forward to get his hand under your body to the swollen pearl of your clit, circling it how he knows you like it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he grits out. “Let me have it—soak my cock with your come. Let me feel you—I know you’re almost there.”

That’s it—the knot in your belly winds tighter and tighter until the tension snaps, and you fall over the edge with a silent cry, your pussy clamping down on him hard enough that it slows his rhythm almost to a stop. Joel groans loudly while euphoria explodes out from your center, feeling it spread to your fingers and toes. Your brain goes blissfully blank, and your legs tremble under you like a leaf in the wind.

A gasp leaves you when he suddenly pulls out and flips you onto your back, taking his place between your spread thighs. He puts your legs high on his ribs, holding his weight on one arm while his other hand sheaths himself back inside you.

It’s not surprising that you’ve found yourself under his hulking frame with his hips snapping in and out of you—when you open your eyes, his are closed, his expression looking pained, and it’s his broad shoulders and head that take up your vision. This is how Joel wanted to fuck you from the start, but he’s a gentleman and did your preferred position first.

Your fingernails end up digging into the skin of his shoulder blades for something to hold on to, and he kisses over your chest to duck his head, wrapping his lips around a stiff nipple and sucking on it, the shock of pleasure causing a moan to slip from your throat. His breaths are heavy, and you know he won’t last much longer.

Your voice is hoarse when you speak, telling him what you know he needs to hear, “I missed you, Joel.” He whines. “I want you to come for me.”

His mouth leaves your breast to crash against yours, and you’d been wondering how long he’d go without kissing you—something about kissing while he fucks makes him come faster; maybe it’s the intimacy?

He’s told you the last woman he was with back in Boston wouldn’t kiss him because sex between them was just scratching an itch, and she wasn’t looking for anyone to replace her dead husband.

All you know is Joel loves kissing and touching—he’s admitted that he sleeps best with you snuggled against his back as the big spoon, which, you’ll never tell him, you think is adorable with how he scares people enough, they move out of his way when he walks down the street.

His kisses are fervent, and you give just as good as you get, welcoming his tongue when it presses between your lips, his pace speeding up. You love having him inside you, the way he fits all nice and snug to fill you completely. This is what you’ve been needing, and it’s perfect.

When his rhythm gets uneven, you expect him to pull out at any second to spill his release on your belly. What he does next, you’re not expecting.

Joel shoves his face into the crook of your neck, his facial hair scratching your skin, feeling his hot breaths.

He says something that’s too muffled to make out, so you pull on his hair to make him lift his head, finding his eyes dark and glazed over, looking totally and completely wrecked. His pace slows to him rocking in and out of you.

“What did you say?” you ask.

“Can I—” he pants. “Fuck, can I come inside you?”

The question has your tight walls constricting around him.

“Fuck,” Joel hisses, his eyes closing. “Please, can I?” he asks again.

The answer that immediately pops into your brain is ‘yes,’ but thinking about how the only times this man has finished inside you in the past were all accidents, you’re worrying he’s just pussy drunk and not thinking straight; that if you fell pregnant, something you didn’t mind, he’ll regret it.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He looks at you and nods. “Yes, I know—” The consequences, he leaves unsaid. “—please.”

“Then yes, come for me, Joel—fill me up.”

He raggedly moans, his face falling into your neck again. His thrusts speed up and become frantic as he pounds into you, your heels digging into his ass, feeling the muscles flex. He works himself up until he presses into you one last time as deep as possible and comes with a guttural groan—his dick jerks inside you, and the hot spurts of his spend gush into your depths, filling you up. Electricity zips down your spine as you moan, your tight walls throbbing around him while he grinds his hips, fucking his come deeper.

The weight of his body is welcome when he eventually slumps onto you, and instinctively, your fingers slide into his hair, scratching your nails lovingly against his scalp, the man practically purring on top of you.

For the first time in three days, you feel happy and finally sated, loving how he’s stuffed you full of his cock, and come. There’s no talking as your heartbeats slow together and your breathing evens out, basking in each other’s presence. Your eyes are closed, and you’re choosing to ignore your shaky limbs.

It’s hard to imagine a life without Joel, which is odd since up until this point, most of it had been spent without him, or anyone really. What you actually mean is you don’t want to imagine a life without Joel and Ellie—you think she’s a great kid, and you have a soft spot for her; plus, she and her dad are a package deal. Then there’s Joel, who you’re absolutely and completely in love with, and it bothers you that you don’t know what this relationship between you is or if he even feels the same as you.

Minutes pass, the old, wooden bones of your house creaking as the winter wind gusts outside.

“Joel?” you break the silence.

“Mhmm?” he hums, nuzzling into your throat.

“What are we?”

“Huh?”

“What are we? Like, what is this thing that we’re doing?”

His head lifts, and he pulls out, rolling off you to lie beside you on his back, pressing his hands to his face.

“Somethin’ I shouldn’t be doin’ in the first place,” he finally answers.

You turn on your side toward him, propping your head up on your arm. “Take my age out of the equation.”

His palms lift, and he looks at you confused. “What do you mean?”

“For some fucking reason, you are stuck on my age—take it out of the equation; if that wasn’t a factor, would you openly date me?”

“Well, there’s Ellie—”

“—let’s pretend she doesn’t give a fuck about your love life,” you cut him off, “and actually wants you to be happy, and my age doesn’t matter—would you openly date me?”

“Yes.”

“So, you have feelings for me?”

“Of course.”

“Do you love me…?”

“Yes,” he whispers, covering his face again.

One word has your heart picking up in speed.

“I love you, too.”

His head whips in your direction with an expression of bewilderment.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m in love with you—have been for a while, and I’m fine with doing what we’ve been doing if that’s the only way I can be with you, but I kinda, sorta, would like it if you thought of us as a couple, and weren’t ashamed of me…”

A secret relationship? You’re fine with that. But Joel being ashamed of you? It fucking hurts.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says too quickly.

“Joel, if Ellie were okay with you having a love life, you wouldn’t openly date me because of how old I am—I’d just continue being your dirty little secret that one other person knows about.”

His eyes dart away, and the sigh he lets out is long and weary.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says. “I’m ashamed of myself for fallin’ for you and not bein’ able to give you the future you deserve. I just felt like I was stringin’ you along when you could be with someone who can offer you more, but I’m so fuckin’ selfish.” He looks at you. “I want you, and I don’t want anyone else to have you—I can’t let you go, even though I should cut you free.”

Your fingers brush back the sweat-soaked hair on his forehead. “I don't want anyone else, Joel—I want you, and you’re not stringing me along. I’m happy with you and any future I can have with you and Ellie.”

He’s frowning. “If only it were that simple,” he sighs.

This is a conversation you thought might make him end things with you, but maybe giving him a slight nudge will be okay—at least, you hope it will.

“It is that simple,” you tell him. “I’m gonna tell you something that if you can work up the nerve to talk to her about, she'll confirm it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Ellie doesn’t care if you date. She’s told me she wishes you weren’t such an asshole ‘cause then the only negative thing about you is how ugly you are, and people love ugly things all the time, and if someone loves you, then you won’t die alone, plus it’d hopefully make you happy, and she really wants you to be happy—that’s pretty much what she said word-for-word.”

His eyes close, and the sigh that leaves him is that of a father who’s real tired of their child’s shit, and you smile.

“That’s Ellie,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not even sure how I should be feelin’ right now.”

“I hoped you’d be relieved at least, possibly even happy.”

He looks at you. “Yeah, I’m relieved and happy but also a little ticked at her embarrassin’ me like that.”

Scooting closer to him, you lay half on top of him with your arms folded on his chest, resting your chin on them to stare at his pretty face.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It was said out of love—she loves you.”

He sighs again, wrapping his arms around your bare back.

“I guess she does, even if she’s mean. Jesus, I can’t believe I just needed to talk to her sooner.”

“That’s usually how things work—it’s called communication, and you should talk to her.”

His eyes narrowed, and he smacked your ass, making you giggle. “There’s no need for the sass, sweetheart, and I was plannin’ on bitin’ the bullet and tellin’ her about us in the next couple of days.”

Your eyes widened. “You were? What?”

“Yeah, uh, I had a hard time with Ellie bein’ sick, and when you came over, I didn’t feel like I was goin’ insane with worry. Havin’ you there made it better, and I missed you.” His lips dip in a frown.

“I missed you, too—you were really gonna tell her?”

“I was.” He nods. “With how happy she was to see you, I thought maybe she’d be okay with it.” He shrugs.

You smile. “I think you’re right,” you reply, giving him a quick kiss. Meeting his gaze, you ask, “Is she feeling better?”

“Yeah, and thank Christ, she is.” He looks visibly relieved. “I think it was that soup you brought over—thank you for that and for givin’ me a chance to sleep.” He pecks you on the lips.

“It was no problem. I would’ve been there the entire time had it not been suspicious.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Good. Sooo, I’m wondering, what are we now?”

“A couple,” he answers. “I’ve thought that for a while, but I’m too fuckin’ old to be callin’ myself your boyfriend.”

“I quite like having a sexy, older boyfriend.”

You squeak in surprise when he rolls you onto your back, your legs automatically opening for him to nestle his hips between. He’s holding himself up with his arms beside your head while yours loop around his neck, his lips pressing to the side of your throat, kissing the taut skin.

“You like havin’ a sexy, older boyfriend, huh?” His question is muffled, and you swallow hard when he sucks on your pulse point.

“I do,” you reply.

“I like havin’ you.” He’s kissing and nibbling along your jaw.

“‘Cause no one else can?”

He nips your chin, then hovers his head over yours to look you in the eyes.

His expression is serious. “Yes,” he says, “and I love you—if Ellie really doesn’t give a shit about me datin’, then every fuckin’ person in town is gonna know you’re mine.”

And something about that declaration thrills you.

“I’d like that.”

He gives you a small smile and kisses you for a moment before a thought comes to him, and he pulls back to meet your gaze.

“Maybe that neighbor, the annoyin’ one who doesn’t seem to know the meanin’ of no, will finally get it through her head, I’m not fuckin’ interested.”

You glare off into the distance. “Fucking Sandra,” you seethe.

The first time he met you, Joel knew he was fucked.

All he wanted to do was be polite and introduce himself to his new neighbor, then you opened the door, and his brain stopped working because you were so beautiful. It didn’t help when you blatantly checked him out, clearly undressing him with your eyes before looking entirely too pleased with what you were seeing.

If he’d been a stronger, honorable man, he wouldn’t have accepted your offer to come inside for a drink; he wouldn’t have kissed you back or laid you down on the couch to eat your pussy; he wouldn’t have let you choke on his dick or crawl into his lap and ride him; he wouldn’t have gotten so lost in being buried in your wet, warm, perfect cunt and your lips on his that he forgot to pull out when he came; he wouldn’t have gotten addicted and returned to you almost every night after.

If he’d been a stronger, honorable man, he would’ve ended things before it went too far and definitely before he fell in love with you.

From the beginning, he knew he was way too old for you, and he didn’t understand why you wanted him or kept letting him into your house. He had nothing to offer you, yet even when the opportunities arose for you to go home with men your own age, you rejected them and welcomed him into your bed instead. It made little sense that someone as young and beautiful as you would give someone like him all of your attention.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s told you that you’d be better off with somebody younger than him. It’s usually when he remembers your age or when you don’t know what he’s talking about when he brings up certain things from how life was before it all went to hell. He says the words out loud, practically a reflex at this point when the guilt gets to him, and as quickly as the feeling comes, it goes because, as he told you, he’s selfish; he doesn’t want you with someone else; he wants you all to himself. When you tell him there isn’t anyone you’d rather be with than him, it feeds something deep inside of him that won’t let you go, and hearing you say you love him has only made it stronger—you have his total devotion.

Ellie being sick messed up his head enough that in the moments when you came to mind, he was plagued with the thought that you probably found someone new. The only time he felt a modicum of peace was when you stopped by, and with that and how much his kid loved you being there, and in general, he came to the conclusion he couldn’t lose you:

It was time for him to tell Ellie.

Joel isn’t delusional; you’d grow tired of only getting his nights and the occasional day, eventually, and he needed to give you more of himself, which required his daughter to know about your relationship.

If Ellie knew, then he could give you more.

He’s ashamed of himself for hiding your relationship and, in turn, not having much to offer in terms of a future. It bothers him so much that he hasn’t been able to be with you out in the open because you deserve better than being his dirty little secret, as you call yourself.

He hates that.

He wants everyone to know you’re his and that he is yours.

When he realized he was going to tell Ellie, he started imagining how your relationship would change. You could finally have a life together, and it had him thinking about things he never would’ve considered before you and actively tried to prevent in the past, but you didn’t mind the idea of bringing a new life into the world, and he thought that might not be so bad; Jackson’s safe, and he has no doubt you’ll be a great mother—and it’s a future he’s pretty sure you want since your reactions have always been positive when he accidentally finishes inside you. That’s why tonight he decided to say fuck it and asked if he could; he wasn’t worried about the consequences anymore.

He’s kicking himself in the ass for not talking to Ellie sooner.

The only reason he hasn’t broached the subject with her is after what happened in Colorado, Joel’s treated her like she’s a fragile piece of glass that he doesn’t want to risk getting broken again—the way she lost her spark after that resort town killed him; and what happened at the hospital? If he had the chance, he’d murder every one of those Fireflies again for how fucked up she was when he told her their plans to kill her without knowing for sure if they could make a cure or not and that her life meant nothing to them.

It took a lot of time for him to put her back together again, and being in Jackson helped a lot with her making friends and having some semblance of normalcy. But he’s worried any major changes will mess her up, and add in her biggest fear of ending up alone, Joel dating seems like a recipe for disaster—Ellie will always be his top priority, even if it’s at the expense of his happiness.

It’s early morning, and he’s got another thirty minutes before the sun will begin its ascent on the horizon, fresh snow coating the ground, the temperature freezing. Joel is skulking home from your place to be there before Ellie wakes up.

His point of entry is the back door that leads into their kitchen, which doesn’t make as much noise as the front and can be locked when he leaves. He’s staying close to the side of the house, heading toward the backyard, and peeks around the corner to check the vicinity—his heart pounds when he sees a dark figure trying to get into the door, Joel pulling the knife, he walks around with, off of his belt, keeping his steps light, silently approaching them.

“Why the fuck don’t we have a light back here?” he hears them quietly mutter.

“Ellie?” Joel says at regular volume.

“Ahhh!” she screams, turning in his direction. Her hand is over her winter coat-covered chest. “Jesus Christ, Joel! Way to give me a fucking heart attack!”

He walks closer, sheathing his knife, as he says, “What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

His hands perch on his hips. “Doesn’t matter—you, on the other hand, just got over bein’ sick and shouldn’t be out in this cold. Move, I’m gettin’ your ass inside.”

She stepped aside, and he walked over, quickly unlocking and opening the door; he grabbed her by the shoulder and firmly guided her inside. He flicked on the room’s light once they were inside, and the door was closed and locked, Joel crossing his arms over his chest.

“Now, where the fuck have you been?” he asks.

She’s unzipping her coat. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I asked you first.”

She shrugs off her jacket and tosses it onto the kitchen table. Joel sighs, walking over to pick it up—he’ll hang it alongside his by the front door before he goes up to his room.

“I was at the same place you were.”

He keeps his face neutral, but his heart is thudding, and he’s pretty fucking sure she wasn’t at your house.

He meets her eyes. “And that is?”

She smirks. “My secret girlfriend’s.”

“Goddammit.” His fingers press to his forehead as he closes his eyes. “You fuckin’ know—how the fuck do you know?”

“Let’s see, she’s literally the only person in town aside from me and Tommy’s family you like. You stare at her with, I don’t know what to call them, googly eyes? It’s that look the dudes have when they see the love of their life, or whatever, in those shitty romantic movies we like to make fun of. I’ve heard you call her ‘sweetheart’—” She fake gags, and Joel sighs. “—you’ve gone over to her house to fix so much shit that, at this point, it’s gotta be a whole new house. You sneak over there every fucking night. Oh, and when she sees the lady next door, the crazy one who’s got a real hard-on for you—gross by the way—when she sees ‘you can call me, Sandy,’ flirt with you—double-gross—I’m pretty sure she’s plotting murder; you’re definitely plotting murder when guys hit on your girlfriend—which, I don’t get why the two of you pretend like you aren’t together; is she embarrassed that you’re so fucking old and ugly, or something?” His teeth clench, and he glares at her. “God, don’t give me the murder eyes, Joel! I was kidding!” She playfully punches his arm. “Kind of… I mean, I’m happy you found someone who loves you even though you’re a grumpy asshole and look like that.” She points at his face.

“You done?”

“Telling you you’re old and ugly? Sure. For now. But I have one more thing that gave you guys away.”

His eyebrow lifts. “What is it?”

“When she came over the other day while I was sick as balls and hung out with me, you slept. Joel, you do not fucking sleep if there’s anyone else here besides me, which is why if I wanna have a sleepover with my friends, I have to go to their houses.”

“Were we really that obvious?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

She’s clearly confused. “I thought we were avoiding the topic.”

“What topic?”

“Like, relationships—you never said anything to me, so I figured it was something we don’t talk about.”

He cringes. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel…”

She smiles. “I don’t give a fuck if you date, Joel—if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

He matches her look. “I’m pretty fuckin’ happy. Are you happy with your uh, girlfriend? Have I met her?”

“Yeah,” she nods, grinning. “It’s Cat!”

His eyes round—he was under the impression Cat is her best friend, and he has met the other girl many times.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re way better at this secret girlfriend stuff than I am. I had no clue. I like Cat; she’s got all those neat tattoos.”

“She does!” she replies with a grin. “And I’m getting one!”

“You’re what?!”

Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #wheresarizona writes #joel miller x you #Joel miller/yo

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cow-smells · 7 months

Text

Worth your While | Opla! Sanji x reader

Request: I've read that you are in the need for some Sanji request or ideas so here's one for a fic :D

The crew gets into a fight ( it can be the Navy or anither pirate crew) and the reader gets badly hit and Sanji just loses his shit seeing the person that he cared for the most getting knocked out?? I just genuinely wanna see Sanji just go ape shit on people because of it XD and maybe hiw the others in the clue will react to seeing Sanji like that? @smolracoon25

Summary: You and Sanji have been playing the flirting game for way too long. When you get injured, Sanji shows a side of himself you had yet to see.

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

A/n: I'm going purely off the live-action so pls have that in mind, also I'm just getting back in to the rhythm of writing after such a long time so sorry if this is poop/ooc/both, love ya :)

Read on AO3

“Don't you ever take a break?”

Zoro's voice coming from behind startled you, forcing you to break your longing gaze at Sanji who was fishing at the bow of the ship. “Huh?” came your wise response.

Zoro looked from you to Sanji. “You've been making moon eyes at him for months now. Don't you get tired? Or are you waiting for him to take his shift staring at you so that you can clock off?”

You felt heat rising to your cheeks. This was far from the first time crew members commented about you and Sanji's – whatever was going on between you two – but this was the first time Zoro called you out so blatantly.

When you didn't respond, Zoro went on. “I just came to tell you we should be docking soon. I'll leave you the pleasure of telling the cook.” with that, he left.

You closed the book on your lap. You really did have the intention of reading when you first head out to the deck, having some time to kill, but then... you noticed Sanji. At first you thought you'd go sit with him for a while, flirt and banter a little as you always do, but you found yourself absorbed in taking him in instead. He was different when he was alone. The way he looked so focused, so deep in thought when it was just him and the sea. Maybe even a little sad. So different from his usual sunny exterior that he put on when he was with people. Falling in to deep thoughts wondering what he might be thinking about – maybe about you? - you sat and stared, not reading as much as a word.

The book discarded, you felt a spring in your step as you made your way to the ship's chef.

The creaking floorboards alerted your arrival. Sanji turned to see who was creeping up on him, and when he saw you, he set his fishing rod aside as a wide smile grew on his lips, his dimples deepening and making your heart miss a beat. “There's my favourite girl. Come here, let me hear all about your day.” Sanji held his arms open, beckoning you to come sit on his lap.

The flirting was nothing new. When you first joined the Strawhats, Sanji was as flirty to you as he was to any other woman; he did not expect to meet his match in you. You were quick to play along, always one-upping him, dancing along the line that separated playfulness and seriousness, never quite picking a side.

The problem was, in reality, you had chosen a side long ago.

You would flirt and giggle and make him blush but never actually act upon anything. Neither would Sanji. He, however, took your playing along as though it was a battle to be won. Sanji would flirt, you'd reply with something raunchy, he would surprise you with something heartfelt. It was as though he knew exactly where to hit in order to get you a little closer to buckling, every time. As time went on he had become so devoted to your back and forth that you noticed he had gradually abandoned all other efforts flirting with other women, to focus entirely on you.

You had to remind yourself that this was a game to him. An instinct, almost. It hurt to think of your relationship that way, but you had to keep that thought at the forefront of your mind if you didn't want to fall even harder for him.

So you would continue to play along, even if that's all that you could have with him.

You chose not to indulge him completely – that was too dangerous for you – and so you opted to bend a knee over the armrest of his chair. Close, but no contact. “Come on, Sanji,” you bent your head in what felt like a bashful manner and said, “you know I spent all day thinking of you.”

You weren't sure if he was blushing or if that was just your wishful thinking. Composing himself, Sanji wrapped an arm around you to hold your waist, lightly tracing circles on your hip. “I beg of you, darling – next time, come find me instead of just thinking of me. I'll make it worth your while.”

You wanted to ask, how will you make it worth my while? Just to hear Sanji go in to detail of what you've been fantasizing about for months. But instead, you opted for a tamer response. “I came to tell you we're docking soon. Maybe I'll find you then and you could make it worth my while with a drink.”

Without missing a beat, Sanji took hold of your hand, bringing it to his lips. “There's nothing I'd enjoy more.” With that, he kissed your hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

Docking started out normal. Everyone knew what their usual chores were when you reached a town, restocking and fixing so that the ship would be in top condition for its next leg of the journey in your search for the One Piece. So while Sanji went in to town to restock on groceries (you didn't pay much attention to the others), you, Nami and Usopp stayed around the ship to fix up some of the damage it took when you last encountered a rival pirate ship. That also happened to be the reason it was just you three when the same rival pirates noticed your ship docked, ready to take their revenge.

The three of you had your individual talents, but you just weren't enough to hold up against an entire rival crew. They had attacked so suddenly and so fiercely – it didn't take long before you were on the sand, fighting to stay conscious. You lost that fight as you watched Usopp try his best to fight off three attackers at once.

You really thought that would be the end for you. You should have known better; it was Sanji's voice you heard as you regained consciousness, motivating you to open your eyes despite the pain that flooded your body.

The beach area all around you was covered with pirates who were taken down, just like you – only that they were your enemies. You first noticed Nami's orange hair – she seemed to be taking care of a bleeding Usopp, his condition worse than yours. Following Sanji's voice, you found him holding the last one of the rival crew by his shirt, throwing punches like you've never seen him before. It took you aback – thinking about it, you had never seen Sanji use his hands in combat. Too precious – need them for cooking, he'd once told you before adding, the only thing more precious to me is you. It had made you blush at the time before you had laughed him off. Now, you were questioning if it was a joke at all.

The man Sanji was holding wasn't putting up a fight – he was far too battered for that, but Sanji didn't stop. He was too far away for you to understand what he was saying to the guy, but focusing hard, you could just about make out half sentences – "to hit a woman" – "don't deserve to breath" – "finish you" – you searched for the strength to get up and stop him. You had never seen Sanji – your happy, cheerful Sanji – so angry, feral even. It scared you a little; but mostly, you knew Sanji would regret it if he were to kill a man who no longer posed a threat. So you grasped at the sand, forcing your aching bones to pick yourself up. But as you were regaining your balance, Sanji finally threw the man to the sand, a look of disgust painting his handsome features. "Finally made a date with her and you ruined it... You hurt her. You're lucky I don't kill you." The man groaned in pain.

In a sharp change, his features went from anger to concern as he finally left the man and turned to where he last saw you laying. His eyes were full of honest pain, until he saw you on your feet – then they read of hope. "Y/n!" Sanji called, rushing to you as he could see your struggle to stand upright. "You- I-" he scanned your body as he reached you, taking in all visible injuries. "Are you – are you okay? Can I help you?" he reached an arm around your waist, waiting for your approval before he held on to help you stay up, so afraid he might hurt you.

"Thanks." his arm around you really helped you to stay up. It was a practical measure, sure, any one of your crew mates would do the same – but when you look up and meet Sanji's eyes, you know that the tense feeling between you two wouldn't have been replicated with anyone else. "I mean it. You saved us. We'd... I'd be lost without you." at that, Sanji smiled that deep-dimpled smile of his at you, the playfulness not reaching his still-concerned eyes.

"Y/n," he started. "are you really flirting with me, at a time like this?"

It was strange how despite all your injuries, you felt less and less of the pain the longer you leaned in to Sanji, close enough to smell his fragrance. A half-smile reached your lips. You couldn't play this game any longer. "Did you really beat that guy up that bad because he ruined what should have been our... date?"

Sanji tensed, obviously not ready to have this conversation now. His gaze dropped momentarily before he wrapped his other arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him. "I had a hundred reasons to kill him," Sanji said, and you felt disappointment bubbling through you until he continued, "but the most pressing reason is that he ruined our date."

Sanji took the opportunity to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear and you couldn't help but smile so big you were embarrassed by it. "I really wanted that drink with you, away from the ship and everyone else. Just us."

You recomposed yourself. You needed clarity. "I'm not playing anymore, Sanji."

Sanji chuckled. "Fancy that. I was never playing at all."

You must have forgotten how to breath at all when he leaned down, his hand finding a rest on your neck as his thumb caressed your cheek. Nearly a whisper, he asked – "Can I kiss you?"

You leaning in served as the consent he searched for. After months of pining over each other, wondering what it would be like – his lips met yours, in a mixture of softness and passion like you'd never felt before. Forgetting you were injured at all you sneaked your arms around his neck, pulling him in, almost afraid of letting this anticipated moment of passion go. Sanji was more than happy to pull closer, a hand on your lower back holding you impossibly close to him.

The moment did, however, find its end as you heard your Captain whoop and holler from afar. "Yeah! Way to go, Sanji! About damn time!"

Breaking the kiss, Sanji nodded at Luffy, his smile lines prominent as he looked the proudest you'd ever seen him.

The crew was more than happy to make a quick exit that night, preferring to not stay around until the rival crew regained their strength. You were helping Nami untie the ropes anchoring the ship to the dock when she said, "I really thought he was going to kill him earlier." you didn't know how to respond. "I've never seen Sanji like that." Nami managed to untie a knot, and Zoro began pulling the rope up on to the ship. "He's really got it bad for you."

Despite that questionable context, you couldn't help but smile. In a burst of honesty you confessed; "I hope so, because I've got it real bad for him, too."

On cue, the ship's chef leaned over the ships railing, looking down to you. "Y/n, my love!" he called, as though the rest of the crew wasn't surrounding the both of you. "I hope you're finished down there, because I've got a candlelit dinner waiting for you up here. And drinks. You know, to make it worth your while," he finished with a wink.

From behind Sanji you could hear Luffy ask, "What about our dinner? Just because you're lovers now doesn't mean we don't need to eat..."

Sanji sighed and turned away from you, probably to go protect your dinner before Luffy demolished it.

"Right then, let's go," Nami said as you finished untying the last rope. "While there's still food to eat."

And for the first time, you boarded your ship not to find the One Piece or the All Blue – you were just happy to be there, with the man you loved.

#vinsmoke sanji #one piece sanji #one piece live action sanji #sanji x reader #sanji imagine #sanji fanfic #sanji fanfiction #vinsmoke sanji x reader #one piece sanji imagine #one piece sanji x reader #one piece live action sanji x reader #opla!sanji x reader

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emilicious0 · 3 months

Note

Oooh, I got a request!

Can I get a Lucifer X reader headcanons or fic where reader is like fascinated with his wings? Bc let's be honest, it angels were real, I definitely would be fascinated with their wings and he got three pairs of them!

lucifer x gn! reader

pt.2 !!!

after rebuilding the hotel, charlie's dad, lucifer himself, decided to stay with his daughter. done with living alone for so long, he started to create a bond with all of the residents (except alastor). with you, however, he finally found a true friend.

your friendship began when he visited the hotel before the battle, and charlie introduced you as one of the sinners looking for redemption. you were one of the first ones to ever believe in charlie's idea, and seeing how you supported her made him respect you. after the battle with the extermination army, he saw you protecting his daughter, which led to you two officially becoming friends.

of course, there is more to your friendship than just love for charlotte. you shared many similar interests. you were always interested in art and all of its aspects, which lucifer gladly discussed with you (he was amazed by different kind of art aspects that humans created). also, you happened to be a good listener, so the king of hell used you as his personal problem dump (not that you minded).

you were surprised by how well you two got along but weren't complaining about this newfound relationship whatsoever. lucifer was kind, protective, and someone to trust.

this evening was surprisingly peaceful by hell standards, and you decided to spend your time on the balcony, reading. you don't get many chances to do that peacefully in a place like this, so you were making the most of it.

while sitting there, you heard the flapping of wings, which made you tense up for a second, only to hear a familiar voice:

“well, look who it is!”

you looked up and couldn't hide the fascination forming on your face. lucifer landed on your balcony with three pairs of his beautiful wings behind his back.

when he landed, he did not hide them, noticing your shocked expression. you stared at him, which made the man blush a little. he loved it when you gave all your attention to him.

“y/n?” he asked, and you snapped out of your shocked state.

“can I touch your wings?”

you slammed your hands over your mouth, embarrassed and worried that this question was too rude.

lucifer got more flustered but smiled rather shyly and came closer to you.

with a low whisper, he said: “you can.”

you stood up and carefully put your hand on his shoulder, then on his right top wing. lucifer gasped quietly but stood still.

meanwhile, your hand moved across the wing, then lower to the second one. you carefully touched his feathers, shocked by the softness.

the man was melting at the feeling of your touch, loving how your fingers brushed his wings. he never really wanted that moment to end.

for this one moment, you both looked into each other's eyes, and sparks flew between you.

both of you wanted to say something, but words stuck in your tongue. you felt lucifer's hand on your waist and sensed your cheeks warming up.

your hands moved to his shoulders, and you both came closer to each other, somehow enchanted by one another.

“dad!” charlie's voice came from behind you, and you jumped away from each other. “there you are! I need your help! y/n, come with us too!”

“y-yeah, char, coming!” you said and followed the princess, but stopped to look at lucifer. “you coming?”

he, red in the cheeks, nodded and slowly followed both of you.

today, you two realized your feelings.

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader

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superblysubpar · 1 month

Text

Sincerely, Yours:

bestfriend!steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: a movie night, a confession, an offer, your Calvin's bunched up on the floor of your best friend's BMW...and other places | 18+ Only, NSFW | main menu

the song: Don't You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds - all of steve's music

6.6k words

warnings: "inexperienced" reader - in the form of never really making out/receiving none/not great foreplay - masturbating for comfort/ease before sex, SMUT (public - in the back of Steve's car - "caught" by Hopper when you're done, oral, fingering, steve cums in his levi's cause I'm a sucker for doing this to him, what can I say?)

A/N: Once upon a time, I asked for requests, and I failed to fulfill many of them (you may have heard this story before), but this one sat in the drafts for many many months, and then I really chickened out posting it for a long time. Everyone say thanks to @palmtreesx3 - I owe her and the request for the prompt "we're not really just best friends, are we?"(which isn't even used in this, but you get the picture) and The Breakfast Club for this fic 💛

He didn’t hear it at first, over the last remaining popping kernels.

“What?” He called around a mouthful of the snack he was already dipping into before it was finished.

In the other room, your attention was strictly on Judd Nelson, but you tried again, with no real power or meaning behind the words.

“Want me to pause it?”

“No,” he shook his head and rolled his eyes to no one but himself in the kitchen, “Don’t think you need to pause the movie I’ve seen three times…this week.”

“I’d love one, thanks!”

Steve snorted at your response that made no sense, it becoming apparent you weren’t listening to him at all. He should have known this was his fate after the way you acted when it was showing at The Hawk. You saw it with him, then Robin, then Nancy, and Steve put his foot down when you tried to drag him down there for a fourth time.

Now here he was, dumping the popcorn into a large bowl and watching it again. He didn’t even know what number of views he was on with you, which had him worried about your sanity, ‘cause you had to be watching it without him too.

Steve snagged two cans of Coke out of the fridge, assuming that’s what you’d love one of, and kicked the door closed with his heel.

He cradled the popcorn bowl against his side and held each of the cans with one hand and spread fingers, socked feet slipping on the hardwoods when he rounded the corner and saw you again.

Despite becoming incredibly bored by the movie, he did love watching you watch it, because somehow, it’s as if you’re watching it for the first time every time.

Your white tube socks were stark against the dark wood of the coffee table, bunching around your ankles that led him to the exposed skin of your calves. Which led to the way your blue skirt fanned over your thighs all nice, then the Queen shirt he got you for your birthday tucked into it, your thumb between your teeth with your eyebrows bunched together.

His best friend was really fucking pretty.

He almost said it out loud, which had him flopping onto the couch a little quickly, a little too heavy with his fall. Careless in his aim of the cushion and causing popcorn to spill from the bowl into your lap as his shoulder jostled yours.

Before he could even say sorry, you were grabbing the popcorn from your lap like it was the bowl, blissfully unaware it wasn’t, all the while making heart eyes at dreamy Bender.

“Thanks,” your appreciation came out heavy around the buttery and salty handful of the snack, the Coke you’d love sitting on the coffee table, already forgotten.

Steve hummed, his amused lips twitched in a losing fight against a smile at your captivated stare fixated on the screen. He suppressed an eye roll at the scene about to happen, as he swiped condensation off the cool metal of the can with his thumb.

He popped the drink open with a loud hiss, slurping his first sip - a habit you’d normally swat at his chest for - but you were too busy focusing on the words about to leave Judd’s mouth.

“Have you ever kissed a boy on the mouth?”

They sort of just tumbled out of Steve too, while his eyes glanced over the popcorn bowl, searching for a perfectly buttery piece. Which is why he didn’t see that he, your best friend, quoting the scene that has dialogue that got you all hot and bothered more than others, had your entire body freezing.

Steve tossed the acquired piece into the air, catching it in his mouth before he turned to face your profile. He found you with widened eyes, chest rising and falling a little too quickly, and he grinned.

“Have you ever been felt up…over the bra…under the blouse…your shoes off, hoping to god your parents don’t walk in?”

He’s simply delighted when he quotes the scene again and your body shifts, toes curling as you arched your neck away from. You kept your eyes on the screen, not giving him the satisfaction of eye contact because of what he was slowly, finally, realizing.

You were totally turned on and he couldn’t wait to tease you about it forever.

Steve leaned in closer, whispering along with the movie, “Over the panties…no bra…blouse unbuttoned…Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat past eleven on a school night?”

He’s gearing up, about to tease you, make some dumb boy comment about being hot for the school freak, when your quiet, barely a breath response had him pausing.

“No.”

Did you just say that out loud?!

Your head turned to find Steve blinking at you, creases in his forehead deepening beneath the stray locks of hair that fell forward.

Looks like you did.

“Ste-”

“What? What do you mean no?”

Your eyes closed when you both spoke at the same time, avoiding his curious stare. Hands roamed to your cheeks to hide your face as your head fell towards your knees.

As you shook your head no, your response gets muffled into your skirt. “I meant no.”

Steve’s hand nudged at your shoulder, prodding for clarity and for you to sit up. He failed to sound casual when his question came out incredulously.

“No, you’ve never kissed a guy?”

Your hands still covered your face as you fell back against the couch with a groan, “No, I..I have. I just…”

Steve pulled at your hands, his heart racing like it was overtime. All these years, he thought you’d been with all these other guys, his quiet jealousy seething under the surface of his tinged green from envy skin.

A breath, well, more of a huff really, slipped past your lips as your gaze dropped to the hands holding yours in your lap. “I’ve never really made out with anyone? Just like…a quick kiss or two. I don’t even know, can you even count it as kissing? Over before it starts kind of thing…”

The ramble trailed off, the room silent save for the movie still playing and the giant, loud, big, fat, zero response from Steve. You counted the threads in the carpet, the pieces of popcorn in the bowl as your skin grew hotter and hotter from the reveal he’s left just hanging there until he finally sputtered out a sorry excuse for one.

“Are you shitting me? We’re like…old.”

It doesn’t come out how he meant it to at all, he’s just shocked. He’s wincing almost immediately as the words reach his ears and brain, he knows how it sounded. He wishes he could take it back when your head whips up, hurt eyes meeting his as you ripped your hands away from him.

“Yeah, Steve,” you scoffed, jaw pulsing as your voice dripped with sarcasm that tried to cover the embarrassment, “I’m shitting you. Thought it’d be real funny to trick you into thinking your best friend is a loser who’s barely been kissed even though she’s so old.”

Pieces of popcorn fell from your lap as you stood, not letting yourself wonder where they came from as you stomped around the coffee table and towards his entryway.

“No, honey, wait-” he stumbled after you, spilling Coke down the front of his shirt as he did, “Shit.”

He patted at his chest like it’d do anything, shirt damp and sticking to his skin as he rounded the corner and found you lacing up your converse and shaking your head.

“It’s fine, Steve. I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking about it. I’m gonna go home. Don’t worry about it. Girl stuff.”

“No, please, I didn’t mean-”

His words stopped just as abruptly as your body, when the front door swung open to reveal an out of nowhere downpour.

Your head fell as you started to ask, and he was already one step ahead of you.

“Can you please-”

“I’ll grab my keys.”

He was tripping up his stairs by the time he finished saying it. When he returned, it was in a clean shirt, jumping from the second to last step as he swirled the keys around his pointer finger.

The light blue fabric of his new shirt pulled at his shoulders that hunched when your glare remained unwavering despite the apologetic puppy dog eyes he had going for him.

You understood Steve didn’t mean for the comment to start the hole he was digging, and you knew you weren’t being fair for being so upset. It’s not like it was his fault, it was just your own insecurities manifesting in an anger towards him.

The nagging feeling of being some sort of freak who’d never made out while even the little twerps who clung to Steve were, while your best friend was Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High only grew stronger. The thought of Steve thinking you were some sort of weirdo for being old and never making out had something in your gut churning, had a familiar sting behind your eyes forming that you tried your best to ignore.

When Steve opened his mouth, about to try to make it all better again, you simply turned on your heel and stalked out into the rain. He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes at the way you stomped through it, pretending to not be drowned.

He quickly rushed behind you and got to the door first and swung it open, to which you rolled your eyes at, but slid in and got comfortable while he closed it for you nonetheless.

Unsure why he went and changed as he raced around the hood and shot into the driver’s seat, totally soaked through to his skin now. He cranked the heat before swiping fingers over his eyes, a large hand ran through his hair and pushed it back only for it to fall into his eyes again. Steve reached over with wet and shaking fingers at the same time you held yours up, both of you pausing and glancing at the other’s hands.

Steve was about to cup your fingers between his and blow warm breath onto them, just like he always did, but you ripped your hands down to your lap, and curled your body against the door, like you needed to be as far from him as you could be.

Your damp forehead touched the cool glass of the window as he sighed, “Please don’t-”

“Just take me home, please?”

The tone in which the words were said has something in his chest breaking. Like you were really fucking sad, embarassed, it was a real plea to just take you home and leave you alone.

So he wasn’t gonna do that, ‘cause he never was a great listener, so why start now?

He pretends though, he backs out of the driveway and heads in the direction of your apartment. He lets the radio fill the space and he turns the heat down when the air inside the car is heavier and warm despite your cold shoulder. The orange glow of the street lights slanted inside the car in a soothing rhythm as his wheels spun over the pavement until he was coming to the last four way stop before your apartment.

It unfolds just as he had planned, when he’s still stopped at the deserted intersection, as your breath fogged up the glass when you asked, “Harrington, you planning on leaving the intersection anytime soon?”

His bottom lip wobbled as his teeth continued to press into it, thick fingers rubbing at a scruff dotted jaw as he thought out loud in an attempt to sway you.

“Well, you see, I could go straight and take you home-” he started.

“Right. Let’s do that.” You waved your hand towards the direction of the apartment that held the ice cream you were desperate to eat and wallow with while watching Pretty In Pink.

“Or,” Steve interrupted right back, tapping on the steering wheel with his finger as he did, “I could go to the right. Pull into the diner. Buy you a milkshake and say sorry?”

The thing was, he was gonna go to the right regardless of your answer. He knew once you pulled into the parking lot there was no way you’d not at least go in and get fries and a shake, if not a whole burger. You’d done this dance before, him putting his foot in his mouth was not a new occurrence.

Your lips twitched, but your arms stayed crossed as he hummed and whispered, “Tough choice…tough choice…”

Shoulders fell in defeat, but your mouth stayed downturned in a forced frown as you grumbled, “And fries.”

Steve smiled, turned on his blinker and nodded. He cleared his throat.

“And fries. Definitely.”

“And none of that you order yourself a vanilla shake and I order strawberry and you drink half of mine because it’s better and eat all the fries shit.”

“Of course,” Steve scoffed, “I would never do that.”

Steve slipped his straw into your shake, pulling the glass across the sticky tabletop as you did the same with his. He tried not to smirk around the straw when you did, dipping a fry in his vanilla he ordered for a reason despite the strawberry being better.

“Do you think Claire is a prude for never doing anything?”

He shook his head no almost immediately, swiping at stray ice cream from the corner of his mouth with his tongue.

You fiddled with the straw wrapped between your fingers and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Would your answer be the same if, say, Eddie was sitting here asking you? Not me, your best friend, who you have sudden pity for?”

He blinked at you and sighed, “I don’t have pity for you.”

“Your mouth and your eyes are telling two different stories Harrington,” you waved a fry at him as you spoke, gesturing to his face with it.

Your gaze stayed on the fry you were ripping in half, focused on watching it sink into the sweet vanilla as he dared to say, “I just don’t get it.”

“What, that I haven’t done that and I’m so old,” you tried to tease, to move past it.

But the way you were licking salt off your finger had him wondering if he swiped his own through the salt on the tray and pushed the pad against your lips if they would part like they were now, if he could taste it on your lips if he just leaned forward and-

“No, ‘cause you’re so fucking pretty.”

He definitely said it out loud that time.

You blinked at him, cheeks suddenly too warm for the cold and damp Spring that had been surrounding you all day.

“Ste-”

“And so smart,” he licked his lips, leaning forward, unable to stop now that it was out, “And funny. And…and sweet, you’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I know, I just don’t understand how guys aren’t falling over themselves, unable to do anything but make out with you, or more or-”

“I never said I didn’t do more,” you whispered, ignoring all of his compliments that made your chest feel all tight and sticky and choosing to argue with him instead because that was easier.

“But you said…if you haven’t made out with anyone…”

Your body slipped lower against the squeaky seat, embarrassed as you shrugged and Steve felt too hot in the tiny little booth, thinking about all those guys’ hands on you again, and then what you said, what it meant, really clicked.

“Hold on…how…how’d…you didn’t, build up to it?” He asked softly, eyes bouncing over your face with worry.

“Steve,” you grabbed for the other shake, and sat up straighter, “We don’t need to talk about this. It’s not import-”

“It’s so important,” he grabbed your hand and squeezed your fingers lightly, “Half the fun is all the build up to it. And,” he swallowed, forehead creasing with deeper worry, “And then it, it doesn’t hurt. ‘Cause tell me if I’m wrong, but if they weren’t making out with you, were they doing anything to make sure you felt good?”

You squirmed in your seat, fingers pushing up against his mindlessly, aimlessly, as you shrugged again. “It’s only hurt a few times. I learned that if I…um, If I got myself ready beforehand, that I was, uh, more comfortable.”

Steve’s fingers let go of yours with the excuse of grabbing a fry, because he was trying not to be a gross guy, but all he could think about was you in your bedroom, with your fingers between your thighs now. Did you play music? What song? Did you have underwear on? What color? With a shirt that your nipples were visibly hard through as you touched yourself and maybe it was his shirt or maybe you said his name or-

“Right,” Steve nodded, “Um, right. And that’s great, lots of people do that for a date, so like if you need or want to beforehand that’s not…that’s great. It just shouldn’t be the only thing, you know? They should be putting in the work, they should be wanting to. And dates! They should watch a movie with you, and dinner and drive around and then kiss so much you feel dizzy and then if you want, more.”

He finished his rambling speech and you smiled softly, unsure of what to say, because you knew he wasn’t wrong, it’s just that they had.

“They did,” you sighed, “Well, not Paul.”

Steve scowled at the table, “Yeah, well, I’m sure you weren’t missing much. Who wants to yell out Paul?”

“Oh,” you laughed, “And Steve is so much better?”

He looked up at you, your smile sweet and kind and your eyes a little sad, but trying not to be and he wanted to say yes. He wanted to tell you that if it was those lips and that voice saying it, it was better, because how could it not be? Like his name only had the best letters, like it belonged to the best guy in the world, one that belonged to you and no one else.

But you were swiping at ice cream on your lips and sighing, saying something that made his chest ache instead.

“They were nice dates. And it’s not like the sex was bad. But,” you looked out the window, eyes tracking the droplets of rain twinged neon from the light hanging above you both, “The kissing till I’m dizzy sounds nice. Is it…is it fun?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered, admiring the way the red and blue lit up your profile before you turned to face him.

And then he was saying something before he really thought it through, because god you weren’t just fucking pretty, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever met and no way in hell was he letting anyone treat you the way you’d been ever again. So this was his chance, and he was taking the leap.

“I could…” he blew out a breath and smiled. He sat up straighter, and he searched for some sort of lingering king steve confidence he could latch onto without all the douche as he asked, “I could show you?”

To both of your surprise, you’d said yes, and he paid and you were in the car, driving, and parked somewhere in what felt like seconds. Now your best friend sat across from you, both of you facing the center console, but not daring to do more.

The rain beat against the roof of the maroon car, each drop a punctuated tick of a nonexistent clock - a meter for how much time was passing without movement, without words. Just both of your breathing filled the space. First exhaling, then desperately inhaling for more air as your chests rose and fell ragged. And then, like in some unspoken agreement only best friends can have, you both started to lean forward cause you just knew.

Your heart’s thrum threatened to drown out the rain, building and building, screaming to break out of your chest, pounding in your ears while your cheeks grew warm and your stomach dipped as Steve’s tongue slipped out quickly and wetted his lips.

But then he leaned and his eyes started to close and you giggled, fingers slipping over your lips as his eyelids shot open.

“Sorry,” you gasped and shook your head and your hands out as you tried to be serious, “Your ‘I’m about to kiss you’ face is real cute, Harrington.”

Tried being the definitive word.

“Cute?” He groaned, smiling, “Not sexy?”

You leaned in, faster this time, a smile matching his as you shrugged, “It’s nice. Never thought I’d be on the opposite side of it, is all.”

It’s easy to tilt your head and welcome the hand that reached up to cradle your jaw as he softly promised, “Your ‘I’m about to be kissed face’ is really cute too.”

The pad of his thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek in the tenderest touch you’d ever felt, before his fingers curled under your jaw and tilted you gently, slowly, up so his lips were right over yours.

It felt like he was handling you like the most precious and fragile thing, like a prized possession that he’d only ever hold with care and never let another soul touch.

His breath fanned over yours, warm and sweet smelling, vanilla and cherry just out of reach for you to taste as you dared to quip back again. “Alright, I’m gonna have to cross reference these lines with other girls you’ve promised to make dizzy, Harrington, cause if that’s the first time you’ve used that, I’m afraid it’s far too smooth…”

Steve’s heart felt like it was trying to claw out of his chest as you laughed, smiling at him when he responded, “And, I think that’s enough out of you.”

Which you couldn’t help but reply back to with, “Yeah? Have some fancy trick to get me to stop talking?”

He laughed, low, muffled and deep in his chest. “A few.”

A sharp inhale slipped past your lips when his nose bumps yours, not realizing how close he’d gotten while you joked back and forth nervously. There wasn’t a protocol on how to let your best show you a proper make out, on how to just dive in and start, you just knew you wanted to.

Steve’s swallow bobbed his adams apple as the leather beneath you creaked from shifting weight, needing to get closer. And as you did, his eyes found yours, mossy and dark in the low light, the browns and golds washed away in the rain. Their gaze flitted down to your lips, back up to fluttering eyelashes, and then his own eyelids were closing.

All it took was another breath in, an exhale out, and his lips were on yours. A simple, slow press, holding your top lip between the both of his. Strawberry and vanilla teasing you, and soon he was moving, now bottom lip between his and you got it. Your mouths parted together, lips slotting in a rhythm that came naturally, that clicked.

Something in your stomach fizzled and crackled like the sparklers you lit every year in his driveway on the fourth as the sigh from his nose hit your cheek. Body warm and sticky in a way that was usually reserved for Summer when his fingers skated over your jaw, up and around your ear, until they were cradling the back of your neck and pulling you closer. His mouth moved with yours in a way that could only be described as frantically graceful - needing more, hurried, hungry, but with the promise and precision of someone who knew what he was doing. It had your stomach dipping, like a freefall, like the greatest and scariest thing you’d ever felt.

If he’d have opened his eyes, he’d have found you with your hands suspended between your bodies though. Fingers not quite brave enough to reach up and get lost in his hair, but not content to just sit in your lap and do nothing either.

And if you'd opened your eyes, you’d have found his other hand gripping the center console like he was hanging on for dear life. ‘Cause holy shit was he trying to go slow, but kissing you was like chasing the last few minutes of sunlight in July - sweet and fleeting and magic - something you needed to make last, to soak up every last drop of until you couldn’t any more, not by choice, but because the sun has to set and he has to breathe.

In a shared gasp for air, you parted, but his lips were back on yours immediately, making your stomach swoop even more, like an entire family of butterflies had decided - hey, we live here now and we’re gonna make a ruckus so get used to it.

You didn’t mind.

Steve’s fingers found yours and without breaking his rhythm, he tugged, guiding them to his shoulders that were practically on your side of the console now, which wasn’t doing something great to his already somersaulting stomach.

He slowed down as your fingers brushed over and back on the collar of his shirt and his hands cradled both of your cheeks, pulling you off of his lips regretfully. You were both breathing like you’d run a marathon, his forehead pressed to yours as he gasped out, “Dizzy yet?”

“No,” you lied.

He grinned, tip of his nose tracing the bridge of yours as he admitted, “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like that.”

You couldn’t even respond, couldn’t tell him you wanted that too, couldn’t tell him that it was something you only dared let a daydream or two convince you it could happen before you were shutting it down, cause he was still talking.

“And now that I have,” he swallowed, his thumbs glided down opposite sides of your neck as he shook his head, “I’m never stopping.”

Then he was kissing you again, and if you thought he was frantic before…

You had this feeling that even if those other guys had made out with you, kissing them wasn’t and never would be the same as kissing Steve Harrington.

Soon one of your feet was on the seat, the other bracing yourself in the footwell. He had a hand on your hip and the other on the back of your neck and yours were finally starting to dare to journey past their spot on his shoulders and then your skirt was caught on the gearshift and he was stopping you again.

“Honey, what are you doing?”

“So was that ‘never stopping’ just a nice sentiment or are you planning to back it up with action?” You huffed, distracted by pink lips that twisted into a crooked smile as he looked at your pretzeled body.

Your shoulders fell as you nodded your head towards his side of the car and admitted, “I just want to be closer.”

“Oh, right.” Steve swallowed, and you wondered if it’d be weird if you kissed every freckle and mole you could find on his throat. Something told you he wouldn’t mind when he asked, a little more eager than you’d heard tonight, “Backseat?”

And you clambered out of the car, the slowing rain soothing to heated and flushed skin under the mussed clothes, and then you were both meeting in the backseat, but the nerves returned. The way you both glanced at the space between you and were immediately and acutely aware of the lack of anything between you except doubt and fear. Was this a mistake? What about your friendship?

Steve looked at the space, at you, and then held up his finger in the symbol for one sec as he said, “Hold on,” and half climbed back into the front seat. His torso draped over the console as he loudly opened the glovebox and rummaged around inside, before he was fiddling with the radio, and falling back into the seat.

His cheeks pink, but his smile wide as he looked at you again. “Hey! I’m so glad we could do this tonight. You look beautiful. Ready to watch your favorite movie?”

“Wh-what?” You laughed, totally and utterly confused.

He tugged on your fingers, and pulled you to the middle, until you were slouched next to each other, shoulders touching as he shushed and said, “The Breakfast Club is starting.”

And the music playing over the radio,Simple Minds, a cassette he must have put in, had your chest swelling with something that was sure to burst and explode and kill you, because the boy was actually pretending you were on a couch, on a date, in a living room, watching a movie - it was perfectly Steve and you, and the best first date you’d ever been on.

His left hand picked up yours, resting it on your thigh and played with your fingers. The pads of his traced up and down and over your hand as he stared at the windshield, his temple resting against yours. The music played, and his fingertips swooped between the curves of each finger aimlessly, the sides of his fingers running down yours and back up making it really hard to concentrate on the non-existent flick.

When you finally relaxed into his side, when you flipped your hand over so he could draw little loop de loops on your palm, he quietly asked, “Who’s your favorite?”

“Brian,” said without hesitation.

Steve groaned, in pain, “Ugh, you would like him the best.”

You laughed, turning to look up at him a bit from where your head had fallen to his shoulder, “Don’t knock him Steve,” you spoke softly, fondly, “You’re a lot more of a dork like him than you think.”

Steve made a pft noise, fingers now interlaced with yours as he turned his head, the tip of his nose touching yours as he looked down at you with the sort of look the guys give the girls in the movies, one that should be illegal from the way it had that family of butterflies shouting about their presence again and fluttering around.

“Hey Steve?”

“Hmm?” He hummed, eyelashes fluttering as he sighed when your thumb brushed over his knuckles.

“This is a really great…first date?” You asked, hopeful that it wasn’t just an offer, that you weren’t some game, that the guy next to you was just as crazy about you as you were him.

“Yeah?” He smiled, proud, and then bragged, “Wait till the second one.”

It was your turn to hum, to look into his eyes and get a little lost as his mouth parted and you both scooted closer, waiting, as he squeezed your fingers wrapped around his.

“You’re making the ‘I’m about to kiss you face’ again, Steve,” you whispered, lips brushing his as you did.

“Right,” he whispered back, bottom lip catching yours as he suggested, “Which means you should probably stop talking again.”

This kiss wasn’t as easy and smooth, made difficult by grins of fools who were totally in love but wouldn’t admit it just yet, but how could you both not be after years together?

But you smoothed it out quickly, and soon he was swiping his tongue over your bottom lip as his hand gripped at your waist a little tightly. He traced over your top lip as your entire body turned towards his, like a plant in search of sunlight, his body on yours fundamental to your survival.

He gasped as you straddled him, your mouth swallowing the sound as his hands roamed up your sides, taking the hem of your shirt with it so his fingers could scrape at the skin just under your ribs before they dared to drift along the band of your bra.

You let out a sound that he’d never forget as long as he lived when you finally lowered yourself, skirt fanning over your laps so the sinful way he pressed up against your pristine soaked Calvin’s was slightly hidden. The unclip of your bra and the removal and toss over the seat was fluid, and you couldn’t think about it because the way his hand on your chest felt, the thumb over a pebbled nipple was something you’d only let yourself think about in moments of need before a date that wasn’t him.

Steve was wrong, the build up was more than half the fun.

The way his hands buzzed against your spine like the air after fireworks, the way his tongue brushed yours, the way he couldn’t help but guide your hips to rock against him. Denim hitting cotton in the exact right spot so the nerves underneath it got the friction they were aching for, while your mind ran away from you, thoughts about how this was just getting started. How there was more.

His lips left yours and his smile pressed to your jaw when the action got a soft whimper to fall from you. He tutted into your neck, lips grazing over an erratic pulse as he whispered, “Can I touch you?”

“Is that,” your breath hitched around the words as his tongue licked a thick stripe over your neck that extended, “Is that a part of making me dizzy or the more, when I’m sufficiently so?”

“You’re not yet?” His teeth scraped at where his tongue had just been. “I like when you say words like sufficiently, ‘s’hot.”

You laughed as his lips kissed the same spot, and then he was sucking, skin beneath his tongue warm and sending a message to your brain that you liked that a lot.

“Yeah,” you hiccuped, eyelids fluttering in their view of the car’s roof as you arched and his hands gripped your hips, “Yeah, touch me.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, arm around your waist holding you steady while the other traveled under the hem of your skirt. His mouth moved to below your ear and as his fingers glided up your thigh. He sucked and kissed, and sent that message to your brain again, having you say his name and god’s in the same desperate sentence.

Steve wasn’t gonna last much longer.

Especially when his fingers met the wet cotton and you moaned, so much filthier than he’d have thought possible. Especially when he circled over your clit through the fabric and you rolled your hips with the movement, far dirtier than he thought you were capable of.

“Fuck baby, you’re soaked.” He mouthed at the collar of your rucked up shirt, looking down at the way your hips rolled over his but he couldn’t quite see what was underneath.

You hid in the crook of his neck, hot, and you didn’t know if it was because the windows were fogged and Steve was so fucking good at this or because you were embarassed by how turned on you were from his next words.

“Please, I gotta,” he slipped a finger under the fabric and you shuddered as it ran down your slick and back up, “I gotta taste you. I need to put my mouth on you. Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

You were on your back, Calvin’s in a ball on the front seat, with Steve crouched between your thighs not even a minute later.

Thick fingers toyed with the hem of your skirt from his spot, blown out pupils taking over his stare up at you. One of your converse pushed to the other side of the car against the door as your fingers curled around the base of the sweating window above you.

Steve kissed your knee, and made his way higher between your legs slowly, until he was flipping your skirt up and swallowing as he stared at the space like it was a fucking artwork.

You giggled, nervously under the intense awestruck stare, squeezing your eyes shut as he strained to get out, “Fuck, honey, you’re trying to kill me.”

He was mesmerized, the way you clenched around nothing, his thumbs spreading you so he could see just how wet you were for him.

He was really not gonna last much longer. Straining in his jeans painfully like a teenager.

And that was before you whimpered, before you said:

“Steve, please.”

“Only,” he swallowed, leaning down so his breath hit your cunt in a way that had your hips wiggling, and him closing his eyes, “Only cause you asked so nicely.”

His thumbs held you open, massaging the sides as his tongue licked once, slow and broad, following the path of his nose up to your clit. He did it again, and again, and again. Until his fingers were slipping inside of you, pumping in and out of walls that held him tightly and his mouth sucked at your clit. Then you tugged, forcefully at the curls at the back of his head and practically screamed his name. Like it was full of only the best letters. Like it was yours.

Your stomach burned, the butterflies angry and in your chest now too, on fire, but happy about it. Steve’s fingers inside of you and mouth on your clit better than any orgasm you’d ever had, and you couldn’t help it when you came without warning, toes curling inside of your converse that kicked at the door and his thigh, while your fingers slipped on the window and your chest ached for a breath as it yelled his name in a way that the whole world would have to know how you felt when they heard it.

He didn’t pull away until you were gasping and your thighs were shaking and your fingers loosened in his hair. His cheek pressed to your thigh as he stared up at you and gasped out a proud, smug, “I’d like to see Bender of Brian do that.”

You laughed, tired, but happy, and he crawled up your body, kissing any part of it he could find while he ignored the uncomfortable wet patch in the front of his Levi’s.

Except you noticed and raised your eyebrows at it, a little smug yourself as you said, “Bet Claire couldn’t do that.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but then you were both flinching as a loud smack of something hit the back window. He glanced up and cursed under his breath, rolling down the window slightly as he called out from on top of you, “Hey, Hop.”

There was a loud, deep, sigh from outside as you both sat up with apologetic faces and Steve rolled down the window further.

Hopper’s cigarette smoke wafted in as he looked at the pair of you with a touch of surprise when he saw it was you next to Steve in the fogged up beemer. He shook his head, frown under the mustache forced. “It’s past eleven. On a weeknight. Have some decency and do this at home in front of a movie like normal people next time, yeah?”

You both nodded, your teeth pulling at your lip in a terrible attempt at not smiling.

He walked away, and you and Steve slapped hands over each other’s laughs and snorts, but you still managed to catch the quiet, “Bout damn time.”

And when Steve dropped you off at home, with a kiss to seal it all and a promise of a real date tomorrow that he’d pick you up for, you shoved the bunched up Calvin’s in his front pocket with your own promise, whispering in his ear the words “Sincerely, yours” before you left him with his mouth open on the front steps, watching you walk away.

#superbly subpars writing #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic

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