#p. sure he's going to die in... eight days

[wheresarizona]

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 - One Shot

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 - One Shot

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#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

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Eight

( Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader x Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia )

SEX POLLEN/FUCK OR DIE / CHASTITY / SEXUAL COMPETITION

Summary: Coming home from work, all you want to do is collapse on the sofa with Frankie and snuggle but a mystery package makes your evening a little more interesting.

Day Eight of @absurdthirst's fabulous Kinktober prompt list!

Warnings: Mentions of food and drink, sex powder/pollen, arguing, Santiago and Frankie being dom if you squint, biting, oral - female receiving/male receiving, fingering, squirting, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), rough sex, choking, three-way, MMF, spit roasting, Santiago gets a little soft, no use of Y/N

(If I miss anything, please say and I’ll adjust)

Word Count: 4.5k

Notes: I originally planned to write a Leash and Collar story with Santiago on Day Six but never got the chance, that storyline however is alluded to here. Maybe I’ll write it someday.

You were ready to go home and collapse on the sofa after a long day at work. It was Friday night so Frankie would have order some form of take out, the fire would be on to take the edge off the chillier evenings and he probably would have stashed some snacks away from his daughter. All signs would point to a good night in, though your interest peaked when you opened the door to see Santiago also sitting at the kitchen table.

“Hey.”

“Oh, hey, Santiago.”

Francisco was hidden behind the fridge door, “Drink?”

“Please.”

You pull off your coat and step further in, your cold nose immediately being alleviated by the warm orange glow filling the room.

“Your pizza’s getting cold.”

You scramble to get your shoes off, hurrying to make your way to the kitchen table, a cardboard box still steaming. Frankie always ordered your favourite, he knew each variation of your takeaway orders from the Chinese down the block to this, the pizza place just on the edge of town.

Sitting down, you open it up and sigh as the cheese stretches apart.

He places a beer in front of you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How’ve you been, Santi?”

He snorts, “See, Fish, that’s how you welcome a guest.”

Frankie rolled his eyes, “Hey, I’m used to you coming and asking for a favour, hermano.”

“I’ve been fine, honey, just making sure my favourite pairing were ok.”

Actually, he was seeing if Frankie still had the hump about getting you a collar, everyone in the kink scene knows what a collar means and Santiago doesn’t necessarily own you. He’s put Francisco through too much shit to do something like it again.

You glance to Frankie, “It’s all been good.”

“You didn’t tell her how pissed you were, did you?”

“Of course, not. We’ve settled this, quit talking about it.”

You never questioned what they spoke about in their native language, it was clear they didn’t want you to know, it was also apparent that Frankie was annoyed and Santiago was fucking lapping it up, a smirk on his face.

“Now, now boys.”

You chew your food with a smile and the atmosphere calms.

They continue to ask about your day and all the usual tales about an ordinary suburban life before you can’t bring yourself to take another bite. As you tidy everything away, plating up a couple of slices for tomorrow, you catch an unopened parcel addressed to Francisco on the side.

“What’s this?”

Picking it up you see Benny’s handwriting.

“Why’s Benny sending you something?”

“I dunno, it’s Benny, he’s probably found something he thinks is funny.”

“Are you gonna open it?”

“No.”

You tilt your head, “Can I open it?”

Frankie shrugs, “Sure.”

Santiago has a glint in his eye, all he wants to do is take a jab at the fact he’s letting his girl open his mail. He chooses to keep his mouth shut because he doesn’t need Frankie throttling him this evening.

Popping the parcel on the table, you rummage for a knife to break the duck tape.

“Any ideas?”

“Nah, man, knowing Benny it’s some sort of odd sex thing. You sure you want her to open that?”

Frankie honestly couldn’t care less, Benny had sent him some shit in the past, including a fake letter with lacy underwear hanging from the seal. Benny thought he’d have a laugh however he used it as an excuse to move and never come face-to-face with that postal worker again. It was small, what harm could it do?

You press the blade along the sides first before gently cutting the box along the middle, then the next part, is a little bit of a blur.

Your soft touch meant the box didn’t quite do what it was intended to until your face was close. Whatever way Benny rigged it, the lid of the item inside exploded off like an overenthusiastic Jack in the Box, sending a smoke plume of pink.

You heard a chair scrape heftily on tiled floors, felt the pressure of hands grabbing your arms as your back met the countertop behind. Frankie spewed a variety of profanities, both in English and Spanish, as you choked and spluttered on whatever had come from that package.

“I’m going to kill him.”

You blinked, the pink still in your vision.

Frankie brought his hands to your cheeks, callous thumbs rubbing, his big brown eyes searching your face. There was a tingling sensation that spread down your face pleasantly, it wasn’t scary just unusual.

“Everything alright?”

“I - urgh,” you process your words. “What the fuck was that?”

To your surprise, Santiago was still sat down, brows knotted. Benny wouldn’t be this stupid would he?

He draws the box closer, pulling out two pieces of paper. The first reads ‘Have fun you two ;P’, and the second is a pamphlet in a pink equally matching the cloud that escaped.

“Shit.”

“What?” Frankie’s query came from deep within his throat, your pussy clenched.

“I’ve heard of this, it’s just hit the market.”

By the way he says market, you know he means a kinky one.

“Pope, I swear -“

“It’s a powdered aphrodisiac…”

Both you and Frankie look at him with confused expressions, he would never tell either of you how adorable you looked or maybe it’s because those tiny potent particles are in the air.

“And our girl just got a face full of it.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Oh,” you say quietly.

That tingling in your face had travelled, you could feel it in every limbs, running through your veins, pooling in excitement. You wrap your fingers over the edge of the countertop to steady yourself, swallowing hard.

Frankie swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

“Oh no.”

You try to focus on your breathing, slowing down your increasing heartbeat but it’s seeming impossible, you can feel you legs turning to jelly. All you could think about was getting out of the space, containing your building ecstasy out of the vicinity of two men who, right now, were not burning with desire.

You take a couple of steps and Santiago is on his feet.

“Stop,” he comes forward.

“What, no, we’re not doing this,” Frankie blocks his path.

You try to make your escape as they start to argue.

“Are you serious, Fish? She’s got to get this out of her system.”

“There’s gotta be another option.”

“This isn’t the sort of thing that just wears off when she goes to sleep.”

You can’t remember their argumentative tones sounding this fucking good before. You were salivating at the thought of their heated bodies almost pressed up against each other, their hot breath teasing each other’s skin, muscle taut. The image wouldn’t leave your mind and you froze.

The noise that you released was both a cry of pain and pleasure.

Their voices hush before Frankie cautiously called your name.

Turning round, you pull at the edge of you skirt, your body vibrating. It was like you’d been called out at school, you couldn’t look either of them in the eye.

Santiago stood there as he does when things get serious, hands on hips, head hanging low. His eyes are dark.

“On the table.”

Frankie’s cock twitched, mouth hanging slightly agape and he looks back to you.

“Do as he says.”

He could be authoritative when he needed to be Frankie and it made your situation worse. You shuffle, the friction of your thin underwear threatening at your clit. Following their instruction, you pick yourself up onto smooth wooden top, feet dangling.

Santiago took the lead.

His touch sent electric shocks through your knees, pushing them wider. He lifts up your skirt and sees how dark your panties are, he hisses.

“You’re fucking soaked.”

Your lip quivered, “I’m scared.”

He picked up your chin, delivered you a soft smile.

“We’re going to help you, don’t worry.”

You laugh, built up nervous energy does that to you.

He waits for it to pass.

“Lay back for me.”

You continue to do as you’re told, your back meeting the table.

Santiago throws your skirt up and out of the way, fingertips grazing your thighs as he knelt at your feet. He trailed kisses up your leg, starting soft before growing heavier, his teeth nipping at your flesh before he soothed with his tongue.

Your breath was shaky.

“You’re going to be such a good girl for us, aren’t you honey?”

Frankie watches how you shiver, how your chest rises and falls as you steady yourself. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up and the sensation goes straight to his hardening cock, he can’t look away as his friend brushing the tip of his nose over your mound.

You mewl as he presses his lips against that built up bundle of nerves and groans.

“Feel free to step in whenever you like.”

Santiago glances over his shoulder, lips pouted, wet with the residue of your pleasure.

You pick up your head drunkenly, wondering why Santiago had stopped but also to look at him, eyes glossed with held back tears. The corner of your lips curl with a feeble smile, you’re worried about him.

“Just concentrate on what you’re doing.”

Frankie comes over and crashes his lips onto yours, your head falling back with the force of his action. You gasp, only allowing him to slip in his tongue and roam your mouth, yours working in tandem. He fumbles to undo your shirt buttons before his hands claw at freshly exposed skin, his thumbs following the curvature of your breasts.

Santiago hooked your underwear to one side, the tip of his tongue licking along the creases of your outer lips with careful precision.

You moan into Frankie’s mouth and he gladly accepts.

He pulls your shirt further open, catching the elasticated straps of your bra and running along the edge to free your breasts from the cups. He grabs them in handfuls, breathing in every delicious noise that escaped you.

Santiago’s cock was straining against his jeans, the air he was breathing thick with the scent of your juices. Letting go of your hip, he carries on licking you whilst his free hand pulled at his belt, popping open the button and unzipping with a satisfied sigh. He was throbbing, his balls feeling heavier than usual, he was going to take you on this fucking table if it was the last thing he did on earth.

Frankie finally let you come up for air but it didn’t mean he stopped.

His kisses ran down your neck and along your décolletage, his patchy whiskers scratching. You ran your fingers through his brown curls, nails digging into the scalp, raising his face up. His Adam’s apple bobbed as the saliva built against his cheeks, the colour of his eyes no longer visible.

And Santiago?

Santiago didn’t like not having some attention.

“Fuck!”

You cry as he presses his tongue flat against your cunt and licks in one lengthily swoop, your legs clamping around his head.

“Santi.”

Your shoulders fall back as he takes another lick.

If looks could kill, Santiago knows he’d be dead, the glare Frankie delivered him was enough to do that but it only made him smirk behind you. He chose to ignore the other man, taking two fingers and slipping them into your folds.

You moan, back arching as the spark ignited.

Frankie’s brows furrowed, expression stern but Santiago had only brought you closer.

Returning to your neck, he locked himself tightly into the crook, sucking hard.

“Shit.”

He was going to leave a mark.

His teeth grazed your chest, he moved down the middle before his slopping nose nudged your one breast. He pursed his lips before taking your nipple in his mouth and biting gently.

You hissed through gritted teeth, your hand reaching for the back of his head once again.

You were fit to burst.

Santiago was ruthless, pumping in and out of your weeping cunt at an alarming pace whilst Frankie was playing and nuzzling at your breast like a wild animal. You couldn’t see yourself but you know their brown eyes were dark, hungry to soak up every piece of pleasure you had to offer.

You weren’t going to last much longer.

The fever had entered every fibre of your being, ran hot through your veins and vibrated every muscle, your stomach coiling. Your skin was tingling, the pink film over your eyes lifting, bursting into white spots. Your walls were fluttering around Santiago’s digits and he knew exactly what he had to do then.

He straightened up, the tip of his cock notching the edge of the table as he continued to stroke you. He watched in delight as you dug your nails further into Frankie’s scalp, your neck taut as you gasped for air.

His fingertips curled, pressing into that soft sweet spot, thumb closing on your clit.

You screamed, snapping your legs closed yet you still didn’t give him what he wanted and that only coaxes him more.

He draws circles with his thumb as you visibly shake.

“Santi, please,” you whine.

You want him to stop, the sensation overwhelming, the blood rushing to your ears. Your hips rise to try and alleviate the pressure but he’s having none of it.

“You know what I want.”

His voice was low, gravely.

You sob. You were rarely a brat however you knew if you let yourself go, the flood gates would open and with the powder in your system, you had no idea of the outcome. But all three of you knew it had to happen eventually.

“Honey,” Santiago grazed his fingertips over your stomach, “Cum for me.”

He spread his hand and pushed you flat to the table, digging his fingers deep into that spongy spot and you unravelled. Your juices gushed, coating his hand as he removed it to rub over your clit and help you ride out your orgasm.

This is the first time Frankie has seen you squirt.

He finds himself unable to concentrate as he separates from your chest and watches your arousal soaks the kitchen floor.

“Fuuuck, querida.”

The comedown sent shocks through your body, toes and fingers curling.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you gasp for air.

“You don’t need to apologise.”

He kissed your lips gently and that’s all it took for the powder to take effect yet again. You deepen the kiss, placing both hands on his patchy jawline to keep him there.

Santiago unzips his top before desperately pulling it over his head and throwing it to the floor. The sweat already clung to his chest, pre cum already leaking from his cock as he shred his trousers too. Tucking his hands underneath your hips, he hauled you closer to him in one motion, ripping you from Frankie.

He balanced your lower half on the edge of the table.

“Wouldn’t you prefer the bedroom?”

“I need you here…”

He shook his head, focusing on playing with your clit against the radiating tip of his cock. It sent a shiver down your spine, a ragged breath falling from his lips as he stroked your folds. Your hands gripped the wood for dear life, you were in trouble.

“Now.”

And he pushed himself deep in one vigorous snap of the hips.

Santiago groaned, his chest rumbling against you as he brought your body to his.

“Still so tight,” he slurred to Frankie.

“Even after that? You’re losing your touch.”

You have time to catch your breath, walls pulsating around him.

“Eh, I’ll make sure you eat your words later.”

“We all know you’ll be the one with a dick in your mouth.”

Santiago squinted at Frankie to gage whether he was lying through his teeth except the man kept a straight face. Santiago had seen Frankie’s cock in the showers during their years in the military, he knew he’d be a decent size when he was hard, he’d gladly take him.

Ok, now this conversation was taking too long. You groan, “Please, hurry up and fuck me.”

The boys share a laugh.

Neither of them were used to you being like this. Sure, you always wanted sex when it came to it but this was desperate and needy and that mouth of yours, Santiago couldn’t get over it. You were normally so pliant and good for him that he may have to ensure he puts your mouth to good use later.

He swats your ass, sending a shockwave that bucks your hips.

“Been as you asked so politely.”

His grip on your hips tightened, fingernails digging into hot flesh and the thought of your trouble got worse, you were in real fucking trouble now.

Santiago had always fitted in you, his length perfect, his girth enough to stretch you but pleasurable and with the powder, you were riding high. He wasn’t like his usual, meticulous self, he had lost as much sense as you.

It was fast and rough, his cock gliding through your slick.

Everything within you burned, the sounds filling the room, the grunts of Santiago and the moans of you a musical unison.

Frankie couldn’t believe what he was hearing or seeing, every detail crystal clear like he was watching a film against a cinema screen. How every thrust of Santiago’s hips sent a ripple through you muscles, boobs bouncing, your knuckles turning white as you held on, your expression scrunched as he pushed you closer to your next release.

Then there was his cock, hard and constricted against his jeans, he had to get involved before he blew his load.

He scrambled to get his clothes off, the heat now radiating from him.

He was never a selfish lover so he found it surprising that how Santiago dominated you was a bit of a turn on. Maybe that’s why you agreed to their offer when the four of you met that evening, each one of them were different and you liked every single one of them for just that reason.

Though the blood was pumping quickly through his veins, Frankie approached the table cautiously.

Santiago caught him out of the corner of his eye and slowed, he needed to because he knew he was close.

Frankie took your chin, soothed you as he brushed his palm across your face, a thumb rubbing your cheek bone. Your expression relaxed, head falling to the side so you could drunkenly look at him and he smiled.

“Think you can handle me too?”

His thumb crept to you mouth and Santiago stopped, drawing circles on your thighs, cock steady inside you. He waited to see if you’d answer, he knew when you got overwhelmed or had a face full of aphrodisiac powder, your brain would get foggy.

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet, only enough for Frankie to hear, he leans down and delivers the lightest of kisses. You chase for him yet he pulled back, wrapping his other hand around his cock and bringing it to your lips. Much like how Santiago’s looked, the tip was flaming bright, the veins that ran his length bulging at the work of the powder.

Your tongue flicks over your bottom lip before you lick the precum off his tip, he hisses at the touch. Flitting your eyes to his face to check he’s ok, you carry on, taking the end into your mouth and circling the ridge where his skin had pulled back.

The shiver travels through him, a strangled moan that has Santiago’s cock twitching.

“Did you teach her that?”

Frankie laughed cracking under the pressure of two sets of eyes on him.

“No, she does that all by herself.”

“Fuck, how is she so good?”

“I wish I knew.”

Santiago really did because if that was just natural, he was jealous.

You circled Frankie’s tip once more before loosening your jaw and took his length in your mouth, the edge of your nose tickling at his matching brown curls at the base.

Santiago watched you pull back and match the rhythm with his hips.

As you guided yourself back down, Santiago pushed himself back in, your moan travelling along Frankie’s cock. He wrapped his hand the back of your head, fisting your hair as he helped you take what you could, your walls flutter.

“You two are gonna be the death of me.”

You and Santiago shared a look, Frankie unaware as his eyes were screwed shut.

He picked up the speed as you did you best to keep up, humming as your lips tightened around Frankie who steady you more. Santiago took both your ankles and placed them over his shoulder, practically folding you in half as he brought his weight down on you. He couldn’t keep it up much longer and if he was going, he was taking you both with him.

His next thrust hits deep.

The notion knocked the wind out of you, Frankie’s cock falling out of your mouth as you came for air.

Santiago din’t care, the way your cunt reacted to him was so intoxicated and he wanted that over and over until he filled you. Frankie couldn’t blame him either, he needed you to take him more so he could cum down that throat of yours.

They both knew you had it in you but right now, the room almost spinning as the fiery sensation entered every bone.

Frankie guided his cock back to your mouth, pushing gently at the back of your head.

Santiago was relentless, his balls shrinking as they seemed to overfill. His legs were cramping, his knees protesting yet he couldn’t stop. His grunts were now animalistic in nature, the chase for his release timeless.

You couldn’t tell how long the three of you were in that position, could only tell when they were both close and beginning to falter.

Frankie’s fingertips came to your stomach with a featherlight touch and you open your eyes to see his, irises so blown they were black. He pawed at your breast, squeezing a puffy nipple between his thumb and forefinger, your cunt holding closer to Santiago’s cock.

“We’re not gonna last much longer,” Frankie says.

You hum a response before he brings you down his cock and presses you into his belly, your throat constricts and he slides you back. He relaxes his hand on your breast and draws his hand up you décolletage, resting it at the bottom of your neck.

This is his tell.

He pumps you up and down his cock, noting the stutter in Santiago’s hips.

“Ready?”

Frankie puts his hand around your neck and applies light pressure before forcing your head down to the base of his cock. Every part of your body becomes tense, your walls trapping Santiago’s cock deep within you.

“Shit,” he chokes.

He comes thick and fast, his chin falling to his chest as he holds your hips up, his seed spilling messily out of you folds.

You whimper, your legs shaking as your orgasm washes over you.

Frankie felt your back beginning to lift from the table and he knows he’s got a fleeting moment to notch himself a little further. He squeezes your neck more, brings you closer and you feel him at  the back of your throat. That immediate muscle spasm causes his cock to twitch and you suck as he groans.

The salty tang fills your mouth, Frankie’s grip loosening against the back of your head.

You slide back, milking his cock as much as you can before you removed him from your lips with an accompanying pop, a string of your saliva trailing.

He snapped to his senses and cupped your face in his hands, “I’m sorry, querida, are you ok?”

You look up at him with swollen lips and glossy doe eyes, fluttering your lashes, dumbfounded.

Santiago stroked your ankles then pulled himself out of you, the cum pooling onto the table. You body shudders from the lose and he presses a smile to your skin before lowering your legs to the table.

“I’ll get you some water.”

He knew you were cock drunk.

“Querida?”

Frankie brushed his nose to yours, teased the hair that clung to your forehead.

It was like you were under water, their voices were muffled and the scenery was swirling, light brighter from the refraction.

“I’m ok,” you mouth was drying out.

He kissed you softly, laying you back against the cooling wood.

“There’s some bottles out in the garage.”

Once you all made it to the bedroom, you were there for the night so Frankie saw it best to stock up. He took the full glass from Santiago, who continued to saunter around the house nude, his soft cock already beginning to harden.

“Are you serious, what is up with you?” Frankie gestured.

“Fuck you.”

He knew the other man would let him too.

Returning to you, Frankie helped ease you from the table, getting you to sit up straight. You took the water from him and chugged it down, he immediately got you another one.

Santiago came back into your view.

“Can we go somewhere a little more comfy?”

“Of course, honey,” he kissed your temple.

Your cunt clenched around nothing. Though you were loving the attention Frankie and Santiago were paying you, you prayed it would end soon just for your pussy's sake.

“D’you want me to carry you?”

Frankie’s fingertips grazed your hip, gently coaxing you to come with him. Your eyes flit down to his cock, his desire apparent, and he looks away sheepishly. A smile drew across your face as you entwined your fingers into his.

“If you don’t mind.”

Sure, the night wasn’t the quiet night in you expected but thank god Frankie and Santiago were there to alleviate you.

—

“Can’t sleep?”

Santiago sat in the glow of the television, volume low.

You shake your head.

He smiled, “Apparently you might be the only person who’s ever had a face full of Aphrodite’s Powder.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?”

He hummed in response.

You hadn’t moved from the nook in the hallway, your focus on playing with the sleeve of Frankie’s flannel shirt you wore, legs fidgety.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Frankie’s out cold and I’m… still itchy.”

Santiago put his phone down and beckoned for you to go over. You scuttle, legs aching and settle into his lap. He coils an arm around your frame, pressing a shoulder to his, your head resting against his temple. With his other hand, he drops two fingers to your clit and draws careful circles.

“I don’t have the energy to fuck you.”

“I know,” you kiss his salt and pepper hairline, “this will do just fine.”

Everything about the evening became a blur, they pushed you through one orgasm then another then another before you’re sure you blacked out. You wake up to the stillness of the house, the calm of the morning sun breaking through the kitchen window. The television had switched off on it’s own accord and Santiago was sleeping softly, his hand resting between your thighs.

Yes, this will do just fine, you thought, nestling back under his jaw.

#kinktober 2023 #triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #frankie catfish morales #santiago garcia #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #kinktober

[lostcrudekid]

what really happened in the cave | Peeta Mellark x Katniss Everdeen

so this what I think would’ve realistically happened in the Hunger Games book because obviously if you put 16-year-olds who are into each other together and they think they might die, why wouldn’t they want to experience everything while they can?

summary: Peeta and Katniss sleeping the same sleeping bag, cuddled together when suddenly Peeta turns away awkwardly, hiding his erection and things start to take a turn


cw: smut!! first time, female and male oral, p in v, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!)


Peeta and I are huddled in the sleeping bag. He pulled my head down to use his arm as pillow and the other arm rests protectively over me as he is trying to fall asleep. I promised to take the first watch. I know the cameras aren’t on us anymore, it’s too dark inside the cave for them to see us and it’s pouring and thundering so much outside they couldn’t hear us either. Cato hunting Thresh must be the centre of attention right now.

I can’t help but think about what Peeta said earlier. After I told him he doesn’t have much competition anywhere, he said something about me being the best thing ever to happen to him. At first I thought surely it was just for the cameras, but the details he remembered about me singing on the first day of school and the dress I wore makes me think maybe he really likes me… The thought brings butterflies to my stomach and stirs something warm inside me. I accept the fact that Peeta likes me, maybe even loves. And I try to accept the fact that I like the boy with the bread as well. It’s hard to come to terms with it, knowing that both of us getting out of here alive is not promised. However, with his leg getting better after I retrieved the medicine from the Cornucopia, it seems like a possibility.

I am so deep in my thoughts that I barely notice as Peeta moves body slightly away from me and turns to lay on his back. I feel confused. Is it me? He can’t be too warm can he?

“Peeta, is everything okay?” I say, turning to my other side so I can face him. I’m worried his fever has picked up. The infection was supposed to have healed.

Peeta seems a bit awkward, which is uncommon for him. He scratches the back of his neck.

“Yeah.. It’s just… I’m not used to being like this, so… And I can’t really control it. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Peeta says, pursuing his lips together.

“Control what?” I ask, furrowing my brows in confusion.

Peeta sighs, rubbing his temple. He seems embarrassed he has to further explain as I don’t understand what he means.

“A physical part of me is activated. Sometimes you just can’t control it. I’m sorry.” Peeta says, not meeting my eyes.

“Oh.” I manage to say as I finally realise he is having an erection.

Obviously I know what an erection is. I just hadn’t given it a thought he might be experiencing them here, in the arena. I guess that part of male body can really operate without the brain. You wouldn’t expect it, but the sexual education in the school in District Twelve is very important because there is only eight-thousand with people dying left and right from starvation so obviously Capitol wants us to reproduce as much as possible. I have never had sex. It wasn’t really something that I gave any thought to. I know some merchant girls in town start early. It makes me wonder.

“Have you ever…?”

Peeta looks surprised by my question and looks up. He seems slightly less embarrassed now as I didn’t just let the awkwardness hang in the air and let him go back to sleep.

“No.” Peeta says giving a shrug of his shoulders.

“Really? No girls from town?”

Peeta chuckles, shaking his head. “I told you earlier, nobody made lasting impression but you.”

I feel my cheeks getting warmer and hope it’s too dark for him to notice.

Peeta says teasingly, “I assume you haven’t, given how uncomfortable you were at the thought by me being naked when I was half dead and you were washing my clothes.”

He is amused by the memory. I roll my eyes.

“No, I haven’t.” I agree.

The sleeping bag covers his body, so the only thing I can see is his face. I feel curious and it seems there’s a sense of honesty and openness between us. I mean, who knows, one of us might dead tomorrow why keep secrets? I feel brave enough to ask, “So it just can happen whenever?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“So you being in the arena surrounded by other murderous tributes has no effect?”

“Well, it’s quite hard to concentrate on that the entire time and not on the beautiful girl laying against you.” Peeta says, and then he freezes realising what he confessed.

“So… it didn’t just happen for no reason?” I say, surprised. “I caused it?”

Peeta nods, embarrassed. He lets out an exhale, lays his head against the cave floor and closes his eyes. I gather my thoughts.

And then I decide to kiss Peeta. His lips are warm and soft. My nose presses against his cheek. He startles a bit since his eyes were closed but he kisses me back without hesitation.

He seems to assume this is like one of the many kisses that we’ve already had. Maybe assuming this was my way to tell him I’m not mad and console him. So, naturally he goes to break the kiss after couple of seconds. But I’m not done. I grab the collar of his shirt and pull him closer. I’m curious and feeling hungrier by the second. Peeta’s body tenses in surprise by the intensity of my kiss. I part from Peeta’s lips just enough to breathe for air before going back in. He seems to recover from the surprise and accept this gladly without any questions. Peeta puts his muscular his arm around my back to pull me closer to the side of his body and his other hand his on my cheek, holding my face.

I open my mouth and let Peeta enter his tongue inside my mouth. Mine greets his and our tongues touch each other as our kisses get more hungry, more needy, more aggressive.

Peeta and I barely open our mouths enough for air, so both of us then have to take a break to catch our breaths. My forehead is against his, touching his blond hair which lays on his forehead. I am breathless and so is Peeta.

Peeta seems to be trying to calm himself down by the way he breathes, thinking we are done. But I realise I don’t want him to calm down. I don’t want to stop. I’m curious to explore the feeling I feel burning in my loins. Is this the way the erection feels for him? This might be my only chance to ever experience this. And why shouldn’t I? Capitol is not going to steal this experience from me. My mother always told me wait to do it until I’m ready and I’m with someone who really cares. I am ready. Peeta loves me. He’s sacrificed his life for me. There is nothing to be scared of. He’ll love me before and he’ll love me after. I have sacrificed my life for him and I would do it again. I know one thing for certain, he wants me to live and I don’t can’t bare the thought of going back to home without him. I’m not sure what love is supposed to feel like, but how far could it be from that?

Peeta is still keeping the lower half as far as he can inside the sleeping bag away from me. I don’t know what to say to make Peeta understand what’s going on inside my brain. So, as he’s catching his breath I kiss his neck. I lick the surface of his skin and taste the saltiness, and then I kiss his neck again from a different spot.

“Katniss…” Peeta says breathlessly, sounding almost as though he’s in pain. ”Ahhh. That feels good - too good… You have to stop. I can’t take much more…”

”You don’t want me to continue?” I ask, slightly surprised.

Peeta sighs, frustrated with himself it seems. He licks his lips. ”I do but I can’t take it. It excites me too much.”

”What if… that’s what I want?” I ask quietly, more to myself really, but we’re so close he hears it.

Peeta looks perplexed. For the first time it seems that he is the more awkward one, not getting the subtle hint. ”What do you mean?”

Peeta doesn’t seem to realise what I want to do. He thinks I expect him to be able to handle this and then get his member to relax and go back to sleep. It seems that me wanting to have sex with him right now doesn’t even seem like a possibility to him. It brings a warm, fluttering feeling in my chest. I feel emotional towards him. What was it that he said earlier? That I’m the best thing ever to happen to him. Peeta is just so happy about the fact he gets to be with me, kiss me, and have my attention that he doesn’t seem to have considered it could be any better.

”I -” I utter, however suddenly I feel embarrased. What if he doesn’t want to do it? He has a very injured leg. And I’m not exactly ravishing with the fresh cut on my forehead Clove gave me and my skinny, starved body. I look down, my face’s getting heated. ”Forget it.”

”Katniss? You know you can tell me anything.” Peeta says softly. He takes my hand and kisses my palm gently.

I lift my gaze and stare into his comforting eyes. Peeta seems curious, but by the look on his face he doesn’t expect the words I’m about say,

”Do you want to.. to be intimate? With me?” I ask. To be fair, I could’ve worded it better, but due to my reaction Peeta seems to finally understand what I’m talking about.

”You’re asking me if I want to have sex with you?” Peeta repeats. I nod.

Peeta looks around himself in disbelief. He doesn’t seem to believe it to be true.

”I don’t know if you’re joking because in what world would you think I’d say no?” Peeta says, laughing in disbelief.

”Well your leg is-”

”I could be missing a leg and an arm completely and I still wouldn’t let it stop me.” Peeta says confidently. He then holds my hand against his chest. “Are you sure? You can change your mind anytime, Katniss. I’m just happy to be here with you.”

I need to show him how much I want this as well. If my mouth feels so good on his neck, it must feel even better on his swollen member. Peeta’s ashy blond hair has been messed up from our activity but it suits him. He looks so handsome.

“You don’t have to hold yourself back.” I say to Peeta quietly.

I dive intside the sleeping bag. I lower down until I’m where Peeta’s waist is. I start to unbutton his pants. This is when Peeta realises what I’m about to do.

“Katniss, Katniss… I-” he says quickly. Peeta sounds a little nervous.

“Peeta, shhh.” I say, as I pull down his trousers to his ankles. I am careful not to touch the injury on his leg to not cause any pain.

Peeta’s penis is as hard as a rock, which is why it’s harder to get his boxers off as the band gets caught in it. It seems Peeta is too nervous to talk anymore. My hands are shaking as well but I think it might also be a bit from excitement. When I finally get them down I can see Peeta has a lot of precum leaking from the tip of his penis. I’ve seen naked men on our kitchen table my mother and Prim have been healing before. None of them compare to Peeta. His penis matches the rest of his muscular, stocky build. Peeta is big, thick and wide.

I take his penis inside my mouth after I recover from admiring it. Peeta’s entire body becomes so rigid and tense. A grunt escapes from his mouth. I move my head back and forth.

“Katniss… Ahh …” Peeta manages to breathe. “Mmmh.”

I move my other hand under his shirt, curious to feel the rest of his body, and I find his hard abdominals. I caress them. Peeta’s body is so manly. So muscly. I can feel the burn between my loins intensify as I can feel him enjoying every bit of this. Peeta’s grunts and moan become louder. His body is shaking. I react to this by going faster. I can sense Peeta’s pleasure is about to reach a pinnacle -

Peeta stops me from finishing him off by gently grabbing my hair to get me further away from his penis. Both of his hands reach under my armpits and he begins to pull me up onto the surface of the sleeping bag. We face each other. I can feel Peeta’s breath on my face. He smells so mesmerizing.

”My turn.” Peeta says, pushing back a strand of my hair behind my ear. Peeta looks at me with such admiration. His eyes are wide, loving and hungry. ”I want to pleasure you. I want you.”

”Okay.” I manage to say breathlessly, starting to feel nervous myself.

Peeta leans to kiss me on the lips. He is gentle and firm. Peeta puts his arms around me and before I know it I’m laying on my back and he’s on top of me, moving as though I’m just a ragdoll. His ashy blond hair tickles my face as it hangs off his forehead and he pushes it back with his hand, smiling down at me.

Peeta begins to kiss my neck. He traces his tongue down to the base of neck, along the way holding my skin between his teeth and sucking every now and then.

I begin to breathe heavily. He reaches where the collar of my shirt begins.

Peeta looks at me. He won’t continue if I don’t want him to.

”Peeta, don’t stop.” I breath.

Peeta grabs the hem of my shirt and starts undressing me, pulling it over my head. He towers over me, staring at my bare chest, amazed and hungry. I blush.

”Nobody’s ever looked at me like that.” I whisper.

”Good to know you didn’t notice it at the opening ceremony.” Peeta says, grinning. “The stuff that was going in my head…”

Peeta unzips his jacket off with one swift movement. He lowers himself down, and he lays his warm chest against mine. Peeta’s hands rest at the sides of my head as he is holding most of his weight on his elbows.

Peeta continues kissing my skin where he left of. He makes his way down to my breasts. Peeta sucks my nipple, tracing his tongue against it. My body can’t contain it and I start twitching under him. Peeta’s strong arms hold me still. I moan desperately. He moves to the other breast while massaging the other one’s nipple with his rough hands.

Peeta is starting to be out of breath again as he is enjoying himself touching me as much as I am. I can’t take it much longer. The burning pain between my thighs is becoming unbearable.

”I want it. Please, Peeta.” I moan.

Peeta looks at me. From the look on his I know Peeta can’t resist it himself either anymore. He kicks his pants and boxers off. Peeta grimaces then in pain. Clearly he moved too fast for his healing leg.

”Peeta?” I say, now worry in my voice.

”I’m okay.” Peeta reassures.

Peeta then curls his fingers inside the waistband of my trousers and underwear. His touch burns my skin. Peeta begins to pull the rest of my clothes down until I am no longer wearing anything.

I am suddenly glad about the effort my styling team went to remove every body hair as Peeta touches my bare vagina. My head jolts back in pleasure. He bends down and kisses it with an open mouth, tracing his tongue between the lips of my vagina.

It feels so good it feels impossible to breathe. I open my mouth and breathe, moaning which helps with controlling the feeling.

”You taste so good.” Peeta breaks to say before continuing. The way he kisses with his mouth open, tracing his tongue on the upper part between my lips, seems almost as if he’s trying to eat my intimate area.

“Peeta…” I whimper.

I then feel as Peeta gently lets spit come out of his mouth on my vagina even though I’m already so wet it’s dripping down my thighs.

“I enjoyed that.” Peeta grins, wiping his mouth.

“I want to feel you.” I say.

Peeta is breathing hard. He takes a hold of his huge penis which is rock hard and places it at my wet entrance.

“Oh my, you’re so wet.” Peeta sighs in pleasure, biting down on his lip.

Peeta slides in easily. However I feel as though I’m about explode because of how much Peeta’s filled me up. I wouldn’t be surprised if he breached my stomach.

“Katniss?” Peeta says. His voice is filled with worry. Peeta immediately notices my pain. “I’ll stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, no. I don’t want you to stop.” I say, biting my lip. “Just go slowly.”

“Okay.” Peeta says, still sounding worried about hurting me. He appears determined to make me feel good.

Peeta lays his heavy, strong body down on top of me again. He starts kissing my neck. Peeta looks at me, as if he can’t believe this is real.

”The amount of times I’ve dreamt about you like this, in my arms… It never seemed like it could be real.”

“It is. I won’t let you forget.” I say, smiling.

Peeta moves his other arm between us and he begins to move his fingers in circles on my clit. A heated feeling starts growing and I begin to moan again, unable to be quiet.

“You’re doing so good.” Peeta says.

“Mmmh.” I let out.

Peeta starts to move his hips slowly, dipping himself in and out of me. My legs are shanking from enjoyment and pain. Peeta’s breathing is heavy against my neck as he is holding himself back. I grab his face and direct his lips to mine. I want Peeta to conquer my mouth with his tongue and he does. Peeta’s kisses become more passionate by the minute and I his fingers faster.

I notice Peeta’s careful movements inside doesn’t really hurt my inner walls anymore, but it feels pleasurable. I move his hand away from between us.

“I want everything.” I whimper.

Peeta doesn’t say anything. He starts thrusting into me, hand behind my neck as my forehead is against his. The heat grows and grows. The pressure of pleasure becomes harder.

“Peeta, faster.” I say, needing more.

Peeta’s breathing turns into grunts of pleasure. He moves his arms under my back and slides them down to hold my ass. Peeta moves my lower half into his thrusts, deeper and deeper everytime.

I moan, my hands traveling in his ashy blond hair as my body trembles.

“You - feel - so - good - Katniss.” Peeta groans.

Peeta’s thrusts are animalistic, pounding into me so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if had bruises from his hips the next day. I don’t care. I’m just repeating his name, telling him to go harder as I feel the feeling of heat and pressure grow second by second.

I look up at Peeta. So close to him, not even air between him and I, I realise this is meant to be.

Peeta’s breaths start to sound more like whimpers so I know he is edging the pinnacle of his pleasure soon. I watch as his eyes are almost closed as he can’t handle the pleasure while he plummets into my warm insides and his mouth is wide open for fast breathing. Peeta looks so handsome and he sounds so enticing.

“I’m close.” I whimper now myself. “Peeta, please.”

Peeta starts rocking his hips even harder and his grip on my ass tightens. He finds my lips again but has to open his mouth to let out his groaning breaths. The pressure grows and grows so much I can’t take it anymore. I breathe his name as I reach the pinnacle of ecstasy. I get blinded by it. My legs are shaking uncontrollably and tge waves of pleasure continue. Immediately after, not able to contain himself any longer, Peeta’s body becomes tense and rigid as his big penis bursts cum inside me. He says my name. His body continues tensing as he groans in pleasure.

For couple of minutes we just lay there, catching our breaths. And then Peeta kisses me. It’s a sweet passionate kiss, full of love.

Peeta helps me put my clothes on. And then he dresses himself. We return to the same position we were in before, my head resting on his arm as the other arm is protectively over me.

“I don’t ever want to spend a night away from you.” Peeta says. I can tell he means it. He always wants to be able to protect me.

“Good.”

Peeta drifts off to sleep fast, relaxed and content as his mind has been occupied by something completely else than the events of the arena. Suddenly I get a sense of worry. Peeta didn’t want me to get the medicine for him, he has proved he’s willing to die protecting me. And I don’t want him to think he’s experienced everything he’s wanted to because he need’s to stay alive, not think he’s satisfied to die now.

#the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x lucy gray #peeta mellark #katniss and peeta #peeta x reader #finnick odair #finnick x reader #smut #peeta smut #coriolanus smut

[brinkofdiscovery]

can you write hypothermic andrew trying to goof around and get up to do things but he cannot stop shoving and nuzzling against whoever's trying to warm him up??? or maybe delirious and shivery with a fever and being teased by whoever is helping him?

I surprisingly got this out in one sitting at work!! I never do that. Here you go hone here's your cold Andrew. Contains: hypothermia, discussion of kidnapping? (through jokes) __

“Am I being kidnapped?” Andrew trembled, he could barely manage to speak with the way his teeth were chattering.

“No, you’re not.” Snow answered. They draped another blanket over Andrew’s shoulders. Andrew felt like a little kid, wrapped up in three giant coats for a snow day. Except, he was freezing. And wearing a stranger’s dry clothes underneath. And he had almost died… Really he felt more like someone who’d almost died in a snow storm, but ‘kid on a snow day’ felt better to say.

“Why not?” He stammered, still smiling. He leaned in to meet Snow halfway as they raised a mug of hot tea to his lips. He started talking again as soon as he swallowed. “I’d let that big guy kidnap me. If he wanted.”

Snow paused, there was a twitch to their brow that looked like confusion. They opened their mouth for a moment and closed it again, before leaning down to press their hand to Andrew’s forehead.

Andrew sniffed, pulling back to itch his nose on the topmost layer of the mountain of blankets he was buried in.

“You’d let him kidnap you?” Snow asked.

“Yeah, I’d… I’d let him uh.” Andrew paused, his thoughts leaving him for a moment as another tremor wracked through his body. He’d never been this cold before. He tried to focus on what he was saying… What was he saying?

“…You should lay down.” Snow offered, they placed one hand at the back of Andrew’s neck and tried to ease him down with their other hand against his chest.

Andrew gripped the back of the couch and suddenly pulled himself back into a sitting position. “I’d let him–uh! Kidnap me. At eight o' clock. On a Friday. But he has to clean his car first.”

Snow’s hand hovered in place for a second, but they promptly placed a pillow down and tried to lower Andrew down again. Andrew didn’t fight this time, but he didn’t stop talking either.

“He can take me to TJ’s on the Lake. Or that restaurant on the riverboat if he’s feeling fancy. Do you guys have the money for that?”

Snow didn’t answer. They made sure Andrew’s feet were covered by the mountain of blankets.

“He also… also has to carry me inside. Like how he carried me to the van today.”

“Hm. I’ll let him know.” Snow answered. They brought the mug up to Andrew’s lips again. “How do you feel?”

“I feel optimistic.” Andrew said when they took the mug away. “Like, there’s some potential. It depends on if we have anything in common, or if he’s got any red flags I don’t know about. I don’t normally go for blondes either, but–”

“I mean physically.” Snow interrupted. “How do you feel physically?”

“Oh, bad.”

Snow nodded. “Stay awake. I’m going to see where our electric blanket is.”

Andrew nodded, looking up to the ceiling. “Are you sure I’m not kidnapped?”

Snow looked over their shoulder, “I think I would know.”

Andrew played with the fleece of the blanket. He was grateful to be able to feel his fingers again. “You wouldn’t tell me though. You’d just do something like… Throw me in a van and drive me to a warehouse. And give me poison tea.”

Snow paused, turning to lean against the door for a moment. “And dry clothes?”

“Yeah.” Andrew nodded.

“And lots of blankets?” They asked.

“Yeah, you wanna keep me alive.”

Snow thought for a moment, taking a deep breath before they answered. “Well, I’m sure you have lots of vital information behind all your fantasies about my teammate. But this isn’t a kidnapping.

“You’ll die out there.” Snow motioned toward the window. “We’ll let you leave as soon as the storm passes.”

Andrew looked out the window, sniffing again as he watched the storm outside. He looked back to Snow, feeling every bit as pitiful as he must have looked.

Snow crossed in front of him. They lifted his head to place another pillow gently beneath him. “In the meantime, you’re safe. The tea’s not poisoned. I’m going to get a regular, safe, non-lethal electric blanket for you.”

Andrew nodded. He moved one hand to blindly feel for the back of the couch again. Snow took his wrist and eased him back down into the pillows.

“And don’t get up.”

#andrew #Snow #chaos team #hypothermia #my writing #my ocs #asks

[swirlingsand]

Saint Seiya Manga Final Edition: Libra Battle (Translation)

Volumes 6-7 of the Final Edition of the manga were released on May, 8, 2023, and included major changes to the dialogue between Hyoga and Camus in the Libra temple.

A previous major change in their relation had been noticed in the previous volume. Specifically, in Siberia, when Camus leaves a message in the ice for Hyoga after causing the ship to sink deeper, it no longer says "I'll wait for you in the Sanctuary" but rather "Do not come near the Sanctuary" (specifically in French: ne t'approche pas du Sanctuaire, signed with the Aquarius sign)

I have transcribed and translated their entire conversation. The dialogues are separated by page so you could follow along with the original manga if you wish (since it is mostly the text that was modified.) I skipped the pages where the Bronze Saints notice Hyoga's cosmos disappearing because it was similar as far as I could see and didn't feel like breaking the mood of the Siberian encounter.

Below the cut is the English translation, for the Japanese transcript, go here.

[1]

Hyoga: Ungh, where have I been drifting?

Hyoga: It seems I am back in the Sanctuary…

Hyoga: Is this the twelve temples?

Hyoga: In that case, which temple is this?

Hyoga: Wh…

Hyoga: What?!

[2]

Hyoga: Y-you are

Hyoga: You are my master…

Hyoga: Aquarius Camus!!

Camus: Hyoga, you fool!

[3]

Hyoga: Camus… If you are here, that must mean…

Hyoga: Is this the Aquarius temple?

Camus: No, this is the seventh temple, Libra.

Camus: However, the old master of Libra cannot move from the Five Old Peaks, so this temple is always empty.

Hyoga: T-then, why are you here?

Camus: I am here to kill you.

Camus: I do remember leaving a message telling you to stay away from the Sanctuary.

Hyoga: Y-yes, but, Camus…

Camus: Now that you have come, I have to do it.

[4]

Camus: You have come to assail the Sanctuary. You're no longer my disciple.

Hyoga: P-please listen, Camus,

Hyoga: The reason why we have come is…

Camus: I have no need for your excuses.

Hyoga: Camus, please listen to what I have to…

[5]

Hyoga: Uwaa

Camus: Come, Hyoga. If you don't want to die, try to defeat me.

Hyoga: Ugh, th… that is… impossible…

Hyoga: You are my master, I refuse to lay a hand on you.

[6]

Camus: Shall I give you a reason to, then?

Camus: It was I who sent the wreck where your mother sleeps to the depth of the ocean.

Hyoga: Wh… What did you say…?! That was you who…?

Hyoga: That ship was the one precious thing that I had left!

Hyoga: So then why would you… Whyyy?!

[7]

Camus: Shut up. I have taken away a weakness from you, who kept on crying endlessly over the dead.

Camus: If that makes you angry, then come at me, Hyoga.

Hyoga: Ugh… I cannot forgive that, even if you are my master.

Hyoga: I'm sorry for facing you! Diamond Dust!

[8]

Hyoga: Ungh, he stopped the cold air!

Camus: How naive, Hyoga. It is I who taught you Diamond Dust.

Camus: And besides that, a cosmo of this level would get you nowhere against a Gold. You will get killed for sure!

Camus: So that means I'll be the one to bury you here.

Hyoga: Ah!

[9]

Ohh, what is that posture?

His arms came together to form the shape of a jug.

And the glittering thing that gushes out of its mouth, that is…

[10]

Aurora Execution!

[11]

Hyoga: Uwaaah

Natasha: Hyoga, your father lives beyond this sea.

Natasha: He is a splendid man who loves peace and justice.

Natasha: Do your best, so that you may one day aid him in his task.

Natasha: Alright, Hyoga?

[12]

Natasha: DO SVIDANIYA. Farewell, Hyoga…

(Farewell x5)

[13]

Camus: Hyoga…

Camus: You were only about eight when you came to the icy fields of Eastern Siberia, weren't you.

[14]

Camus: From then on, you have endured an intense training and ultimately grew into a full-fledged Saint.

Camus: And then, permission was given to you to wear the Cygnus cloth, which had been sleeping in the eternal ice wall.

Camus: However, you went against the Pope's order to eliminate the Bronzes of the Galaxian Wars.

Camus: It was not even enough for you to conspire with those rebels yourself.

Camus: Of all things, you had to also come and defy the Sanctuary, a crime worthy of a thousand deaths.

Camus: But Hyoga, I owed you at the very least the mercy of ending it with my own hands, as your master.

[15]

Camus: Whatever happens, this ice coffin will never melt.

Camus: Even with the power of a Gold Saint, it cannot be destroyed.

Camus: Your body will never decay inside this coffin.

Camus: It will remain in this uninhabited Libra temple, forever…

#saint seiya #saint seiya final edition #aquarius camus #cygnus hyoga #translation #saint seiya final edition volume 6

[frozenmoonshine]

Dossier 5:

Cheesecakes

A car trunk opened to reveal a variety of weapons and torture devices. Gloved hands hovered over a custom made traditional nihontō for a moment, but eventually settled on a desert eagle. The clock was ticking after all, and there was no time for elaborate displays of sadistic violence.

- I gathered that you guys have been working behind our backs for months, leaking confidential business information to our enemies!

A sickeningly cheerful voice rang throughout the empty warehouse, harmonized with the clicking echo of the dress shoes.

- I think we all know what that means, no?

The sharply dressed man spoke as he pretended to be concerned.

- Sir, please, we di-...

One of the guys tied up to metal chairs tried to speak, but his attempted defense argument was cut short by a punch in the face by one of the fancy man's underlings.

- Shh...

The dressed up man put a finger on his mouth.

- No need to speak. It's alright, it's all good now.

He theatrically patted the tied man's cheek, mocking a consoling gesture.

- P-please, have mercy!

Another one cried.

- Have mercy? Hahah, mercy. Yeah... Right. Sure. Mhm. Mercy. I am a merciful person! I'm having you all die easy deaths, that's quite fucking generous of me, if I may say so myself...

He shrugged as he made sure that the gun was properly loaded while he spoke.

- But you know why you're so lucky today? 'Cause CC Patisserie has a special offer for cheesecakes on Wednesday afternoons. Buy one, get one free! Tell, how great is that, eh!? I most definitely don't wanna risk being late for that so, I was just thinking, you know, if I clean up you trash quickly, I'll even have time for a shower before going there. And you know how much I fucking hate stinking of traitors' blood and gunfire in public!

He grimaced at the notion. Flesh on each side of his mouth, that has been mutilated into symmetrical diamond shapes, and forever retained the appearance of fresh wounds, contorted into triangles, as he flashed a horrifying grin to his victims, pointing the gun to them. If court jesters were made in hell and made to star in horror movies, that's the face they would have been given.

- Efficiency and time management, baby!

Leaving the empty warehouse with the gunshots still echoing inside, he mumbled to himself, as two of his underlings remained to hide any evidence of murder.

Aren't you some lucky motherfuckers?! Getting the easy way out... And you can't even appreciate my fucking courtesy! Rude.

Some hours later he was sitting in his car in an empty parking lot next to an abandoned dock near Tokyo Bay. The one free piece of cheesecake was neatly situated on the co-driver seat in its paper box. He finished the last bite of his own dessert and reached to the glove compartment to fetch what would have been an old black facemask, had it not been washed thousands of times. It was a miracle the cloth fibers still held together, but it was one rare item he just couldn't bring himself to throw away. With the slightest bit of hesitation, he put it on and got out of the car.

The night air on the dock was cold, and the strong wind pushing him towards the ocean didn't help either, sending a light shiver down his back.

It had all started in Tokyo Bay. Having killed once in cold blood means there will be the second time, too. After the third, he had stopped counting. Was it seven or eight more today? He couldn't even remember. Their names, faces? Who cared? It was all for the sake of his master, his King! He was nothing but a useful pawn that was fulfilling its sacrificial purpose, no matter how much the pawn wanted to be the Gold General.

But if he listened to King's every order, his every whim and caprice, from "Laugh!", with a mouth full of his own blood, to "Kill!", and everything in between, then maybe, just maybe, there was a glimmer of hope that some day the King might praise him, even. But what has he got in return? Scorn and neglect. Not a single thank you, not even a single nod of appreciation. To this very day, it has never come, not from his worshipped one, nor from anyone else, for as long as he's been alive.

It is a given that the serving dog obeys his master. It is a given that he stays loyal. Even when the said loyalty borders on madness. But loyal to what? Whom? The same one who robbed him of his face, his identity, the same one who shunned him, the same one who only keeps relying on him and taking everything from him without reciprocating a single crumb of what he gets! Loyal to his doom, to self-hate, and to loathing the world that rejected him first.

His first kill was the person who showed him what healthy human bonds are supposed to be like. The only person who cared about him, advised him, guided him. The only person he genuinely wanted to follow.

And he did, for a while at least. But the burdens of bad karma, passed down from reincarnation to reincarnation, cannot be avoided. As some would say, one has to carry their own cross. And his cross, his endless cycle of suffering, was the unavoidable fate to serve and protect his blindly admired 'friend'.

The guilt of having put his own volition and feelings before the King's fate ate him alive, and so, as an act of punishment for that treason of his purpose, he bereaved himself of the only person who understood him, offered him a place to belong, and accepted him.

The wind was getting stronger, and the waves crashed in a deafening rhythm against the dock.

- Are you in a bad mood today, Captain? I got you some CC cheesecake, sir!

He raised the paper box in the air as if to show someone what he was holding.

- Here!

Having tossed it into the water as far as he could throw, he bowed politely, before stepping back and returning to his car. The drive back felt long and eerily quiet, just like every other Wednesday night, when he didn't have to work the "night shift".

- "Don't you have any human emotion, you monster!? No empathy?!"

A random woman's screams emerged from the depths of his archived memories. He had no idea when he even heard those words that, for some reason, reverberated in his brain even to this day. 'Empathy'. That strange, foreign word. Humanness. Why would he need to have any of that?

He just needed a fix. All of sudden, the nagging awareness of his real name and his abhorred biological family surged back into his mind, and needed to be shut up. Pills made him numb and helped him lose the need for being accepted, helped him stop caring about who he was, who he shared the DNA with.

There was no pain of his own that he couldn't endure, as long as he could 'fix' himself and cause pain to others. That way, the high, the adrenaline rush, and the sound of gunshots would stifle the frightened little boy's cries echoing deep down in the pits of his broken soul.

The streetlights and the sounds of traffic around him blended into one giant concoction of stimuli, as the synthetic sweet release rushed through his bloodstream, providing the much needed peace.

It was 02:37 AM.

[kuttanjal123]

BLINDFOLDED

"We suspect that you've been involved in the murders of Carol Lynch, Stella Mason, Johnnie Windmill, Debbie King, Annie Upton, Carter Butch ... the list goes on," said a sheriff. "In total, eight victims accounted for."

"Sir, I couldn't harm anyone. My family means the most to me. I'm great with kids. I love them," Dad said calmly. "I'm not a killer."

"We've been monitoring your activities and daily routine. While you did teach at the Maximillian University of Arts, here in Louisiana, Daunton College in Illinois, Rochford University at Michigan, and Bohr Institute of Technology at Arizona, you didn't work those long hours beyond the schedule you told people you had signed up for. You were out, hunting for prey, to kill."

Mom sent Morgan inside his room and locked it from outside. We knew he was capable of hearing anything and figuring stuff out. An inquisitive person. Things were getting pretty severe and harsh. The last thing we needed was to have him find out what was going on when we didn't know. Kids are super smart that way.

"That's impossible. I have strong alibis for where I was on all days. Didn't you check them out?" asked Dad.

"Why don't you take a polygraph? Prove us wrong. We'll let you go. Until then, you're in custody."

"I can't speak without my lawyer. You can't arrest me without any physical evidence!"

"Oh, there's plenty of evidence for sure—"

"Look, I don't like the way this is going," snapped Dad. "I refuse to speak without my lawyer."

Larry Douglas's lawyer was on TV, backing up Dad at every allegation thrown at him.

"The suspect will remain in custody until he is cleared of all allegations of foul play. For today the coverage marks its end," said a reporter.

I couldn't believe it. A week passed by, and Dad's case had created a media frenzy. It was the holidays, and we didn't leave the house until school reopened. When school was back in session, the press followed us everywhere to see if they could get something out of us.

They became so intrusive to the point we had to close our windows with the blinds every night and turn out all the lights. I hoped to find peace and comfort at school, but I was wrong. The whole school began to distance themselves from us, and so did the neighborhood community. Andy and Dwyane blocked me. I couldn't call or text them. Natalie shut me off completely, too. I decided to confront them.

"Dude, what's the problem?"

They began walking away from me. 

 "No, for real?" I said, blocking them. "Do you guys actually believe my dad killed people? He's a serial killer?"

"I don't know what to say, man. But they're some pretty heavy allegations," said Dwayne.

"What's there left to talk about?" asked Andy, puzzled.

"So, you guys think my dad's guilty?"

"We don't know what to think, but we can't be friends anymore. Sorry."

"So that's how it's gonna be, huh? Well, fuck you!" I screamed as they walked away.

I called Natalie to talk to her and explain myself. She refused to answer my call. The next day at school, I caught her walking outside the cafeteria.

"Please!" I begged as she tried to walk away. "At least you have to believe me!"

"David, your dad is being accused of some serious crimes. I don't think we should be together."

"So, you believe the police too? After all this time? I joined basketball to get back with you and revoke my passion. I loved you, and now you doubt me?"

"Don't text me or call me. This is the last time. If you try to get close to me, I'll get a restraining order," she said, walking away.

Morgan faced the same problem too.

"Nobody talked to me at school today!" he cried as I walked into the house. "Everyone stared at me, and no one sat with me during recess. They kept saying, 'Your dad's going to jail. He's bad, and he's gonna die. What's going on?'"

"N-nothing," I said. "It's gonna be fine, OK?"

Things went downhill for good when Dad was seen in an orange jumpsuit on tape, sitting in a chair and staring at the camera.

"I, Luke Parker, confess that I killed all the people mentioned in the list circulated in the media by the police. I admit that I lied initially during the police interrogation. Please leave my wife and kids out of this," he said without any emotion.

The police stated: "It was a needle in a haystack that led us to arrest and convict Luke Parker."

The images of the identified victims were displayed on the screen one after the other. Mom and I were shocked and didn't know what to say or how to say it. I, for one, didn't know how to comfort her since I was in denial. We both went to our rooms and stayed there for several hours to process what we had just witnessed. We didn't have any political contacts, nor were we in a position to make calls since we feared our lines would be tapped. I then closed my eyes and what I saw was a very different picture of Dad than what I had perceived. I remember noticing him out during late nights on certain days past our bedtimes, and for some days, I just didn't see him at home. I assumed this was normal since he was friends with other professors at the university and would have slept over at their houses during late nights.

I remember spotting a single brown hair on his jacket one night after he came in late and a red splotch on his shirt. It seemed suspicious, but I didn't ever confront him about it, nor did I want to pry. I guess I trusted him too much to believe he would do anything grave or foul. By the time I replayed these events in my mind, the two of us had gathered in the living room simultaneously, and by then, we had to come to face reality ... my father was a serial killer. A murderer, a criminal. How were we gonna live with this truth? People's hunches were correct. We could not go back to being normal since our family wasn't normal anymore. Although Dad was known to the media and world as the serial killer Luke Parker, we became criminals in school. We were mistreated, neglected, bullied by all the students and teachers, left out, and judged for Dad's actions.

There were protests in our neighborhood asking us to leave the community, verbal slurs thrown around, things thrown at us. Just pure hate. Notices sent to our home and left on our door ordering us to leave the neighborhood. I ran to my room and cried uncontrollably. People hated us, and suddenly, we were portrayed as individuals involved in these crimes who had knowledge about them but protected my father and never turned him in.

We decided to leave and drive away to Canada to start a new life. Living in the USA wasn't possible since news circulated 24 X 7 on my father's wrongdoing, and we were now victims of a media storm. Leaving the house and packing took and felt like forever, with the media hovering over us like bees ... After we dropped out of school and started on our way to Canada, we were stopped and taken into custody. The police interrogation went on for hours, trying to get one of us to confess, knowing about his crimes.

We were asked to take polygraphs, and we all passed. We were cleared as suspects. But that didn't mean that everything was over and done. Dad was set to be put to death. His punishment? The Electric Chair. We never visited him in jail on death row or spoke to him after the announcement.

While Mom was driving, she suddenly pressed the brakes and looked at me very calmly.

"Honey, nothing happened, right? Dad didn't do anything. They have him in custody, but he's gonna come back to us someday. It might take time, but we'll see him again. He's just wrongly accused," she said, smiling.

I froze, looking at her, not knowing how to respond.

"Right?" She raised her voice.

"Yeah, Mom, you're right," I gulped.

I knew what that meant—it meant not coping with the reality but rather simply pretending that nothing happened. She could do it, but how was I going to?

"Mom, why were there people taking our pictures all the time?" asked Morgan.

"Because they thought we were famous. But we're not," answered Mom with a wide smile.

Casey called out for Dad, as I turned around and held her hand, nodding slowly. She was biting her toy, as she happily motioned with her hands full of drool.

We were desperate to find a place to stay. Mom read a newspaper advertisement regarding a well-furnished condo: a single bed, two bathrooms, and a kitchen. We slept in the car and didn't shower for a couple of days.

We managed to seal the deal. We weren't prepared for the very unsafe and violent neighborhood. We could hear people cussing at each other in the night and loud gunshots firing. For many nights, I couldn't sleep and kept my eyes open. I was petrified. Morg and Casey fell asleep very quickly. Mom did after a while. But there were moments in her sleep where she would wail and scream in the night. I would pat her to calm her down.

Blythewood Public School seemed to meet our requirements and was luckily within our district. Maintaining a low profile, we hardly interacted with anyone. If we were labeled as loners or anti-social, so be it. The last thing we needed was for either one of us to blow our cover and for someone to find out who we really were. In the months following, I focused on studying hard.

I didn't make or want to make the basketball team. But I certainly did practice during recess at school, hoping to divert my mind. There were moments I teared up in school, having nobody to console me, looking around in shock and despair.

As dawn turned to dusk, I realized Mom wasn't in bed. As I got up looking for her, I saw the bathroom door slightly ajar. Peeping inside, I saw her take a white packet from under the sink, a money note from her pocket, and roll it out. She began snorting the powder. I barged in.

"Mom! What are you doing?!" I screamed as I tried to knock it out of her hand.

"Dave, stay out of this, leave me alone," she said as she pushed me away.

"NO!"

"Go and get some sleep. I know what I'm doing."

"Mom!"

"Get out!"

She managed to put up quite a violent fight with me, and I was soon thrown out. I banged on the door, pleading for her to open it.

"Dave, what happened?" asked Morgan as he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

"Morg, it's just a bad storm, OK?" I said as I carried Casey, who was wailing.

Morgan fell back into bed as I put Casey next to him and I lay beside them, not knowing what to expect next.

Mom came out smiling wide, acting perfectly fine. 

"I feel so good, Dave," she said before she lay down.

Silent, I cried myself to sleep almost every night. But Mom's nightmares and moaning escalated to the point that she jumped out of bed, broke down the front door, and started screaming. I tried to yank her back inside, but it was too late. People woke up and even threatened to harm us.

"Lady! Are you drunk?! Get back into your house and quit shoutin'!" screamed a man.

She didn't move an inch. A man had been standing with a beer bottle in his hand. Mom ran up to him and grabbed the bottle.

"Listen up bitch! If you ain't gonna shut it, I'll blow your brains out of your head!"

I ran back to her and dragged her inside the house. I pushed her into the bathroom and switched on the shower to help her sober up. Instead, she fell to the ground. As I tried to help her get up, she overdosed and choked. I rushed to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

I tried giving her mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, but it didn't work. Within moments an ambulance arrived to take her to the hospital, and we all climbed in. I cried so much that a nurse had to hold me steady at the hospital. This was the moment I truly felt all the pain hit me at once. Dad had deceived us, and Mom could not cope with the reality.

I couldn't blame her. We didn't know how to act or how to be around each other, and it felt like we were characters acting in a school play. What was left to believe when everything was a lie?

Upon reaching the hospital, a Caucasian man about five feet and eleven inches tall with black hair and blue eyes approached us.

"Hello, I am Dr. Alex Damon. Are you this lady's child?"

"Yes, I'm David."

"Are these kids your siblings?"

I nodded.

"We are doing our level best to revive your mother. Is there someone with you? Or are you alone?"

"It's just us."

"OK," he said as he turned to leave.

"Doc!" I cried as I grabbed his arm. "Please save her. She's our only hope."

"We will. Don't worry, son," he said, patting my back.

There was a chapel inside the hospital, and I walked in with Morgan and Casey. I knelt before God, which I had never done before. After a while Dr. Alex found us and ushered in the nurse to take Morgan and Casey into the play area. Turning towards me, he hugged me as I sobbed in his arms.

"She's OK now, it's all right ... it's gonna be OK," he assured me.

Although we had no health insurance or coverage, Dr. Alex did something remarkable: he sought special permission to waive the medical expenses. Honestly, that was probably the best news I'd heard since my dad's imprisonment. I couldn't believe it. It took a while to actually believe this, given everything that had happened up till now had been so awful. I had to ask him several times if my ears heard the truth.

"Yes! It's true, buddy!" he exclaimed.

For a moment, I stared at him, not saying a word.

"Everything OK?"

"Oh—nothing," I said, looking down. He called me "buddy," and only Dad called me that.

"I know what happened to you," he said as he sat beside me.

"Ohh," I said softly.

"I watched the news when I was in Louisiana on vacation to visit my niece."

"So, you did this because you wanted to empathize?"

"In a way, yes, but mainly because I couldn't turn my back on someone who'd been in a situation similar as to mine."

I turned to him in shock. Dr. Alex's family had immigrated from Italy. They didn't have the means to leave and make a life somewhere else. When he was ten, his uncle was convicted of sexually assaulting three girls. He never married, and his mom couldn't bear the humiliation and resorted to drugs.

The drug abuse worsened, and soon they were on the streets. Every door slammed shut in their face. His mom overdosed, and he couldn't find anyone to help them. 

"I still remember trying to flag cars down the road to help us out. But no one stopped," he said softly.

"I'm sorry, Doc, I didn't know—"

"When I saw you in the hospital, crying for your mom, it made my heart melt because I saw a lot of me in you. I vowed to become a doctor because I wanted to help other families. It became my passion. Helping someone makes them feel good, just the way people helped me along my journey. I feel good too. It's the least we can do," he said, turning towards me. "I don't want you to face what I went through. I think it's best that your mom goes to rehab, and you and your siblings get into foster care. There's a federally funded rehab center called Maddox Rehab Center, and they're pretty good. Don't worry, she'll get sober."

"I hope so," I murmured.

"Alrighty ... I should be heading back to doing my rounds," he said, opening the door for both of us.

"Can I ask you one last question?"

"Sure."

"How did you do it?"

"What?"

"Become a doctor from literally living on the streets?"

"Neglect is one thing but fighting hard for what you want helps you overcome your fears. You forget about them. Life sure does challenge you, but it it's great when you challenge it back."

I nodded slowly with a faint smile as he stepped out of the room.

Mom was discharged a couple of days later. She couldn't remember anything that had happened. It was all a blur, which was a blessing in disguise. Dr. Alex signed a certificate stating that Mom wasn't healthy and mentally stable to take care of us and required rehab treatment to get sober. He took the day off and joined us in sending Mom off. I drove us to the rehab center. We were indeed a broken family with nobody to lean on or seek comfort in.

Saying goodbye to her at the center was the hardest thing ever. She refused to accept that she wasn't capable of supporting us anymore.

"Believe me! I'm fine! Nobody can love them the way I do!" she screamed as she was taken inside.

I stood motionless.

"She's gonna be fine. You'll all be a united family someday, I promise," he said, patting me.

I knew he was just trying to be nice, but in reality, he knew the truth just as I did.

[spriteofmushrooms]

Sareth and Ylith, a normal family.

#ylith #pallas.rtf #p. sure he's going to die in... eight days #he's 6'4'' and she's 4'11'' and it never occurred to me how smol that made her #dnd

[mavrintarou]

[2:03AM] Sakusa Kiyoomi - A/B/O

Hey all. School got busy, and I needed to complete the midterm, and now I'm on spring break. Still working on my other stories - hang in there for me!

Warning: A/B/O - possessive; explicit smut; knotting; pregnancy; . Sakusa Kiyoomi’s first turning at age six revealed his exceptional dominance and alpha traits. It is highly likely, around 100%, that his second turning would also showcase the same characteristics.

This is attributed to the fact that the Sakusa lineage has a long-standing history of possessing potential alpha genes.

At age eight, he was sure his mate was his sister’s best friend, Y/l Y/n, who was six years older than him.

At age ten, he shocked everyone twice in one day when he held her hand – willingly and looked at Y/n dead in the eye, “you are my mate.”

Y/n, whom everyone adored, underwent two turnings, emerging as a recessive beta. Despite being cherished, Y/n knew she couldn’t become the mate of the charming Omi. It simply didn’t align with the dynamics of their kind.

She went along with it, affectionately patting his head, as she couldn’t bear to break his heart just as hers had been shattered when her first love rejected her for being a beta. Kiyoomi will eventually encounter his true mate, someone meant for him.

.

“Omi, you need to stop scenting me.” Y/n mustered the courage to confront the eighteen-year-old Kiyoomi.

Being a beta, Y/n lacked the ability to detect Kiyoomi’s scent, unaware that she was unknowingly carrying his scent while strolling around campus. Kiari, being from the same family, also couldn’t discern it. Only when an alpha pointed it out that Y/n become aware of the scent she emitted.

“No.” The once obedient little boy now stood tall, towering over her. His commanding presence cast a shadow of dominance, overwhelming her in comparison.

Her hand presses against his chest to keep him from coming closer. “Omi – I am older –“

“I don’t care.” He grabs her hand, holding it still on his chest. “I’m tired of you smelling like others.”

.

At age twenty-three, Kiyoomi had his first rut.

He managed to stifle his first rut with suppressants for years, but such measures could only provide temporary relief.

The first rut is vital.

If an alpha has not mated, they usually spend their first time with a beta since an alpha cannot impregnate a beta, even with a knot.

Kiyoomi bites down on the bottom of his shirt as he fists and strokes his large and thick cock for the fourth time, trying to find relief.

Feeling like he will die, he does the most desperate thing… he grabs his phone and taps on the screen…

His cock enlarges against his hand, and he groans, doubling over as his cum shoots out in large thick spurts over his phone to the image of Y/n smiling brightly on his screen.

.

A day later, his rut has not subsided.

“… Omi.” Her voice is hoarse over the phone. “Omi… I don’t know what – what is going on?”

Kiyoomi deliberately arranged to live in the same apartment building as Y/n, persuading himself that it wasn’t solely due to his obsession with her. He struggled to articulate genuine reason, but he finally understood why.

Taking the stairs from the twentieth floor down to the twelfth, he forcefully knocked on her door until she reluctantly opened it. Once inside, he closed the door behind him, securing it with a lock.

“Omi, why… why do I feel so hot?” Her hair was in a messy bun, her cheeks flushed, and she wore only a pair of shorts and a sports bra. “It – it won’t stop hurting…” Her hand tightly gripped the ends of her shorts.

He could see her perky nipples poking out from the flimsy material.

With no control left, his pheromones release and fills the entire room.

As a beta, they wouldn’t be able to feel them, immune to an alpha’s pheromones.

But Y/n stepped forward, grabbing his shirt, and her face pressed against his chest, inhaling deeply. Her moan was all it took to tick him off. He lifted her easily and carried her to the bedroom.

He laid her gently on the bed and pinned her wrists above her head.

“Y/n,” he breathes, “why are you… emitting pheromones?”

She shook her head, “I… I can’t do that?”

Kiyoomi’s jaw tightened as he inhaled, certain that it was her pheromone he detected. Yet, he was equally confused about how she was emitting pheromones.

“Omi,” she tries to wiggle free from his hold, “touch me….”

With one large hand easily holding down her small wrists, his other hand effortlessly tugs her sports bra upward to free her tits.

They were small, unlike most betas… they were fitting like an omega.

But once an omega is bred, her chest will grow to produce milk.

He dips and suckles on a nipple, mouth completely, intaking her small mound. His hand is massaging and tugging the other side.

Y/n thrashes underneath him, whining.

He lifts his mouth, satisfied when her tit is wet with his saliva, swollen and marked with his teeth. He looks at her, faces flushed and desperate. He towers over her, lips barely hovering over hers. “Are you mine?”

She nodded her head, “yes… yours… only yours….”

He releases her wrists, sits back to pull her upright, and tugs off her remaining clothing before shedding his own.

He pushes her down on her back again and dips between her legs to lavish her core with no shame.

His nose press and rubs against her clit as he pushes his tongue as far as he can inside. He could die happy in between her legs.

“Omi!” Her fingers grip his curls tightly. She tenses up when three of his long fingers slip past and thrust inside against her walls.

While his fingers thrust inside her, his mouth is busy marking away. Blotches of red teeth mark all over her thighs.

Four fingers plunge inside her pussy with ease. The way her walls close in on this finger, his cock twitches against his abdomen.

He withdraws his fingers, using the wetness to spread over his rock-hard cock. She was about to shift onto her hands and knees when he stopped her. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t want me on my hands and knees?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow, and he growls, “have you already given yourself to someone else?”

She submitted under his alpha gaze, “no, I just… heard it’s easier that way?”

He calmed himself down and pressed her down on her back. “I want to see you this way.” His cock twitches as it presses against her opening, feeling her wet slippery pussy kiss the tip.

He looks at her, faces flushed and eyes on his cock. “Omi…”

That was all it took for him to plunge home.

She felt so good that he almost knotted that instant.

His nose twitched; she smelled so sweet and addicting.

His hips slowly moved, and it took everything in him to at least give her that much to adjust to his size before he would break her.

Her moans were enough for him to know she was more than ready.

Kiyoomi pushes her legs against her chest, locking her down before rutting hard into her pussy. His cock forced her tight, hot walls to expand with each deep thrust.

Y/n cups his face with both hands, pulling him down for a brief kiss. Her soft whimpers were music to his ears, encouraging his hips to pound hard against hers.

The bomb inside him was ticking; the heat and scent she gave off only made him push his cock deeper until the tip was pressed against her cervix.

Kiyoomi buries his face against her neck, kissing along her shoulder until he smells her sweet gland radiating her scent. He lets her legs go so he can be chest-to-chest with her. Each time he inhales her scent, it travels down to his cock, making it tremor and swell. The last few hard thrusts went deeper and deeper until the tip of his cock pushed past her cervix opening. His knot inflates once he breaks the barrier, and her cervix locks around his cock.

Y/n’s arms tightly grip him; their legs tremble as his knot fills her.

Kiyoomi wince and groan as his hips jerk with each spurt that fills her womb. His nose rubs against the gland that emits the sweet scent he has been addicted to since he could remember.

Claim her.

Claim her.

Claim her.

She wiggles underneath him, trying to escape knowing well she cannot.

He holds her still as he rolls onto his back so his weight isn’t crushing her. He kisses the crown of her head, murmuring her name and praising her for taking his knot so well.

His cock expands within her, keeping her sealed with his scent.

But that wasn’t enough.

His canine sinks into her shoulder, breaking the skin. Kiyoomi bites hard until he knows his mark is forever tattooed on her skin and soul.

.

Three weeks have since passed, and Y/n has been avoiding Kiyoomi.

Four days.

Four days of being locked up in Y/n’s apartment with non-stop sex.

When Y/n came to her senses, it was like she was possessed. Vivid memories reminded her that it was not a dream. The mark on her shoulder was real; something inside her felt utterly different.

It is rare for a dominant alpha to mark a beta, and even so, after a few days – the mark will disappear because of the incompatibility. Most alphas need an omega to be able to reproduce. Even a dominant alpha would not be able to impregnate a beta, let alone a recessive beta. By a miracle, Betas can only reproduce with a dominant beta.

Y/n read it online that the mark should fade and almost become meaningless within a few days.

However, all the love marks disappeared except the one on her shoulder.

“Why,” she whispers, “why did you mark me?” She pulls her collar to reveal the permanent mark. “It won’t go away.”

Kiyoomi, without a mask, blinks at her in silence. “You’re my mate, Y/n.”

“No!” She grits, “I cannot be your mate, Kiyoomi. I am a beta.”

“I don’t care.”

“I don’t want you as my mate.” She barely whispers, frustrated tears slipping down her cheek. “I didn’t ask for this.”

.

Her body was changing. Something… was different.

“I don’t have an explanation… it’s not rare, but it is not common to have a third turning.”

Y/n is stunned in her seat at the doctor’s office.

Omega.

Recessive omega.

The doctor sighs, “the only pattern we noticed with third turnings and that we can determine for sure is that a dominant alpha causes it.” His eyes narrow at Y/n, “is your alpha a dominant or recessive alpha?”

“I don’t have an alpha.”

The doctor pushes another sheet of results towards her, and her breath hitches when her eyes catch the word: P r e g n a n t

“You must be a few weeks along if your lab was able to detect it.” He exhales deeply. “I know this is a lot to take in… just consider this… a blessing in disguise?”

.

Kiyoomi is not waiting at her door for the first time.

Y/n enters her apartment, greeted again by the various bundles of bouquets. He has been sending her many bouquets. He was desperately seeking any attention from her.

She collapses on her couch and shuts her eyes. A palm rests over her flat abdomen.

A baby.

An omega.

Betas’ second gender can change with the pheromones of a dominant alpha, potentially enough with just their scent and pheromone.

Her eyes snap open, remembering two days before Kiyoomi’s rut; Y/n ran into him outside their apartment building. He commented how she smelled, and when they got on the elevators, they became packed with other residents that Kiyoomi cornered her. She could see the annoyance on his face, even with his mask on, and was about to offer to switch spots with him since he hated being touched by others.

“No,” he growls, keeping his arms caged around her. “You smell enough.”

Y/n made a face at him and stared straight ahead at his chest. The chest she has been dying to touch.

Her cheeks flushed, and her breath hitched as she switched thoughts to something else.

Why was the elevator taking forever?

She closes her eyes, keeping her thoughts clean, and hands to herself.

The chime pulls her back to reality. Her eyes snapped open, and Kiyoomi’s chest was pressed against her face. She looks around the giant in front of her and frowns. It was empty except for the two. She looked up and noticed the elevator had long past her floor. “Omi! Why didn’t you tell me we passed my floor?”

He shrugged his shoulders, stepping back.

Y/n presses the button to her floor again, knowing it’ll go up to his first before going back down.

He mumbles a quiet bye and walks out of the elevator without looking back at her.

Her head thumps against the wall as she is brought down to her floor.

A couple was waiting on her floor for the elevator as she got out.

“Holy crap, who released their pheromones?”

.

Y/n waited outside his door after knocking two minutes ago.

Was he away?

He didn’t pick up his call.

Or respond to her messages?

After a day of discovering her new second gender and pregnancy, it was only rightful to tell him.

And accept him as her mate.

The door creaks and slowly opens.

“Om… mi?”

.

“His body is in a state of shock.”

She reaches for his hand, holding it gently.

“This typically happens when an alpha is rejected.” The doctor looks at her, “are you his mate?”

Y/n nods, head hung low. “Yes, it is me.”

Without further questioning, the doctor instructed as if it were normal. “Talk to him, reassure him, and give him affection. With that, he should return to normal in a few days.”

Once the doctor left, Y/n looked at Kiari and the other Sakusa members, “I didn’t –“

Kiari waves a hand at her. “He’s fine. Just being a big baby.” She came around the bed and hugged her, “I thought Omi was just spewing bullshit; I didn’t think you would be his mate.”

Mrs. Sakusa steps forward and brushes Kiyoomi’s loose curls aside. “We’ll leave you to take care of him.” She smiles, “welcome officially to the family, Y/n.”

At last, when it was just the two of them, Y/n pressed his hand to her cheek. “Wake up, Omi. I have so much to tell you.” He lay deeply asleep. “I am your omega, Omi.” She whispers, leaning over him. “Please wake up, wake up for our baby and me.”

Two hours later, Y/n is frantic, finding an empty bed. She stepped out to grab some food in the hospital cafeteria.

“Where is she?”

“Omi,” Y/n calls, slowly approaching a distressed alpha, causing a commotion at the nurse’s station. She holds her arms out, and he tugs her into his arms as soon as she is close. “I’m here.” She repeats.

She guides him back to his room, and they wait for the doctor. She grabs a mask and hooks it around each ear, securing it around his face.

“Put one on too.” She rolls her eyes but obeys his command.

He doesn’t let go of her hand the entire time, making her sit on the bed beside him with an arm wrapped securely around her waist.

“I want to go home.” After listening to the doctor’s lecture about caring for his health, he demanded that.

.

“I’m not….” Y/n repeats for the nth time, “I’m not going anywhere, okay? I’m just going to organize the stuff the hospital gave us. I’ll be right back.”

Kiyoomi was ordered to bed rest.

As soon as they returned to his apartment, he was joined at her hips, following her around and whining when she would be more than two feet away.

“Just forget about it. Come lay here with me.”

With a change of clothes, Y/n submitted to her alpha.

She slips into his bed and curls beside him.

He tugs her close, inhaling her scent. “You… smell different.”

“Like good or bad different?”

He inhales once more, “like a good different.”

“It’s probably because I’m pregnant.”

She’s flipped onto her back, and his eyes are wide, “what?”

She smiles, touching his face. “I’m pregnant.”

He frowns, “how?”

“I’m an omega. Recessive omega. I had a third turning.” His mouth dropped. “I had my first heat that day. I think it matched your rut too.”

Kiyoomi collapses on his back, pulling her over him. He brushes her hair behind her ear, “a baby?”

“Well, one knot is enough to impregnate me… we locked ourselves for four days. It was inevitable.” She leans over, lips hovering his briefly before she murmurs, “I’m your omega.”

“Forever.”

. . .

>>> @callmeraider @amarinthe @chaotic-fangirl-blog

E/n: not edited yet; thank you all for kind words on my previous post <3

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu sakusa #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa smut #sakusa fluff #sakusa kiyoomi smut #sakusa x reader #sakusa x y/n #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa angst #haikyuu abo #alpha sakusa #alpha beta omega #omegaverse

[crystalcow]

𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑//𝑊𝑖𝑙𝑏𝑢𝑟 𝑆𝑜𝑜𝑡 !ℎ𝑐

Masterlist // part two

This is the typa shit in hitting yall with now// Wilbur soot x reader !p !c !child reader

Pronouns used: none specified!

Warnings: death, loss, explosion?

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╔════◈◉◈════╗

Being Wilbur soots child will include..

╚════◈◉◈════╝

𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐋𝗺𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐠

Fundy was absolutely appalled of you

This small little toddler stealing all of his fathers affection

Wilbur adored you

He kept you very close to him

“You will come of age with our young nation”

Tommy and Tubbo wouldn’t be trusted to hold you

Tommy tried picking you up one day

Tommy dropped you that day

You would look up to Eret and Tubbo

You hated fundy as much as he hated you

Any time he was around he would scowl at you

You’d just pull his tail or “accidentally” step on it

You spent most of your time in the drug van

Accidentally drinking a couple potions

Wilbur was terrified but dealt with it okay since he had previous experience

Salmon was forbidden in the house

You’d boss around everyone burn it’d be cute babbles

Attempting to help build the wall

𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐢𝗺𝐞..

You had your very own uniform

If you’d prefer it, you had a leather skirt

Eret would dress you up in different crowns

He kept telling you that you were a monarch in the growing

Slowly understanding and growing up to the world

The walls weren’t so protective anymore

Staying as far away from dream as possible

Using wooden swords the practice besides being fairly young

Everyone trying to keep you hidden but you were found out anyways

Sapnap saw you and Tubbo collecting flowers by the lake

Those flowers burned, and you lost your first life

𝐘/𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝗼 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐚𝐩𝐧𝐚𝐩

Tubbo blamed himself all the time for it, along with the burn scar on your face

^ it wasn’t very visible but it was still there

Wilbur couldn’t handle you getting hurt

Fundy felt bad, something switched

Wilbur cried holding you in his arms for an hour once you’ve respawnrd

Fundy made sure that nobody could hurt you from now on

Except you got kidnapped

Eret tricked you to going outside the walls

George was right there to swoop you up and take you hostage in the castle

Dream loved you tho for some odd reason

He hated everyone but couldn’t hurt a child

Yet

The man just played with you until your family got there

Tommy stormed the castle and made sure that harm came onto everyone there

You got home safely and just clung onto Wilbur for dear life

𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐥

Wilbur hated bringing you into battle

So you were with Nikki most of the time

When Nikki was busy one day

That was the day eret had planned to betray Lmanburg

You were wrapped in fundys jacket hiding on the sidelines watching as they yelled at each other

Tubbo ran to grab you when dream was ready to let out the tnt

He was determined to make sure you weren’t going to loose another life

So when you were brought to the final control room

Eret placed his crown on your head

The bodies of your dad, brother, and uncles laid down turning into dust

Blood still stained the walls

You screamed so loudly when your dad was being killed

You were taken back to the smp land for the day and brought back later

That was currently the most traumatic thing in your life besides dying

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝗼𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫

You stood next to your brother proudly watching Tommy face dream

Chanting out his name

One.. Two.. three..

“Most disputes die and no one shoots”

Four.. five.. six..

“Pray that Hell or Heaven lets you in”

seven, eight, nine..

“Summon all the courage you require”

Tommy looked at all of you, his eyes lingering on both you and Wilbur

He knew you were looking up to him

Your uncle, the one you can come to for anything

He won’t let you down

“Number Ten paces! Fire!”

When the arrow left dreams bow it was aimed to Tommy’s heart

Tommy’s bow shot to the sky

You screamed in horror watching him die for the second time

Crying in fundys chest as he held you close

but you got your independence in the end

The only thing you knew

You hated dream

𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝗼𝐧 𝐚𝐫𝐜

You were a lot older then when the war first started

Not exactly a teenager but close enough

You were happy when new people moved to the smp

Your father was unsteady about the new people

Unsure how he completely felt about this Quackity and Schlatt

Then the idea of an election happened

You were all for it! Hell becoming the president made you feel great about yourself

Almost ready to attack when Quackity joined with George

They used you for votes

“Hey vote for Wilbur soot and tommy innit! Look we have a cute child”

Tommy pinched your cheeks and you cringed in disgust

They used you a lot in debates against the other team

“You want to hurt such a small little being? How could you!”

You were exhilarated seeing fundy and Nikki join the campaign

Not the fondest of fundy still but he was still your brother

And you and Nikki were really good friends already

So when it came to voting and schlatt taking George’s spot

You helped Nikki and Fundy write a whole lot of fake votes

“Cant we go to jail for this?”

“no.”

You just shrugged continuing to write

The second that the names were called you were on the edge of your seat

Shining with the Lmanburg uniform proudly

“Pog 2020 lost to Schaltt 2020 by 1%”

Your heart skipped a beat and you felt yourself jumping out of the chair

“Take that back!”

Except nobody listened to you

Your voice was undermined by the tens of other adults in the room

“First things first.. My first declaration as the president of this country is,”

Schlatt maybe over passed dream on the hate list

“To revoke citizenship of Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit!”

Tears started forming at the brim of your eyes

You ran with Wilbur trying to get out od the assassins clutches

Holding back the pain as your father was shot and killed by punz

Instead shooting the man the middle finger just like Tommy told you

The next thing to do was find a home..

Since now yours is gone

Forever it may be

𝐏𝗼𝐠𝐭𝗼𝐩𝐢𝐚

You were disgusted by the ravine you had found yourselves sheltered in

But making sure that no remeninse of scars were on Wilbur

There wasn’t thankfully, somehow

You helped Wilbur mine out a little room in the ravine

Wilbur wanted to keep you secluded from the pains from the world

But he failed

All of you got a wardrobe change

You were sad to see your old uniform go

Keeping it safely hidden in your ender chest

When Tommy brought home Technoblade

You weren’t very amused

“Why is your hair pink?”

That’s the first thing you said to your uncle whom you hadn’t seen in years

“Why are you a kid? An orphan eh?”

“Frankly enough, at this very moment I wish I was.”

Wilbur was quick to rush you away from the man

But you saw the faint smile on his lips

Tho he’s never admit it

You had grown closer to techno, helping him out a bit

But you also slowly watched your father go insane

You tried to deny it, telling yourself false lies

Trying to escape the truth it may be

So when dream came around for the first time and agreed to help the group

You just felt terrible

You had hated that man with your whole heart, so did Tommy

Your dad started drifting away but helping you close at the same time

As insane he may be your always coming first

That’s why he introduced the idea of blowing up Lmanburg

“Don you realize N/n! It isn’t ours.. We won’t feel safe there again”

It pained you to face the truth, but he was right

So tnt it was

The festival came around sooner or later

Listening in with Wilbur and Tommy ontop of the space station

“Wilbur come on, we can save it. We can get our Lmanburg back!”

Tommy was so against the idea of destroying his only home

Worried he wouldn’t feel welcomed anywhere else

But he was wrong

The walls were torn down

The walls which were built around to protect us

To protect you and fundy

Oh fundy, your brother

He helped tear down those walls with a smile on his face

Like everything Wilbur did wasn’t for the both of you!

Any relationship that may have developed during the first war had now been tarnished

“Enjoy the festivities!”

The code word was said and Wilbur rushed to go blow the place up

Horrified you watched as techno brutally slaughtered Tubbo with no remorse

The button didn’t work and now your running back to pogtopia

Death rained upon any step Lmanburg took

It needs to be gone

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫

You stood with everyone

Shocked to see how techno was prepared for action

It felt like years had passed since you’ve lost Lmanburg

Going crazy down in that damn ravine

But now your decked out in Neitherite armor prepared for action

You still wanted to blow it up tho

Just give Tommy a little glimpse of it

You laughed at the silly chant, worried why your dad isn’t wearing any armor

“You don’t need it, remember there’s a law against armor”

You felt bad breaking such an old rule

But for what we’re coming you’d need it

“They’ve got the high ground!”

Sweat dripped from your forehead but dream finally surrendered

So you all stood around Schlatts dying figure

“Flatly patty”

The man just died

A heart attack in the middle of the war

You weren’t complaining tho, just offs the workload

So when you clapped and cheered as Tubbo accepted the role of president

You didn’t notice your fathers disappearance

Distracted as techno spawned withers ghastly creatures

Ones only told in myths of legends who faced them

Three heads, heartless and cold. Told to destroy everything in its path and kill everything you hold dear

It was worse seeing them rather then in fairy tales

You had no clue what to do

That was until your vision caught up to the sight infront of you

A strange man shot a sword right through your fathers chest

And the ground beneath you began to crumble

Pain was all you felt watching the one who held you close at night leave you in thin dust

Who said “I’ll protect you!”

Being the one who’s hurting you at most

The injuries you had sustained from the wither and the explosion hasn’t mattered

The only person you could feel comfort you was the same women you trusted with your life

And throughout the chaos around you just hugged her keeping her close

“Nikki he’s gone”

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And that is part one of Wilburs child! This post became way too damn long with just purely head cannons. So part two will include ghostbur, exile, and alivebur

As always request and ask anything! And ask if you want to be on a tag list :))

#wilbur soot #wilbur soot x reader #wilburs child #wilbur and fundy #fundy x reader #lmanburg #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #tommy innit #dreamwastaken #dream #the eret #tubbo #nikki nihachu #sapnap #georgenotfound x reader #schlatt #quackity

[nat-20s]

8 for jmart?

#8- constantly cheacking their messages for words from the other

what else was I gonna do? here's some classic ol' season 3 pining babey

Hello Martin. This is Jon. I have gotten a new phone after losing my last one, please put in the new number.

It's a simple message. Straightforward, factual, and utilitarian. There is no reason that pressing send should make his heart race. There's especially no reason that the second he sends it off, he's tempted to lie on the deeply uncomfortable, likely bedbug infested motel mattress staring at his screen until he gets a response. Sure, he's sick of being overseas, and he's sick of being so isolated, and he's sick of running, but he's not...desperate for what little companionship can even be provided by words on a screen.

He does miss Martin, though. He misses Tim as well, but in a manner that's significantly more complex and knotted than the simple desire to be around him.

God, when did he start wanting to just be around Martin? He started being aware of that want when he was at Georgie's, but he has no idea when the want itself actually started. That was probably something he should examine. Technically speaking, that is something that he has time to examine, but he doesn't want to examine right now. Right now, he wants the comfort of perhaps one of the only people out there that doesn't want to kill him, or use him, or both.

Martin, whether through somehow sensing Jon's discontent from nearly 4000 miles away or, more likely, through a general dutifulness inherent to his character, only takes a few minutes to reply. Oh good! it'd been a little bit since hearing from you, we were somewhat worried. putting you in my contacts as we speak :)!

Saying that "we" were worried is almost certainly generous on Martin's part, but Jon feels no need to point that out. Instead he turns on his side and stares at the phone. He particularly focuses on the smiley face, ridiculously charmed by the fact that, despite everything, Martin hasn't lost his predilection for emojis. Two years ago, he would've rolled his eyes, maybe thought something snide about professionalism. It wouldn't have been fair, as Tim used to do the same thing and he thought nothing of it, but he wasn't fair back then. Now, he simply wonders if he can get away with sending one back.

Before he can respond, Martin sends another message. Are you actually alright? I realized I was kind of assuming that losing your phone was the only reason you were MIA, but is anything else going on?

Damn. He tends to forget how perceptive Martin can be. What, exactly, Martin had perceived in that first message, Jon couldn't be sure, but apparently there was something that tipped him off to the..eventful last week he'd had. He really, really doesn't feel like getting into all of that right now, especially not over text, so instead he replies a mostly truthful I'm fine.

Then, squinting at the screen and realizing that might come across as a dismissal, he adds, Well, other than trying not to contemplate the general sanitation practices of a motel that clearly hasn't updated it's decor since the 70s. I'm suspecting the sheets are much the same.

He doesn't know how Martin will react to the message. He can't see the face he'll make, won't know the tone of his voice. However, he likes to imagine that Martin will at least smile. Maybe he'll even give that breath of a laugh, the one that sometimes happens when Jon's being lightly acerbic and it's not directed at him. He doesn't know, but he does hope for it. Martin texts back Oof. Maybe sleep on top of the covers tonight, yeah?, and Jon thinks that he might have guessed Martin's reaction correctly.

Christ, who knew all it took was a combination of jetlag and threats to turn him into a sap. He needs to sleep. He really needs a deep, proper, uninterrupted sleep, one lasting a minimum of eight hours and ideally closer to fifteen. Checking the time, it would be a fairly reasonable time to sleep, especially with the early start he has tomorrow. He considers sending off a quick good night message, but then has the realization that as reasonable as it is for him to be asleep right now, it's just as unreasonable for Martin to be awake. Are you alright? Good lord, Martin, it's almost 4am over there. Did I wake you?

Barely 30 seconds pass before he gets back no, you're good!

A beat, then a follow up message. I've had a irregular sleep schedule since I was like 16. A lot of evening and night shifts had a lasting impact u know? Working at the institute made it a bit more consistent but it's still p rare that i sleep the same eight hours night to night.

Jon's starts to text back something sympathetic; he's had his own struggles with both in- and hyper- somnia, but his phone buzzes in his hand before he can finish it.

Sorry! That was uh probably more information than you wanted.

Well, that just won't do. Even if there wasn't a part of his brain that had recently started collecting facts about Martin like they were precious jewels instead of mostly mundane stories, he doesn't want Martin to think he can't talk to him about things outside of the standard bounds of coworkers. Not at all. We're friends, Martin, I enjoy learning about you.

His brain wants to catastrophize the second he presses send. For the first minute that Martin doesn't reply, he doesn't let it. After the second minute, he allows the minor worry to become more severe. Had it been too much? Were they friends? Jon certainly thought so, but what if Martin wasn't in the same boat? Their interactions had been entirely friendly for months now, but what if that was just Martin being polite? God, what if Martin still thought of Jon as his boss, nothing more?

Ten minutes. It takes ten minutes for Martin to finally respond, and Jon has almost called him four times to explain himself. Ten minutes, and the first response is only Oh!

Then: Cool

Well, that's not a "piss off and die", but it's not exactly comforting. Jon doesn't know how to reply, staring at the words on his screen and not entirely sure if he's fucked up or not. Fortunately, Martin's not done responding, and the next message is much, much better.

Hey uh. Feel free to say no I know it's getting late over there but. Im not getting back to sleep for the rest of the day and itd be nice to actually hear you. Would you be okay with a call?

Without a moment's hesitation, he texts back Yes!, exclamation and all, because he's become someone he barely recognizes. The phone rings just as immediately, and he feels his entire body relax at Martin's first "Hello?"

Things are difficult right now. Things have been difficult ever since the promotion that was a curse in disguise. The world is filled with monsters he barely understands. He wishes he was home despite the fact that he barely recognizes it, as filled with tension and strife as it is. There's so much to discuss, so many things they should be hammering out. But right now, the threats are not pressing. Right now, he can hear about the bad true crime documentary Martin half-watched before he got Jon's texts, and Jon can bitch about the three different "pip pip cheerio" comments he's gotten since coming over seas. Right now, and for the hour before Jon drifts off, breathing slow and deep, he can pretend that this is an ordinary phone call, in an ordinary world, between two people who simply miss each other an extraordinary amount.

#replies #elfgrunge #jonmartin #tma #jon sims #martin blackwood #fluff prompts #'this story has been told before' AND IT'LL BE TOLD AGAIN!!

[mazuwii]

Zeke SFW Alphabet

Flying monke

Hey bestie, I see you like Mr Monke😏

No shame! No shame!😤 I am writing the chapters everyone has requested but I got asked to do a Zeke alphabet first so here it is

—A (Affection. How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

•Not very physically affectionate in public, he tends to give you stares that gives you the same warm feeling you get from being hugged tightly.

•When you crash into him for a hug, he's so shocked and confused, his heart is dancing at the feeling of your warm little body right against his, affectionately rubbing his back. Before he knows it, he's silently crying, holding your face to his chest so that you don't see.

•Zeke never knew hugs felt so nice and now whenever he's feeling down or whenever you both have nothing to do, he randomly opens his arms up and waits for you to run into them. If you take too long all he does is twitch his hands slightly, which is funny and cute.

•I can see him being way more affectionate in the nighttime, where you're sleeping on him and you mumble under your breath, he kisses your head and strokes your cheek, lovingly gazing at you.

—B (Bestfriend, how would he be like as a best friend, how would the friendship start?)

•Zeke would be the bestest friend ever, sure he isn't the most affectionate or upfront friend but he is incredibly reliable!

•Always defending you behind your back. He insults you but then compliments and uplifts you behind your back to other people. Basically your lawyer.

•I will never stop saying this, Zeke Jaegar is intelligent as fuck and hates small talk so his conversations are so delicious, so full of flavour. His intelligence turns you on so hard, he is so fun to talk to because A, he makes fair points and teaches you things, B, he has a good sense of humour, C, he genuinely listens. He wants your opinion and understands your point of view on the subject.

—C (Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

•Before getting into a relationship, he always thought hugs would be stiff and horrible, especially in bed but he discovered that he was wrong.

•When you were spooning him, he couldn't nearly think straight from the appreciation he felt. Your arm was so secure around his waist and your body was warm against him, it was a feeling that made him wish he was immortal and experience this FOREVER!

•He likes it when you bring yourself to him, automatically. He finds it cute and always compliments you when you do. It isn't a full-of-shit-flattery compliment, he means it.

•"Why- on this gruesome green earth, are you so cute?" He kisses your head as you nestle yourself on his chest. "Mind telling me? Hm?" He pecks your head again and tightens his arm around you.

•One thing he will die to protect is you, he wants to hide you away from all the horrors of the world and treasures you so much and one way to do it is to tightly hold you right against him, melting at the sound of your giggle.

—D (Domestic. Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

•Zeke wants to live in a cottage with you, secluded from other humans. All the serenity of it relaxes him, it's one thing he'd never stop thinking about.

•Sure he wants to settle down but he'd never want to have kids. He sees himself as a failure to all and can see his little ones hating his guts, having to hear them exclaim how much they hate their papa (even if it's just his imagination) terrifies him.

•He felt like everyone hated him, but you and his grandparents and Mr Ksaver. Children would be too much stress

•As for cooking and cleaning, I don't think he's good with cooking or cleaning. He doesn't really make a mess so it's okay that he isn't good at cleaning

•However he isn't bothered with cooking actual food, he'd always just have fruit or instant noodles when he's hungry. So you'd have to be a good cook because my mans has no motivation for that stuff

—F (Fiance(e) How would they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

•Like I said before, Zeke isn't good on relationships so if you both last more than a year and he realises you've helped him as a person and he has helped you, he secures it.

•But proposing would be difficult, he's shy, scared, worried you may laugh and blow him off.

•Eventually he gives in and asks, a heavyweight washing off his shoulders when you said yes, even getting butterflies when he realised you were crying.

—G (Gentle. How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

•His inner child is bruised, you can see a little boy in him anytime he smiles properly, it makes your heart shatter to know that he never experienced his childhood properly and is currently a little boy in an old man's body

•He is gentle, he tries so hard to be soft with you and touches you like you're made of glass. H o w e v e r, my man does not hold back when it comes to baseball.

•Zeke is so happy when he's playing baseball with you that he doesn't realise he may have thrown too hard and only realises it when you grunt at the impact it made with your collarbone, dropping everything and running to check on you.

—H (Hugs. Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

•He hesitates at first when your smaller body collides with his, he had let out a small yelp but couldn't help smiling when your arms get tighter in desperation.

•Slowly and gently, he'd embrace you back and smell your hair.

•Zeke's hugs are warm, secure and surprisingly cuddly. He's too shy to hug you first, you'd have to hug him first and he'd not hesitate anymore. Sometimes, when he's missed you so much, he'd hug so tight that your legs float off the floor, completely powerless in his embrace.

—I (I love you. How fast do they say the L-word)

•Zeke thinks a lot so admitting that he loves you would be an epiphany, even years into the relationship. He genuinely can't believe someone loves him and stayed with him.

•He'd say it with a kiss to your forehead, small freckles of tears glistening in his eyes when he stares longingly at you.

—J (Jealousy. How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous)

•Very jealous but he keeps it to himself. Especially when it comes to the opposite sex. He realises anytime a man talks to you and you smile around them, he can feel himself shrink. He's all dramatic in his head, wondering if he'd ever been enough for you or if you finally realised you deserved a better guy than him.

•All of those thoughts would disappear when you take his hand or talk to him with the tone you always use with him, a cheerful and appreciative one.

—K (What are his kisses like? Where does he like to kiss you? Where does he like to be kissed?)

•Zeke's kisses are hesitant and full of pauses. Sometimes you do most of the work, bringing him closer and all that while he's questioning if he deserves you.

•When Zeke tries to be affectionate, he likes to kiss your forehead, crown of your head, cheek, lips in private. It's reassuring and he loves his little lady more than anything. This small kiss passes on so much serotonin through your skull.

•Zeke doesn't have a specific preference but when you pepper his face with kisses it makes him so happy and fireworks go off in his tummy. With your hands gently cupping his face and your lips pressing every area on his face he softly holds onto you with a flustered smile.

—L (Little ones. How are they around children)

•Lol, he's like their older bro but a lil more distant

Let's move on...

—M (Morning. How are mornings spent with them?)

•Zeke's life is full of duties and priorities but he wishes with his full heart that he could spend the rest of his life lazily holding you with you peacefully laying by his side

•To his dismay, he must leave you to sleep. He has to get up earlier and doesn't bother waking up his sleeping angel, getting ready for work and leaving- not without kissing your cheek. Even if you're fast asleep, Zeke tucks you in and pecks your cheek, admiring you for a few seconds before heading on with his day.

•I'd say on good days, you make an effort to wake up with him and make breakfast so that he doesn't go to work and smoke ciggerates on an empty stomach. Fucking idiot, sorry but don't do that 🙄 even to my readers, don't smoke bestie💜

—N (Night. How are nights spent with them?)

•He does sleep at a reasonable time, sometimes at ten PM, sometimes at eight PM..

•Before bed he'd watch a documentary with you while having dinner and probably tire himself out by sucking in all that knowledge (the TV voice makes him sleepy, so you can see his eyelids drooping when he lies about how he isn't tired... it's cute)

•When it's time for bed he does the usual routine and gets into bed after smoking... which is pretty painful for you to watch but you won't scold him, you'll bring him closer to you and kiss his nose, massaging his scalp and becoming limp when his hand is soft at your waist, caressing patterns with his slender fingers until you fall asleep.

—O (Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

•Zeke thinks he is the scum of the Earth and wouldn't be surprised if you thought so too. It'd be difficult for him to mention any of his trauma so it all comes out through his humour.

•Daddy issues jokes, mommy issues jokes, self-deprecating jokes and you go through so many until you realise the man is traumatised. I can say with full confidence that he once tried making a joke for the millionth time and ended up crying instead of laughing. Of course, you were reassuring and comforted him in every way he needed.

—P (Patience. How easily angered are they?)

•Very patient when it comes to his S/O, he doesn't force anything out of you and slowly, gently speaks.

•Zeke doesn't become angry easily, honestly, he's so smart and open-minded that it becomes a problem because he understands so many things, unable to use his emotions to his advantage.

•Again, emotions pass and are useless to him, they just come and go so he doesn't like feeling too vividly. Especially anger, he thinks there's no use in it.

—Q (Quizzes. How much would they remember about you?  Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?)

•Like I keep saying, Zeke is a smart, attentive person even when he doesn't mean to be. He pays attention to small details by accident and remembers subconsciously. He memorises a lot of your habits, bad and good and makes notes of when and where they mostly happen, adapting to your lifestyle without realising.

•Someone is asking what to get for your birthday and tries to get a type of chocolate flavour he remembers you despise and he gives away your full interests and a list of what you like, dumping an essay of your public info to one of your best friends and they're just like °_°...?

•It's cute, he just doesn't know his brain sucks everything about you in

—R (Remember. What is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

•When you took him out to dance and the music suddenly switched from formal dancing to just 'go crazy' and he watched you GO OFF. You were shaking your hip and hopping around energetically, glaring at him for laughing his ass off over the loud music.

•You forced him to dance with you, both of you whipping your hair back and forth, your movements less stiff but nonetheless, in sync. He's never had so much fun. No one he knew was there, it was all strangers but he felt like only you and he were there, dancing freely to the music, he'd just follow your lead confidently

—S (Security. How protective are they? How would they like to be protected?)

•Zeke is so protective, paranoid but never expressing it, knowing he'd sound insane:

-"Angel, I have to go out with you because what'll happen if you suddenly get run over?!"

-"No you can't use the phone while it's in charge, what if it explodes in your face?!"

-"Cookie dough, don't try handstanding, you could snap your neck!"

-"No, I won't let you go up these faulty escalators, they could suddenly break open and swallow you, here let me hold your hand up the normal stairs."

-"Don't lean against the balcony, you could fall over!"

•So instead he does it sneakily. Like small solutions, in order, he'd: offering to help you shop when you go out, making you put your phone down to massage him, scaring you into stopping your handstands, holding your waist securely when you're both on the balcony.

•To feel protected, Zeke needs constant reassurance from you. Physically and emotionally. A small kiss on his cheek and a little "Don't overthink, I'm here, let it all out, I'll listen to your thoughts."

—T (Try. How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

•I think Zeke is more of a private person but his dates can be fun too. For anniversaries, you'd both have turns. For his half of the day, it would be spent playing baseball, going to the arcade, taking you out to dinner and then he'd warmly hold your hands in his, asking you what you want to do now.

•His gifts are so thoughtful but he tries to be cool when he gives it to you, lips straight and eyes avoiding you like a shy schoolboy. He can't keep his cool since you have to attack his face with kisses🙄 Jees Y/n stop it, he totally doesn't go insane when you do that to him, totally isn't in love

—U (Ugly. What are some bad habits of theirs?)

•I'd say the damn smoking. Zeke chose an unhealthy coping mechanism and needs guidance out of it, so you do just that.

•Taking his cigarettes and helping him get the nicotine out of his body through skipping rope, taking him to the sauna and even massaging his scalp when he has a headache.

•If course it'd be such a shock to him when he realises how nice he feels after his addiction is over, it's amazing what getting rid of one bad habit can do to your life.

—V (Vanity. How concerned are they with their looks?)

•Zeke trimmed his beard shorter and did his hair when he realised he had seemed to be ageing faster but... for the sake of my selfishness this is a modern au

•Surprisingly, he actually has good skin, a nice beard and a good haircut. Zeke is beautiful.

•Only once, has he ever shaved fully and my guy looked 10 years younger and was lowkey getting cocky but he rathered the beard and let it grow out... not too long though

—W (Whole. Would they feel incomplete without you?)

•Zeke is like the moon, it's a bit dark but it's still useful, however, it needs the sun to give it a boost? So what I'm trying to say is you're the sun to him, life wouldn't feel the same now that you've made your mark

—X (Xtra. A random headcanon for them.)

•I don't care what you say, he can do the entire dance for boy with luv by BTS. He doesn't know why he knows it so well, he's only seen the dance rehearsal once (yes he memorizes pretty fast)

•extra but, by the way, Monke man can figure out a Rubix cube faster than a War breaking out in AOT so... haha very fast👁👁

—Y (Yuck. What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

•He doesn't like a controlling partner, not everything has to go your way babe, life is always going to steer you in a different direction and it sometimes is in a better direction than the one you had first intended.

•So there's that

—Z (Zzz. What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

•This is funny to me for some reason? But once he lets go of your cuddle, he subconsciously sprawls his body out, and he does it for the entire night even when you're on top of him, his clothes are somehow half-off. The pillows are everywhere, the blanket is under his heavy thighs so you're freezing on him :")

#zeke #zeke jaegar #zeke yaeger x reader #zeke yeager #zeke jaeger #zeke sfw #zeke sfw alphabet

[ahtsumu]

the mystery of love ; kuroo tetsurou

pairing: kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

synopsis: kuroo tetsurou does not believe in soulmates. he believes in science, himself, and sometimes other people. but that doesn’t mean he can’t believe in love.

tag(s): sweet summer lovin’, friends to lovers, inspired by call my by your name, university student!kuroo tetsurou, lab intern!kuroo tetsurou, so much pining lol, fluff, angst, slow burn ; warning(s): profanity, mentions of alcohol ingestion (it’s legal bc they’re in italy!), suggestive themes ; wc: 4.8k

a/n: happy birthday tetsu!! i hope you guys like this. i really enjoyed writing it ♡

Kuroo Tetsurou does not believe in soulmates. He believes in science, himself, and sometimes other people. At least, that’s what he tells you. Sometimes you treat this information as a source of hope; other times, you’re not sure what to make of it.

This, you realise with his shoulder pressed against yours and both your bodies sprawled across his wrinkled bed sheets, is one of those other times. You turn your face to look at his.

“What?” he asks, one side of his mouth curling up in a smile.

For a moment, you wonder what would happen if you just said it. You could blame the alcohol. Get away with it scot-free. While you mull the option over in the dead silence of his room, your brain suddenly registers the music still playing from the living room. The low bass reverberating through the walls. How close your lips are. The sound of his breaths.

“Earth to Y/N?”

And like that, the little what-if that rose in your mind falls back with its tail between its legs. You bite your lip, look around his room like the walls have a script printed on them. Unfortunately, they do not.

“I was just thinking about my shirt.” It’s not great, but it’s the best you can do while still feeling the vodka and orange juice burn in your stomach. And smelling it on yourself.

Kuroo’s laugh booms through the room and you can’t help but giggle along with him. “I said I was sorry!” he says, hazel eyes twinkling with mirth. He pauses and glances at his closet, then nods his head in its direction. “Take a hoodie. Your pick.”

A smile–– one you try to downplay but fail miserably to–– creeps up your face. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kuroo replies. “You can also shower here if you want. It's the least I can do after spilling my drink all over you.”

When you emerge from Kuroo’s bathroom in one of his thinner hoodies, a lot soberer and drying your hair, he’s not on the bed anymore. Quietly, you step out of his room and look for him through the house. People are crashed everywhere–– on the sofa, over the kitchen counter, even propped up against walls. The floor is covered with plastic cups and mysterious pools of liquid. Wrinkling your nose, you try your best to step around the messes, looking in every corner in the house for the raven-haired boy.

You find him back in his room, actually. He’s back on his bed scrolling through his phone, the light illuminating his sharp features. When he hears you close the door behind you, he looks up, eyes immediately zeroing in on the black hoodie over your torso. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Where’d you go?” you both ask at the same time. He chuckles; you grin. Crawling back onto the bed, you tell him to go first.

“I went around to make sure nothing’s broken,” he explains. “Perks of being the only sober intern in the house, I guess.”

A beat passes.

This house is rented. You forgot about that. All his expenses are paid for by your mother’s lab. You forgot about that. He fits in your world so well, like maybe he’s always had a spot there, that you forgot that Kuroo Tetsurou is only here for the summer.

“Right.”

Kuroo raises a brow. “And you?”

“I went to look for you.”

He smiles and holds his hands out like a magician at the end of a trick. “Well, you found me.”

“Yeah,” you muse. “I guess I did.” Aren’t you lucky.

With that, something shifts in the air. A contemplative expression crosses Kuroo’s face. Maybe he’s realised how his words come out sometimes. Kuroo often says things that sound like they have more than one meaning and it used to throw you off, but now you just go with it. You’ve even picked up that habit yourself. “Do you ever wish that you’d met someone earlier? Maybe under different circumstances?” he asks.

Sighing, you fall back against his mattress and stare up at the ceiling. Telling the truth feels easier when you can’t see him. “Yeah. All the time.” A few seconds pass. “Do you think we would’ve been friends if we went to the same college?”

He also lies down. You’re both back in the same positions you were in an hour ago, but something’s changed. “No,” he admits. You’re not surprised–– that’s what you’d expected. “I’d be a junior and you’d be a freshman. We probably would’ve never met. And even if we had, I wouldn’t be caught dead hanging out with a… freshie.” He chuckles softly at the end. “And look at me now,” he adds softly, more to himself than you. You look over at his face. A contemplative smile rests on his lips.

That urge to just say it returns.

“Kuroo, I think––”

“You’re my favourite p–– oh, my bad. You first.”

And it goes away again.

“Um, uh,” you stutter, “how long do you have left here?”

Kuroo raises his brows. “On this planet? Hopefully a while, Y/N.” He sees your unamused expression and drops the front. “Three more weeks.”

Your eyes widen. Eight weeks have already passed. Blood rushes to your ears. Eight entire weeks have already passed, meaning that in three weeks, Kuroo Tetsurou will leave forever. And in four, you will, too. Except you’ll come back. You’ve done so every summer since you were born, probably will do until you die.

But this place will never be the same as it used to. Not after him.

“Y/N?” Once everything comes back into focus, you see the concern riddling his features. “Everything okay?”

“Hmm? Yeah.”

Say it.

“You didn’t have too much to drink, right?”

Say it.

“I just got buzzed. What about you?”

“The only drink I was planning on having all went to your shirt.”

Say it.

“Kuroo.”

“Yeah?”

Not yet.

“Let’s go on an adventure.”

At two AM, everything is different. The streets feel different, the villas look different, and you–– you can’t put your finger on it but Kuroo Tetsurou has changed, too. He sits behind the wheel of your father’s white 1953 Cadillac with the convertible roof down, unruly hair blown back by the breeze, a euphoric grin stretched over his face. In the passenger’s seat, you sit with an equally large beam and your hands raised into the dark sky.

“Where to, Miss?” he shouts over the wind.

“The stars,” you shout back with a laugh. Kuroo’s cat-like eyes briefly flit over to your side profile, lips curving to form a smaller, more tender smile. But you miss that–– your gaze falls on him just a second after his return to the road.

“I heard you say Jack’s,” he says, smirking.

The 24/7 diner sticks out like a sore thumb in the row of sun-baked stucco and stone buildings with its bold neon lights and shiny exterior. During the day, it seems gaudy, way too American for a small town in northern Italy. But at night, this place feels like home. You’ve been stumbling into Jack’s completely shit-faced since you were sixteen. Of course, all those other times had been with the kids of your mother’s coworkers. All those other times, you could hardly remember what you even ordered when you woke up hours later.

But this time, you walk in with Kuroo Tetsurou at half-past-two in the morning, the chemicals running through your bloodstream epinephrine and dopamine, not ethanol; if you’re drunk then it’s on a feeling and your only poison is the boy next to you. You study his face and consider that thought. No, he’s not poison. He’s the antidote.

“Y/N!” the server exclaims, rushing over with two menus. “And Kuroo! My two favourite customers, but together this time!” Giovanni ushers you two to a booth by the window and takes your orders, purely for show, of course. He knows your orders by heart: the Lorenzo for Kuroo and the Quentin for you.

“With fries on both, please,” Kuroo adds, throwing you a wink. “Aren’t I a gentleman?”

“You only did that to have more for yourself,” you reply drily. Having him over at your house for dinner every night made picking up his idiosyncrasies so unbelievably easy. You know them like they’re your own. You know him like he’s your own.

Kuroo clutches his chest and pretends to be offended, then changes the conversation to what happened at the lab today, or rather, yesterday. That your mother and the other researchers are so close to finding a cure for the strain of virus that’s recently hit crickets in southern Italy.

“You should drop by again sometime,” he says. “Last time you came around was, what, two weeks ago?”

Your face breaks in a grin. “Are you saying you’ve missed me? Chemistry getting boring?” you tease, drawing a loud laugh from him.

“Sodium hydrogen, you little shit.” Your mother’s used this one on you before, but hearing it from him makes you giggle anyway.

Giovanni comes back with two plates, each loaded with fries. You both say your thanks and he retreats to the kitchen again, but not before wiggling his eyebrows at your reddening faces. Wordlessly, you grab your fork and knife and transfer at least half of your fries onto Kuroo’s plate. Kuroo stares at you with the slightest smile. That look sends your stomach into flips.

“What?” you question nonchalantly, cutting into your burger.

“Nothing,” he says, mirroring your actions. “Nothing at all.”

It’s hard to imagine that after spending almost every day together for eight weeks straight that there’s still more to learn about each other, but there is. You tell him more about your real home. Your best friend who called you at 3 AM last night because of timezones. Stories from every summer before this one, when you were a different person in the same place you are now.

He tells you more about Kenma, his best friend from high school. How they played on one of the best volleyball teams in Japan. Stories from training camp, literature class, the metro ride home after school–– you listen to every single one in rapt attention. There’s not enough time in the world for all the things you want to know about Kuroo Tetsurou, so you take what you can get. If only you’d known him before you’d known him.

“If we’d met earlier here, do you think we would’ve been friends?” you ask after paging Giovanni for the check.

“No,” he replies, picking up a few remaining fries with his fork instead of his fingers. The corners of your mouth turn up. That’s your thing. He considers the scenario seriously. “I think we met right when we should have.”

“What about the future?” you press, leaning into the conversation. “Let’s say we meet in two years here, instead of now. Would we be friends?”

Kuroo sets his fork down, eyes you steadily. “What’s this about?”

You blink. “What?”

“What’s with all these hypotheticals today?” Perhaps worried that he came off too harshly, Kuroo adds, “I thought I was the scientist.”

“I just… it feels like I’ve known you since forever.” This feels like it was meant to be, you don’t say. And I want to know you forever.

A sigh–– fond, but still a sigh–– blows through his lips. “Don’t tell me you believe in soulmates,” he says with a wicked grin.

“Are you calling me your soulmate?” The question, shamelessly genuine, painfully hopeful, leaves your mouth without you intending it to and you regret it instantly. Because Kuroo Tetsurou has told you many times that he does not believe in soulmates.

Is it so bad to dream, though?

You watch him carefully but he doesn’t say anything, just continues smiling wryly like you’d intended to tease him. Like he knows that you know better. But you don’t.

“Are you?” he suddenly replies. Sharp eyes hold yours, daring you to respond. Do you dare?

At that moment, Giovanni returns with the check. “Who’s paying?” he asks, unaware of the tense exchange that just occurred across the table. Inaudibly, you sigh in relief. Kuroo is about to say that it’s on him when he catches himself in the middle of his sentence, looks your way, then back to Giovanni. He says you’ll go Dutch. You nod in approval.

“So,” Kuroo drawls once you’ve both paid for your meals. “Where do we go from here?”

Good question.

Kuroo Tetsurou has never been to an outdoor club period. And though he’s been clubbing, he has never once gone dancing in his lifetime. You tell him that’s about to change as he parks the car in a lot near the venue. Before him, all your summer nights were spent here.

“You’ve been here for two months and you haven’t been to an outdoor club yet?” you ask while unbuckling your seatbelt. That can’t be possible. If you’d been in his shoes… an attractive college student in a foreign country for the summer, you would have gone wild.

“Nope. I’ve been a little busy, y’know, spending my days in a lab, handling chemicals, studying viruses, washing lab equipment, writing up reports for your mother and her colleagues, working on my own research on the side… the usual.” He flashes you a bright, sarcastic smile.

“Poor baby,” you coo, ruffling his hair. Kuroo laughs while you continue messing with the dark locks. “Was your first full day here the only tourist-day you’ve had so far?” His weekends, you already know, are spent either lounging around cafés, pools, or the great outdoors with you or the interns. But you’d assumed he’d had time to do some exploring on his own.

Kuroo nods. “And my guide wasn’t even that great,” he mutters, shooting you a dark look. “She sped through every attraction and hardly spoke a word outside of the tour to me. I think she hated me.”

You giggle and open the door, letting the music from the outdoor speakers infiltrate the bubble inside your car. “Maybe she was just nervous!” you say as you get out. That’s a lie.

“About what?” Kuroo follows suit, the gravel crunching beneath his feet. “I was so friendly to you and you just brushed me off each time.” He pouts.

But you don’t reply. Instead, you just grab his hands and pull him towards the venue. As you step into the boundaries marked by fairy lights and rustic wooden fences, Kuroo stops in his tracks and tugs on your intertwined hands. You glance down before up, trying to memorise how his hand looks around yours in the few seconds you can steal.

“Y/N,” Kuroo says. The strobe lights paint his skin pink, blue, purple like it’s a canvas. “Tell me why you were nervous.” Grammatically, it’s a command. And yet it sounds like he’s begging.

“What’s it mean to you?” you ask, feeling your heartbeat speed up in your chest. So what if you just… said it? What would happen?

“Everything?” he replies with a cheeky smile. The odds that he seriously means that are slim. But… they’re there. You shake that possibility out of your mind. That’s just the hope talking.

“Depends how convincingly you say it.” You tug on his arm. “C’mon. Let’s dance.” But he doesn’t budge–– he just continues to stand by the entrance of the club with an expectant look on his face. People are starting to stare.

“Fine,” you say with an eye roll. “I’ll tell you." Kuroo smirks, something self-congratulatory ready to leave his mouth, but then you let go of his hand and dance backwards into the throng of moving bodies. “But first, you’re gonna have to dance with me!” 

You allow yourself to be swallowed by the lively music, the people, the moment. Seconds later you’re deep enough into the crowd that you lose sight of Kuroo. Something in you says that he’ll show up soon, though. For now, you let yourself breathe. Forget about the heaviness of what-if’s, the itch to confess, the dread of the aftermath. Feelings are a lot like gravity. Sometimes they keep you grounded, other times, they weigh you down. This is one of those other times.

You dance up to a friendly-looking group of teens your age. Three guys and two girls. You shout your name and follow up with how it’s nice to meet them, hoping one of them finds you nice enough to keep around. Dancing alone in a club is one of the worst things that can ever happen to someone. Luckily, one of the girls–– the one wearing a purple wig–– pulls you in for a hug, drunkenly shouting back, “Bianca!” Bianca pushes you into their circle next to one of the guys and, just like that, you two start moving to the beat, feeling it in your feet, shoulders, hips. At one point, you turn around and take a good look at his face. The guy’s cute enough, but he’s not Kuroo. Still, you say nothing as he moves closer to you and grabs your hand, lifting it up and motioning for you to twirl.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grip firmly onto your waist and pull you out of the circle. “Hey!” You look down, suddenly realising they’re Kuroo’s. A shiver runs down your spine. He spins you around to face him. His lips are set in a firm line, eyes completely devoid of humour, nostrils slightly flared.

“Hi,” you say quietly, testing the waters.

“Hi,” he replies curtly. His hands are still on your waist. Selfishly, you choose not to point that out. Instead, you try to defuse the situation with a light question. Playful tone.

“Where were you this whole time?”

“Looking for you.”

“Well… you found me.” You flash him a sheepish grin. A peace offering of some sort.

“I did.” He doesn’t take it.

“Lucky you.”

Irritation finally seeps through his features. “You just left me on the dance floor!” he snaps. “And then when I find you after searching the entire venue, you’re dancing up on some random guy!”

“It was in good fun!” you retort, wriggling out of his grip. “And I wasn’t dancing up on him.” You want to ask if he’s jealous so badly, but you take a good look at his face and decide against that.

“Fun?” he asks incredulously. “Worrying about losing you, worrying about myself getting lost, then having to worry about that guy after finding you isn’t very fucking fun to me, Y/N!” The words fly out of his mouth like daggers without pause. Once finished, he looks at you with a disappointed gaze, shaking his head lightly, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath.

“I’m sorry,” you say, looking down at your shoes. It doesn’t matter if you disagree with him–– a sort of shame drills itself so deeply into your conscience that all you can think about is making things right again. “I didn’t think my actions through.”

A second passes. You wonder what he’s thinking.

“Hey, look at me.” Kuroo lifts your chin up with an index finger. Your wide eyes meet his narrow ones. Just as a pink beam glides over his face, his gaze softens, falls down to your lips. And then you feel his thumb on your chin, barely grazing the skin of your bottom lip. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. The revelry in the background fades to dull beats against your eardrums. Suddenly, you register that he smells of, as usual, blackcurrant and amber.

But now you also smell of blackcurrant and amber.

You’re wearing his clothes. You smell of him.

Kuroo’s eyes crawl back up to yours, wide like he’s just been caught in the middle of a crime. You blink expectantly, ignoring the furious way your heart pounds in your chest. Shallow breaths puff through your slightly parted mouth.

“I am.” It comes out barely a whisper. C’mon. Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me kiss me––

You gently touch the hand he has on your chin. Kuroo jolts back like he’s been burned. “I’ll, uhm, I’ll be in the car,” he stutters, looking away from your face. He pushes through the sea of people, leaving you all alone on the dance floor, body doused in blue light, fingers touching the area his thumb had been as if preserving its print.

Kuroo hardly notices you slip into the passenger’s seat minutes later. He’s got his forearms hanging over the steering wheel and gaze fixed ahead into the darkness, mind probably running off to a place he wishes his body was, too.

As soon as you’ve buckled yourself in, Kuroo starts the car.

The entire drive home is silent.

Once Kuroo pulls into your courtyard and parks, he turns off the engine, unbuckles his seatbelt, and steps out of the car. Wordlessly, you follow his actions and meet him by the stairs to your door.

“Hi,” you say quietly. He doesn’t look at you.

“Hey.”

The two of you stand outside your front door in silence as you both consider what to say next. This can’t be the way it ends.

“I shouldn’t have… done that,” Kuroo says first.

“Done what?” You choose to play dumb. Call it selfish, but you want to hear him say it. Maybe then it’ll feel as real as it had been. Kuroo sighs and leans his shoulder against the stone wall, crossing his arms over his chest. There’s no way he can dance around what happened. Perhaps the past two months can be summed up as the development of a strong friendship with skilled doublespeak and metaphors and just enough artistic licence, but this can’t. And Kuroo knows that. He can’t feed you an alternative truth like he’s done so many times before. What’s more, he can’t lie to himself anymore. So maybe it’s better just to not speak at all.

Your eyes burn holes into the side of his face. Fine. You’ll concede first. “I was never nervous.”

Kuroo blinks, turns his head around to look at you. “What?”

“I was never nervous. I was playing it cool because I didn’t want to risk befriending you and getting attached.” I’m still playing it cool, you don’t say. And I’m already attached. “Guess I just came off as a bitch instead.” You laugh. “But can you blame me? You were this cute, older guy. Smart, too, since you were interning with my mom. You were my dream guy.”

An amused breath blows out of his nose. “Were?” he questions, grinning, only remembering the fragility of your platonic relationship a second later. “Um––”

“Are.” It slips out of your mouth without you realising. Fuck. Kuroo stills. It’s too late to take back your words now, so you might as well just keep going. “You still are my dream guy.”

Seconds pass and neither of you says anything. Sweat gathers in the palms of your hands. You start to feel your heartbeat through your neck. The buzz of the cicadas grows louder. Oppressive. Behind Kuroo, the sky is starting to turn pale blue and pink in the horizon. That means it’s almost sunrise. The night is almost over, and, hopefully, so is this awful conversation.

“And… you don’t feel the same.” Funnily, you feel like you’re lying. You’re telling Kuroo how he feels and you think you’re lying. Does that make sense? None of this night even feels real. God, you hope this has all just been a dream. Mustering a soft smile, you say, “That’s okay. Thank you for the party. And the adventure.” It was fun while it lasted. You feel the house key in your pocket and turn to unlock the door. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us, Kuroo. Can we still be friends?” The words leave your mouth feeling like barbed wire. You know damn well you can’t still be friends.

And suddenly, you feel his calloused hands around your cheeks. Suddenly, his hot breath fans over your face.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmurs.

Your eyes close instantly. “Yes, please.”

And suddenly, his soft lips are on yours.

Kuroo breaks the kiss seconds later. “Fuck,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours, touching the tips of your noses together. “Y/N, I don’t want to be friends. Fuck.” A dry chuckle leaves his mouth. He pauses to collect his thoughts but decides that that can wait. Instead, he presses another kiss to your lips so fervently that he backs you up against the wall with no space between your bodies. You wonder if he can feel your heartbeat like this, chest to chest. Kuroo’s hands travel down your waist and rest on your hips. His tongue runs across your tongue, your teeth, the insides of your mouth. You gently suck on it, drawing a satisfied moan from him. When the kiss ends, you see that his lips are red and cheeks are swollen. A warm feeling spreads through your chest. “I thought I could be happy just being friends with you but I can’t. I want you so bad it hurts. Not to mention, when I saw you in my hoodie?” His fingers pinch the material. “I thought God was testing me or some shit.”

“Sure didn’t feel like you wanted me that way,” you retort, still breathless.

“In my defence,” Kuroo says, thumbs tracing your cheekbones, “I was very scared.”

“Of what?”

It looks like he’s about to tell you, but he changes his mind and doesn’t answer. He grabs your hand and pulls you back to the car with a cheeky grin. “I’ll tell you only if you tell me where we can watch the sunrise.”

Kuroo holds your hand, stroking your thumb the entire drive there.

After a short hike, you plop down on the grassy hillside, supporting your body with outstretched arms in the back. Kuroo sits down beside you with one of his hands covering yours, fingers intertwined like a honeysuckle vine around a hazel tree. You tell him that you grew up running along this hill with your parents. It used to be your playground. Maybe, you think, it’s time to make new memories here.

“Beautiful,” Kuroo breathes, a wonderstruck look in his eyes. The sun’s just risen halfway above the pink and blue horizon, the saturated orange casting the entire city below gold. It’s not just the city, though. He’s also gold. He’s just as beautiful. You watch him with a soft smile on your lips, noting how his wide eyes and slack jaw return to normal as he stares off into the distance. After resting your head on his shoulder, you fix your eyes on the sunrise ahead. You wonder what he’s thinking so quietly about.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you finally ask once the sun has finished revealing itself.

Kuroo blinks, returning to reality, but continues to stare straight ahead. “I was just thinking about… soulmates.”

You lift your head off his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you believe in soulmates now,” you tease.

“Hmm.” He turns to look at you, the sun turning his hazel eyes the colour of honey. That same wry smirk from Jack’s returns to his face.

“You wanna know why I was so scared?”

“Pray tell.”

“Because I’ve never felt this way towards anyone.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“No,” Kuroo laughs, laying his head down in your lap, looking up into your eyes. “I’m serious. I used to purposely stay away from girls in high school. Same in college. Same all the way until you somehow wormed your way into my life. That’s why we wouldn’t have been friends.” You cock your head to the side.

“Why?” you ask, running your fingers through his hair.

Kuroo’s eyelids flutter shut. He inhales deeply before talking. “My parents are divorced. The years before the divorce were… very ugly.” 

(He spares you the details of the midnight arguments, the smashed plates, the holes in the walls. He spares you the details of how he only ever knew how to fall asleep with his head sandwiched between two pillows, how he hasn’t seen his sister in a decade, how he’ll curse and snap but never yell because he always feels like a child again around the noise. That’s for another time, if you’ll have any.) 

“I still remember all the fighting and yelling. For the longest time, that’s all I knew about marriage and relationships.”

“Did you think all relationships were like that? Fighting and yelling?” you ask.

“For a while, yeah. I’m still a little scared of that, to be honest. Ending up in a relationship where all you do is fight.” Kuroo sighs. “But that’s not the only thing. I thought I wouldn’t know how to love someone, growing up like that.” At that, your fingers pause in his hair.

“Wait,” you say, furrowing your brows. A wave of immense sadness (not for yourself, for him) washes over you. “You think you wouldn’t know how to love someone else?”

“Thought.” Kuroo cracks open his eyes and smiles up at you. “I’m in the process of changing my mind.”

#kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo tetsurou scenarios #kuroo tetsurou imagines #haikyuu!!

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: Alex gets hurt and ends up breaking his arm, and Willie takes care of him. It really gets Alex down because he can’t drum and feels like he let the band down and he can’t use drumming to help with his anxiety and he feels useless because he can’t do much himself. Willie helps him with stuff he can’t do and tries to help him use other ways to cope with his anxiety. Lots of overprotective and soft caring Willie.

Snap

Alex had known it was a bad idea from the very beginning. Maybe it was the glint in Reggie’s eye, or the mischievous way Luke was biting his lip as he grinned, or the way they introduced the idea with, “You’re probably going to say no,” that had tipped him off. The point was, Alex had known that it was the worst plan his bandmates had ever come up with right from the get-go.

What he didn’t know was why he agreed to go through with it.

“You’re probably going to say no,” Luke had said when he and Reggie had entered the studio that morning. Alex had been trying to set up his drum kit, but looked up as they came in. He was immediately wary of the grin on Luke’s face. “But at least hear us out.”

“I’m worried,” Alex told them, glancing between each of them.

Luke waved a dismissive hand. “You’re always worried. Listen, it’s a great idea, I promise.”

“And,” Reggie added, “we’ve already got everything set up so it’ll be a total bummer if you say no now.”

Alex frowned. “What is it?” he asked warily.

“Just come with us, bro, I swear it’s awesome!”

Luke’s enthusiasm was hard to say no to, so Alex sighed and reluctantly stood to follow them out of the studio. He didn’t like the way his friends kept giggling at each other, then glancing back at him, and giggling even more. He didn’t like how this was a spontaneous adventure that he hadn’t had any time to prepare for. He didn’t like how he had no idea what the boys were planning.

But that didn’t stop him from following them.

They walked for a while, Luke and Reggie a few steps ahead of Alex, muttering conspiratorially between themselves. Eventually, they came to the top of a hill from which Alex could see the beach in one direction and the city in the other. Luke and Reggie stood side by side, then slid apart from each other in a grand reveal, announcing, “Ta-da!”

They moved apart to uncover a shopping trolley. A rusty, grimy shopping trolley that was missing a front wheel and looked as if it wouldn’t even be safe to push around a supermarket - somehow, Alex doubted that was what Luke and Reggie wanted to use it for in any case.

“Where did you get that?” Alex asked, eyeing the trolley.

“Washed up on the beach by my house,” Reggie said excitedly. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“You could say that,” Alex muttered. “You two seriously pushed it all the way up this hill?”

“Yep,” Luke said brightly, popping the ‘p’. “It took, like, three hours because the missing wheel kept making it turn and roll back down. We got it here though!”

He and Reggie high-fived.

“Uh-huh.” Alex had a dreadful sense in his stomach that he knew exactly where this was going. “And, uh... why did you want to show it to me?”

Luke grinned. He pointed to the trolley and said, “You’re gonna get in and we’re going to push you down the hill.”

“No.”

“Oh, come on!” Luke whined. “It’ll be fun!”

“I’m not concerned about it being fun, I’m concerned about it being dangerous!”

Luke scoffed and Reggie made a ‘pfffft’ sound. He slapped the side of the trolley. “This thing is perfectly safe! It’s sturdy - it survived being in the sea, remember?”

“It didn’t survive, it’s missing a wheel, which is the very thing that makes it dangerous,” Alex countered. “I’m not getting in that death-trap.”

“What if either Reggie or I go first?” Luke suggested. “You’ll see it’s safe, we can push it back up the hill, and you can have your turn.”

Alex shook his head. “You just said it took three hours to get this up here, I’m not waiting that long just to meet my certain doom.”

“There’s no doom,” Luke said.

“Alex, please,” Reggie said, breaking out the puppy-dog eyes. Alex felt his defences weaken.

And then Luke had to go and join in. BAM! Double puppy-dog eyes, both of his bandmates silently begging him to do that one simple task that would make them happy.

He sighed begrudgingly. “Fine. But if I die, you need to make sure my drum kit goes to someone who will appreciate it.”

“Gotcha,” Luke said, grinning from ear to ear. He slapped Alex’s shoulder. “Thanks, buddy.”

Against his better judgement and his choice, Alex steeled himself and clambered into the trolley. He felt the metal groan against his body weight, the cold rust digging into his bottom and back. It was probably staining his favourite pink hoodie, he thought with a grimace.

“Did you bring a helmet?” he asked, a nervous hitch in his voice. Now that he was in the trolley the hill looked a whole lot steeper.

Luke and Reggie laughed, readying themselves on either side of the trolley. Reggie said, “No. You won’t need one - we told you, it’s totally safe.”

“Are you ready?” Luke asked.

“Will it even matter if I say no?” Alex deadpanned.

“No. Okay, Reg, let’s do this. Three, two, one, go!”

Luke and Reggie, both clutching the trolley, took a great running start across the hill. As they gained momentum, Alex began feeling less and less steady and secure. He gripped the bars of the trolley for dear life; his eyes were open as they neared the edge, but only because it was an “I don’t want to look but I can’t not look” situation. As they drew ever closer to the drop, Alex felt the need to eject himself from the trolley but couldn’t make himself move.

And all of a sudden he was hurtling down the side of the hill, the trolley swerving unpredictably beneath him, running smoothly for a moment but then shooting off to the left or right with sharp turns that flipped Alex’s stomach. He collided with rocks, roots, and tree stumps that sent him and the trolley flying through the air for just a second before they landed without grace and sped down the hill once more.

Alex saw the main hazard long before he reached it but by that point it was about three minutes too late to do anything about it. As he gathered yet more speed, he found that he was headed directly towards a high barbed-wire fence. His mouth opened to scream but no noise came out.

Alex and the trolley smacked into the fence. In what Alex could only assume had looked like a spectacular acrobatic display, he was launched from the trolley and pinwheeled through the air, arms and legs star-fished around him. He landed in a heap on the other side of the fence, awkwardly jarring his arm on an unfortunately placed rock and then, because luck was not on his side, landed with the rest of his body weight on it.

Snap.

That didn’t sound good.

It didn’t feel good either. Immediately, Alex was aware that he couldn’t feel his right arm - the only sensation was a faint buzzing in it as if he had pins and needles.

He sat himself up, using his other hand for leverage, and looked at his arm. It was... not the shape an arm was supposed to be.

He had known this was a bad idea.

*

Six hours later, most of which had been spent in a hospital with a frantic Luke and an inconsolable Reggie, Alex had made his way to Willie’s place. The two of them were on the couch, Alex laying with his head on Willie’s lap and his face buried in Willie’s t-shirt, Willie gently carding his fingers through Alex’s hair. Alex’s right arm was wrapped in a pink plaster cast and hoisted up against his chest with a sling.

“This sucks,” he mumbled into the fabric of Willie’s shirt for what had to be the twentieth time that day.

Willie sighed. “I know, hotdog. Broken bones are never fun. But it’s only six weeks, right?”

“Six to eight,” Alex groaned. “That’s six to eight weeks where I can do pretty much nothing.”

“Hey,” Willie said gently. “Don’t give up so easily, it’s only been a few hours. I’ve broken a ton of bones skateboarding, and I know a whole bunch of fun things we can do while you’re all bandaged up.”

Alex harrumphed. “I can’t drum. So no band.”

“No playing with the band. That doesn’t mean you can’t hang out with them or go to rehearsals.”

“Great,” Alex said sarcastically. “That’s one really fun and exciting thing I can do - watch my friends have fun without me.”

“Stop it,” Willie said, voice a little firmer. Alex stopped. “They won’t be having fun without you because you’ll be there. A broken arm doesn’t stop you being their friend.”

Alex muttered to himself, “It’s stops me being useful.”

“What did you say?” Willie prompted.

Alex sighed haggardly and sat up, shuffling around to face Willie. “I said it stops me being useful. To them, to the band. I’ve let them down! We had three gigs lined up next week and now we don’t have a drummer so those will all be off. And what really sucks is that all of those gigs had managers and record execs coming to watch them, now they’re not going to see us. It’s my fault!”

Willie took his hand, the one that wasn’t strapped up to his chest with the sling. Alex felt him thread their fingers together and told himself to breathe. Breathe and look into Willie’s eyes. Calm.

“It’s not your fault, Alex,” Willie said, and as always whatever he said immediately made sense in Alex’s mind. Of course it wasn’t his fault - why would it be? “It’s nobody’s fault. The guys pressured you into getting in, you did, Julie wasn’t there to tell you all how stupid you were being, and I wasn’t there to at least offer you my helmet. We’re all a little to blame, but it’s not anybody’s fault, least of all yours.”

“I’m still letting them down,” Alex said quietly, struggling to maintain eye contact.

Willie shook his head. “You know that isn’t true. You’re Julie and the Phantoms - none of you have the ability to be disappointed in each other or let each other down. You’re like one person; if one of you is down, you all are.”

Alex was unconvinced, and it must have shown on his face because Willie sighed and continued.

“Remember last year when Reggie tried to fix his amp in the rain, got electrocuted, and then couldn’t play that school dance? So instead of getting mad at him you all took turns staying by his bedside, fetching him whatever he needed, keeping an eye on him, even helping him to the toilet and stuff like that?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “That was different. He could have died.”

“You could have died today,” Willie pointed out. Alex shuddered at the thought. “But okay. What about when Julie had a throat infection? You all started learning sign language to try and communicate with her. Sure, you all remembered that she could still hear you and that she could just write down what she wanted to say, but you were willing to learn a new language for her.”

“That’s still different!” Alex protested. He tried to throw his arms up in the air in frustration, but one was tied to his chest, so his left arm just flopped pathetically by itself.

“Why?”

“Because it’s Julie. We’d do anything for her.”

Willie fixed him with a glare full of love, unnerving and endearing at the same time.

“And they would all do anything for you too,” he said. “You know that. Tell me you know that, Alex.”

Alex swallowed thickly. “I know that,” he admitted quietly.

“And I would too,” Willie added, still gazing at Alex. “We’ve got this, hotdog.”

Finally, Alex felt the barest beginnings of a smile creeping onto his face. He squeezed Willie’s hand.

“We’ve got this.”

*

It was all well and good saying “we’ve got this” but the actual “getting this” part was easier said than done. It hadn’t been a day and Alex had already caved.

It had started that morning. He had woken up and been hyper aware of the cast on his arm. He could feel it like a hand clasped around his forearm, a sensation that couldn’t be shaken off or rubbed away. It had made his head tingle and he couldn’t seem to focus on much of anything.

When he’d gone downstairs, his father had tried to clap him genially on the shoulder, but being touched had felt like being suffocated. Alex hadn’t said anything, just tried to shrink away.

Then, inevitably and despite the nice greeting he had attempted to give, his father had launched into a spiel about why it was so awful that Alex had chosen to have a pink cast. It had sent his mind reeling, made his legs numb, and started his eyes watering.

So he had been feeling stressed. He had needed to get out of the house so he had gone on a walk - the nice breeze and the warm summer sun had been helpful, but there were so many noises outside. Birds chirped, bees buzzed, car horns honked, people laughed, footsteps echoed, leaves crunched, wind whistled, dogs barked, and every other noise the outside world created seemed stuck on an endless, repetitive, painful loop that attacked Alex’s ears and brain.

He could feel his anxiety beginning to spike. If one more thing touched him (in the metaphorical or literal sense) he was sure he would break.

He got a text from Willie: Going to be late but will bring a fun surprise!

Snap.

The floodgates opened and Alex began to cry. All he wanted was for things to be normal - he wanted his arm out of the cast, he wanted to drum with his band, and he wanted to see his boyfriend right now like they had planned.

So he did something stupid. He went to the Molinas’ house, let himself into the studio as he and the other boys regularly did, sat himself down beside his drum kit, slipped his cast-covered arm from the sling and began to drum.

It wasn’t the easy release it always was. It just hurt even more. Alex should have expected it; using a broken arm to whack a drum didn’t sound fun when put bluntly. But usually drumming helped so much, usually it made the tight feeling in Alex’s mind loosen. Not today.

Still, he kept drumming, because now it almost felt like he couldn’t stop.

It hurt.

He didn’t know how long he’d been there when the doors to the studio opened and Julie popped her head in. “Alex?”

Finally he let his arms fall to his sides, knackered and aching. His right arm was throbbing and there were tears running down his cheeks.

“Hey,” Julie said gently, hurrying towards him. She held her hand out, an offering for him to take it, but Alex shook his head and she withdrew it.

“Alex,” she continued. “I need you to put your broken arm back in the sling. Here, give me your drumsticks.”

He did as she said, grateful for order and instruction. He handed her his sticks, then winced as he manoeuvred his arm back into its sling.

“Is there anything you want me to do?” Julie asked softly.

Alex shrugged. How was he supposed to know?

Julie made the decision for him. “I’ll see if I can get hold of Willie.”

As she left the studio, Alex couldn’t help but laugh. Of course that would help and of course Julie knew that.

It wasn’t five minutes before Willie pushed the doors to the studio open and skated inside in one smooth move that Alex might have found impressive another time. He propped his board up against the wall and headed straight in Alex’s direction, crouching down beside him.

Alex fumbled to take Willie’s hand.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” Willie said quietly. “Julie said you were drumming?”

Alex nodded.

Willie huffed an affectionate laugh. “That was a dumb thing to do.”

Alex felt a smile tug at his lips. “I know,” he croaked. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Willie said soothingly. “I know how hard this is for your. But, when your anxiety spikes we’re going to have to find other things to do in the meantime. Drumming isn’t going to do you any good.”

Alex nodded again. “I know. It hurt.”

“Do you want to head up to the hospital?” Willie asked, gently touching Alex’s broken arm where it was safely in its sling. He was probably imagining it, but Alex could have sworn that the pain went away when Willie touched it. “Make sure you’ve not done any more damage?”

“I think it’s fine,” Alex told him. Willie looked up at him, disbelieving. “I didn’t go hard, I’m not that stupid.”

“Okay then. I believe you. I’ve got something planned, but is there anything you want to do first? Or do you still need a little time to calm down?”

Alex squeezed his hand. “Can we just... I don’t know. Can you just sit with me for a while?”

Willie smiled and Alex felt his heart burst. “Of course, hotdog. Whatever you need.”

They moved to the couch and cuddled up together. Willie positioned himself so that he could easily press gentle kisses to Alex’s forehead - Alex didn’t know whether Willie had done that for his own enjoyment or for Alex’s, but he didn’t mind either way. Just having Willie there, holding him, supporting him, made him feel a whole lot better than he had before.

*

Alex hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he found himself yawning as he woke up. He tried to stretch his arms, then remembered one of them was bound to his chest, and awkwardly let the one arm that had moved fall to his side. He heard Willie giggle and turned to face him where he was cuddled practically beneath Alex.

“Tired, sleeping beauty?” Willie teased, brushing hair out of Alex’s face.

Alex felt his face flush. “I’m not sleeping beauty,” he said. “I’m not any princess.”

“You got that right,” Willie said, pointing to a wet patch on his own shirt. “Princesses don’t drool on their boyfriend’s shirts.”

Alex rolled his eyes and laughed a little, pushing himself into a sitting position. Willie sat up too, and pressed a quick kiss to Alex’s cheek.

“Right,” Willie said, pulling Alex to his feet. “Ready to do what I had planned?”

“Okay,” Alex said, grinning.

Willie tugged on his arm and led him out of the studio. They walked together for a while, Willie talking his ear off about this and that and everything in between. Alex was grateful for Willie all the time, but especially in times like this - times when Alex was struggling for words and wasn’t feeling quite up to talking at all, and Willie would simply know when he felt like that and do all the talking for him.

Eventually, Willie came to a stop so sudden that Alex walked straight into him. Willie laughed and clutched Alex’s hand, pointing to the building they’d stopped outside.

It was a museum, one that Willie had taken Alex to many a time before. Alex knew how much Willie loved this place - the way his face lit up when he talked about all the different exhibits was endearing and downright beautiful. Alex didn’t ‘get’ art himself, but he would never pass up an opportunity to visit the gallery with Willie.

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

Willie shrugged. “I was brainstorming ways to help you combat your anxiety while drumming isn’t an option, and I remembered that they just opened a new temporary feature here. It’s all about noise being its own form of art and they’ve added an area where you can make your own.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Your own noise or art?”

“The point is that it’s both,” Willie explained, leading him inside. “And I think the way they’ve designed it could be a very effective stress-reliever. Come on.”

Willie led him through all the exhibits, wending his way through the bustling crowds with ease. He didn’t stop to talk about all the paintings and sculptures like he usually would, so Alex’s curiosity was piqued.

Willie pulled him into a room. Which was really all it was - just a room. It was relatively large with a plain white ceiling, floor, and walls (except for one which was entirely glass and showed the bright spring sunshine outside). Alex looked around for some instruction of what to do; Willie had said the exhibit was all about noise, but there was literally nothing in the room that could be used to make a sound.

“So... what do we do?” Alex asked.

Willie grinned. “You make your own noise.”

And then he screamed.

It was a long, loud, sustained note and when Willie finally finished he was grinning from ear to ear, looking absolutely exhilarated. Alex (impressed that Willie had held the note so long and now weirdly curious about his lung capacity) stared at him, dumb-founded.

“This is really what we’re supposed to do?” he asked sceptically.

Willie nodded vigorously. “Yeah, man, and it’s awesome! You just... let go! Shout all your worries away. Now you try!”

Alex nervously let out a weak little, “Ahhhhh.”

Willie laughed loudly and took hold of Alex’s shoulders. “Come on, bro, you’ve got to put some effort in. Come on, like this, ready?”

He screamed again.

Alex screamed back.

And for god knows how long, the two of them stayed together, screaming into each other’s faces, competing to see who could scream longest and loudest, and Alex hardly noticed that his worries were dissipating as he let himself be confident and have fun with Willie. The minutes ticked by into hours and they only stopped screaming when they were totally out of breath.

Willie blew his hair out of his face, eyes shining hopefully. “Feels good, right?”

“Yeah,” Alex replied, pulling him into an awkward one-armed hug. “It does.”

*

Alex spent the night at Willie’s, not feeling up to going home. When they woke up to Alex’s alarm the next morning, Alex felt Willie shuffle into his side, head on Alex’s shoulder, clearly not wanting to get up.

“It’s, like, five o’clock in the morning,” Willie grumbled, throwing an arm across Alex’s midriff. “I want to stay in bed.”

“We’ve hit snooze a dozen times and it’s nearly eleven a.m.,” Alex returned, smiling fondly. “I’m very sorry but it’s time to get up.”

Willie sighed and rolled himself out of bed, grumbling about Alex interrupting his dream. Alex just laughed and sat up too, automatically looking for his own wardrobe and then remembering he was at Willie’s and had nothing to wear.

“I should have headed home and grabbed some clean clothes,” he thought out loud. A moment later he was struck in the back of the head by one of Willie’s t-shirts and a pair of trousers.

“Put those on,” Willie said as he pulled on a tricolour jumper. “I’m pretty sure they’ll fit.”

Alex picked up the clothes (a tie-dye crop-top and a pair of acid wash ripped jeans) and began his attempt at getting dressed. There were many things Alex had found that were hard to do one-armed, but putting clothes on was the biggest challenge, bordering on impossible. How was he supposed to get his arm through the hole if he wasn’t supposed to use his arm?

He heard Willie giggle somewhere in front of him and was glad that the shirt jammed over his head covered up his blush.

“Need any help, hotdog?” Willie teased.

“No, no, I’ve got this,” Alex lied. He shimmied a little, trying to get the shirt to fall down over his face.

There was another quiet little chuckle, and a moment later Alex felt Willie’s cold hands on his skin as he gently maneuvered Alex’s arms and head to go through the right holes. When the shirt finally was on properly and Alex’s eyes were uncovered again, he was greeted with the lovely sight of Willie smiling down at him affectionately, eyes bright and smile wide.

Willie finished helping Alex dress, ignoring Alex’s insistence that he really could do it by himself (”I think you’ve just proved that you can’t, hotdog.”) and the two of them left the house. Willie told Alex that he had planned another something to take Alex’s mind off the cast, this time down at the beach; Alex had no idea what it could be, but didn’t find himself stressing out at the thought of not knowing.

It was strange, but it made sense. After all, having Willie there to help him over the past few days had made Alex’s life a whole lot easier. Having Willie in his life at all made it that much more enjoyable. With Willie, Alex felt safe and able to trust himself and his boyfriend. He felt free, even though he was trapped by the cast.

He was certain that whatever Willie had thought up would help him get through the pain and the anxiety, and he couldn’t wait.

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