#Chapter Four: On Second Chances | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

capuccinodoll · 2 months ago

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Honey love, dark eyes

♡ Chapter one ♡

Summary: It’s Joel’s birthday, your best friend. As usual, you and Sarah are getting everything ready to celebrate, just like you have for years. However, while preparing dinner before Joel gets home from work, Sarah tells you that her dad has been seeing a mysterious woman for the past couple of weeks. This wouldn’t be an issue, except he’s been deliberately hiding it from you, even going out of his way to lie about it.

Though you try to keep your anger in check to avoid ruining his birthday, your emotions get the better of you later that night when it’s just the two of you. Joel doesn’t hold back either, sparking a heated argument that pushes you both further than ever before.

Word count: 9.4K

A/N: Okay, I was planning for the first chapter to be 4K words MAX, but my imagination went crazy with this lol I really hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this <3 warning: ANGST! don't forget to leave feedback, tell me what you think!

If you want to be on the tag list, let me know too.

You met him on the night of your twenty-second birthday, at the small party Cassie had put together for you in her dimly lit apartment. You hadn’t wanted much of a celebration, nothing bigger than a few close friends, and certainly not a group of strangers. But when Brianna swept in, holding hands with a man you didn’t know, and introduced him as her boyfriend, you felt a vague flicker of annoyance, the kind that accompanies unmet expectations.

"I thought it was just going to be us," you mumbled to Cassie, catching her in the kitchen as she poured herself another glass of wine.

She looked at you, her cheeks already flushed, eyes bright. "They're a few of my friends, too; they’re nice—you’ll like them if you give it a chance." She smiled, urging you to relax, as though she could tease you out of your mood. "It’s your birthday; don’t be so sullen."

"I didn’t know Brianna was bringing her boyfriend," you said quietly, as Cassie started back to the living room.

She paused, giving you a half-smile over her shoulder. "Neither did I, actually," she admitted, lowering her voice. "Apparently, they've been together for about a month. She’s really into him."

And she was. Brianna clung to him all night, her laughter spilling out freely, unrestrained and buoyant from the wine. It wasn’t long before someone suggested karaoke, and as voices rang out in the next room, you slipped quietly back into the kitchen, craving a moment of solitude. You were surprised to find Brianna’s boyfriend there, leaning against the counter, scrolling absently through his phone with a glass of water in hand.

He looked up, straightened, and offered you a tentative smile. “Oh, hi. Happy birthday,” he said, his voice warm but reserved. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to say it earlier…”

“No worries,” you replied, your tone reassuring. “Thanks.”

He hesitated, as though weighing what to say next. “Are you having a good time?”

You gave a slight shrug. “It’s…” but before you could finish, he cut in with a knowing smile.

“It’s okay. I don’t love my birthday either.” His eyes glinted in the soft kitchen light, and you felt a small smile tugging at your own lips.

You looked at him then, really looked at him, allowing yourself the indulgence. “I didn’t want to admit it,” you said, feeling the faintest hint of heat rising to your cheeks. “What was your name again?”

“Joel,” he answered, his gaze drifting briefly back to his phone. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge tonight. Left my daughter with a new babysitter. I think she’s having a rough time.”

Your eyebrows rose in mild surprise; you hadn’t pegged him as a dad. You moved closer, pouring yourself a glass of orange juice and asked, “How old is she?”

“Four. Her name’s Sarah.” He ran a hand through his hair, and you could tell he was tense. “It’s only the second time she’s been with this sitter, and apparently, she’s been crying all evening.”

“Oh, poor thing,” you murmured sympathetically. “She’s little. Changes like that must be hard on her.”

He sighed, his gaze drifting to the side as he typed something quickly on his phone. “I should probably get going. Brianna won’t love that idea; we’d planned to stay out…” He paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours, worry etched across his face. “You think she’ll be too mad?”

“No,” you assured him, though you knew Brianna wouldn’t be pleased. “Go be with your daughter. She’s little; she needs you. Brianna will understand.”

A grateful smile spread across Joel’s face, and for the first time, you noticed the faint dimple on his cheek. For a fleeting second, you wanted to reach out, trace it with your thumb.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on you in a way that felt unintentional, yet steady. “I hope your night gets better once karaoke is over,” he added with a quiet laugh. "Wish me luck."

You chuckled, meeting his gaze. “Good luck, Joel.”

He left with that same soft smile, and you watched him go, his warm brown eyes leaving an odd impression, like an unclaimed memory. And, as expected, Brianna didn’t understand. She spent the rest of the night sulking, casting sharp words at Joel through her bitterness.

“You knew he had a daughter when you got with him, this was bound to happen at some point,” Cassie told her, fed up with the other's complaints.

You didn't hear the answer, as you were distracted by watching the colorful pictures someone had put on the television.

You heard nothing more from Joel for a couple of weeks, until Cassie blurted out the gossip one morning while you were having lunch at her house.

“He broke up with her,” she began to tell you. “He told her she wasn't being empathetic and that he couldn't drop everything to party with her as if they had no responsibilities.”

It was no surprise. Brianna was a woman who lived at night; she was twenty-three years old and enjoyed it with the freedom that was rightfully hers. You couldn't blame her for wanting to have fun with her boyfriend. But Joel lived a very different reality than she did; at twenty-eight, he had a daughter to take care of, routines to follow, and a lot of work to do.

Although you thought it would take her longer to get over him, it wasn't long before she met a guy at her gym and got into it with him, outgrowing Joel in a matter of days. But for some reason, Joel’s warm, steady gaze stayed with you, like a whisper that hadn’t fully faded.

Years passed quietly, slipping through your fingers like sand until, suddenly, it was your twenty-sixth birthday. This time, the scene was different: you’d moved into your own place just two days earlier, and there was little thought of celebrating. Instead, the weekend found you alone, arranging your things and attempting to bring order to the chaos of a new home.

It was a crisp Saturday morning, and you stood in your front yard with a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice in hand, humming along to some eighties tune drifting in from the living room. The song—one of those upbeat ones that made even housework feel light—had lifted your spirits, and you moved rhythmically as you pushed plastic flowers into the dirt along the front path, sending little puffs of air to make the petals flutter.

You were lost in your task when you heard soft footsteps behind you, instinctively making you turn.

“Oh, hello,” you said, quickly masking the slight surprise the girl’s sudden appearance had given you.

She looked at you with wide, curious eyes, seemingly unfazed by her solo adventure.

“Hi. What’s your name? Do you live here?” she asked, her gaze shifting from your face to the flowers in your hands.

Glancing around for any sign of her parents, you noted her relaxed stance, like she’d been coming here all her life. Smiling, you nodded and gave her your name. “Yep, I just moved in.”

She looked unimpressed. “This house was empty for a while. I didn’t like the kid who lived here before. He was a pain in the ass—”

“Sarah!” came a sharp voice from behind, making you jump slightly. Heavy footsteps approached, and you squinted against the sun to see a figure striding toward you, his features obscured by the bright morning light.

When he stepped closer, his face came into focus, and your breath caught. You knew him.

“Sarah, you can’t just leave the house like that,” he said sternly, a furrow in his brow, his tone more parental than reproachful.

He turned to you, and the scowl softened as recognition dawned.

“Joel,” you murmured, the name slipping out before you even meant to say it aloud.

His expression shifted into a surprised smile, and that was all it took to break the ice between you. You explained that you’d just moved in and were still settling. Joel offered to help with anything you needed, including taking a look around the house to ensure everything was in order. He formally introduced you to Sarah, now eight years old, who had nearly scared him to death by sneaking out. She had his same lively spark in her eyes, a brightness that seemed familiar.

That evening, Sarah invited you to dinner with them, leaving Joel with little choice but to agree. And one dinner became many, as evenings blurred into weekends, and you found Joel’s presence in your life weaving into something inseparable from your routine. He started popping by to help with small projects, fixing kitchen cabinets or adjusting the wobbly front steps, visits stretching into movie marathons or lazy conversations with cold beer in hand. Days flowed into evenings of chatting over the meals you cooked to share with Sarah, and sometimes her uncle Tommy. Though Joel claimed he was no cook, his barbecues were legendary, and you couldn’t deny you looked forward to them most of all. And soon enough, he was there for everything, from driving you to doctor’s appointments to accompanying you on those grocery runs he pretended to hate. He even started showing up early on days he knew you’d need a ride. Over time, he became the best friend you’d ever had, a safe place, someone who felt like family. With everyone else scattered—Cassie overseas, old friends moved away—Joel became your rock.

It wasn’t something you dared to admit to yourself often, but you couldn’t imagine your life without him. And maybe that’s why you never allowed yourself to voice those little fleeting thoughts, the ones that flitted through your mind every now and then: how safe you felt whenever he threw his arm around your shoulders, or how good he looked reclining on his couch after a long day. Or how perfect it felt when the three of you—Sarah dozing on his lap, you leaning into his shoulder—sat together in the warm silence of a Sunday afternoon. There was an ache, too, a quiet pang whenever he mentioned another woman. Thankfully, that was rare; Joel once told you, with a shrug, that he “wasn’t really looking for that sort of thing.”

Sometimes, you watched him carefully as you talked about your own dates, hoping to catch a glimmer of jealousy in his gaze, some subtle cue that maybe he felt the same way. But there was never anything you wanted to see, and you always felt silly for looking. So, you buried it all. The risk of ruining things with Joel wasn’t worth the confession.

One afternoon, however, your emotions almost escaped your eyes when, while preparing Joel's birthday cake, Sarah dropped a piece of news that caught you off guard. She told you, with her usual nonchalance, that Joel had gone out the night before with someone new.

“Yeah, it’s like… the third time they’ve gone out,” Sarah mentioned while spreading cream on the sponge cake. “I don’t know her name or anything, just that he met her in line at the bank,” a laugh choked in her throat, amused at imagining her father flirting with some woman in a public space.

You forced a smile, laughing along like it was funny.

"And who stayed with you last night?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual.

Not that Sarah was necessarily a baby; she was already twelve and extremely independent. But Joel never left her alone if he went out for the night, he knew how much she loved spending time with you watching movies and eating junk food. Then, when he arrived, you would pester him with gossipy questions and he would pretend to get angry and then answer every one of them.

“Uncle Tommy," she said, eyeing her work with satisfaction. “We had fun, but I kinda wished you’d come too. Hey, what do you think?” she fingered the cream neatly arranged with the angled knife.

“It's perfect,” you smiled at her, not waiting too long to ask the question you wanted so badly. “Why didn't you call me then?”

Sarah started sprinkling colorful sprinkles on top of the cream and looked at you for a second when she noticed the tone in your voice at the last word. She didn't seem to think much of it.

“You were busy, weren't you? Dad said you had something to do.”

Her answer hit you like a small weight to the chest. Joel had purposefully left you out. He’d even made an excuse for Sarah’s benefit. So, there had been three dates—three times he’d kept this woman a secret. A small knot formed in your stomach as you forced yourself to smile, still watching Sarah as she concentrated on the last of the sprinkles.

In the kitchen, you were running your hand through the steam from the beef stew on the stove—Joel’s favorite—when the door opened. His footsteps grew louder, approaching, and you nervously adjusted the dress you’d chosen, one you knew he liked, though he’d never said it. It was your favorite too, a cream-colored sundress with delicate shoulder ties.

Sarah sprang forward, covering his eyes. “Don’t look, the table’s not ready.”

You hurried to set the glasses in their places, your hands a little shaky as you moved, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush creeping up your cheeks.

“I don’t need to see it—I can smell it, and it smells incredible,” Joel grinned beneath Sarah’s tiny hands, which she’d plastered over his eyes, half to keep him from sneaking a glance, half just because she could.

“Too bad you don’t smell incredible,” Sarah retorted with a smirk, wrinkling her nose. "Go take a shower!"

You laughed, catching Joel’s raised brow at her.

“You’ve got five minutes,” you said, placing the lid on the simmering pot.

Joel snorted, brushing Sarah’s hands away from his face.

“That’s the smell of a hardworking man,” he replied, feigning offense as he turned for the stairs. “Y’all oughtta know.”

Later, the three of you sat around the table, and Joel took his first bite of the stew, eyes widening, a kind of bliss washing over his face. He tossed his head back and groaned.

“Sweet Glory,” he mumbled, closing his eyes. “Thank you for this.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, though part of you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something between irritation and flattery. “You say that every time I cook for you.”

He shook his head, smiling as he chewed, then spoke softly, his gaze slipping downward.

“I’m not exaggerating—I love everything you do.” A pause, and then a quick, awkward clarification. “I mean, everything you cook.”

The clarification was like a line drawn in the sand, a boundary etched by his voice alone.

You smiled weakly and inwardly thankful when Sarah spoke, telling you about something that had happened at her school that week and distracting you from the question that was spellbinding your tongue. You were dying to ask it, to look him in the eye and ask: who did you go out with last night? Why didn't you tell me? Is it someone I know? Is that it?... But you didn't, you stayed quiet and participated in the pleasant conversation, celebrating his birthday as he deserved. After all, no matter how much it angered you that he kept things from you, it was still his special day.

After dinner, Sarah forced Joel to sit in front of his cake, two lit number candles glowing in front of him. You turned out the lights, watching as the light from the flames reflected beautifully in your best friend's dark pupils.

Joel was wearing a black T-shirt and dark jeans, his hair was still barely damp from the shower he'd taken before, and his sun-kissed tan face looked smooth, decorated by the beard and mustache you loved so much. Behind him, his shadow vibrated and spread across the wall with grandeur.

“Make a wish!” Sarah cheered, bouncing with excitement as she placed her small hands on his shoulders.

Joel smiled, closed his eyes, and blew out the candles. In the dimness, you leaned in and kissed his cheek softly.

“Happy birthday, old man,” you whispered, your hand resting gently on his neck.

He reached for your hand, pressing a warm, lingering kiss into your palm. “I’m not that old,” he muttered with a mock frown.

Sarah giggled, holding a knife to cut the cake and licking a dab of frosting from her thumb. “You’ll be forty in four years,” she teased, catching your amused expression.

Joel scoffed, scratching his stomach as he stood back up, turning to you with a smile that made you forget, just for a moment, all the questions you were holding back. There was only Joel, his rumbling laugh, Sarah’s delighted giggles. It felt like home.

Sarah gave him his gift first: a copy of Curtis and Viper 2 with the deleted scenes and a mystery box. When he opened it, a smile formed on his lips.

He pulled out a weathered wristwatch, broken for months, now polished and repaired.

“I took it in to be fixed. Do you like it?” Sarah asked, eyes wide with anticipation.

Joel nodded, eyes softening as he extended his wrist for her to put it on. “It’s perfect, baby.”

“Let's watch the movie later,” Sarah said. “You can't fall asleep.”

“Let's see which one of us falls asleep first,” you joked, and you were right. Joel had been working all afternoon and Sarah had been yawning for hours.

You turned and picked up the box resting beside your feet, handing it to him. When he opened it, Joel pulled out a black cloth garment and a paper envelope. He tugged at the cloth, revealing a thick, soft jacket. He read the label and a smile appeared on his lips.

“I saw it and thought of you,” you said, mimicking his gesture.

“How much did you pay for this?”

“Don't worry about it, it had to be yours,” you noted as you stood up and took it from his hand. “Here, stand up. Let's see how it fits you.”

“And what if it doesn't fit? Do we have to travel to Rome to exchange it?”

You laughed, then helped him slide it over his shoulders, a comfortable, familiar movement.

“I know you by heart, I couldn't be wrong.”

“So?” he asked, smiling coquettishly. Your stomach tingled and you decided to ignore it.

“Lookin’ good, Dad,” Sarah chimed in, her innocent smile lighting up the moment. “Bet someone special will love it, too.”

Joel smiled weakly, as if he was trying to tell her something with his eyes, and for a second you hated the thought of your gift being enjoyed by someone else. You imagined him getting ready to go out with her -whoever she was-, running his hand through his hair and perfuming his neck as he did from time to time whenever he went out with someone. You knew that perfume perfectly, you'd recognize it anywhere, though you were sure it wouldn't smell the same on anyone else. Joel added his own scent to it, and you loved it.

“Okay, now, open the envelope,” you urged, your voice unintentionally sharper than you meant.

Joel sat back down and opened the blue paper envelope. He read the note carefully and when he looked up, you and Sarah were looking at him excitedly.

“Sunshine, did you pay for this?” he asked you, a soft disbelief in his tone.

Inside were three plane tickets. Sarah had helped you pick the destination—somewhere none of you had been but would love.

When you nodded, he let out a soft sigh. “Let me cover part of it.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “It’s my birthday gift to you, Joel. It’s all settled. You need a vacation, and we certainly do too, don't we?”

“That's right,” Sarah confirmed, smiling complicitly.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re too good to me.”

But he smiled, tucking the tickets back into the envelope.

Time with Joel and Sarah was easy. When you were with them, hours slipped away, and the heaviness of everything else seemed to dissolve. You felt at home, and sometimes it left you wondering about Sarah’s mother, about how anyone could have left them. Didn’t she see how extraordinary they were? Didn’t she realize what she’d lost?

You thought about this as you relaxed on the couch beside Joel, Sarah curled up with her head on your shoulder. Her breathing had slowed, and you smiled, realizing she’d fallen asleep. Three glasses sat on the coffee table: the wine Joel had opened just before dinner—a bottle you’d brought back from your last trip to Italy—and Sarah’s lemon soda. Joel snorted softly, glancing at his daughter with a smirk, then leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Fallen soldier,” he whispered, smiling.

You laughed, brushing a hand over Sarah’s hair. “She’s tired. She was up all afternoon making your cake, you know? Tried the cream three times before she got it right.”

Joel sighed, an apologetic note in his voice. “I know, sorry I was late. I know she wanted me here sooner.”

Curtis and Viper 2 was halfway through on the TV, forgotten in the background. Joel straightened, signaling he’d take Sarah to bed, and you shifted to make room as he lifted her, carrying her toward the stairs. You watched him disappear down the hallway, and as the house fell into a quiet lull, that familiar disappointment stirred in your chest. Now, without Sarah’s chatter, you’d have to keep pretending that nothing was wrong.

You took a long sip of your wine, finishing off the glass just as Joel returned. He sat down heavily beside you, causing the cushions to sink as he let out a sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes before giving you a grateful look.

“Thanks for today, I had a great time. Sarah was very happy,” he said quietly, a warm smile appearing on his lips.

“I'm glad, hun. Although the credit goes to her, I just made dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter. You helped her, and I’m grateful. I mean that. For today, and for… all these years.” His voice softened, almost reverent.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you whispered, feeling your pulse pick up as he leaned closer, his brown eyes unreadable but soft. “You’re my family, both of you. Really, I’m the one who owes you thanks.”

He shook his head and leaned back, taking another sip of his wine.

“Not at all,” he replied, leaning back again.

You watched him for a moment, turning the weight of your question over in your mind. If you said something, he’d make an excuse. If you kept silent, the doubt would eat at you. You tried to fix your gaze on the TV, on anything other than his profile in the dim room. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“So, what did you do last night?”

He tensed beside you, so subtly that only you could’ve noticed. “What?”

You tried to keep your tone even, hoping you didn’t sound like you’d spent all day thinking about it. “I just… didn’t see your truck out there, thought maybe you were gone or something.” It was a lie; you had fallen asleep on your couch last night, you hadn't even noticed Joel was gone.

Joel seemed to measure his words carefully. “Oh. Yeah… I just went out for a beer with Tommy,” he answered, his tone a little too casual.

Heat crept up your face, disbelief taking root. He really was holding out on you for some reason, wasn't he? The man was lying to you, and not very cleverly. Tommy had been with Sarah, what if you had seen him, hadn't he thought of that? Apparently not.

It took a moment before you could bring yourself to say anything, watching as he glanced at you with an uneasy smile, waiting for you to believe him.

“Joel,” you murmured, not quite able to keep the accusation out of your voice. “You’re lying to me.”

He gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, but you didn’t let him off so easily. Before he could say anything, you spoke again.

“Tommy was with Sarah last night, here,” you pointed out, your voice firmer this time. His silence told you everything, his face drawn and uncertain as he realized you’d caught him.

After a long pause, he looked down, his voice unusually flat. “Alright, yeah. I know.”

The admission was so casual it took you by surprise, but you shook your head, feeling the ache of frustration and betrayal creep in.

“Why would you lie to me?” you pressed. “We’re friends. Why wouldn’t you tell me you’re seeing someone?”

Joel sighed, avoiding your gaze, his eyes instead locked somewhere in the distance. “It’s… it’s nothing serious,” he mumbled. “Just getting to know her. Don't make such a fuss out of it.”

“What? what you're saying doesn't make sense. You’ve kept it hidden, avoided every chance to be honest about it. Why?” you asked, trying not to let the hurt seep into your voice.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted, but his voice sounded unsure.

“So if I call Tommy right now, he’ll tell me the truth? Or did you ask him to keep this from me too?”

Finally, he met your gaze, his eyes scanning your face, reading the frustration and hurt you’d tried to keep buried. You could see it in his eyes, that familiar tug of defiance, a flash of something deeper than guilt or secrecy.

“What if I did?” His voice was almost philosophical, his gaze intense and challenging. “This is my private life. I don’t have to explain myself to anyone, not even you. Do I?”

You drew in a sharp breath. His words struck like a slap, but you steadied yourself. “You’re right, Joel. You don’t owe me explanations. But you don’t have to lie to me, either.” You looked down, feeling your voice start to waver. “You’ve never hidden your relationships from me before.”

He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face and slumping back against the couch.

After a few seconds, he finally looked at you, a look of exasperation crossing his face.

“Because of this.” He gestured between you, his tone gentle but firm. “This reaction, right here, is exactly why I didn’t tell you.”

What Joel was saying didn’t make sense. Your frustration wasn’t over him seeing someone else; it was something else entirely, something more fundamental.

“Oh, just stop,” you snapped, voice sharp. “I’m not mad because you’re dating someone, Joel. I’m mad that you lied to me. They’re two completely different things.”

He took a breath, settling back on the couch, and turned to face you, a guarded expression crossing his face. “No, it’s always the same thing. Remember the last time I was seeing someone?”

And you did, briefly. A year ago, one of his friends had introduced him to his cousin—a woman who had just moved to town. She was polite enough, but her smiles had a brittle quality to them, and when she met Sarah, her warmth never extended beyond a single, dismissive greeting. The indifference was obvious, at least to you, and maybe you’d let that show a little too openly. Joel had caught on quickly, and after that, things with her fizzled out.

“That was different,” you argued, exasperated. “She wasn’t nice, Joel. She had zero interest in Sarah.”

He gave a bitter, half-smile. “Maybe, but it wasn’t your job to manage that. I can handle my own relationships. But you always—” he paused, thumping his chest with a finger, “you always step in. Always get defensive.”

“That’s not true!” Your voice rose as anger crept in, heating your face. “You’re just making excuses. Date whoever you want, Joel, I don’t care. But don’t lie to me, don’t insult me with these flimsy excuses. Or if you’re going to lie, at least make it convincing.”

He clenched his jaw, his gaze hardening, something fierce sparking in his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low and measured, the words hanging between you like a dare.

“Sure about what?” Your brow creased in confusion, the pulse in your chest picking up, a flurry of anger and… something else you couldn’t place, mingling with the haze of the wine.

His eyes narrowed, holding yours, unflinching. “That you don’t care. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? Because I know you, i know you to well to know you’re just jealous.”

Jealous. He thought you were jealous.

He had missed the point completely. Your feelings for him were complex, that much was true. But you had learned, or thought you had learned, to carry them quietly. Your friendship with him had come to feel like a sturdy house you could live inside without having to ask too much of it. Having him in your life was enough.

But now, you felt that house shift, cracks spreading through the walls. His inability to trust you hurt more deeply than you’d expected. The openness you’d once trusted was fracturing. You felt the sting of tears prick at your eyes, the words he’d thrown out so casually cutting to the quick.

“Fuck you, Joel,” you muttered, standing abruptly, storming to the door and slamming it shut behind you. You barely heard him call your name as you left, fury driving you down the front steps, the cool night air biting at your cheeks.

Honestly, he could go fuck himself.

Just as your hand reached your front door, his footsteps closed in behind you, his strides fast enough to catch up. You tried to close the door before he could reach you, but his hand caught it just in time, his voice heavy with irritation.

“Just go away, Joel,” you said, barely glancing at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” His voice was calm, almost pleading.

You stepped back, reluctantly letting him into the foyer. He’d have come in anyway.

“I mean it, God. Go home,” you insisted, your voice wavering, betraying the anger mixed with something else.

He shook his head, taking a few steps closer, his jaw tight. “Can we just talk?”

“Talk?” you repeated incredulously. “Talk about what? About how wrong you are?”

He didn’t flinch, but his eyes darkened. “Don’t act like what I said was crazy,” he said, voice steady but a little sharper now.

You scoffed, throwing your hands up. “Oh, so now I’m jealous, is that it? Then, by your logic, you must’ve been jealous too, right? Like last month, when Travis asked me out. Because if that’s the case, then we’re having the same conversation, aren’t we?”

Joel clicked his tongue, tilting his head with an exaggerated sigh. “No, Travis is just a jerk. And I don’t like him, plain and simple.”

Travis Dunn, your neighbor, had moved in a few months after you did. Handsome, tall, and friendly, everyone on the street adored him—everyone except Joel. He couldn’t seem to stand him, though Travis was always polite to him.

Last month, when Travis had asked you out, Joel had practically laughed in your face when you told him about it, muttering something dismissive as if the very idea was absurd. You’d told Travis you were busy, though deep down you knew the real reason you hadn’t accepted was because of Joel’s disapproval.

You shook your head, exasperated. “Travis isn’t a jerk, Joel, you just don’t like him. He’s nice, honestly, much nicer than some people, if we’re being honest here. Everyone loves him; you’re the only one who has a problem with him.”

“Then everyone’s as much of an idiot as he is, sunshine.”

“Oh, really? Or maybe… you’re jealous of him?” Your tone was teasing, but you felt the shift as soon as you said it.

Joel’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. He ran his tongue over his lips, shaking his head slowly, twice.

“Don’t turn this on me,” he said. “This isn’t about Travis or me.”

“No?” you shot back, voice edged with challenge. “So if I go tomorrow and say yes to him, that wouldn’t bother you at all, right?”

He stepped closer to you, his eyes dark with something you’d never seen in him before. The air seemed to thicken, his presence so intense it felt as though it wrapped around you. He leaned in, his face close enough that his words brushed your skin.

“You can do whatever you want, baby. It’s your fucking life.”

“And you can do whatever you want too, Joel. That’s the fucking point!” you nearly shouted, hands pushing against his shoulders, shoving him away. “I don’t care what you do! It’s already clear you don’t get it, you don’t get anything, ANYTHING!”

Joel staggered back for a split second, but it wasn’t long before he closed the distance again, though he didn’t get as close this time.

His voice was lower, a thread of something hard in his tone. “If you’re so insulted by the idea of being jealous, maybe that’s something for you to think about. Ever thought of doing a little introspection?”

“Are you drunk, Joel?” you asked, eyes narrowed, softening your voice a fraction. The argument was exhausting you, and the anger left you feeling hollow.

He laughed, an odd, choked sound. “Oh, c'mon, you know one bottle of wine ain't enough to get me drunk.”

“Yeah, but you’re tired, and you’re not exactly young, Joel,” you said, brushing past him, his gaze glued to you the entire time. “Alcohol hits you differently now. Just go home, leave me alone.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you alone, and maybe then you can run across the street and fuck Travis Dunn, if you want it so badly,” he shot back, impatience tinging his voice as he turned toward the still-open door.

The words hit you like a slap. You froze for a moment, the anger washing over you in a wave. Before you could think twice, you rushed up to him, gripping his arm tightly to force him to turn and look at you.

“What the hell did you just say, Joel?” you hissed, grabbing his shirt, fingers bunching in the fabric as you backed him up until his shoulders hit the wall by the door. “Go on, say it again!”

Your breaths came fast, chest rising and falling as the rush of anger pushed tears to your eyes. You couldn’t believe he’d actually spoken to you like that, cutting right through to something raw and vulnerable. He’d never spoken to you like that before. Maybe he was a little drunk, or maybe he was losing his mind.

But there was no softness in his gaze, no hint of the Joel you knew. His stare was sharp, almost wild with something simmering underneath, something you didn’t understand. To you, this whole argument made no sense, at least not his reaction.

Joel’s grip on your wrist was firm, almost grounding, as he pulled you closer, pressing your palm against his chest. “I can’t stand that asshole, but go ahead and fuck him if you want,” he spat, voice laced with frustration. “Go fuck the whole neighborhood while you’re at it. I really don’t care anymore.”

His words were harsh, designed to cut, but they only drew a laugh from you—sharp and derisive. A tear slipped down your cheek, uninvited.

“What, did you ever care?” you asked, your voice trembling on the last syllable, thick with emotion.

But Joel didn’t respond, and the silence ignited a fire in you, something that swirled beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

“Do you know why we’re friends, Joel?” Your pulse quickened, each beat like a drum in your ears. “Because it just works between us. There are no ulterior motives. You know why? Because I don’t like you like that. You’re not even my type, and you never will be. And no, I’m not jealous that you’re dating some woman you’ll probably dump in less than a month, so get the fuck over it and leave me the fuck alone!”

You watched as his gaze flickered between your eyes, uncertainty warring with something darker. Suddenly, with an unexpected strength, Joel tightened his grip on your wrist and pushed you back hard against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your back hit the unforgiving surface.

His expression had transformed, those deep, dark eyes piercing you like arrows. His breath quickened, crashing against your face, and you could feel your lower lip tremble as he pressed even closer, pinning you against the wall.

“You don’t know how to lie,” he murmured, his lips almost brushing against your cheek.

The sensation was unbearable; his body pressed against yours, heat radiating off him and melting you inside. You could feel the edge of something primal, something that could tip either way. But suddenly, clarity surged through you. With a burst of strength, you pushed him away, breaking free from his grasp, forcing him to pull back just enough for you to gasp for air.

But the distance felt worse. In his eyes, you recognized something you’d never seen before—desire, raw and unfiltered. It clawed at you, igniting an inexplicable need. A sigh escaped your lips, and like a match struck in a dark room, it was enough to set off an explosion. In an instant, Joel lunged at you, and you found yourself wrapped around him, mouths colliding in a desperate kiss filled with moans and the urgency of your racing hearts.

With a loud thud, Joel kicked the front door shut, his hands moving feverishly down your body, fingers skimming your thighs, slipping beneath your dress. He caressed your skin before squeezing your ass hard, drawing a moan from your lips that echoed in the small space between you. You clung to him tighter, his hands fitting around you as if they were made for this very moment.

He pulled back for a breath, the sound wet and chaotic against the walls of your home, and then his lips descended down your neck, unraveling what little sanity you had left. A moan rumbled in his throat as your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently to tilt your head back, giving him better access to the tender spot just below your ear, your blood pulsing beneath his hungry mouth.

Joel seemed to want to devour you whole; his hands roamed erratically, trembling as his mouth kissed and bit your jaw, pressing your bodies together in a way that felt impossibly intimate. When you lifted your right leg and wrapped it around his side, he was quick to respond, hands securing your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto his hips, burying his face against your chest.

Another moan escaped you, and he pulled you down just enough to find your lips again. “Joel,” you whispered, breathless as you parted from him, pressing your forehead against his, eyes searching his.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” he said, his voice low, almost broken, each word laced with a vulnerability you’d never heard from him before. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” you replied in a small, desperate cry, feeling the heat radiating from him, the thin fabric of your underwear igniting a fire deep within you.

You were dying of thirst, and he had just asked you if you would refuse a sip of water. Was he mad? You wanted to drink it all.

No sooner had you answered than Joel pulled you off the wall, striding toward the stairs with a confident grace. You lowered your legs cautiously, meeting his lips again in a frantic, wet kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth with urgency.

You walked to your room with the agility of one who knows where to step, and once inside, you grabbed the shirt you had angrily grabbed earlier and lifted it up his body in a desperate attempt to rip it off. Joel raised his arms, letting the fabric pass over both of you and then fall to the floor, and as quickly as your hands returned to his chest, he kissed your neck again, desperate, pressing his fingers into the tender flesh of your waist, seeking a physically impossible closeness.

His hands found your thighs once more, fingers gripping and kneading with a measured intensity that sent electric shivers through you. As he moved lower, his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your underwear, inching closer to where you ached for him, squeezing you tighter as if to draw you in.

In a single, decisive motion, he grasped the hem of your dress and pulled it upward, the fabric sliding along your skin as he lifted it away, tossing it aside with a casual disregard that only heightened the tension in the air. He took a step back, his gaze roaming over you, from the soft curve of your face down to the tips of your toes, a look of hunger that felt almost consuming.

You weren't wearing a bra (your dress didn't require it) and your breasts fell beautifully in front of him, hard nipples and soft skin. Your chest flushed with warmth, a rosy hue creeping into your cheeks as you swallowed hard, feeling vulnerable yet exhilarated when he stepped closer.

“I’ve always loved that dress,” he said, his voice trembling with an emotion that was both reverent and raw.

“I know,” you replied, a smile curling at the corners of your lips, the moment igniting an intimacy that made your heart race.

His eyes swept down your body again, glittering with an unmistakable lust, and when he closed the distance, standing right before you, your breath caught in your throat.

His hands slid around your waist, firm yet tender, pulling you into him with a deftness that sent a thrill coursing through you. In one seamless motion, he lifted you off the ground, your feet barely grazing the floor as you instinctively stood on your tiptoes, the world narrowing to just the two of you.

Joel’s eyes darkened with a hunger that left you breathless, and he leaned in, his lips finding one of your breasts with a soft kiss that felt both electrifying and reverent. The warmth of his mouth sent a rush of heat through your body, and before you could gather your thoughts, he nipped your nipple gently, a teasing bite that sent chills racing across your skin.

His teeth grazed you just enough to elicit a gasp, a shuddering reaction that echoed in the space between you. But he didn’t linger on the sharpness of that moment; he quickly replaced the sensation with the soothing warmth of his lips, enveloping you entirely.

He sank to one knee, lowering himself until his lips brushed your stomach, the warm sensation sending ripples of desire coursing through you. His face lingered dangerously close to where you needed him most.

Joel placed his hands on your hips, fingers gripping the elastic of your underwear, his gaze locking onto yours for a moment that stretched into eternity before he slowly began to lower it, the fabric sliding down your legs and pooling at your feet. You felt his breath hitch at the sight of your now bare center, the anticipation thickening the air between you as he inched closer, finally brushing his lips against your mons pubis.

“Precious,” he murmured, and the warmth of his breath washed over you like a caress, drawing a small, needy moan from your lips. His hands parted your legs slightly, his fingers digging into your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

You cupped his face gently, as if afraid you might break him, and then, without warning, Joel licked his lips and plunged forward, his mouth connecting with you in a surprise that made your eyes flutter shut. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging him closer as he devoured you, his tongue working its magic as he sucked and kissed you whole, with an urgency that left you breathless.

He growled into you, the sound reverberating through your body, and you felt weakness seep into your legs, trembling under the weight of his relentless attention. Joel was eating you like a hungry man, tasting you and soaking in your juices with a fervor that felt primal, kissing you as if his life depended on it.

“Fuck,” you gasped, feeling every muscle in your body tighten as a building pressure coiled inside you.

He pulled away for just a moment, his eyes darkened with lust, a playful smile creeping onto his lips before he returned to you, closing his mouth around your clit, sucking and licking with a skill that made your head spin.

“Ah—Joel, I’m going to—I’m going to—” You struggled to articulate the intensity of what was building within you, your words stumbling over the tide of pleasure washing over you.

His voice vibrated through you, trailing off into a soft, “Mhm.”

You pulled at his hair, tugging harder as a wrenching moan escaped your throat. The world around you faded as his movements grew more frantic, his tongue flicking at you with a desperate fervor. One of his hands released your thigh, and a low groan escaped his lips as his finger found your entrance, sliding inside with an ease that made you gasp.

“Fuck me, you’re so wet,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to take in the sight of you—your cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling with lust. A satisfied smile broke across his face, and you thought he had never looked so gorgeous.

From your point of view, he looked beautiful. His bright eyes worshipped you intently, his mouth and mustache glistened bathed in you, his hair tossed by your hands mingled in all directions. Joel Miller had never looked so good.

Another finger joined the first, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the sensation as he curled them just right, hitting that sweet spot that made you gasp for air. You gripped his hair again, pulling him closer, and he let out a throaty laugh, clearly reveling in the sight of you completely undone.

You felt his mouth on you again, the warmth of his lips kissing and sucking with an insatiable hunger that left you breathless. The sound of it was utterly obscene, echoing around the room like a carnal symphony, and it drove you to the brink of madness, your mind spinning in a dizzying haze of pleasure.

His movements grew more intense, a rhythm building that sent waves of ecstasy rippling through your body. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, your hips moving in desperate undulations, surrendering to the climax that Joel savored with unrelenting focus. Your fingers clenched around him, digging in perhaps a bit too hard, but he welcomed it, desperate to drink in every last drop of what you were offering, to savor you whole.

With a low grunt, he squeezed your hips before pulling away, the wet sound of his departure from you hanging heavy in the air. You barely registered his rise from the floor, lost in the aftershocks of pleasure, your eyes still closed as the vibrations coursed through you. It wasn’t until his hands gripped your waist that you finally blinked awake, lifting your eyelids to find him gazing down at you, his face mere inches from yours.

He leaned in, capturing your mouth again, a kiss that was both desperate and tender, igniting a fire deep within you. You could taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him closer as you melted into the kiss. As the intensity built, you let your fingers drift down his chest, trailing lightly until they found the leather of his belt, the sensation sending shivers through you as you tugged him closer.

Joel vibrated against you, a low growl escaping as he nipped at your lower lip while you fumbled with his steel buckle, the sound of it being released becoming your new favorite melody. You unzipped his pants, your heart racing as you slipped your hand inside, finally touching him for the first time.

Your pulse quickened as you wrapped your fingers around him, feeling the heat radiating from his velvet soft skin; big, hot and throbbing in your palm. A rush of desire flooded you, and you pulled away from his lips, dropping to your knees before him, your eyes wide as you took in his form.

There he stood, beautiful and swollen with need, and your mouth watered at the sight. You cupped him gently, drawing him closer to your lips, placing a soft kiss on the tip. Joel closed his eyes at the sensation, surrendering to the moment completely, and you traced your tongue over him, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre cum that made your insides tighten with longing.

With a hint of effort, you attempted to take him fully into your mouth, but he was too large, stretching you in ways you hadn’t expected. Joel lowered his gaze to you, his fingers caressing your jaw as you struggled to adjust.

“Slow, baby,” he urged, his voice silky yet strained, and it sent another rush of need through you. "I know you can do it."

You matched your hand to your mouth, stroking him where you couldn’t quite reach, while your other hand gently caressed his balls, moving in a synchronized rhythm. Joel tensed beneath your touch, his fingers shifting from your face to tangle in your hair, guiding you as he reveled in the pleasure you were giving him.

The sounds in the room became a symphony of pleasure, every moan and gasp echoing off the walls, and you watched as Joel's pleasure climbed. The image was enough to drive him over the edge; your pink, swollen lips covered him and his cock glistened with your saliva, dripping from your chin with every move you made. Your teary eyes looked up at him desirously, and he could take no more; his gaze was filled with a primal hunger that threatened to unravel him. He finally withdrew from your mouth with great reluctance when he felt his stomach tighten, a low complaint escaping your throat in protest.

His breathing was heavy, and a flush colored his cheeks as he lifted you effortlessly, holding you at the waist, his lips finding yours in a heated kiss. In one swift motion, he laid you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he moved closer; Joel kneeling and settling between your legs which you instinctively opened for him.

You needed him, you needed him to fill you whole. You had never needed anything as much as you needed him at that moment. And as if he was reading your thoughts - or maybe he needed you as much as you needed him - he leaned in, taking your mouth with his once more, his moans blending with yours as he lost himself in you.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as he deepened the kiss, the taste of him igniting a fire in your veins. You felt him positioning himself at your entrance, his heat pulsing against you, and an intense sigh shot through your chest as Joel entered you in one thrust, burning and stretching you around him.

“Oh God,” he groaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. His right hand traveled to your left leg, lifting it and resting it high on his shoulder, while without hesitation, his other hand mirrored the movement with your right leg, bringing you into a position that felt both intimate and vulnerable. You were completely folded under him.

A cry escaped your lips as Joel began to move on top of you, his face hovering just inches above yours, the heat between you palpable. No one had ever penetrated you so deeply; it felt as though he was everywhere, filling you completely, every inch of you alive with sensation.

Joel's right hand gently squeezed your neck, seeking your mouth for a kiss as his movements took on a more urgent pace. The rhythmic collision of his hips against your buttocks created a beautiful sound that echoed off the walls, each thrust punctuated by the soft, desperate gasps that slipped from his mouth. Your own cries mingled with his as your body tightened again, your hands moving frantically up and down his back, your nails digging into his flesh, leaving little marks that he would surely wear like badges of pleasure.

A broken sound escaped from Joel, raw and primal, as he sank his face into the crook of your neck once more, increasing his thrusts with a fervor that felt animalistic, as if the world outside had fallen away and this moment was all that mattered. He fucked you into the mattress with an intensity that left you breathless, as though he were trying to ground you both in this fleeting reality, where nothing else existed except for the two of you entwined together.

You melted around him, your juices mixing with his as you enveloped him completely, and just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he lifted his head, your forehead resting against yours, his wide eyes locking into yours. You had never seen them so dark, so filled with intensity and strength.

And then it hit you: It was Joel, your Joel, the one who had been your best friend for four years, and here he was, fucking the life out of you like no one ever had before. What could possibly come after an experience like this?

“I thought you didn't like me,” he said, his voice choppy, strained with effort. A smirk played at the corners of his swollen lips. “Such a bad liar, baby, look at you.”

You growled in response, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him towards you with a mix of force and anger. Your lips found his in a kiss that was anything but patient, igniting a spark between you. You felt him tense above you, one of his hands quickly moving to your center, exerting immense pressure as he leaned his weight on his other arm, holding you captive beneath him.

His fingers found your clit, tracing gentle circles that made your back arch involuntarily, another wave of pleasure building inside you. Your mouth was still on his, consuming him completely, when your second orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. You felt your insides tighten around him, squeezing him with a ferocity that pulled him closer to his own climax.

Joel gasped into your mouth, and the intensity of it sent your vision spiraling into darkness for a brief moment, the sensation so strong it felt as if the world had collapsed around you. When your breathing finally steadied, you found his hot body pressed against yours, moving in tiny tremors, quickened breaths brushing against your jaw.

He stayed inside you for a few moments longer, savoring the closeness, your hands continuing to caress his back, each touch a silent promise. Then, slowly, he pulled out of you, leaving you feeling achingly empty, his cum trickling from your entrance.

He fell limply beside you, his body slick with sweat, and pulled you close to him, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His breaths, still heaving, crashed against your damp skin, wrapping you in warmth. Unable to muster the energy to move, you let your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to a deep, exhausted sleep that you would not remember when you woke up...

No, you didn't remember any dream, Because when you opened your eyes the next morning, you stirred in place and your muscles ached pleasantly, reminding you of the night before. And as you stretched your arms across the bed, your fingers grazed the sheets, feeling an emptiness beside you.

When you looked to your sides, the realization hit you hard.

Joel was gone.

taglist: @orcasoul

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #tlou fic #tlou hbo #tlou joel #capuccinodoll #joel miller is your best friend #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal joel #dbf!joel

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caramelkoo · 3 months ago

Text

before we shatter — jjk [one]

genre : established relationship, idol!jungkook

word count : 6k

summary : dating an idol is fun, they said. having a family with one is fun, they said. Until you're falling face forward because of your reality. A reality where Jungkook dreams of a future and a reality where your own future is collapsed.

chapter warnings : nsfw, strong language, mature content, fluff, so much angst, smut, talks of infertility, clit sucking, fingering, Jungkook worships her, dirty talk, doggy style, reader is in so much pain i love her sm, fall vibes <33, gift giving as a love language, pussy slapping with his d, big dick energy, jungkook is desperate. that's about it please mention if i missed anything.

read part two here

a/n : based on this ask so thank you anon for coming forward and giving me a chance to write this. i also wanna mention that im no doctor so please forgive me if i didn't do the topic of infertility justice. the second part gives more clarity in their case so please be kind to wait. enjoy and im v v grateful for you. you're so loved.

When you were a child, barely five, an orange butterfly came flying outside your front door. Your mom told you about it since she saw it first causing your entire face to instantly light up like the fourth of july.

An inexplicable joy filled your whole body making your day ten times better, not that you were having a bad one. A five year old can’t have a bad day whatsoever.

After you were done chasing it around, secretly hoping that it would land on your nose just the way they show on television, you had to let it go and head back inside.

Oddly enough the next morning you saw it again, this time it was not flapping its wings like it had last night, instead it was sitting on the window beside the door. Quiet and still.

You, ever so curious, had to ask your mom about it. “It might find comfort there,” she said.

Up until you met your boyfriend you had spent the majority of your time wondering where your comfort place is, what is that one place where you can just be yourself and not pretend to be some stoic woman. A place which lets you cry whenever you want but also replaces those tears with wide smiles and loud giggles.

Turns out, it’s your boyfriend’s arms.

It’s true. Jungkook with his kind, sparkly bambi eyes and bunny smile stole your damn heart a few years ago and is not willing to give it back. Although you can’t complain, in a world where people can’t seem to find the one for themselves, the angels up there granted you a guy every inch a gentleman. Safe to say it’s not one like one of those titular relationships you've come across.

He’s your solace, a roof where you can safely just about exist.

He heals you.

Dating an Idol comes with several perks, the biggest one of those being dealing with the huge amount of selective criticism. You feel hurt, of course, but when you’re with Jungkook, they are nothing but words behind a pixel. A pain that only lasts momentarily.

This pain though, is not as mundane. This one is making your stomach twist in apprehension. You’ve lost the count of how many deep breaths you’ve taken.

“I’m afraid this is a case of infertility miss _____” the doctor says, earning your attention.

You’re not able to form a word, however that does nothing to stop your subconscious mind from screaming, I knew it.

Being stupid enough to think you were well prepared to hear her say this, you mustered up the courage to enter the four walled white space which, at that time, didn’t feel as narrow as it does now. It’s almost as if it’s closing up on you.

Only after you sat before the woman in white coat and bad news, did you realize how gut wrenching this actually feels.

You face her with a weak smile, one that doesn’t actually reach your eyes, “Are- are you sure you’re not mistaken?”

Dr. Ana leans forward, resting her forearms on the table. The move itself tells you more than you need to. “Miss _____, I know it’ll be hard for you to come to terms with this but I suggest you try. I would also like to tell you, and I hope I’m not overstepping, but you can always go with adoption. The options are endless.”

Your throat feels awfully dry and you gulp. “Thank you uh, can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything”

“If you happen to cross paths with Jungkook, please don’t mention anything about this to him.”

Dr. Ana flashes you a kind smile, “Of course not ____. It’s your personal matter. I wouldn’t dare.”

“Thanks a lot.”

With one last nod you excuse yourself from her office. Your phone buzzes inside your pocket and you take it out, seeing Jungkook’s number stare up at you.

“Hey”

“Hey, my love. Are you busy?” His voice nearly brings tears to your eyes. It also brings up a question. Will he act the same towards you after you tell him where you are and what you just heard? Will his voice be filled with the same amount of excitement and affection for you?

“No, honey. I’m actually at my sister’s place. She was craving some alone time with her husband and asked me to babysit Coco”

You can visualise him awing already. Jungkook has grown attached to your sister’s daughter a little too much. His bond with Coco is just so bright it makes you wonder if they happened to be an actual father and daughter duo in the past life. They’re both full of beans and it’s a delight to see them both together.

He chimes, “Ah my little Coco bean. Is she near? Let me hear my angel.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try to come up with any transitory excuse that doesn’t make you run for the hills. “She’s sleeping right now. Made me work for it but I managed to settle her down”

Jungkook moans from the other side of the line and you mentally curse yourself. Not only are you lying through your teeth but also using your innocent niece as a pawn. From the day you began dating Jungkook, you’ve not looked at any other man. For the first time now, you have this nagging feeling as though you’re cheating on him.

“Well, alright next time then. When are you coming back home?”

“As soon as they do. Do you miss me already?” I tease.

“Pfft me and miss you? Impossible”

You gasp, the audacity of this boy. “How rude!!”

Your goofy boyfriend dares to chuckle, “I carry you with me everywhere I go, love. It’s hard to miss someone who’s this close to you every time of the day.”

It doesn’t take you long to grasp what he is referring to. The heart shaped bracelet rests proudly on his wrists and the man had refused to take it off ever since you gifted it to him. A sense of longing already creeps up in your heart, twisting it until you run out of breath.

Your chest expands as you fill it with much needed air, “Listen, honey I’ll give you a call soon yeah? I think Coco has woken up and I must go check if she needs something,” you fake a chuckle, “You know how she gets when she’s irritated”

“Oh yes of course. Promise to give me a call soon?”

This time the smile on your face is genuine, “I promise”

“Give Coco a kiss for me. I love you.”

“I love you.”

There’s a heavy weight on your chest as soon as you hang up the call. Maybe it has always been there. So, for a couple of minutes you just stand there in the hallway of the hospital taking in the sterile smell and worrisome patients, praying that the highest power up there gives you one last chance so you could try and fix what’s been ruined.

The commotion around you does nothing to overtake the voices in your head and sadness fires through you as you feel like you’re burning your boats. Despite all of that, you pray for one last time, this time for again being strong enough to let go.

Let go of your happiness.

Let go of your salvation.

Let go of your comfort.

Let go of Jungkook.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚

You click the door shut behind you, hanging the coat on the rack. You’re not even done turning around when a muscular arm wraps around your abdomen and you’re pulled back against a taut chest.

“I missed you” his voice is muffled against your jumper.

You run your palms over Jungkook’s forearm, stopping to interlace your fingers with his.The way his hands fit with yours is adorable to you as if they were made to do so. The bracelet on his wrist is cool against your skin and you smile. “You know what’s funny? This guy I talked to earlier said it’s impossible for him to miss me”

He rests his chin on top of your shoulders, cheeks warm against yours. He has grown out a stubble which makes him look manlier for some reason and you can’t stop caressing it with your fingers whenever you cup his face.

“You’re talking to other guys?” If you hadn’t known Jungkook better than himself, you would have missed the pout of his lips when he said that.

You turn your face and place a sloppy kiss on his cheekbones, “Only my favourite guy in the whole world.”

He breaks out in a toothy grin and holds your gaze. “You’re my favourite girl too but I think you already know that.”

You nod but the pang of guilt is still lingering in your heart. “Still love hearing it.”

Jungkook releases you from his embrace and walks back, rounding the kitchen counter until he’s holding up a large bowl. “Ready for our fall ritual?”

Jungkook and you have been using your mum’s recipe to bake chocolate chip cookies every fall and while you enjoy baking with him, the thing that you take the most pleasure from is his face when he munches on the first cookie.

It’s one of your favorite sights ever. It takes quite a bit of effort to bake them but hell if you wouldn’t do it all over again just to see him close his eyes and moan like it is the best thing since sliced bread.

You join him behind the counter and look around. From the way the batter has already been prepared you suppose he’s been at it for a while. There are some chocochips in a small bowl across from you with some cranberries next to them because he knows you like them in your cookies.

“You don’t ever forget about the cranberries, do you?”

“Nope. They’re your favourite plus if you eat well, I can eat you well– ouch,” he jumps, “What was that for?”

You offer him a glare which does nothing to stop the smile threatening to break out of your lips, “Behave”

His face inches closer to yours, “Now honey don’t be acting like I didn’t give you the best orgasm this morning”

Oh well, how can you forget about that? Ninety nine percent of the time you love waking up in his arms while he’s the big spoon but there’s that one percent where he wakes you up with his head between your legs, sometimes with his face under your shirt sucking on your nipples. Indissoluble passion within him. His ability to satisfy you with his mouth alone needs to be studied because god if you don’t crave more and more.

You blink, once twice thrice, “You’re incorrigible”

He lets out a cackle at your flustered face as you wonder when you will stop blushing like a fool around him. It’s been years and he still makes you feel like you’re wrapped up in a ball of jitters. Jungkook leans back and straightens up. He plucks the apron from the counter before coming up behind you. “Hold your hair up for me” He demands.

You grab a fistful of your hair and lift them up as he settles it on your neck before tying the knot at your back. With one last kiss on the back of your neck he joins you.

“How long has it been since you began making this?”

“Not long ago. Thought I’d wait for you to come back home and then continue”

You watch him add the chocochips into the dough. His tattoos are barely visible behind the cozy sweater he’s wearing. At the risk of sounding like a hypocrite, Jungkook with his perfect physique and gorgeous face looks good in everything, more so naked, but nothing triggers your cuteness aggression more than him wearing a fluffy knitted sweater, believe it or not. One which you knitted at that.

He pulls your attention away pausing your little drooling session, “How’s Coco bean doing?”

A sudden urge of getting close to him creeps up and you sneak between the counter and him, hugging him as you nuzzle your face in his chest. He smells like cinnamon. He places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head before resting his chin there.

“You smell so good”

“Thanks and she’s as chaotic as ever. Nailea bought the cutest pair of pyjamas for her,” you look up at him, “She looked like a loaf of bread when they made her wear it.”

“No way. Should we buy her another one of those?” he pulls back, barely able to hide the excitement on his face.

“You’re gonna spoil her”

“Damn right I will and if you call this spoiling, wait till I get one of those made by me.”

There it is.

If Jungkook wasn’t so fond of children, would it have been easier for you to cope? You do realize that you’re a stone’s throw away from losing him for once and for all. In the old days you heard somewhere that it takes a strong man to save to save himself and a great man to save another.

You want to be that brave person who saves him from lifelong loathing and regret towards you.

This turning point in your life gives you two options, one where you can hang by a thread and bite your tongue while you continue your life with him, another where you set him free. The latter one wins and you, however, lose.

“Hey you went silent there. You okay?” He cups your cheek with one hand, his thumb grazing your cheekbones so gently you try not to cry.

You nod and flash him a smile. Or at least you try to smile and detach yourself from him. “Perfect. Let’s get those cookies baking shall we?”

Jungkook keeps looking at you with an expression which tells you he’s trying to search for something, but you try not to give anything away. Yet.

He gives you a look, his eyes sparkling under the low light in the room,

“Wait here for a second i’ll be right back”

“Where are you goi-”

“Just a second. Don’t move” His voice trails off as he goes further into the bedroom. A minute later when he comes back, there’s nothing different about him except the sneaky smile on his face. He walks towards you and grabs you by the waist as he sits you on the counter. Your hands instantly clutch his shoulders for support.

“What is happening, baby?” You mumble, clearly in a fog.

He says nothing as he gets down on his knees. Taking a hold of your right leg, he places it on his thigh. You swallow.

He looks up, clashing his eyes with yours, “You ask too many questions, do you know that?”

Seconds later he’s taking something out of his jogger pocket and a cool sensation brushes your skin. You peek down, curiosity finally killing the cat as you see a silver anklet adorned by a pink stone in the middle of it embraced around your ankles.

His name is a whisper on your lips, “Jungkook”

He gets up, facing you as he stands. But not before pecking the anklet as well as your skin. His face which earlier was eerie, now entirely soft.

“Mom sent this for you.”

You don’t hold back tears this time, letting them run free. You glance at the jewellery again as it shines under the light of the kitchen lamp. The pink stone glares at you as if it knows you’re not worthy of such a valuable item.

“It’s beautiful”

He gently wipes the tears away,

“It’s just the beginning, love. I’m not gonna stop until I see a band wrapped around your finger. I feel too lonely being the only one there.”

You playfully smack him on the chest, a giggle slipping free. With a tired shake of your head you admit, “This is overwhelming”

“What is?” he asks,

“All of this,” you keep your gaze on him, sniffing as you continue,“Your little acts of service, your love, your presence and now this gift. I feel like I’m taking too much not giving enough”

Your throat feels too tight, as if someone is just cutting off your air supply when you should be feeling free in his arms.

Jungkook’s eyebrows tense as he reaches for you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear he tries to reassure you, “Don’t say that. I hate when you question your worth,” he pecks the back of your hands, “These hands feed me, hold me when I need them to, give me warmth, gentle touches”,

His lips find both of your eyes next as you close them, feeling his soft lips on them,

“These eyes tear up with happiness every time you listen to me in the studio”,

Your ears follow next, “These ears tolerate my snoring”,

Then your lips, “And this mouth, my favourite, whispers ‘i love you’ to me every morning, leaves kisses on my skin, screams my name and most importantly, forms the loveliest smile when I make you happy.” His eyes are oh so gentle as he says this.

You’re about to respond when his phone buzzes on the counter next to you. Your heart stops. Fuck is it Dr. Ana?

To your surprise, it’s Jimin’s number on the screen.

“Pick it up, honey. It might be important.”

His thumb presses on the red button as he declines the call, “I’ll talk to him later. My girlfriend comes first.”

Neither of you say a word as the room gets filled with a comfortable silence. The cookies are long forgotten, your eyes doing all the talking. Even if you try your hardest you’re not sure you can say anything which is remotely justifiable of what he just said to you.

Jungkook is so much more than meets the eye, he’s vulnerable, he’s empathetic, he’s loving. His eyes shine the brightest when he’s happy about something and you’re so full of contempt about the fact that eventually you will be the one to snatch away that shine. This hornet’s nest is going to ruin me, ruin him.

“I wanna kiss you so bad” He whispers, leaning closer but you stop him with your palms on his chest.

“Wait, I-I want to talk about something”

His voice is downright pleading when he says, “Later baby. I’m fucking gonna die if I don’t take that mouth right now. Please?” his breath touches your bare lips.

Feeling a flutter in your chest you nod and he leans towards you, hand cupping your lower jaw as he touches his lips to yours. Softly at first, then his pace quickens. Your hands grab his sweater as you pull him even closer, deepening the kiss. His moan echoes followed by your own as you both lose yourselves in each other. You let go of every menacing thought and just focus on the taste of his lips.

He pulls back slightly, taking a deep breath as he fills his chest with air. Those beautiful lips are pink and swollen from the heated kiss you just shared with him. Getting rid of the sweater, he tosses it aside as his eyes sparkle with amusement.

Without wasting any time he begins nibbling at your neck, slightly biting onto it as your hands run over his back. He’s so beautiful it takes your breath away. Not to toot your own horn but you have the most gorgeous boyfriend and you’re not ashamed to show him off.

His lips ghost over your nipples from over your high neck top and you groan.

“Jungkook, please”

He pulls back with a smug look on his face, “Please what ____?”

“Please fuck me. I need your cock so bad.”

“Yeah? Is that what my girl wants?”

At this point your body is thrumming with anticipation and desire as you watch him move his hands closer to the waistband of your pants. His hands pause when they meet the lace material, his pupils dilate.

He smiles, “It’s the one I gifted you. Were you hoping for this huh?”

Your lips stretch into a smile. You hadn’t particularly hoped for this, no, because your relationship with him is not just based on physical pleasures. You guys have sex of course, but it’s not the prominent part of the bond you share. It’s more than that. The lace lingerie set was gifted to you by Jungkook on a random day. It was one of those quote unquote just because gifts.

“What do you think?” you ask, giving him a quick kiss.

He grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you there for a moment before leaning back and looking straight into your eyes. “I think you should lose it or else I’ll ruin it”

You gasp, swatting him on the bicep. “Don’t you dare. It’s my favourite pair”

Without preamble he picks you off the counter making you wrap your legs around his waist. You both are so close it takes your breath away. Chest to chest, groin to groin, face to face with lips inches away from each other’s as you share a breath.

He walks into your shared bedroom as you clash your lips against his, pulling his lower one between yours, earning a groan out of him. You both are downright feral, letting your hands run over every area of each other’s body. Jungkook’s hands grabbing your ass, yours pulling on his hair lightly before trailing down his chest, pausing on his pecs.

When you reach your bedroom, he sits himself down with you on top of his lap. Your hips move forward and you hiss as your still jean clad pussy brushes his cock. He’s so hard you wonder if he’s close to coming already.

Rough hands scrape over your back, hips, down your thigh before they finally settle on either side of your waist, gipping them tightly but also with a hint of gentleness. One thing you admire about your man is that he doesn’t treat you like a fragile woman, he knows you’re strong and you’ll not break if he’s rough with you.

Jungkook pulls back from your lips.“Fuck honey, you’re such a goddess. Look at this body. I still can’t believe I get to call you mine”

You shake your head, totally under his spell. “I’m the lucky one here, baby. You have no idea how lucky I am.”

His hand brushes over your ass before he dips it inside your pants, reaching your already soaked pussy as he pushes a finger inside you. This earns a whimper from you as you tip your head back.

“That’s where you’re wrong, ____. Want me to show you how lucky I am?” He takes the finger out before pumping it back again. You moan as his other hand gips the nape of your neck and he brings his mouth to your neck, biting on it.

“Oh my god” you cry, seeing him suck the finger clean and face forming an expression filled with the deepest level of satisfaction as he closes his eyes.

Setting his eyes back on you, he sighs, “This isn’t my first time tasting you, honey. But it gets better every fucking time and I find myself craving you an unhealthy amount, you know that? Do you know how crazy I am for you? Could eat you out everyday and wouldn’t need anything else to feel full.” His words send a shiver down your spine. “You’re my favorite meal.”

He pushes three fingers back inside with a slight force and you let out a scream, arching your back. He takes one nipple into his mouth and gives it a long suck, letting it go with a loud pop.

“Oh yes, just like that. Suck it again, baby” You beg and he does exactly that as he takes the other sensitive bud into his mouth.

You’re not sure if you have been this vocal about your needs with anyone before him. Not that you dated a lot, for a person who’s a hopeless romantic to the core you’ve always found yourself waiting for the right one. Additionally, you believed your body to be as sacred as a temple. Surely there had to be a guy somewhere who would treat it as such.

Then, enters Jungkook who not only was out of your league metaphorically but literally. He lived miles away from your place so there was not a chance you could have let anything take place between the both of you. But as they always say, the heart wants what it wants. To put it briefly, there was chemistry, a connection you didn’t want to lose.

Strong fingers pump into you. In and out, in and out. “You’re so wet. What do you say? Should I lick you clean?”

“Yes, ah oh my goodness that’s sooo good” you toss your head back, slowly grinding against his hands.

He wraps an arm around your waist, lifts you off his lap and tosses you back on the bed. Keeping his eyes still locked with yours he gets rid of his jogger, letting his cock spring free.

It bobs and you lick your lips, already wanting to take it into your mouth but you know for a fact that he wouldn’t let you do that, not because he doesn’t want you to but because he wants to give you the highest amount of pleasure first. As he always does.

Jungkook lets out a shaky sigh as gives his cock a pull, his eyes running over your whole body. Up and down then back at your face again. You’re still not fully bare in front of him while he’s standing there, all in his glory.

“Lose the pants” he commands.

You immediately slide out of them and toss them on the floor somewhere. He grabs you by the hips, jerking you to the edge of the bed as he sinks down on his knees. Spreading your legs wider he releases a breath. Warmth touches your wet pussy and you prop yourself up by the elbows to look at him.

You need to look at him if you want to stay sane, have to feel him with you here. Shivers run through you even by the thought of not being able to feel him and this ever again. This might as well be your last day on this god awful planet from the way the ache in your chest keeps on increasing. It makes a home there, not letting you entirely forget about the eventualities.

“God you’re dripping, honey”

“For you” you admit.

Hot and wet kisses are left to the inside of your thigh and your hands find the back of his head as you grip it lightly.

His head lifts up, his eyes finding yours, “Don’t hold back,____. Grip it as tightly as you want to. I don’t want any hesitations because when I fuck you, I’m not going to be holding back. You hear me?”

A desperate moan leaves you, and he rewards you by kissing your pussy. Keeping his eyes on you, he doesn’t give you a chance to whine out your needs before his tongue is licking a single line up your clit.

He moans and gently tugs on your clit. “Such a perfect cunt”

You push his head against your pussy and rock forward, chasing your orgasm.

“Feels so good, feels so perfect, baby” you murmur.

Just when you’re starting to feel the climax incoming, when Jungkook suddenly grabs you by the waist and flips you, so he’s lying down and you’re on top. Then, he grabs you by the back of your neck, pulling you for a heated kiss.

He pulls back, “Sit on my face, my queen”

Your eyes widen and you hesitate, but you don’t want to. You wanna let go, knowing you’re lucky enough to get something like this in this lifetime, so you give in. He hoists you up by the hips, positions you over his face and pulls you down. His warm breath feels like a soft whisper against your pussy.

You cry out in pleasure as soon as his tongue dives deep inside you, squeezing your tits in your hands. Grinding against his face, you close your eyes and just… feel. Feel the heat, feel the emotions, feel the intimacy, feel the ache in your chest.

A thought crosses your head and you wonder if you’re doing something wrong, something selfish. Touching him like this and getting consumed by him feels like you’re doing nothing but ruining him.

He sucks on your clit with sheer eagerness and desire, pulling you further down so you’re putting your weight on his face. Concern perks up and you look down, trying not to crush him but it seems like he couldn’t care less.

“Let go, honey. Just focus on my mouth.”

Let go. God, how bad you hate those words. They feel like acid in your ears.

“Keep going, Jungkook. Don’t you dare stop” you cry out.

Soon enough you’re aching your back, cunt pulsing against his lips as you come. He swallows every single drop as if he’d die if he doesn’t and leaves you in awe. You slump, letting your body relax.

Much to your amusement, he doesn’t give you enough time to relax before he’s turning you over until you’re on your knees. Hot passionate kisses are placed on your sweaty back, pulling a gasp from you.

“What a fucking sight. I wish you could see how stunning you look right now and it’s all because of me, isn’t it? This glistening back, this wet cunt,” he strokes a finger down your pussy, “It’s all because of me and you dare to call yourself lucky?”

You catch a sight of him stroking himself over your shoulders and your breath quickens.

His abs are glistening with sweat and his chin still has your cum on it.

He smirks, “Like what you see, honey”

“You’re beautiful”

His eyes soften, letting his hands drop from his angry and already leaking with precum cock, he grabs either side of your hips and lines himself against your needy pussy. You let your head drop on the mattress and clench your fist, preparing yourself for him. He gives your cunt a slight slap with his cock before filling you in, groaning as he goes deeper.

You moan, “Fuck baby. That’s so deep.”

“You’re so warm, honey. You feel like home” he thrusts again.

His hands grip yours, and he covers your body with his own, still thrusting inside with rough movements. His chest feels warm and safe against your back as it fills you with a deep sense of safety, protection and love.

You match every thrust of his with your own, moving your hips backwards. Your tits are getting equal attention from him as he pinches the two sensitive buds between his fingers.

You both chase your high with you screaming out his name and him whispering yours like a prayer. He gives in one last thrust before he’s coming inside you, his teeth biting on your shoulder. You’re following him soon as you grip the bed sheet tighter in your fist, moaning as you come.

Before you collapse, he pulls you upright and lets his cock slide out of you. His fingers push his cum inside your throbbing cunt, making your stomach twist in pain.

You murmur. “I love you”

His lips stretch into one of those lazy smiles you love so much. “I love you too, my precious girl. Now, do you wanna sleep or go make those cookies?” a sloppy kiss is pressed on your forehead.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders you pull him on top of you, “Should we save those for later? I really wanna cuddle”

He presses a soft kiss on the tip of your button nose, “Sure. Let me clean you up first. You don’t have to move an inch, just relax.”

Minutes later he’s coming back with a bottle of water and a bowl of marshmallows. You bite back a chuckle when you look at his face. There’s such a deep crease between his eyebrows you’d think he’s trying to win a game of uno or something.

But it’s short lived when he places the items on the nightstand and gazes at you, his eyes having the same funny look they had earlier in the kitchen.You try to summon your most unbothered and good natured grin but it doesn’t do shit to stop the electricity from running through your blood.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, biting your lip.

An uncertain laugh slips out of him, “I don’t know. I’m- God, I really don’t know but I have this weird feeling that something is not right.” He begins cleaning you up but you can’t shake the feeling of nervousness and anxiety away.

You know for a fact that he’s right. Something is not right, in fact nothing is right.

He peeks at you from between your legs, “Hey, what is it that you wanted to talk about?”

The air whooshes out of your lungs. Should you come clean? Is it the right time?

You huff a tight laugh. “It’s nothing actually. Can we talk about it later?”

When he’s done cleaning you up he places a small kiss on both your knees and stands up. Offering you a nod, he says, “Whenever you feel like it. I’m not going anywhere”

Yet. He’s not going anywhere yet.

You grin, “I wouldn’t let you”

He lets a laugh slip out as he walks inside the bathroom. Then, he comes back, settles himself beside you and brings you closer by wrapping his arm around your waist. His feet find yours as he touches the anklet with them.

“Let’s sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up” he promises.

Morning comes quickly as the sun casts its glow on your sleepy yet excited eyes. Holding out a hand, you try searching for your boyfriend next to you, but a slight sting arises in your heart when he’s not there. You open your eyes, adjusting to the sunlight.

Although, you hoped you did not wake up, you hoped death consumed you in your sleep because the person across from you is a total stranger. A stranger whose eyes are misty and mouth is pulled down in deep frown, a sunflower bouquet in one hand and the other one holding a blue file so tightly you can see his knuckles turning white.

Jungkook holds out the file to you, “How long were you planning to hide this from me,____?”

For the first time in your life, you hate your name. You hate how bitter it sounds coming from his mouth like this.It has always been “____, you’re my everything,” “I love you,____”, “_____, you mean the world to me”.

Acid bubbles in your stomach at his words, and you can’t help but sob. You wonder if the butterfly was preparing you for this day. If she could talk, what would she have said to you?

The words that leave him next might as well be daggers in your chest, "Tell me, honey. Is it the important thing you wanted to talk about but held back just to get a good fuck out of me?"

@fluttershy-vanilla @theyysam37 love you pookies. enjoy <3

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foreverdolly · 5 months ago

Text

࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 5 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

word count: 6.6k

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“Move.”

He was like an impenetrable wall.

You attempted yet again to step around Feyd, your outstretched hand just barely brushing against the door before the man turned his body, blocking you from the exit. He stood with his arms crossed, using his much larger frame as a barricade. After the. . . events that transpired last night, the only thing that was on your mind was freedom. You needed breathing room, if only for a few minutes. Feyd had been your shadow for the last three days. He hadn’t left your side even for a second.

You wanted to trust him, even against your better judgment, so you tried to believe that it was only because he wanted to protect you. There was still that overly cautious voice nagging at you, telling you that he was looking for weaknesses to use against you later. His all-seeing eyes could be sizing you up, making note of how many bites it would take for him to swallow you up whole. The last thing you wanted was to be consumed by this place. . . Consumed by him.

The events that had transpired in your guest bedroom four days ago had your suspicions rising, and you needed to be certain that you were just paranoid before you could even begin thinking about your fast approaching wedding ceremony.

You had feared your impending fate for the entirety of your life. That had always been the one thing that frightened you most, and yet here you were, bruised and battered. It was crazy to believe that there were people on Geidi Prime that were worse than Feyd-Rautha. . . and yet here you were, depending on him for safety. You needed answers.

How had the guard even entered your room in the first place?

“I won’t tell you again. Move.” Your jaw ached, teeth grinding together as you tried to keep yourself from striking him across that cocky face of his.

The skin between his brow bones wrinkled ever-so-slightly as he stared down at you. It was almost as though he was scolding a small child, watching them flail and cry after their punishment had been dealt. Last you had checked, you’d done nothing wrong. Why were your basic rights being revoked after the attempted murder? Why did it feel like you were the one paying the price?

“Either you come with me and train or you stay in our room until I grab you. You have two choices. Pick one.” The pale Na-Baron almost seemed bored of your antics and you couldn’t blame him.

You’d been fighting him every chance you got ever since he had forced himself on you last night. A silent vow had been made right then and there: you were going to make his life a living hell, only stopping once you deemed he had done his proper penance.

“I like neither of those options. Watching you train has done nothing for me. I want to learn-”

“You don’t need to learn how to fight. Is it not the husband’s duty to protect his wife?” He tilted his head to the side, staring down at you with a hint of concern in his eyes.

Why was he so obsessed with the idea of protecting you? The most he did while the two of you “trained” was block your onslaught of attacks. Gurney wasn’t afraid to hit you in the sparring ring, even if you ended up injured and butt-hurt. He was blunt and told you the ways that you could improve yourself, meanwhile Feyd had been treating you like you were made of porcelain ever since the assassination attempt. You hated it. With your vocal cords still fried from the strangulation, you were made all too aware of the fact that your fighting skills were subpar.

You’d tried goading Feyd into attacking you head on many times, but no matter what you said he still held his punches. The difference between his treatment of you and other’s was startling. Someone could look at him wrong and he was immediately jumping down their throats, ready to strike with lethal precision.

“One day you will have to leave me alone, if even for a few minutes. . . and what then? You can’t always be there-” You were trying desperately to explain, and yet he would hear none of it. He looked almost offended by what you were saying.

“I will always be here,” He was quick to interject, eyes suddenly wild. “I won’t let anything hurt you again.”

Realistically you knew that your heart shouldn’t be pounding the way that it was.

Still, there it was, hammering away in your chest. Every once in a while it was almost as though that dark veil that he had cast over himself was lifted, revealing someone entirely new to you. Someone, as much as you hated to admit it, that was entirely too likable. Loveable, even. His constant changes in personality were starting to give you whiplash. Was he someone completely different when he was around you? Or was he just trying on different faces to see which one you liked better?

You clenched your fists at your side, trying hard to calm your raging emotions. His actions last night were completely barbaric, and yet you couldn’t forget the softness of his lips. The warmth of his mouth over yours had plagued your dreams and made it impossible to sleep. It was insane of you to feel this conflicted about something. You should hate everything about this man, and yet here he was, promising to be your protector. More than that, he was promising to stick around, which was arguably more terrifying.

“I’m going then. Will you not be coming with me?” He unfolded his arms, reaching a hand out for you to take.

It hung there in the space between you two, his pale fingers twitching. For a second you contemplated taking it. Regretfully you realized that you had something that you needed to look into.

“I’ll stay here,” You faltered when you saw the hint of rejection in his eyes as he let his hand fall back to his side. “My bruises are tender today, so I’ll just take a bath.”

Why were you trying to make him feel better about your refusal? This was all too confusing.

“Alright then. I’ll see you in an hour.” And with that he turned on the heel of his boot and walked through the door, careful to close it tightly behind him.

You breathed a sigh of relief, moving forward so that you could press your forehead against the cool metal. It felt good against your flushed skin.

“I won’t leave until I hear you slide the lock into place.” His deep voice was muffled behind the thick barrier between the two of you.

You closed your eyes tightly, sliding your hand against the door until you found the lock, clicking it soundly into place. It must have appeased him, as you heard his retreating footsteps just a second later.

Time ticked by as you waited to be free of your newfound guardian. The last thing you wanted was to be caught in the hallway sneaking around. Feyd would surely side with his uncle if you were to tell him all about your suspicions, so you’d rather just investigate on your own until you had solid evidence. You wanted to believe that you hadn’t been set up to die, and yet you had this intense gut feeling that this all went even deeper than that.

Why would they make good on the promised engagement if they just wanted to kill you? It’s not like you were any real threat, other than the fact that you had been blessed with your mother’s gifts. As you were now, you were basically useless, which was a very hard pill to swallow.

Slowly you unlocked the door, scared that the sound might alert someone. You had slipped the knife you had stolen during your first dinner on Giedi Prime into your belt, hiding it under the flowing black gauze of your blouse for good measure. Even if you were caught, you needed some way to protect yourself.

The cold metal bit into your skin as you slid the door open, reminding you that you were safe. You will never let anyone hurt you like that again.

This time you will be ready.

Two rights and then three lefts. You had memorized the way to go in order to get to the left wing for this very reason. The Baron’s defenses would be tight, but his office would be relatively empty around this time. It was just about lunch, and according to Feyd he would retire to his personal quarters. If you could distract the guards for long enough to slip in, riffle around for information, and then get out. . . you’d be home free.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt as you walked through the hall, training your expression to one of stony indifference. Modeling it after Feyd’s, you briskly made your way, hoping that the guards would be confused enough to let you pass without so much as a second thought.

‘I belong here.’ You lied to ourself, trying to bolster your confidence.

A few men in uniform turned to look after you, but no one stopped you. The way to the baron’s office was completely new to you. Feyd had never taken you this deep into the left wing before- only to get to the grand-hall to show you where the ceremony would be held. It was as large and foreboding as all of the other rooms on the giant estate, but the onyx floors had a certain shine to them as though there were flecks of quartz sprinkled throughout. You didn’t want to admit it at the time, but it was a rather extravagant place to get married.

You’d nonchalantly asked if the Baron lived in the left wing seeing as the architecture was seemingly more grandiose. He couldn’t have known that you would try to make your way in this direction on your own because he had let it slip: the baron and his office were located very close to the grand-hall.

“What are you doing over here?” The man’s voice was deeper than Feyd’s, though he was half his size.

The guard at his side looked to be twice your age, and yet the expression in his eyes made you think that he wouldn’t think twice about ripping your head straight from your shoulders.

“The Na-Baron asked me to come and get you two.” It felt awkward using Feyd’s title, stuffy even.

The two blinked a few times in disbelief, looking you up and down as if you were an insignificant worm. It was almost like you could hear their thoughts. You were nothing but a pitiful Atreides, so what were you doing taking orders from someone as important as your soon-to-be husband? They doubted that he would ever confide in you for anything other than warming his bed.

“He told me that the two men standing in front of the Baron’s office were needed in the training room.” The sooner they were gone the better.

Their eyebrows furrowed in confusion, slowly looking behind them at the large door they were currently standing in front of. How would you know that this was his uncle’s office unless you were explicitly told?

“Did he mention why we are needed?” There was still a hint of distrust in the older man’s voice, but it was far overshadowed by fear.

Feyd was unpredictable. Unpredictability and psychosis made for a dangerous combination.

“Another guard confided in him yesterday. Said that the two of you said something disrespectful recently and that he wanted to personally have a word with the both of you. I don’t know anything more than that.” You wanted them so frightened that they would completely abandon all reason. They needed to be gone long enough to give you time to properly search the place.

You watched as their pale faces went a sick shade of pale purple. The two looked like the gossiping type, and if their expressions were anything to go off of then you must be right. They were quick to bow their heads in your direction before jogging off, muttering curses under their breath.

A second. Two seconds. Three. . .

You opened the door as slowly as you possibly could, praying that it wouldn’t make a noise. You waited to see if you could hear any movement, wondering whether or not the inside was being watched as well. Thankfully you heard nothing. The room wasn’t as massive as you had been expecting. It was just about as large as the first bedroom you had been placed in was, but somehow it looked even darker. It still had the strangely textured walls and beautiful floors, same as the grand-hall, but there was something unsettling about it. The only light coming in was through the large window that was located in the middle of the room, but the world outside was a slate gray, so even that was dim. You didn’t have time to look out the large window, no matter how curious you were about your new surroundings. There was something that you had to do. Making a decision on how you should go about this whole predicament was paramount, and you refused to do it after the wedding.

There was still time to try and contact your parents back home if you had suspicions of a possible murder plot.

The Baron’s desk was neat, not a speck of dust marring it’s matte black surface. You weren’t looking for anything in particular. . . just something that would put your mind at ease. Confirmation was needed, one way or another. Either Feyd’s uncle was innocent or guilty. Of what? You weren’t quite sure yet.

You riffled through the papers that sat on the middle of the table, careful to stack them up exactly where they once were. The information in them seemed useless to you. Financial documents- most of them discussing the retrieval of spice. Never once had you stepped foot on Arrakis, so you found them slightly boring at worst and mildly interesting at best. It was then that you started tugging at the very few drawers, knowing that you would be found at any second. There were no sounds emitting from the hallway, but that didn’t mean anything. Most of the people on this planet were freaks of nature it would seem. You suddenly began to doubt that there would be any evidence here of all places.

Asking the guard that attempted to kill you and his accomplices questions would have been the best route, but your fiance had acted rashly before you even had the chance to catch your breath. The time to give up on your investigation was near. Seconds had turned into minutes. Your heart was pounding up in your throat, making it hard to breathe as you opened the last drawer.

It turned out that it wasn’t a drawer at all but a small cabinet. You had to crouch down and squint your eyes in the dark to see inside. The contents would have been useless to you in most cases, but something caught your eye. . . and terrified you in ways that you couldn’t quite put into words.

It was a cabinet filled with marked-

“Did you see his face? It looked like he was surprised to see us.” The male’s voice had you standing up so fast that a muscle in your neck twitched, resulting in a dull pain shooting up the base of your head.

You were about to be caught. Any second now they would be back at the door, and where would you hide in the hallway? The billowy skirt that the ladies in waiting had brought to Feyd’s room this morning nearly sabotaged you as you tripped by the door. They were just around the corner, only a few steps away from his office now.

What would happen if you were caught? Would the wedding be called off? Would you be punished severely?

You closed the door as quietly as you could behind you, running in the opposite direction that the two begrudged guards were coming from. You only skidded to a stop when you saw that this hallway was also heavily guarded, their backs turned to you.

This was the worst case scenario. You were running in the opposite direction where you had come, which meant that you had absolutely no clue where you were going. There was no way that you would get out of this without some sort of formal permission, and two guards were already suspicious of you. Oh, and you couldn’t use the Voice if things started going south.

If you could sink right into the floor, right in this moment, you would.

The cabinet in the baron’s office was filled with keycards, each labeled with numbers that must correspond to each room. Only two were missing- two keycards that belonged to a room that had been organized on the wall of the right side of the cabinet. Left wing and right wing. The guest rooms were located in the right.

There was no way that was a coincidence. . . not when you were staying in the right wing the night that you were injured. You had been given a keycard at the very beginning of your stay. Not even your ladies-in-waiting had a way to get into your room by themselves. They had to knock on the door and wait for you to unlock it from the inside for them.

So if you had one keycard. . . then who had the other? Had someone broken into the Baron’s room just the same as you had, perhaps?

A sudden grip on your wrist had your mouth falling open, your lungs seizing as you sucked in a breath, your body's natural reaction being to scream. A hand was quick to press to your mouth, muffling whatever sound you could make. The hand belonged to someone tall, their body hard against your back as they ushered you into a small space. They pressed a button on the wall, and all you could do was watch in horror as the door slid closed behind the two of you.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

It was pitch black in whatever tight space he had dragged you into. A closet, you surmised. Still, you could hear that his teeth were clenched as he spoke to you, voice deep and low as he whispered.

Feyd. You hated the fact that you were so relieved that it was him. His presence here meant that you were safe. All you had to do was come up with some sort of lie as to why you were here. Walking alongside him wouldn’t dredge up any suspicions. No one would be the wiser if they saw the Na-Baron giving his soon-to-be bride a tour around the grounds.

His chest was pressed tight against yours, and suddenly you found it hard to take in a single breath. It felt as though he might press himself straight into your ribcage. . . and maybe you really were going crazy, but you wouldn’t mind it if he did break you. The smoky, spiced scent of him was clouding your judgment.

You were no longer yourself.

“It’s none of your business.” You whispered back, trying to make your tone just as ferocious as his was. It lacked bite though, and he seemed to catch the way that your voice faltered ever so slightly.

“Getting yourself killed the second that I look the other way. . .” He scoffed, and you wished so badly that you could make out his features in the dark. His body moved ever so slightly, as though he was leaning his head back in exasperation. “Do I need to bind your hands and ankles every time I leave the room? Are you that incapable of being without me even for a second?”

“I got lost.” You hissed, the lie sweet on your honeyed tongue. You were getting better at being despicable.

“Well, that’s too bad,” His voice softened, almost as though he was speaking to a child. “Getting lost in these halls isn’t hard to do.”

His grip on your wrists tightened to the point of pain, and for a second fear flashed behind your eyes. You hadn’t feared Feyd since you first arrived on Geidi Prime, and it was as though you were being brutally reminded of just who warmed your bed at night. He could kill you with his bare hands if he wanted to. Those strong fingers were currently immobilizing you now, leaving bruises on your wrist where he held you so ruthlessly.

“You’re a clever little mouse. What are you doing outside of my uncle’s door, hmm?” His hand freed one of your wrists, instead opting to grip your jaw so that he could move your head up.

Could. . . could he see you? The breath loosed from your lungs and all you could do was squint your eyes, begging them to adjust to the darkness. He was in his element here, lost to you in the shadows.

“If the guards caught you then they could deem you to be a spy. You would have been beheaded before I had time to get to you, and I’m sure that they wouldn’t have notified me before the killing took place. They know. . . how I am with you.” He chose his last words very carefully, faltering before he sounded the words out.

“And how are you? With me, I mean.” You regretted the words as soon as they passed your lips, and yet you were curious. Were you nothing more than a pet to him? A plaything for him to take off of the shelf whenever it suited his mood? Perhaps he saw you as nothing more than a conquest.

Your hand shook as you began digging into your side, searching your belt for the handle of the blade that you had been carrying during your explorations of this labyrinthian prison. Slowly you pulled it out, pressing it against his side.

You felt his muscles jump under his shirt as he realized you were now brandishing a weapon. His grip was still vicelike around one of your wrists, but he moved again, slowly looking down at his side to see exactly what it was that you were now threatening him with.

“I could snap your neck right now.”

“But you won’t.” That was the only thing that you were sure of. It was the only truth that you were clinging onto: Feyd Rautha would not harm you.

He moved your head to the side, the blade pressing hard into his side as he leaned forward, squeezing the breath straight from your lungs as his hard chest pressed pressed pressed into yours. Your breasts felt as though they might burst and your heart right along with it. He placed a kiss on the side of your neck, causing you to jerk in surprise.

The knife dug into his side and you paled in horror as you realized what you had done. He groaned, the noise echoing in your ear due to your very forced proximity. You needed space. You needed to breathe.

“No. I wouldn’t,” His breath was hot against your cheek as he slid his nose along the expanse of your neck. “Not ever.”

It felt as though something was being pulled taught in your heart. At any second it threatened to tear free. He had galvanized a strange sort of reaction from you- one that you were wholly unfamiliar with. This was all too new and all too much.

“Let go of me.” Your voice shook pathetically, and while it was a command. . . truly, you were begging him.

“You’ve finally learned to tolerate me. Or is this developing into something that you weren’t prepared for?” There was something in his voice. . . something that you were entirely confident that he was incapable of displaying: feeling. “Is that why you haven’t been able to look at me since yesterday?”

“I-I’m angry at you. Why do you think that I would be able to even stomach looking at you after that?”

He pulled away from your neck, the blade of the knife dislodging itself by a few centimeters with the added distance. He groaned again under his breath, his hand moving your face yet again so that he could get a good look at you. Your jaw ached as his fingers dug in ever so slightly.

“No, this isn’t the face of anger.” He sounded sure of that.

And it scared you that he was right. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried desperately to see him in the darkness. Still, all you saw was black.

“Then what is it? If you know so much then tell me.”

“I don’t know. . .” And for a second you thought that you might have won this round somehow. “No one has ever looked at me the way that you do.”

Your lips parted in shock as you stared up into the darkness. Did he always have to pull the rug right out from under you? Just when you were finally starting to get your bearings, he made you feel so unstable. If both of your hands were free then you would have tangled them in your hair. The arm that gripped your weapon slackened, the blade clattering to the floor beside you.

“Then I feel sorry for you.” Your eyes pricked with tears, so you closed the useless things. Still, after all of this, you refused to let him see you cry.

“I know.” He whispered, his voice so gentle that you could weep.

“And I fear you.”

“I know.” His forehead pressed against yours.

“I don’t want this.”

“I know.” He nuzzled against you, his grip on your wrists finally loosening. He must have known that you wouldn’t try to get away from him.

The fucked up thing was that it felt as though your feet had grown roots, tying you to the spot. All it would take was one good shove and you would be free of him and the closet. And yet. . .

And yet. . .

“I could have sworn I saw someone over here.” The voice outside in the hallway made you jump, your eyes shooting open.

You hadn’t been as careful as you thought you had been. Feyd’s earlier statement was coming back to haunt you. They would have you killed, uncaring as to whether or not you even made it into the bastard’s room. Whatever purpose you had for being in this area would be nefarious in everyone else’s mind. What were you even doing here in the first place? Your suspicions were unfounded, and more likely than not you would have found absolutely nothing to substantiate them. Would your parents be able to retrieve your body? Or would they just burn you without even sending a letter back home?

Feyd’s hand slid up the base of your neck, gripping at your hair. Did he not understand how much danger you were in? Maybe he didn’t care afterall. His knee slid between your legs, forcing them open.

“What are you doing?” You gripped at the back of his shirt, trying to pull him away from you, hoping that there was some place in this cramped space that you could hide. The voices were getting even closer now, searching for where they thought that you might be hiding. It was only a matter of time before they found you.

“Saving your life.” He captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his hand sliding out of your hair so that he could begin undoing the front of your blouse. You could hear the sheer fabric of your tunic ripping beneath his hands in his desperate attempt to get to you.

All you could do was grip onto him for dear life, unable to free yourself to even utter a cry. You were unsure as to how doing this would save you, but you were losing the ability to care much at all. If these were going to be your final moments then so be it.

So you gave in to the desire. You gave into the wanting and the needing. You fed the ache that had been plaguing you.

Your lips moved against his, parting so that you could fully taste him. His hands felt firm on your chest as he finally was able to tear you free of the cloth. The air was cold on your hot chest, and yet his hands were scalding against your skin. You tried to remind yourself that none of this was right, but it wasn’t working. His tongue lapped at the roof of your mouth and your own brushed up to meet his.

More. More. You needed more of him.

Your hands shook as they began pushing up at the fabric of his training gear. The breathable fabric stretched as you pressed your hand against his chest, finally allowing yourself to feel the hard planes of his muscles. You felt his stomach tighten as your fingers glided along his skin. You were unsure as to what you were searching for, but your body was acting on pure instinct. Your fingers reached up and up until they finally slid free of the fabric at his collar bones only to wrap around his throat.

He groaned into your mouth, his thumb brushing against your nipple. It hardened in response to the sudden attention it was getting. His knee pressed further against your thighs, spreading your legs out further for him until he was finally at the apex of your thighs. His hand flew from your breast to your hips, moving them for you against him. The friction caused your head to roll back against the wall behind you, disrupting the kiss as pleasure rocked through you. Never in your life had you ever felt anything quite like this.

He continued to rock you back against his thigh, and while you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on your face. He was watching you intently, hell bent on doing whatever it was that he wanted to do to your body. You were unsure of his goal and yet you didn’t care. Something was building inside of you- a sound, a cry, a sob. . . you weren’t certain. It just felt so good. Too good.

He must have seen your lips part and was quick to press a kiss against them in an attempt to muffle the sound. Your knees felt weak beneath you, and if it wasn’t for his dutiful hands that gripped at your thighs then you were sure that you would have fallen ages ago.

You remembered how he had felt against you the other night and you wondered if that was a reaction that you had somehow unknowingly caused. You wanted to feel him again. You wanted to know whether or not he was enjoying himself, so you freed his neck and instead pressed your hand against the front of his pants. What had gotten into you? What were you even doing?

But he was hard against your hand and that was enough for you to begin rocking your hips against his knee without his prompting hands.

The feeling of your tiny palm cupping him through his pants was more than enough. His hips jerked forward, his eyes flying open at the realization that the object of his lifelong obsessions was willingly touching him like this. He was going to fuck you in this closet if the two of you weren’t found. Feyd didn’t want it to happen like this. . . but he was losing what little control he had left.

He loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you.

“I-”

The door flew open the second he opened his mouth, the bright light momentarily blinding him. His body moved on its own, Feyd’s hands moving from your hips up to your shoulders so that he could turn you, using his body to shield you from view. His chest moved up and down rapidly as he gulped down breaths, trying hard to calm himself and his pounding heart.

There was an unfamiliar man holding the door to the closet, eyes wide as he took in the site of the two of you. It took him a few seconds to really register what was going on in the small broom closet, and then another to fully grasp the fact that he had made a grave mistake.

“I-I-I had no clue it was you, sir.” The uniformed man stepped back, trying to show the Na-Baron respect.

You watched in real time as something pure and terrifying bled its way into Feyd’s expression. It had chills running up your spine.

“Turn your gaze away from her.” His voice was so low that you could barely understand what he was saying. “Now.”The other male quickly got the hint, turning his entire body to face the other direction. His back was ram-rod straight and you watched with a slack jaw as his knees began to quiver.

You wouldn’t want to turn your back on a rabid beast either.

“Just get me out of here. Please.” You spoke as quietly as you could, covering the scraps of material that used to be your blouse tight to your exposed chest.

Killing the random guard in plain sight would attract a small crowd. You watched as Feyd weighed his options, and you bet that the two blades that were still strapped to his back were calling out to him.

Silently Feyd pulled you out of the closet, holding you so tightly to his chest that your arm became uncomfortably pinned against you.

The two of you walked through the halls silently, his eyes burning holes into the faces of anyone that even glanced in your direction. The embarrassment of being so exposed in front of everyone had you crawling out of your own skin. No one had seen you naked before- aside from the women that had been tasked to take care of you over the years. All you could do to try and keep yourself from crying was stare down at the floor, watching the pale man’s black boots make their way soundlessly through the halls. Everything he did was so graceful it seemed.

The blood drained from your face as you were suddenly reminded of the fact that he had seen your chest completely exposed. He’d felt you, kissed you, and pleasured you nearly to the point of your undoing.

And you had let him. You put up no resistance at all.

Even worse, you wanted him to do all of those things to you. If you hadn’t been caught then how far would you have let things continue? In that moment you realized that you would have let him take you. You knew yourself well enough to know that you would have let him take your virginity in a broom closet.

“No one is looking at you,” He seemed to sense your sudden mortification somehow. “I promise. I’d kill them otherwise.” And you knew he was telling the truth. He was probably taking an internal tally of anyone that started for too long, only so that he could circle back for them later.

All you could do was nod your head and follow him down the hall, stopping only when he reached into his pocket and grabbed his own keycard, letting the two of you back into your room.

You kept your chest covered with your hands as the two of you broke away. You knew that it was pointless, but the moment was gone and your panic had returned tenfold.

“Now tell me,” He turned to face you and you watched as his lips turned down at the corners in slight disappointment when he noticed your sudden modesty. “What were you doing over there? Be honest.”

You couldn’t be honest and it pained you to know that. Feyd was still a Harkonnen. He was loyal to them, not an Atreides.

“Why did you kiss me?” You were answering a question with another question, but you needed to know. Urgently.

He licked his lips, as though he was being reminded of the moment. “No one would ask questions.”

Anger struck you hard in the gut. He had used the moment as a distraction? You felt like an idiot, already regretting the fact that you had allowed him to use your body like that.

“I didn’t mean to take it that far. It’s becoming harder and harder to control myself.” He must have noticed the hurt in your eyes. “I want you. Not because we are getting married. . . but because I want you.” He was being uncharacteristically emotional today.

You weren’t sure what that statement truly meant, but it seemed heavy- heavy enough that you felt the need to be more forthcoming with him.

“I was trying to make my way into the Baron’s office.” A half truth, then. It was easier than telling him everything. “But it was locked.”

Feyd’s eyes never left your face. They were much softer than they had been in the hallway, almost as though all of the hatred had melted away completely. He looked at you like he cared for you. . . and that was scary.

“I don’t know why it hurts so much. . . but it does.” His voice was flat, almost as though he was distracted while he continued to watch you. “I know you’re lying to me. My uncle’s office is only ever locked after dinner, which is for safety reasons.”

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep it from quivering.

“Only my uncle has clearance to get into that room. The guards in the left wing only ever act on mine or the Baron’s orders. They’re all loyal to a fault. . . so tell me. Did you get into his office?”

You completely ignored his line of questioning, distracted by something he had said.

“So none of them would allow someone other than the Baron himself to enter that room?” Your voice shook with fear, your eyes widening as all the pieces started coming together.

“No,” He looked confused as your lips parted in a silent scream. “What? What is that face for?”

You felt more alone than you ever had in your entire life. He was out to kill you. . . There would be no escaping this place alive. Your parents had been set up and had given you away to murderers-

“The guard that tried to kill me. . .” You couldn’t keep your voice from shaking. “What wing did he belong to?”

Feyd’s muscles went rigid beneath his shirt, as though he was just now coming to some conclusions of his own. “The left.”

The breath was knocked from your lungs as the full weight of everything crashed into you.

You were stuck on an alien planet with no way home, Feyd Rautha was going to become your husband in just two days, you wanted Feyd so badly it hurt you. . .

And his uncle was plotting to kill you.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

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m0nnypie · 15 days ago

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✿ To All the Boys I've Loved Before! - Masterlist.

✿ feat. Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugou, Kirishima Eijirou, and Todoroki Shouto.

✿ warnings: to all the boys I've loved before!Au, quirkless!reader, teacher!reader, aged up characters, all the boys are pro-hero (including Deku).

✿ synopsis: Your childhood letters, the ones in which you declare your love for every crush you had, ended up being sent without your permission. What could come of that?

✿ notes: HIIII. I've posted the first chapter, sorry for the delay in the chapters 😩 but I'm trying to finish as quickly as possible with everything I have to do, I swear when you see it, it'll almost be complete!!! One thing is that I'll probably do 4 different endings, if you want me to. But I can also do an ending with all four if you prefer!!! But I'll leave that for later.

01. [PROLOGUE]

your lovely students, discover about the letters. What a mess they made.

02. [IZUKU MIDORIYA]

your first love, and one of the sweetest. You will always remember him, but now things were different for the two of you.

03. [KATSUKI BAKUGOU]

Your second letter, and the worst of all. Sometimes you wonder why you liked him? But would your opinion change now?

04. [KIRISHIMA EIJIROU]

A little teenage love, an unexpected encounter that happened in a coffee shop when you were 15. You never forgot those red eyes and sharp smile.

05. [TODOROKI SHÕTO]

He was just so charming and funny with the way he dealt with things he didn't understand, but you resigned yourself to the fact that you would never have a chance with him, right?

TAG LIST!!! So if u wanna be tagged just click on the link and give me your username and I will add you!

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pboogerswbb · 16 days ago

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TOO LOST IN YOU - part IX

Paige Bueckers x bartender!oc

Warnings: emotional rollercoaster-ish? p having her last game :( SMUT (handcuffs...)

Wordcount: 11.9K

A/N: this is it, the final chapter. i know it's incredibly long but people voted to have a longer chapter instead of two parts so this is what i did. i genuinely can not thank every person who has read/liked/reposted this series enough - i never thought so many people would show so much love for what i've written and it genuinely moves me as a writer. i'm feeling surprisingly emotional letting go of Valerie and Paige, but i know the time has come. expect an epilogue eventually, but also tune in for my next series So It Goes, which will be a much longer project! anyways genuinely, ty from the bottom of my heart, i'm grateful for each and every person reading this <3 ALSO HAPPY GAME DAY WE BETTER DUNK ON ND IDC

“Shot clock at four, Chen to Bueckers,”

The four seconds somehow feel closer to a minute, time slowing down around me, people moving in slow motion as I step back and get settled behind the three point line. With a flick of my wrist I let the ball fly.

“Bueckers for three…”

My eyes follow the ball as it soars in an angle, silently praying it’s the correct one I had practiced over and over as it starts coming down. I barely hear the crowd roaring, everyone on their feet. This was our last chance and it was all up to me. What could be my final game in this uniform, with these people I loved could be over in a matter of seconds. I let the gratitude wash over me. If this is it then I’m incredibly blessed, but please God, don’t let this be it.

Like instant gratification for my faith, with a swish the ball slips through the net, the buzzer going off, barely audible over the uproar of the crowd deafening me.

“GOT IT! Bueckers brings Huskies to a two point lead, taking them to the final four!”

The waves of relief and adrenaline fill me from head to toe when my teammates run to me, all of us jumping up and down. Clammy hands are grabbing me everywhere, squeezing my shoulder and ruffling my hair. We did it, the National Championship barely out of our reach now.

“Thank God!” I sigh in relief, looking up to the sky in a silent prayer. I’m interrupted as the girls around chant “BDB, BDB” over and over, all circling me with excitement. I feel overjoyed, all the sacrifices, challenges I’d been through were worth this moment. I feel my eyes well up as I take it all in, the girls laughing with joy all around me, the crowd cheering louder than ever before this season, and Coach walking to me and patting my shoulder. That’s all I needed to know what he meant. I made him proud. The moment is nearly perfect, only one person missing to make it complete.

“BABE??” Valerie’s voice comes through the phone harshly, speaking loud over a chattering crowd of people.

“Why are we yelling?” I chuckle, leaning my back against the changing room wall, cold on my sweaty back.

“BABY THAT WAS INSANE!” She says, voice excited. “I’M AT TED’S SO I CAN’T REALLY HEAR YOU.”

“I’m so happy but fuck I miss you ma-”

“Wait Paige you there?!” She speaks over me, clearly not hearing a word.

“Val can you hear me?”

“P? You there?”

The beeps stop me, the call over before it even began. Rubbing my jaw I feel a twinge in my chest. All I wanted right now was her, the lost connection only reminding me more of the distance between us. It felt uncomfortable, almost painful in my body to be so far away from her.

the connections bad ):

paige i’m so fucking proud of you, you should’ve seen me i was jumping up and down

That’s okay ma. Wish I seen it too.

Wish u were here

It was selfish of me, in fact I had been the one to tell Valerie not to come watch us play. Last time she watched me, I’d been a mess. I couldn’t risk being distracted this time.

I had found my groove quickly, the fine line between being Paige Buckets and girlfriend Paige. A lot of it was due to Valerie’s surprising patience with me while I figured all this out. Somehow it made me better on the court too - I never found myself pretending to be someone else anymore. However, having my girl in the crowd watching me, cheering me on, well that was a different subject. I couldn’t help but fear that her presence would have me messing up, getting unfocused. And now wasn’t the time to test the waters. So I had told her to stay home.

Valerie wanted anything but that, her mouth quickly turning into a frown as I told her no. But after some arguing back and forth I sweet talked her out of it.

“I thought you’d want me there,” her words still echoed in my head. As much as it pained me to admit, Valerie was right. Now that it was all done, all I wanted was my girl on my arm.

told you

Call me when u get home?

are you tryna get rid of me?

Never

good

My voice is slurred as I lock myself in the bathroom, hands clumsily handling the lock before I coo into the phone.

“Babyyyy,”

“Paige, are you drunk?” Valerie chuckles. I nod as if the girl on the phone could see me. After we won the drinks had been flowing, me and the girls locking ourselves into one of the hotel rooms and sharing a bottle of Tito’s. It wasn’t necessarily allowed but Geno and CD were usually good sports about it, turning their backs and letting us do what kids in college did.

“Perhaps,” I giggle, which makes the girl on the phone let out a bright laugh.

“You’re really milking that Unrivaled ad huh? Never heard you say that word in my life before that,” she teases.

“Are you tryna say I’m bad with words? What about ‘work tour’ and ‘I did all I could so God could do all I can’t’? Now those went hard.”

“Paige I’ve seen the folder on your phone full of lil things like that for you to say. You’re not that slick,” Valerie laughs into the phone. She was right of course. I wasn’t that slick. I might’ve been embarrassed by the way I’d been exposed, but I simply couldn’t. Hearing her voice, even when insulting me, had me weak in the knees.

“I love you,” I sigh into the phone, leaning against the cold marble of the bathroom sink.

“I love you too, P. I meant what I said earlier. I’m so fucking proud of you,” she murmurs, voice turning softer like it always did when she was telling me something important.

Grinning to myself a sinister thought flashes across my mind, which I would usually keep to myself but the alcohol in my blood had me feeling bold.

“Whatchu wearing ma?”

Valerie scoffs and giggles into the phone, “Bro chill!”

“C’mon Val I won big today and I miss my girl,” I whine, the foolproof method to get the brunette to bend to my will working this time too.

“Well I just got in bed,” she murmurs, I hear her shifting. “Just in that T-shirt you left and panties.”

For a moment I close my eyes imagining her, smooth legs sprawled over the blanket, bare tits so easy to expose just by pulling that damn shirt off.

“What kinda panties?” I ask, my voice now hoarse and deeper than before.

“You’re not with the girls still?” Val asks but I’m quick to answer, impatient for the detail I had asked for.

“I’m alone, I’m in the bathroom in my room. What kinda panties?”

The phone catches the heavy sigh Valerie lets out, a sign of her own arousal growing, caused by the urgency, sheer need in my voice.

“Red ones, the lace ones with the bows?”

I cuss under my breath, pressing my thighs together, eyes still closed envisioning my girl.

“Take the shirt off,” I command, Valerie shifting to pull the top off.

“It’s off,” she whispers, her voice breathy with need.

Biting my lip I throw my head back, desperate for her. “Can you show me ma?”

She doesn’t hesitate, less than a minute later a notification comes through. Fumbling with my phone I finally get the picture open, letting out an audible groan. It’s my girl lying on her back, back arching so her breasts are perked up, the bows of the red panties decorating her body, thick thighs pressing together deliciously. I can’t help but drag my hand into my sweatpants, sliding it beneath my boxers to find some sort of relief to my need.

“Fuck ma you’re so sexy,” I groan, my fingers swirling in my folds, making my knees shake. “You should- ah shit, you should play with yourself.”

“Yeah?” she asks so innocently I nearly come.

“Yea baby, I am.”

Suddenly I hear her gasping, which only makes me groan more. The adrenaline of the game, the post win euphoria and the need for my girl had made me soaked and the picture was only spurring me on.

“Tell me how wet that pussy is,” I whimper into the phone, the sounds of Valerie’s moans turning me on even more. The marble is cold against my lower back, but I’m only paying attention to the sounds filling my ear, and the way my fingertips rub against my clit, getting me to the edge quickly.

“So- so wet P, all for you,” she whines.

“Need you to finger yourself baby,” I order, squeezing my eyes shut, lost in the memory of how her cunt felt squeezing my fingers. “Imagine it’s me.”

The girl lets out a sharp inhale, and I know she’s working herself close to the edge.

“Fuck a dub, you’re my prize,” I murmur into the phone, trying to control my moans. My words are only encouraging the brunette, making her moan louder.

“Baby, need you here so bad,” she cries out, voice turning more high pitched. I let my head lull back as I rub my clit in sloppy circles, feeling myself teetering the edge.

“I know baby, ‘m right here,” I breathe heavily, feeling my slick cover my fingers. “I’m not gon’ last long Val.”

Hearing that does it, her moans turning desperate in that familiar way - she was there too.

“P I’m gonna come!”

“Shit baby, come on,” I let out a groan, my fingers quickly working me over the edge as I listen to Valerie’s moans on the phone. Waves of pleasure wash over me as I grip the sink behind me, watching the picture of Valerie nearly naked on my screen. I lucked out.

“Oh fuck,” Valerie breathes into the phone as she comes down, my own legs still shaking from the climax.

“I know,” I exhale and pull my hand out of my pants, allowing some space for both of us to calm down. Now that I was feeling more sober it really hit me hard, the distance. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around her and inhale the scent of her hair, feel her body molding into mine. I know Valerie feels it too when I hear her speak.

“Can’t believe you’re moving to Dallas soon,” she murmurs quietly, her voice small.

We had been tactically avoiding the conversation, both of us having the same fears of how the discussion might go. Long-distance was hard for anyone, but I barely knew how to be in a relationship. In only the last week or so we had ran into many issues mostly caused by me and my lack of communication skills. I was learning fast and I wanted to for her - but the weight of the future felt heavy on my chest and doubt was starting to creep in. Not all the time, but in moments like this. When I saw a glimpse of what might lie ahead of us. Many nights like these.

I had grown enough to know that this wasn’t the time to have that discussion though.

“Hey maybe I’ll get drafted to the Sparks, we don’t know yet,” I joke trying to lighten the mood, as if that was any better. Well for me it was, I wouldn’t have to live in fuck ass Dallas.

“Mhm,” she mumbles and I could tell from her voice reality was hitting her quick. Last thing I wanted was for her to be upset, so I try to steer the conversation once more.

“I’m so excited for this date I got planned baby, you’re gon love it,” I murmur into the phone washing my hands. Her tone shifts, now slightly lighter.

“It better be good, I’ve been waiting,” she jokes and I let out a sigh of relief knowing the difficult conversation could be pushed off to another day.

“Oh trust, it will be.”

I check my hair one more time, my brunette locks in a perfect blowout when there’s a faint knock on the door.

“Valerie! It’s for you I think,” my roomie Amy shouts. I quickly grab a sweater to throw over the black long bodycon dress I was wearing in case it got cold, taking my purse to go open the door. I could feel excitement swirling in my gut for our first date. Giddy like a child on Christmas morning I tiptoe to the door, my roomies all whistling at how good the dress made my ass look - which was precisely the reason I wore it.

Opening the door I’m met with a huge bouquet of deep red roses before I even see the blonde holding them. Gasping I grab the flowers, burying my nose in and inhaling.

“Oh my Goooood,” I gleam, letting the floral scent fill my nostrils. Finally lifting my gaze I see Paige, with a stupid wide grin on her face watching me, looking fine as hell as usual. Her blonde hair is slicked back in a bun, wearing black cargos and a white long sleeve, diamond studs decorating her ears and a chain with the number 5 hanging off her neck.

“You look so good,” I gasp and throw myself at the blonde, wrapping my arms around her dramatically and kissing her. She chuckles but kisses me back, but when she sees my outfit her face falls.

“Val, the dress…”

I immediately frown, feeling self-conscious. “Oh… you don’t like it?”

“Oh God no I love it, wanna take it off you right now,” she says her voice low and quiet so my roommates don’t overhear. “But you’re gon’ get cold baby.”

“Well you didn’t tell me what to dress for,” I say slightly annoyed, still holding the bouquet. If she wanted me to dress a certain way she could’ve let me know. I was trying to give Paige the benefit of the doubt. She wasn’t used to any of this, real dates, a real girlfriend.

“You right that’s my bad,” Paige murmurs, scratching the back of her neck. “You should change into something a lil warmer tho. I’ll put the flowers in a vase for you ma.”

“Fine.”

With a defiant groan I march into my room, leaving Paige to chat with my roommates, Amy and Layla. Neither the biggest fans of the basketball star after seeing the rollercoaster she put me through since we met. I knew they were still suspicious. I was just hoping Paige’s charms could win them over.

Taking off my dress I stand in the carefully picked lingerie staring into my wardrobe. Suddenly the door opens, the tall blonde making her way in and whistling when her eyes fall on the purple set on my body.

“NO! You’re not supposed to see yet!” I yelp and try to cover up with a pillow - unsuccessfully. Laughing, Paige closes her eyes and walks over to me bumping into my desk until her stretched out hands land on my ass.

“Well hello,” she grins, wiggling her brows, eyes still squeezed shut.

“Paige!! Stop!” I complain, though I liked the way her hands were feeling me up everywhere.

“Hey! I’m not lookin at least, gimme something,” she says and stands behind me, her hands snaking around to squeeze both my breasts, making me both flustered and giggly.

“Okay I gotta get dressed P or we’ll never get out,” I chuckle and grab a pair of white cargos and a black and white striped sweater to put on.

“Fineeeee,” the girl groans and plops herself down onto my bed, still with her eyes closed. Once the clothes are on I walk over to her, standing in between her legs as I lean down and kiss her cheek. Her blue eyes open, sparkling when she sees me.

“You look perfect,” she hums, shoving her hands in my back pockets to feel my ass up.

“Well that dress would’ve been nicer,” I murmur, still a little annoyed. Paige, rolling her eyes, stands up and walks me out the door by my shoulders.

“Well now you won’t be bitchin’ about being cold and shit,” she says.

I had no idea what Paige had planned, but she had been acting all sly about the plans the entire week. It had grown so irritating I almost wanted to tell her off for it, but I knew it was her way of showing she was excited which in turn excited me as well.

The air is surprisingly warm despite the grey overcast caused by the cloudy sky as we head out. Paige opens the door to the passenger seat of her Jeep for me, quickly walking over to the other side and climbing in.

“Sooo where are we going?” I ask, trying to peek into the backseat for any clues. Paige proudly grins as I lean back to find only water bottles, a couple of Nike shoe boxes and a basketball in there. Way to play into every stereotype.

“You’ll see Val,” she beams, her hand coming to rest on my thigh as she accelerates on the highway. “It’s like a little over an hour away.”

Knowing it would be pointless to pry, I stare at the scenery out the car window, enjoying the comfortable silence falling over me and Paige - a rare occasion considering her mouth was always going. I felt at ease, her presence wrapping me in a duvet of calm. Of course my fears were still there when it came to the girl next to me. It would take months of building trust and communication to let go of all that had happened between us. The thing was, we didn’t have months.

In fact a month was all we barely had left before Paige would be leaving for Dallas. Obviously it wasn’t official yet, not till the draft. But we both know what the future holds.

I look at Paige, her side profile outlined beautifully against the light shining in through the window behind her. My eyes roam the tip of her nose, the curve of her lips as she raps along to some song I wasn’t paying attention to. Paige had become a master at the art of evasion, the unmentioned topic heavy between me and her. Mentally I was beginning to prepare for the worst, to face the truth. We could barely stick by each other’s side the past few months and we lived on the same campus - how could we ever make it through long-distance while I finish my masters?

And what then? I pack my shit up and move to Dallas? Would Paige even want me there? She’s gonna meet so many new people, her whole life is about to change. Even if she wanted me now, I’m not so sure she’ll want me a year later. The idea was terrifying, causing a twist in my gut, us finally sorting our shit out just to have to give all this up. So I was just trying to soak in every moment I had with her, even if they were our last ones before the inevitable.

Eventually my eyes land on blue waves stretching across the horizon before us as Paige turns left into a parking lot. I feel excitement growing in my chest for what the girl might’ve planned, pushing away the thoughts of the inevitable end that was looming right in front of us.

“Isn’t it a lil cold for swimming?” I ask confused as Paige parks, my gaze taking in the waves crashing against the sand, only a few others walking along the coastline on the cloudy day. I had always found there to be something extremely serene about a grey day on the beach, the ocean smelled different, the humidity causing the air to grow heavy.

“We’re not going for a swim ma, I’m taking you on a picnic,” she grins and I can tell from the look on her face that she’s proud of this. Paige Bueckers, the All-American basketball star, the one I’d been begging to let me sleep over just a few months ago taking me on a picnic. My heart nearly bursts with affection and I don’t fight the urge to lean over and kiss her. The blonde smiles into the kiss, her lips fitting against mine just right.

As I reach for the door Paige slaps my hand away, the sting making me jump.

“Ow what the hell!”

“Don’t even think about it,” she says as she gets out and walks to the other side to pull the car door open for me.

“Ma’am,” she teases but I look at her, still rubbing my hand.

“That hurt y’know,” I mumble, it didn’t really but something about Paige made me play up my theatrics.

“I did what I had to, now stand the hell up,” she commands pulling me out.

“This isn’t my idea of romantic P,” I complain as she walks me to the trunk of the car by my arm and opens it. I immediately swallow my words when I see what’s inside - a checkered picnic blanket, pillows, a large picnic basket, a cooler and a small speaker.

“This better?” Paige asks, watching my face light up. I would never admit it but part of me thought she could never plan something like this, that it wasn’t her thing. I suppose I was wrong.

“This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” I gasp and wrap my arms around her neck and jump, knowing Paige will catch me everytime. She holds me up in the air by my waist and lets me pepper kisses all along her face.

“You deserve it ma, you deserve a whole lot,” she murmurs into my ear before placing me down, hands rubbing up and down my back. “Would give you the whole world if I could.”

Her eyes are blue and sparkling as my gaze meets hers. I wanna pause the moment, stay there with her forever.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

Paige grabs all the heavy stuff insisting I grab the blanket and the pillow instead. Picking the perfect spot we set everything down, the blonde not letting me help the tiniest bit as she sets everything up for us. I inhale the salty air, humming as the scent fills my nostrils. The high-pitched screeches of seagulls echo across the waves and I step out of my shoes, letting the sand against my bare feet ground me.

“Aight, I think we’re set,” Paige says, setting open the picnic basket. Sitting down on the blanket I watch carefully as the blonde pulls out different foods. Chocolate covered strawberries, croissants and pastries - very elegant, very not Paige.

“How did you-?”

“I googled uh, romantic foods… and the girls thought this was a good idea,” she explains sheepishly, handing me a Coke from the cooler. “Is this lame?”

There’s genuine panic on her face and for the first time I notice a slight shake in her hands. Paige Bueckers was nervous. I could barely believe it.

“Paige I love it,” I reassure her but notice the way she’s chewing the insides of her cheeks, tapping her fingers against her Coke can. Without thinking I bring my hand to hers, our eyes meeting. “I mean it. I love this baby.”

She lets out a relieved exhale, a hesitant smile growing on her face. “I did good?”. Looking for praise, as always.

I nod. “Yes, P, you did good,” I grin and lean over to peck her cheek. Smirking, the blonde lifts her arm up to flex.

“Well yeah I knew that,” she rolls her eyes and I scoff when I feel a bead of water drip down my forehead.

Paige feels it too, her blue eyes darting to the sky. The clouds are turning dark above us at a rapid rate, an ominous sign telling us the date might end before it even starts.

“Did you check the weather before P?” I ask as more rain begins to fall down.

“Fuck…” Paige sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose in frustration telling me that she in fact didn’t.

I could tell that she was starting to feel discouraged, it was all a little hard for her - the relationship stuff. For me it was enough that she was trying, but that would never be enough for Paige. Always the winner.

“Maybe it’ll pass… it’s fine!” I assure her and grab a chocolate strawberry, trying to feed it to her. But all of a sudden the soft spring rain turns into a heavy downpour, my hair and clothes getting drenched in a matter of seconds, sticking to my skin. So much for the blowout I spent an hour on this morning.

“Forreal?!” Paige groans, blonde strands darkening from the rain.

“We should probably pack up P…” I carefully tell her, getting up and offering a hand to her. She’s looking defeated and frustrated, staring at the ground. With a heavy sigh she stands up without grabbing my hand, head nodding towards the parking lot.

“No, lemme. You get in the car so you don’t get wet,” she murmurs hopelessly, not meeting my gaze, clenching her hand into a fist.

“No I wanna help-”

“Valerie get in the damn car.”

I knew the blonde well enough to know there was no fighting her once she got like this, so I obey, grabbing the pillows and heading towards the car. I knew exactly what Paige was thinking - that perhaps this was a sign from God of what was to come, that we just weren’t meant to be doing any of this.

Then it hits me - an idea that might save this whole day. I empty the backseat and the trunk completely, placing everything neatly on the front seats (and wondering why she needed 3 basketballs in her car but… sure). After fiddling with the seats in the back I fold them flat, opening up plenty of space in the trunk. Grateful for the hoarding Paige had been practicing, I lay down some towels I found in her car and the slightly damp pillows, setting them up for us.

“Val I told you to get in, you’re gettin’ wet,” Paige lectures as she returns, quickly stopping in her tracks when she sees what I had done.

The back of Paige’s Jeep is laid out flat, the trunk open for a view of the beach stretched out along the horizon. It wasn’t what we had planned for, but I would be damned before I give up on this day.

“C’mon,” I tell the blonde as I climb in, sitting cross-legged as I watch her wordlessly follow. Both of us are soaked, hair dripping water and the fabric of our clothes cold and sticking to our skin. Nevertheless I was hellbent on making this work somehow.

Turning to Paige I smile proudly but she’s frowning, eyes locked on her own lap. She’s upset, not with me but herself.

“I’m so fucking bad at this Val,” she murmurs disappointedly. My heart aches for her, but also for me, terrified knowing the blonde didn’t like to do things she didn’t excel at - this being one of them. Maybe it was only a matter of time when she’d decide to give up on this. On us.

“Paige-”

“And then you fix everything, when I’m supposed to be the one taking you out. Fuck, Val, you should just be with someone who can actually do this shit,” she’s rambling on and I feel that fear growing with each defeated word she says.

“Paige! We’re supposed to be a team, sometimes you drop the ball and I pick it up, so when I drop it, it’s gonna be your turn, ok?” I tell her, my voice steady but stern. She meets my gaze, frowning and shaking her head.

“Ion got time to figure this all out before…” she sighs, a deep furrow in her brows, stopping herself before the painful words slip out. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest.

“Really? Now you wanna have that conversation?” I ask annoyed. She couldn’t just let me fix the date, she just had to start talking about this now. If there was something she really wasn’t the master of it was time and place.

“Well we gotta talk it out at some point ma,” Paige says, her rising voice making me feel defensive.

“Alright so during our first date then? Now?!” I say, closing the picnic basket.

Paige lets out a bitter chuckle, throwing her head back. “This ain’t counting as a date, trust.”

“Why do you have to be like that? I’m tryna fix this and you do that? I don’t need any of this,” I say pointing to the picnic basket and the cooler and the beach. “Just needed you with me and I woulda been happy!”

“Well I figured it wasn’t enough for you before!”

I know exactly what she means. How I wanted her to myself when she had a roster full of girls, how I wanted more. But the way she said it was like I was selfish, like it was too much to want her to myself. Like she didn’t want the same.

It hurts. I go quiet, averting my gaze from her. I feel my eyes burn but don’t let the tears fall. I hear the girl in front of me take a deep sigh, rubbing her jaw.

“Shit… Val, I didn’t mean it like that…” she murmurs but I don’t pay attention.

“We should go back,” I sigh, defeated.

“No no no, baby please, lemme try again plea-”

“I want to go home.” I say sternly and climb out of the trunk. I could feel my heart breaking, now that I got a preview of what was to come once Paige left for Dallas. We would never survive it.

We drive home in silence, but not the easy, comfortable kind. The air inside the car is heavy with things left unsaid. Once we get to Storrs Paige walks me to my dorm, leaning into the door frame as I take off my shoes, eager to get out of the freezing cold clothes, sticking to my skin uncomfortably. The red roses sit pretty in a vase on my nightstand, reminding me of the excitement of earlier and how quickly it had fizzled out. Paige was one of the most resilient people I knew when it came to her sport - however that certainly wasn’t the case in her relationships. It was as if all her fight was reserved for basketball.

“Can I come in for a bit?” She asks carefully.

“I need to get outta these clothes and shower,” I mumble to the blonde. I was hoping she’d fight me, plead to let her in.

She exhales but doesn’t, that quick to give up on us.

“Okay.”

She’s chasing my gaze, but I can’t look at her. Reality was hitting me faster than I’d like and it was so much more painful than all those times Paige went and slept with another girl. Somehow this was way worse. I don’t know how to react without starting to cry - so I don’t react at all.

“Okay.”

Paige sighs and touches my arm just for a second.

“I love you, I’ll text you.”

“Okay P, love you too.”

With that she leaves, no kiss, no hug and she’s gone. Just like she will be in a month or so.

“You’re so stupid Paige,” Jana rolls her eyes and the other girls nod in agreement.

“Forreal you need like dating lessons or sumn,” Aubrey says, manspreading on the couch. I’m lying in the middle of the living room floor, retelling what happened just the other day with me and Valerie.

“I know how to date,” I scoff, throwing my arm over my face.

“No you know how to fuck, there’s a difference,” KK says and the girls hum, nodding their heads.

Azzi walks into the living room, holding a bottle of water, watching all of us gathered around me and my dramatics.

“What’s going on?” She questions, watching me sprawled out on the floor.

“Our BDB here started talking about the Dallas thing in the middle of their first date,” Kaitlyn shakes her head, making Azzi’s eyes widen.

“Girl… you’re an idiot.”

“That’s what I said,” Jana agrees. I groan and rub my face, I suppose they were right.

“That’s what I’m sayin’ tho, I dunno how to be in a relationship so how am I gonna do long-distance with anyone?” I ask, feeling dejected.

Aubrey throws a pillow on me but I was too tired to dodge, letting it land on me. “You’re so stupid.”

“What I’m saying,” Azzi hums, sitting on the edge of the couch. “You’re all about the fight and being resilient. You’ve been through so much shit and pushed through it but some relationship issues and you give up already?”

The words hit hard as I take them in. Because every single word was right. I was a fighter, a demon on the court at my best - so why wasn’t I fighting for me and Valerie.

“You love this girl right?” Aubrey asks, already knowing the answer.

“The most,” I admit, tilting my head to look at her.

“And she’s worth fighting for?”

Fuck yeah she was. More than anyone. I nod.

“Then what’s your problem?” KK asks.

Deep down I knew what my problem was. I was scared. Fucking terrified. I knew if I worked really hard for this and it all went down the drain, it would be the biggest pain of my life. But then again Valerie was worth that risk. I loved her with my whole existence, every cell in me burning for her. Letting her go without a fight might be the only thing that could hurt me more.

“You right,” I murmur and finally get up from the floor, checking the time. Her night shift had just started. “Anyone wanna go to Ted’s?”

The bar is crowded, the end of March bringing students from all over to spend the sunny spring day drinking and dancing. It’s pleasantly busy but not packed to the brim. Everytime I walk into Ted’s I’m brought back to the times I spent sitting in that one table by the corner, drinking Shirleys and watching over Valerie, begging that some sort of miracle would allow her to be mine. The way her mouth twisted into a smile each night I stepped in will forever be engraved in my mind.

To my surprise, I’m met with that same, familiar smile when our eyes meet. I thought she might be upset with me, but the way her perfect face lights up behind the bar makes me feel relieved.

She scurries to me from behind the bar counter, and hugs me tight. Without a care in the world I kiss her, not caring who might see, what the students watching might say behind our backs. Who cares, I’d be leaving in a bit anyway.

Valerie kisses me back, humming into my mouth clearly pleased about my affections. The smell of coconut enamors me, drawing me in.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur against her in between desperate kisses.

“Forget it, just happy you’re here,” the girl sighs, her kisses filled with a similar urgency. Neither of us wanted to fight, not knowing these were our last moments in Storrs.

Her fingertips press into the back of my head, pulling me in closer when we’re rudely interrupted.

“I love you guys but Riri I need your help,” Natalie laughs, making drinks hurriedly.

We pull apart, her brown eyes twinkling in the low light. “Sorry Nat,” Valerie chuckles, giving me a smile that says everything’s okay. Hesitantly, we let go of each other, the girl returning to her job.

“So I think y’all are good,” KK laughs and the girls join in. I shrug, still feeling the tingle of her kiss on my lips. “Should we go sit?”

“You guys go, I’ll be there in a bit,” I wave the girls off, taking a seat on a stool by the bar. My eyes watch closely as Valerie works, taking in every movement. Her concentrated expression, the slightly clumsy way she handles the bottles because of how small her hands are. It all makes me love her more.

I sit there for 15 minutes, 30 minutes, then an hour has passed but I barely realise, living for the stolen glances and giggles between us. I could watch her forever. For the rest of my life.

“Do you come with the drink?” I overhear some guy, definitely shorter than me and younger, asks Valerie as she’s serving him. Immediately I let out an annoyed scoff, rolling my eyes.

“Unfortunately no,” Valerie chuckles in a friendly manner, fishing for tips. I feel myself growing more irritated, seeing the way this guy is eyeing my girl, the way his eyes lock on her chest in the white top. Now don’t get me wrong, I was the first person to understand why someone would ogle over Valerie - she always looked incredible. The way her work uniform of blue jeans and a white top hugged her body, the slight wave of her hair she hadn’t blow dried, the minimal makeup she wore to work, it all made her look so good I could’ve eaten her alive. But she was my Valerie, mine to look at, to flirt with.

“Damn, what if I tip well,” the guy continues, making me get up from my seat.

“Yoooo chill chill, not too much,” I say with slight irritation, finding to my pleasure that I am in fact taller than the guy as I walk up to him. His eyes flash with recognition as he takes me in, quickly backing down.

“Paige uhh,” he murmurs, lifting his hands up. “My bad, she your girl?”

“She is,” I glance over to Valerie who’s smiling at me.

“And she tips pretty well so…” Valerie adds, making the guy chuckle awkwardly. God I loved her. The guy is quick to back away.

“You can’t work here anymore,” I say jokingly, just meaning it the tiniest bit.

Valerie scoffs, giggling to herself. “Yeah then who’s gonna pay my rent?”

“I’ll pay for everything, I got that NIL deal ma.”

Paige has spent hours sitting on that one stool, shooing off one guy after another trying to hit on me.

“You gotta stop working here,” she repeated to me after the fifth guy had tried to take me home. Thankfully the moment the men saw Paige and realised who she was, they were quick to back off. I didn’t wanna find out what might happen if they didn’t.

“Alright Nat, you gonna be good for the night?” I ask as I take off my nametag, letting my long hair down, feeling it fall down my back.

“All good hun! Go home, have some fun with your lady,” she grins and I chuckle.

“Speaking of, where’s P?”

My eyes roam the crowd, the blonde not hard to find being one of the tallest women here. To my surprise she’s talking to a group of people - and not just any people. My best friends and roommates.

An unease takes over me, knowing that a conflict was likely to erupt unless my roomies could keep their mouths shut. I loved them dearly but once they disliked someone it was impossible to change their minds.

Taking hurried steps, preparing to diffuse the situation, to my surprise, everyone’s laughing, including Paige, telling some sort of story about when KK locked herself out of their dorm.

“What’s going on here?” I chuckle awkwardly, the blonde immediately wrapping her arm tightly around my waist and placing a kiss on the top of my head.

“We were thinking Paige should come to our next dinner party!” Layla says excitedly, clapping her hands together. Monthly dinner parties had become a tradition for us, the first weekend of each month dedicated to spending time together around a shared meal. It had become important, almost sacred. Warmth spreads in my chest thinking about how it was even a consideration to include my girlfriend.

“Ohh P’s gonna be in Tampa,” I realise, leaning my head against her side. “She’s got the final games then.”

“Aww no way,” some of my friends pout to my surprise, genuinely disappointed.

“Then Val can’t come either,” Paige says ruffling my hair. I smooth over it quickly, shooting her a confused look.

“You’re coming to Tampa too, right ma?” She asks.

It’s like my heart skips a beat when her words land. The image flashes in my head, of me getting to watch my girl dominate the court and bring home the Championship if God willing. The thought alone is enough to make me emotional.

There’s a stupid grin on my face when I turn to Paige.

“Are you sure because last time-”

“I was stupid last time, I need you there with me. I’ll sort out the flights and hotels and tickets and everything.”

And hearing her say that means nothing short of everything.

Be You. Be Great.

I repeat the words to myself over and over in my head, a silent prayer. I look at my reflection, the navy Uconn jersey on my body for the very last time. It almost felt too small on me, I knew realistically it wasn’t. But something about it felt like I was close to outgrowing it.

I remember my first game like it was yesterday, the way the jersey felt then, how it swallowed my lanky body. I was just a kid then, not that I felt like an adult now. But I did feel wiser. My arms and shoulders were bigger, filling out the jersey now. I was carrying my name and the number on my back for Uconn for the very last time.

“Paige…” Allie interrupts my thoughts, knocking on the wall next to me. Suddenly I’m back in the dressing rooms, in Tampa, and she’s watching me with a sly smile.

“Sup Allie,” I grin and wrap my arm around my freshie, wanting to savour every second of these last moments I got to spend with the girls as a Husky.

“Come with meeee,” Allie smiles, pushing me towards the cubbies where all the girls are in a half circle, smiling at me. A little creepy, I think to myself as she leaves me to stand in front of the team on my own.

“Uhhh is this when you kill me?” I ask with a grin, causing the girls to erupt into giggles.

“We got you something Paigey,” Ice smiles and walks up to me, handing me a small present, wrapped in purple paper. I feel my chest tightening as I hold the neatly wrapped box in my hands, slowly starting to unwrap it.

“HOLLUP HOLLUP!” KK suddenly interrupts and runs to me holding another present, this one much less neatly wrapped, more of a pile of wrapping paper all taped together.

“It’s from me,” the girl next to me grins.

Ice and Azzi scoff. “Hey we said no present of our own!”

“Well you don’t love P Boogers like I do,” KK sneers and turns to me. “Open mine first!”

“Okayy okay,” I laugh and unwrap the present in my hands, one layer of paper after another.

“Damn did you use a whole roll of paper for this?” I ask, peeling away.

“Be nice or I’m taking it away,” KK scolds, giddy by my side. Finally I reach the last layers, ripping up the paper to reveal… furry purple handcuffs?

Before I can say anything KK has cuffed my left hand to her right one, painfully yanking my arm around as she cheers.

“What the hell???” I yelp, yanking my hand back to my side and looking at the furry cuff tightened around my wrist.

“Now you won’t leave me,” KK hums and wraps her arms around me tight. Everyone bursts into laughter, including me but I hug the girl back - she was like a little sister, this whole team was my family and Storrs was my home. I was already feeling the dread of having to say goodbye itching in the back of my mind.

“Now how we gon explain this to coach?” I chuckle, squeezing KK’s shoulder and dangling our cuffed wrists in the air.

“Guess we just gotta play like this,” she shrugs.

Rolling my eyes I shake my head and look across the room. “I’m gon miss so many layups today guys.”

Laughs erupt all around the room, except from beside me where KK is looking at me scoldingly.

“Don’ say that,” she argues and starts unlocking the cuffs, unhappy with me.

“I get to keep these tho?” I ask with a grin, my mind already going to filthy images of all the opportunities to use these on Valerie.

“Nasty,” KK mumbles, finally freeing my hand as I grab the cuffs and the key. Returning to the neatly wrapped gift I unwrap one corner at a time, finding a navy blue jewelry case inside. Opening it I gasp, seeing three silver rings lined up in a neat row - each one a letter. BDB.

“Are you forreal,” I chuckle excitedly, my mouth falling open as the girls cheer. I carefully take them out, placing each one on the fingers of my left hand, unable to stop the huge grin on my face.

“Guys…” I pout, already feeling tears forming but Jana is quick to stop me.

“Not yet!”

Suddenly I feel hands wrap around my waist from behind me squeezing tight. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. I can tell just by the weight of her touch.

“Hey baby,” Valerie murmurs and places a kiss on my shoulder as I turn around. Immediately I wrap my arms around her waist, holding her in the air and letting my nose bury into her hair. I had seen her this morning before getting to the arena, but all day I’d been complaining to the girls about how I wish I could see her just for a second before we start preparing for this game.

Valerie giggles as I spin her, finally placing her on the ground.

“Don’t tell Coach or CD,” Aubrey laughs. “We snuck her in.”

It’s then when I notice Valerie’s outfit. A miniskirt and boots which would have driven me crazy if it wasn’t for what was covering her upper body - A white Uconn jersey, with my name and number on it in big bold letters. Her face is bright, like she’s proud to carry my name on her. Proud to be mine. And it’s at that moment the tears begin to burn in my eyes.

“You’re wearing it,” I say weakly, a single tear rolling down my cheek.

“Baby why are you crying?” Valerie asks, surprised, wrapping her arms around me tight as the girls gush looking at us.

“Remember when we first met and you wouldn’t wear my hoodie?”

“Yes, silly that’s why I’m wearing this. I’m making it up for you,” she giggles and kisses my cheek before pulling away. Her hand however remains around my waist as we both turn to the team, comfortingly rubbing her thumb against my skin. All the anticipation, the nerves and the emotion were overwhelming me, heightening all my senses. I sniffle a little, turning to the girls, my family.

“We love you Paige,” Ice says, her voice shaky with emotion. The girls nod in agreement, many meeting my level of emotion, eyes welling up and lower lips trembling. “You’re not just a part of the team but a coach to all of us.”

“Forreal thank you, for everything,” Jana adds.

“We got it from here P,” Sarah smiles at me and it makes me feel at ease, knowing I did what I could, gave everything I had to them. That I could leave knowing I did my all, gave them all I got.

“Don’t forget us in Dallas tho,” KK says as Valerie rubs my back comfortingly, knowing without words that I needed it before my emotions took over. “Now let’s get this Natty y’all!”

I clap as we huddle up, all my girls around me as we hug and hype each other up, Valerie so short she’s almost getting crushed by Jana and Aubrey jumping up and down next to her. Laughing through the tears I wrap my arm protectively around her and kiss the top of her head, inhaling her scent one more time. I had everything I needed right here to win.

Buzzer.

“And the drought has ended! The National Championship goes to Connecticut for the first time since 2016! Paige Bueckers ends her college career with 27 points in this game, leading the Huskies to a long awaited victory!”

It’s immediate, the joy, the tears. I don’t think I’m completely in my body when me and the girls all crash into poor Geno, hugging him tight, jumping up and down around him. I let my emotions take over, letting the tears run down my cheeks. I look around and see my girls doing the same, letting their tears flow. We fought for this, we earned this. I’m not saying it was late, but it was right on time.

When Coach turns to hug me, there are tears in his eyes too. I knew he wanted this for me as much as I did, but seeing the look on his face makes me feel it even more. After all the adversity, the injuries, the lessons life had thrown in my face - I was finally here. On the other side of it all, victorious. In that moment I realise all the setbacks made this moment a million times sweeter.

“You did it kid, you deserve it,” he says into my ear and it means everything.

We finally break apart from our group hug, my mind immediately going to the one person missing. But before I can even look around, I hear her deafening cheer, her golden brown hair swaying in the air as she jumps up and down, beaming at me.

Before my mind thinks it through I’m running to her, wrapping my arms around her and picking her up, my lips crashing into hers. The audience, the media, our coaching staff might as well not have been there. I didn’t care who saw, or filmed or whatever else. I just won the National Championship and I needed to kiss my girl.

“Paige,” she giggles against my lips but kisses me back, her careful hands wrapping around my neck. I’m sweaty and sticky and my face is wet with tears and this would be all over Tiktok tomorrow but we couldn’t care less.

“I love you,” I gasp as I pull away, shocked to find her brown eyes welling up as she smiles at me.

“I love you so much,” she sniffles as I let her on the ground, her small hands coming to wipe tears off my face. “I’m so fucking proud of you P.”

“I’m so happy you came,” I hum, more happy tears rolling down my cheeks. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

And it was the truth. All this time I had been so worried about Valerie being a distraction, something that would cause me to fail. But now I realised she was the biggest motivator, my biggest fan. Seeing her looking at me with tears in her eyes, a grin on her face and beaming brightly made me realise winning with my girl by my side felt a million times better. The best prize I could ask for.

“You’re supposed to swipe it,” the girl behind me mumbles, her words a little slurred from the alcohol that had been consumed at the afterparty.

“I know how to open a damn door,” I complain, just as tipsy if not more as I fumble with the card.

“Hurry, P,” she whines, her hands wrapping around me from behind me as she kisses my upper back, making me see stars already.

“That’s really not helpin’ ma,” I groan, finally getting the door open by some miracle, crashing into the hotel room I had booked for Val just a couple blocks away from our hotel. We had stayed at the afterparty as long as we physically could, but all I could think about was having this girl bent over in front of me with those purple cuffs around her wrists ever since I finished my first drink of the night. It didn’t help that she was in the tightest, shortest purple dress for me, my hand itching to make its way beneath the hem.

The second the door closes Valerie’s pushing me against it, kissing my neck heatedly. I let out a moan, my hands flying to her ass, lifting the short hem out of the way. I feel her hot whimper against my skin when I grope her behind, feeling her up hungrily. We’re both starving for each other.

She’s trying to pin me against the door with her smaller frame, and it’s almost pathetic how easily I flip us over, taking charge. Valerie gasps as her back presses against the door and I manoeuvre my thigh in between her legs, pressing against her core harshly as I begin to kiss her, dragging against her clit.

“Fuck me,” she gasps into my mouth like a plea. I pin her against the door, both my big hands on her waist as I grind my thigh into her, already feeling a slight tremble in my legs.

“Oh baby I plan to,” I tell her, kissing along her neck leaving a trail of purple marks. “Got a lotta plans for you.”

“Need more,” the brunette whimpers, the whine in her voice driving me insane. Unable to hold back anymore myself I lift her up by her thighs with ease, throwing her onto the hotel bed.

“Get undressed,” I command, watching the way she’s trying to catch her breath as I shed clothes till I’m in black boxers and a matching sports bra. Putting on a show for me, Valerie slowly shimmies the purple dress off her body, my jaw falling slack to find no bra underneath it. But it’s the crotchless purple panties that make me groan out loud.

“You’re such a slut,” I murmur, watching her laying on her back on the bed and spreading her legs.

“Mmmh you like it,” she giggles. I feel my mouth watering, watching the way her pussy is glistening for me already.

“I do ma,” I murmur, dragging a finger slowly upwards from her ankle, goosebumps following my touch as I reach her knee, her thigh, her inner thigh - just ghosting where she needed me most to bring my fingers splayed on her lower stomach, watching her squirm.

“You wanna be a good girl for me?” I ask, as if I wasn’t about to fuck her no matter the answer. I can feel my boxers growing wetter as her big brown eyes look up at me, needy.

“Whatever you want baby, I’m all yours,” she tells me. The words are music to my ears.

I lick my lips as my fingertip circles her nipple, gently tucking on it to find it quickly getting hard under my touch.

“Shit, stay right there,” I hiss and walk to my bag, pulling out the purple furry handcuffs. Valerie’s eyes widen as she sees them, but the smile on her face tells me she approves.

“You down?” I ask carefully, wanting to make sure. The brunette nods, eyes locked on the cuffs.

I tut at her, my hand grabbing her chin and forcing her gaze on me, dangling the cuffs in front of her like a prize.

“Use your words ma,” I encourage, the blush on Valerie’s face turning deeper, my dominance flustering the girl

“Yes,” she murmurs and I smirk, brushing her now messy hair off her face. She might be feisty, always putting up a fight. But once I got her wet it was so easy to get her to submit, to let me take charge. I loved it.

“There we go,” I praise, swiftly grabbing her wrists and cuffing them to the metal of bed frame, making sure I could celebrate my win without Valerie’s hands getting in the way.

She’s already squirming, too impatient to wait. Shit, so was I. I had been waiting to have my way with her all night.

I walk to the end of the bed, spreading her legs open for me, the view of her cunt in the crotchless panties driving me up the wall. Taking her ankle into my hand I begin to kiss up her leg, slowly making my way upwards to her inner thigh, leaving small marks behind.

“Mmhm, Paige…” she whines.

“Relax, you’ll get it,” I coo, pulling my own boxers down. “But you’re gonna do a lil sumn for me first.”

With that I straddle Valerie’s face, feeling my need dripping down my thighs. I needed her bad, my head spinning and cunt throbbing at this point. She lets out a moan seeing me so close and soaked for her.

“Please baby,” she whimpers, goosebumps everywhere when I feel her hot breath on my core. She’s trying to chase after me, her neck stretching to reach my core.

“Shit, you want it?”

“So bad please,” Valerie whines and I can’t take it anymore.

My hands entangle in her hair as I lower myself onto her, Valerie’s perfect mouth beginning to work immediately.

“Oh shiiiiit ma,” I groan, throwing my head back, her tongue moving back and forth in my folds just the way I liked.

“Taste so good Paige,” she moans against my clit before her plump lips wrap around it and suck, tongue circling in a way that was dizzying. I could feel the way I was getting wetter, the way I was probably making a mess all over Valerie’s face but the way she was lapping me up seemed like she was loving this as much as I was.

“So fucking good, fuck,” I moan, tightening my grip in Valerie’s perfect brown locks and beginning to guide her mouth wherever I wanted. I could feel the muscles in my thighs begin to shake, my free hand grabbing the headboard of the bed as I ride her face.

She’s squirming under me, squeezing her thighs shut to seek any friction at all which only makes me groan louder. My eyes lock onto her face underneath me, scrunched up in pleasure, mouth buried in my cunt, head moving wherever I yanked it.

Needing more, I pull her closer, not entirely sure if she can breathe but when I feel my climax start to build, I decide I don’t care.

“Just like that Valerie,” I praise, my voice and body shaking now as I’m literally grinding myself against her face, my cunt throbbing as I feel myself near the edge. I hear her muffled moans, feel the vibrations against me as my eyes squeeze shut, my orgasm taking over.

“Oh shit, Val,” I groan, pulling her impossibly close. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it.”

The pleasure ripples over me, coming in waves as I come against Valerie’s face, watching the way her pretty hands are grabbing onto the handcuffs decorating her wrists. I grip her hair tight, pulling on it as I moan.

“Damn,” I exhale, my chest heaving as I lift myself off her. Valerie’s face is glistening with my mess, and she’s hungrily licking it off her lips, arching her back, a feeble attempt to tell me one and only thing - she needs to be touched. Bad.

“Now lemme eat this pussy,” I tell her, my mouth already watering as I crawl between her legs, wrapping my arms around her thighs to lift them on my shoulders. And I dive in. I had been waiting all night for this.

A loud moan escapes Valerie’s lips as my tongue works her, slow licks from her entrance to her clit as to clean her up. The taste of her makes me moan out loud, her arousal dripping out of her already, before I had barely touched her.

“This wet already huh? You like watching me play that bad?” I hum against her, watching the way she’s squirming, the way her hands are already tucking at the cuffs - desperate to grab my head and pull me closer.

“Paige, moreeee,” she cries, trying to buck her hips closer but unable to do anything else with the way she was stuck to the bed. Her helplessness only made me wanna drag it out for longer.

“Answer the question,” I demand my tongue now circling her entrance menacingly, licking upwards and repeating.

She huffs and whines frustratedly. “Like watching you win.”

Good answer.

That moment I bury myself into her pussy, beginning to flick my tongue over her clit at an impossible speed, quickly overwhelming her. My eyes squeeze shut as I alternate between sloppy laps on her pussy and precise circles on her clit, Valerie’s thighs quickly closing in on my head as she writhes, handcuffs clanking against the metal of the bed frame. Her moans and the sinful sounds my mouth is making as I eat her fill the hotel room.

“Paige right there oh fuck,” she nearly screams, the alcohol in her system making her more bold. I keep eating her out, tasting every inch of her. Fuck I could never get enough, I was drunk off her pussy. I wanted to be for the rest of my fucking life.

“I gotchu mama,” I moan against her, keeping up my movements until her moans turn high pitched, and I can tell she’s on the edge. Reaching up, I take her nipples in between my fingers, fondling them as I keep moving my tongue back and forth on her clit at a rapid pace.

“Shit, shit shit,” she’s gasping now, back arching high as she releases all over my tongue, making me groan in response. My head is buried in her cunt, coaxing her through the orgasm.

I’m only starting to come down from my orgasm when Paige pulls back and suddenly two of her fingers slide inside me, quickly beginning to pump in and out.

“Wait, no, too much,” I gasp, doing everything I could to pull my hands free but it was no use. Her hand doesn’t slow down despite my whining. A loud moan spills from between my lips, the stretch completely overwhelming my sensitive cunt.

“Need one more from you Val,” Paige praises, watching the way I swallow her fingers up closely. “Gonna feel so good I promise.”

I cry out, my eyes welling with tears at the overwhelming sensation, Paige’s long and nimble fingers curving inwards against my walls, making me even throb around her.

“Ohh shit that’s it,” she gasps, repeating the movement and feeling me throb once more. “Can fucking feel it.”

I squirm, legs shaking and closing around her but she pries them open with ease, the bicep in her right arm flexing as she pumps in faster, the veins of her hands popping more prominently. The wet sounds coming from inside me fill the room - almost embarrassingly loud.

“Too much,” I whine. Without stopping her movements, Paige climbs up to face me from between my legs, grabbing my jaw, licking her lips.

“You said whatever I want before,” she reminds me, her voice stern, demanding. “You’re gon take it ma.”

My eyes flutter shut, the mix of her words and her fingers moving at an overwhelming speed making my mind spin. I keep yanking on the cuffs, not because I think I’ll get free, but because I don’t know what to do with my hands, immense pleasure taking over my body.

“So fucking perfect,” Paige murmurs, still holding my face as she adds a third finger, the stretch now enough to make my whole body tremble. “Could fuck this pussy forever.”

“Open your mouth,” she coos and I do as I’m told, too weak to even think for myself. To think of anything but the way Paige’s fingers are stretching me out, the squelching sound filling my ears as she pounds them into me.

Paige leans down to kiss me, her tongue meeting mine before our lips crash. She still tastes like a mix of me and herself. I keep moaning, my mouth wide open as she kisses around it, cussing to herself.

“Shit, so fucking tight for me huh?”

“Paige,” I plead, unsure of what for when my back arches and I feel my walls tighten, squeezing Paige’s fingers. She feels it too, letting out a groan. My hips are squirming uncontrollably, forcing Paige to pin me back down against the bed, hand pressing hard on my lower stomach as she sits up to finger me even faster.

The pressure on my abdomen and the rapid speed make my eyes roll back, my climax building impossibly strong.

“I’m so close, oh shi-” I’m gasping for air, mind spinning, Paige’s cussing the only anchor to the moment as I throb around her, teetering right on the edge.

“Tell me you’re my girl baby,” Paige moans, making me nod desperately.

“I’m your girl, shit, all yours.”

“That’s right, my good girl.”

With that, the orgasm washes over me, Paige’s fingers pressing against my walls, creating such an intense stretch I swear I’m on the verge of blacking out. My moans are deafening as my back arches uncontrollably, Paige’s other hand remaining on my stomach. The waves of pleasure are incredibly intense as I mewl and release with force, the world going black for a second.

I’m brought back by the blonde’s fingers sliding out, leaving an uncomfortable emptiness within me. I let out a whine, feeling sweat dripping down my neck, the sheets sticking to my skin. I don’t open my eyes until Paige has unlocked the handcuffs, carefully caressing over my wrists and kissing them as she pulls a blanket over me.

“Valerie?”

“Yeah?” I whisper, still attempting to catch my breath.

“You alive mama?” Paige grins as my eyes slowly flutter open, watching her bring me water and a small present wrapped with a blue paper and white ribbon.

“Just about,” I mumble, shimmying up the bed to lean against the pillows behind me. I felt completely fucked out - and surely looked it. Paige certainly did, straight hair that had been down now tangled at the back but her usual braids still perfectly in place, mascara flaking underneath her eyes.

“What’s that?” I ask, eyeing the gift in the blonde’s hand. She chuckles and offers me a bottle of water.

“Drink a lil first, don’t want you to pass out,” she laughs as she climbs over me to the other side of the bed. Deciding she was probably right, I throw my head back and chuck some of the water, feeling the cold liquid make its way down.

“I gotchu a lil something,” Paige starts, handing the present to me. I take it with both hands, eyes flickering between it and the blonde’s bright blue eyes.

“No, I should be the one getting you a gift, you kidding?” I ask, but Paige leans over, her big hand pressing against my cheek as she kisses me.

“I already got my gift,” she murmurs against my lips. Usually I would’ve made a comment about her corny line, but today I couldn’t. I knew exactly what she meant. “Open it.”

Slowly I unwrap the gift, finding a small box inside. I furrow my brows in confusion, but grin.

“Girl you better not be proposing because I think it’s a lil early,” I joke, making Paige let out a heartfelt laugh.

“Just open the damn box,” she complains, watching me closely. I do as I’m told, finding inside a little golden charm. Eyeing it closer, I realise it’s the number 5.

“For your bracelet,” Paige says. I let out a shaky breath, bringing the box closer to my face. It was beautiful, but what it meant was even more important to me. What it might signify.

“Paige…” I sigh contentedly, watching as the blonde with great care holds my wrist and places the charm on the gold bracelet that I wore, each day of my life. Now decorated with a golden 5. My girl’s 5.

Our eyes meet and we wrap our arms around each other, soft kisses between us as we lie down on the bed, Paige pulling me on her chest.

“I love you Valerie,” she hums, fingertips playing with the ends of my brown hair.

“I love you too,” I murmur against her lips, placing soft kisses all over them. Nuzzling my nose, the blonde pulls back. I watch her blue eyes, the way they twinkle in the dim hotel room. My national champion, my winner, my Paige. All mine.

“Come to Dallas with me,” she whispers, a surprising sureness in her voice.

Batting my eyes, I pull back. “What?”

She grabs my hand in hers and kisses my fingers, one by one.

“Don’t make me go without you,” she pleads. “At least come and stay for the summer, and then we can think about what we do.”

“But what about school? I still got a year left P…” I remind her but she shakes her head.

“Just for the summer, and then if you hate it you can come back and I won’t even complain,” the blonde puts her hand up. “Scouts honor.”

Taking it all in, my chest fills with affection. She really wanted me with her.

“You forreal?” I ask carefully, making Paige grin.

“Val, Ion wanna even think about life without you. I can’t be away from you,” she says, pulling me into another kiss. This one is slow, meaningful. Telling me she means every word - and I trust it. I trust her.

“We’re gonna make this work no matter what,” she whispers, nose nuzzling into mine. “Gonna need you there for all my wins.”

I can already see it. Me sitting courtside, watching her win game after game, fulfilling her destiny with me by her side. Having her come home to me, waking up next to her every morning. Perhaps for the rest of my life.

So there’s nothing else I can do but agree. There were no other options I could fathom. I would go to the ends of the earth for her. And it feels incredible to trust - to know - that she would do the same for me. It’s in the twinkle of her eye when she looks at me, the way her hands always find my waist, how her voice lowers and softens when whispering sweet nothings into my ear. I didn’t need words from her. I knew all of it without.

ily guys

taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @wbbismypassion69 @bueckersfive @onlyhereforpazzi @lovegalor333 @frankoceanlvr303039 @pb524830 @angryflowerwitch@mamixdanni @rosemariiaa @d3arapril @vbueckers @sageworld @makethemhoesmad @sierrale8ne @oreo2sblog @slvt4her @julieloveswbb@vsz333 @faeries-posts @vamptizm @ellapurnellmybeloved @ivorygoal @onlyhereforpazzi@thelightknight21@paigeluvvr@absolutelydreadful@imamartini@lupinqs@authenticgirl03@isurpussygreen@xxloveralways14 @numberonepartyanth3m

#too lost in you #lilas writing #paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers x oc #paige bueckers x female oc #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers fanfiction #wnba x oc

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second-best-if · 2 months ago

Text

Second Best IF

Demo to come soon

Sibling of the chosen one—the spare. That’s how the people of Aristea whispered your name. Celine, your twin, was blessed by the gods with radiant power and breathtaking beauty, while you, the second born, stood in the shadows. Since the fateful day of the Choosing, when the gods selected your twin and overlooked you, gifting you only the pitiful ability of conversation with beasts, your life has been confinement and disappointment. But now, fate has shifted. Celine has been taken, abducted by monsters during a purification journey. As the kingdom’s finest gather to embark on a discreet rescue mission, a new path unfurls before you: the chance to step into the role of your twin and reclaim your place in a world that has long deemed you unworthy. In Second Best you take control of the spare, controlling their destiny and their path. Will you fight for freedom or stay in your sibling’s shadow?

Second Best is a romance fantasty interactive fiction story with dark elements. This game is made for an 18+ audience and contains potentially triggering and sensitive topics such as swearing, violence, sexual content, injury & more - a full list of warnings will be updated once the demo is released and updated with each new chapter added

Play as the spare and customise them to your tastes

Name

Gender {with male, female and nonbinary options}

Pronouns {choose a preset or create your own}

Appearance {hair colour, eye colour, scars and more}

Personality {make choices that will develop your personality traits and that could change your fate}

Romance one of four potential love interests - with each choice creating a branching path and a new story for you to explore {you will be able to choose the genders of each love interest or randomise them}

Discover the truth behind your twins life and their kidnapping

“I would give my crown and kingdom to keep your heart” | The Royal | Prince/ Princess Wallace Aurelius

Age: 27

Height: 175cm/ 5'9

Build: Average

Eye color: Yellow

Hair color: Black

Character traits: Polite, Kindhearted, Calm, Distant, Lovely, Academic, Repressed

Bio: Heir to the throne of Aristea and Celine’s supposed finance although they never met. Given the moniker 'the kind' - however when you meet they seem polite but distant.

“I will protect you with every fibre of my being, and fight for you until my dying day” | The Knight | Farris Butcher

Age: 26

Height: 195cm/ 6'5

Build: Broad and extremely muscular

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Ginger

Character traits: Sarcastic, Cold, Duty Bound, Emotional, Romantic

Bio: Childhood friend to the twins and now a head knight of the Royal Order. Farris is assigned to protect you while you pretend to be your twin.

“My soul is bound to yours and I would defy the gods just to keep you close” | The Magician | Leon ???

Age: 28

Height: 170cm/ 5'7

Build: Thin and lanky with long limbs

Eye color: Green

Hair color: Dark Brown

Character traits: Humorous, Witty, Smart, Resourceful, Pragmatic, Flirtatious

Bio: Magician and protector of your house, Leon is a close friend and trusted confidant of your twin, but was asked to stay back to maintain the ruse.

“You are the light in my veins and the shadow that haunts my darkest thoughts” | The Foreign Dignitary | Ludovica/ Ludovico Barboza

Age: 29

Height: 185cm/ 6'0

Build: Well muscled but lean

Eye color: Orange

Hair color: Light Brown

Character traits: Bold, Outgoing, Talented, Scheming, Flirtatious

Bio: A foreign dignitary from a Country neighbouring Aristea, they are here to sign a treaty of trade between the two nations, however they seem to be here with an ulterior motive and flirt with you every time you meet.

488 notes · View notes

sitepathos · 2 months ago

Text

From Gold to Mold

Chapter 8: The Reunion

“Oh god, look at all these people,” you mutter, looking around the hall the award ceremony from your seat in the developer section, which is full beyond capacity. “Don’t think I’ve seen this many people before.”

The last time you saw so many people was your graduation night at Gotham Academy, but this makes that look like a small office party in comparison.

(There is no need to fret. You have polished your speech to perfection and have rehearsed it so many times you can recite it perfectly in your sleep. And when you are done, all will cheer for you.)

You smile at its words. No matter how uncertain you feel, the Megamycete always has your back. You’d hate to think where you’d be without it.

Well, without the Megamycete, you’d probably be dead.

“Wonder where Alfred is,” you wonder, looking around at the back of the hall. “He said he was coming.”

(We are sure he is here. The butler would swim through shards of broken glass to be here at the biggest triumph of your life.)

You’re so anxious to see the man; it’s been four years since you last saw him in person and you just know he’s going to bring up your lack of visits and probably try to guilt you into visiting since Gotham’s only three hours away, but you intend to stand your ground and go back to Goodsprings tomorrow.

“I hope he likes the suit I got,” you mutter, messing with your collar for the millionth time, not use to wearing such fancy clothes.

(He will. You chose from among millions of choices and made the best choice. Everyone in the room is no doubt in awe of your superior fashion choice.)

The day you were told you were in the running for this award, you drove to Vegas and spent well over an hour at the Men’s Warehouse, looking over and trying on countless suits. The salesman helped a bit, but many people in the Megamycete’s records included many upper class men, men’s fashion designers, and models, so you were more than capable of picking out a tasteful black blazer with a breast pocket perfect for holding your Momma’s pen, a white button up shirt, and matching black pants and dress shoes.

The clothes looked fine on the rack, but wearing them in public for all to see is something you had to psych yourself up for. You feel like a kid playing pretend with his father’s clothes and everyone knows it. Still, you can’t help but feel like a professional and take a little pride in it.

Just then, the lights dim and the audience cheers as the MC steps on stage.

“Hello, everyone,” he says. “Are you ready to kick off the Golden Games?”

The room fills with thunderous applause and cheers, yours among them. You’ve known about this event for years and have never missed watching it. When you first started your game, you fantasized about being at the Gamer’s Gala competing with your fellow developers for the Golden Joystick, but knew there was no chance your first game would ever make it to the first round of voting. Perhaps your second game. Or maybe your third.

But here you are, at this prestigious event with your first ever game in top contention for a prize so many covet.

You pinch yourself to make sure you’re awake and are pleased that you’re wide awake.

The ceremony opens up with the Golden Joystick for the Triple-A Game of the Year and awards for their various categories, like story, gameplay, music, graphics, etc.

“Alright, with all the big dogs out of the way, we finally get to the indie games. And boy, was this year a massive success for so many indie developers with over fifty percent of this year’s most anticipated games being indie games! Let’s go over your picks for this year’s Indie Game of the Year.”

You get a look at the trophy you and your peers are competing for: the Golden Joystick. As the name suggests, it’s a trophy in the shape of an old fashioned joystick made up of a gold material. For a moment, you allow yourself to visualize winning it and displaying it in your office. Hell, you had a spot on a shelf made for it when you got the email from the event committee that Salvage Rights was a candidate for Indie Game of the Year, even though voting was still ongoing.

The MC begins going through the list of games with said games and their developers being displayed on one massive screen behind him with the game’s team showing up on the other one. With each game mentioned, you think about your Momma; you can remember being at some awards ceremony years ago when one of her books was up for some fancy prize. Even back then, you could tell she was so nervous about getting up and making a speech in front of so many people and having it broadcast for all to see.

At the time, you didn’t understand because she would’ve been given an award and everyone could see. Unfortunately, she didn’t win and while she said she hope to win it, it was good enough to be considered for it, you were pissed on her behalf over it.

Being here, you understand why she felt that way. While it would be a dream come true to win the Golden Joystick on your first ever game, just being here, among your peers, is more than enough; knowing you’re skilled enough to make a game worthy of being judged among the best is a tremendous honor. Plus, the thought of having to make a speech in front of so many people makes you so nervous, you fear you’ll lose your lunch.

God, you wish your Momma was here. This is the biggest moment in your professional life and having her in the audience would make you feel better.

(We are sure she would give anything to be here for you. Wherever she is, she is no doubt watching this moment with unparalleled anticipation.)

“And last but not least, the game that exploded onto the scene a month ago and made a surprise cameo on the voting polls, Salvage Rights by Gould Games,” the MC announces as your game appears on one screen while you appear on the other, lit up by a spotlight.

You feel your face break out into a blush as the room fills with applause and cheers. To know that so many people hold you and your work in such high regard… it’s humbling to say the least.

You wave back and give them a big smile.

Finally, the room quiets down, allowing the ceremony to continue.

“Ok, everyone, with all the candidates on the board.” The screen on the right of the stage lists all the games and their developers, yours the last on the list. “We opened the polls for all gamers and had a record breaking ten-point-nine million ones this year for the Indie Game of the Year, guys!”

The room once again fills with applause and a girl runs from backstage, delivers him an envelope, and runs off.

“It took the Gala Committee a while to tally the votes, but when all was said and done, it was clear who the winner was.” He opens the envelope and a drumroll plays from the speakers to buildup the moment. As he pulls out the piece of paper inside it, you realize you’re holding your breath and your heart’s stopped due to the anticipation. “The Golden Joystick for Indie Game of the Year goes to…” He looks down at the paper and looks back up. “Salvage Rights by Gould Games!”

Your eyes become wide as saucers as you process the words, your heart resumes beating and your release the breath you’d been holding since the candidates were announced. You then realize you’re bathed in the spotlights as the big screen shows you at your seat; the room fills with applause and cheers, many people near you congratulating you.

You get up and walk to the stage, nodding and clapping hands with many you pass by on your way to claim your award. Finally, you make it on stage and shake hands with the MC, who gives you the Golden Joystick.

(This is the only way this could have ended. You worked tirelessly on your game and did not stop until it was the definition of perfection. You were more worthy than any other for this trophy.)

“Thank you,” you say into the mic, silencing the room. “I just want to thank my fellow game developers, the Committee, and especially the gamers, who gave me the opportunity to be here.” This garners more applause. “I have to say, when I first started working on Salvage Rights, I never in a million years thought I’d be here, in the most prestigious gaming event, receiving the greatest award an indie game can receive, but I guess I was proven wrong.”

The room fills with laughter and you sigh in relief. Good, they seem to be liking your speech.

(As they should. You revised it over a dozen times and practiced it in front of your stuffed toys at least fifty times.)

“When I first got into video games, it was just because I was a kid who was fascinated by being able to play on a DS anytime, anyplace. Now, I’m into video games because they are the new medium of art. Think about it, there are games out there that have stories that would made Shakespeare weep, music worthy of being performed in symphonies, and art styles that should be studied by artists hundred years from now. It’s a medium that transcends all others that have come before it.”

More applause. Good, they like it.

“I first started work on Salvage Rights not long after my fifteenth birthday, nine years to the day that I unfortunately lost my Momma to a drunk driver.” You see many people in the audience take notice at this, clearly not expecting to hear something so tragic. “At the time, I was living in a place that neglected me; from the day I first arrived, I was treated like I didn’t exist and any attempts I made to get their attention was ignored.” Clearly your words resonate with people, because you can see a few people tearing up.

“I had someone there I could rely on, and he made those times more bearable, but he couldn’t get rid of that feeling of loneliness that I had felt for years and all I wanted was for my Momma to walk through that door and take me back home. But no matter how much I hoped and prayed, she never came and my loneliness only got worse with each day.

“My only escape from those days were video games. While in real life, I was a nobody in that house, but I was able to dive into one game where I was a noble hero who was destined to defeat the embodiment of evil, or dive into another game where I tamed the mightiest of beasts and triumph over the strongest of champions, or dive into one game where i could master every life skill possible and bring light to a world facing eternal darkness. It was during those days that I learned that games provided an escape from the confines of reality, if only for a little bit. And that’s when I realized I wanted to create a game that could allow someone to escape reality and become the best version of themselves.”

There’s definitely a couple people on the audience crying at this point.

(You have them eating out of the palm of your hand. Time to reel them in.)

“So, I want to thank each and every one of you, both those in this room and watching across the globe, for giving my game a chance and allowing me to fulfill my dream. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”

The room explodes into applause and cheers, even a few whistles. I shake hands with the MC once more walk off stage and cross the room back to your seat, shaking hands and receiving pats on the back the entire time.

(A resounding success,) the Megamycete says as you sit down. (They hung on your every word. After tonight, everyone will know of your talent and many will beg for the opportunity to work on their newest project, offering you the world in exchange for your expertise. As they should.)

“Easy, buddy, you’re gonna give me one hell of an ego at this rate.”

(It is only naturally to think so highly of yourself. Compared to everyone in this room, you are a god.)

The rest of the ceremony features trailers for games releasing in the near future and announcements for new titles, making a note to keep an eye on many of them for you to buy on release or pre-order when they become available.

After the ceremony, you follow the rest of the developers to the Developer’s Lounge, a room that’s lavishly decorated and fully stocked with a wide array of food and drinks being served by a dozen waiters, all of it courtesy of Lex Luthor, who is currently talking to a group of triple-A executives, his bodyguard close behind him; many of your peers and various VIPs are already eating, drinking, and talking with other developers, game journalists (ugh), or their personal guests. You gratefully accept a champagne flute from a passing waiter and make your way around the room, looking around for any sign of Alfred.

“Where is he,” you mutter to yourself, scanning the room.

“Mr. Y/N Gould,” a masculine voice calls out to you, making you turn to the source: a tall, blue eyed man wearing a pair of black framed glasses, a grey jacket over a dark blue tie and light blue button up shirt, navy blue pants, and black loafers.

(We sense a spike in your heart rate. Are you alright?)

Oh, you’re better than alright. Some attractive man knows your name and wants to speak to you.

(You are attracted to this man. This is the first time we have ever experienced infatuation firsthand. We look forward to seeing this interaction unfold.)

“Yes,” you say, managing to find your voice. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Clark Kent, Daily Planet,” the man responds, raising his hand and you accept.

It’s then you notice the feel of something metallic and when you glance at his hand, you see a gold wedding band.

Damn it.

(We grieve the loss of your potential mate.)

Oh well, always lots of fish in the sea.

“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Kent?”

“Yes, the Daily Planet was hoping to write an article on the winner of the winner of the Indie Game of the Year. Is there anyway I can talk you into doing an interview?”

(He can still be of use to you. By doing this interview, he can help you find you a worthy mate.)

Great, now you have sentient mold trying to play matchmaker. Well, at least you’ll be able to get more people interested in your game. The Daily Planet’s the biggest paper in Metropolis and has decent following around the country.

“I hope you can wait a little while for that interview, Kent.”

You freeze at the new voice, a voice you haven’t heard in over four years. You hope that, somehow, you’ve made some huge mistake and it’s not who you think it is. You then realize that the entire room’s gone silent, sans a few whispers, and now all eyes are on you and the newcomer behind you, Clark chief among them.

You realize that your breathing and your heartbeat have ceased, and the pit of anxiety and fear from earlier has returned, but there’s now rage included in that mix; rage you haven’t felt in over four years. Rage that finally went away when you finally escaped Gotham and put it and Wayne Manor in your rearview mirror.

You feel a hand grasp your left shoulder and out of the corner of your eye, see a tall figure come to a stop to your right. You slowly turn your head to fae the figure and look up to see your worst nightmare: Bruce Fucking Wayne looking down at you, his signature fake ass smile adorning his stupid mug and a champagne flute similar to yours in hand.

He’s dressed far too formal for an event about video games, wearing a designer black suit with matching pants that probably cost more than your car. You can dig through all your memories of the man and never find one instance of the man wearing anything casual. And that smile of his, the one he always flashes to his insufferable blue-blooded friends; you want to punch him so hard in the face that every last tooth shatters, but you manage to put a lid on that urge.

If only just barely.

(What is this shameless heathen doing here,) the Megamycete hisses. (The audacity of this creature to show up on the best night of your life and ruin it. You should kill him. Immediately.)

Right now, you’re really tempted to give him the Joker Treatment.

“I’m afraid Y/N and I have much to talk about.”

“Mr. Wayne,” Clark stampers out. “Do you know Mr. Gould?”

“I would say so,” he responds in that fake cheery tone he only reserves for galas and paparazzi, those “honeyed words” so disgustingly sweet and fake it makes you want to vomit. Preferably on him. He tries to pull you closer to him, but you’re able to resist it no problem thanks to the Megamycete. “He’s my son.”

And like that, the crowd around you descends into chaos, many of them loudly talking among themselves while others take out their phones and cameras and begin snapping pictures of the two of you, and so many media types are shouting questions towards you and him.

But all that doesn’t really phase you. Right now, you feel as if the world has crumbled around you and now you’re left free falling in an endless void, doomed to spend the rest of eternity in this sort of purgatory.

You’re frozen where you stand, unable to look anywhere else but at the face of the man you hate with your entire being and as you look into those eyes of his, every single memory of your stay at Wayne Manor flashes before your eyes; you’re overwhelmed by the feelings of sadness, loneliness, pain, and humiliation you were forced to deal with during those twelve long, horrible years. Right now, it takes every bit of restraint and willpower you have to not let all the thoughts you have of ripping this bastard’s head off and kicking it so far that every NFL team in the country would offer you fifty million in advance if you signed on with them become reality.

(You should do it. Kill this man. Teach him the meaning of pain. Let him feel all the pain he and his flock have caused you for years and despair. Make him regret ever taking you for granted.)

Ok, your usual voice of reason is now howling for blood. This does not bold well for you.

“Mr. Wayne,” you finally respond, finding the strength to keep your voice steady and not cause a scene (or at least a bigger one than he has already); you brush his hand off your shoulder, making a mental note to burn these clothes (damn it, you paid good money for these). “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, I’m definitely not your son. Perhaps you’ve had too much to drink? Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You should sit down before you make an even bigger fool of yourself in front of all these people.”

His smile falls and you can see the hurt shine in his eyes for a fraction of a second. He’s an expert at concealing his emotions, so for you to do something like that makes you giddy.

“Y/N,” he pathetically responds as he reaches out to you, but you take a step back. “I am—“

“You’re a sperm donor, nothing more, Mr. Wayne,” you hiss, revealing in the hurt expression that breaks out on his face. It’s probably fake, a stunt to pull for the crowd, but you don’t care. You’ve held all these feelings in for years and now that you have the chance to give this son of a bitch a piece of your mind, you’re taking it. “You’re not my dad and I’m sure as hell not your son!”

“Y/N, I know I wasn’t the best father to you, but—“

You lose it at that. All the abuse and misery and neglect you had to deal with from him and his kids for over ten years, and he has the nerve to say he “knows” anything about how you feel? In a swift motion, you throw your champagne at him, dousing his face in the clear-yellowish drink that quickly pours down his neck and soaks his expensive black jacket.

The crowd gasps at this, but you absolutely couldn’t give a shit. This was to be the best night of your life and he had to go and ruin it by daring to show his hideous face and dare to have a conversation with you. Fuck, he probably took Alfred’s place, so you had no one here to share in your big moment, something that makes you even more pissed off.

Throwing your champagne at him only made your rage burn hotter, demanding to inflict as much pain and suffering on this man that you’ve suffered for years. You quickly close the gap between you two, deliver a harsh right hook to the right side of the man’s jaw and follow up by shoving the man as hard as you can (though still holding back a lot of strength so you don’t reveal what you really are), causing him to topple to the floor, landing on his ass.

At this rate, you don’t really care what people say about you after this, all you care about is hurting him. You look down at the pathetic wretch at your feet and love the look of horror and pain etched on his face, reveling in the terror in his eye and the blood dripping from his closed mouth.

(Yes,) the Megamycete screams. (More. More. Make him hurt. Make him bleed. Make him realize who the superior one is.)

“Someone call an ambulance, this asshole’s gonna need one,” you growl, pouncing towards the man who made you lose the best years of your life, ready to pound his face so hard that they’ll have to rely on fingerprints to identify him.

Just then, you’re caught in mid-air and when you look behind you, it’s Clark, his arms wrapped around your waist in a surprisingly strong grip.

“Mr. Gould,” he says in a tone like he’s trying to soothe a startled animal (which isn’t too far off the mark). “Please, control yourself.”

You don’t want to. In front of you is the man who treated you like shit from the day you two met, making you wish you were in the car when your Momma died so that you never met him. This was suppose to be your night — your moment of triumph — and he had to go and ruin it. And you want nothing more than to put this man in a full body cast, and that’s you being generous.

But when you see the look of total shock on his face, and everyone in the crowd who has the same expression, your rage finally cools down. Not because you feel guilty over what you did to Bruce, you were ready to reduce him to a bloody red paste, but because everyone just saw your absolute worst.

You go slack in Clark’s hold and that’s when he finally lets you go, having to command the mold to reinforce your leg bones to keep you standing because without it, you’re ready to collapse form the burst of energy you just burned through.

“Is there a problem here,” Lex says as he emerges from the crowd, Mercy following close behind. He glances down at Bruce and a ghost of a smirk appears on his face.

“I have an axe to grind with him,” you say, doing your best to even out your voice. “I’m sorry for making a scene.”

“What about pushing Mr. Wayne,” Lex asks, motioning to the man.

“No, that’s something I’m very proud of.”

You can see Bruce flinch at that and it makes you feel good.

“Well, it’s always a pleasure to see Bruce Wayne be taken down a peg,” the man chuckles. He then turns to the rest of the crowd. “Alright, show’s over, everyone. Go back to your own business.”

Slowly but surely, the crowd breaks up and the party resumes, but you can definitely tell many of the media types are still looking at you and Bruce and are no doubt chomping at the bit to talk to either of you, many of them furiously typing on their phones, probably texting their bosses and sending whatever pictures and videos they took.

“Mr. Gould, I’d be honored if you would give me a few minutes of your time.” He extends his arm as if you were a woman. “I have much I’d like to talk with you about.”

You discreetly glance down at Bruce, who looks like he’s ready to do to Lex what you did to him a minute ago. You know that Lex is only doing this to piss off Bruce, his biggest business rival, and is probably using you in hopes of getting some speck of dirt on Bruce and maybe even some Wayne Enterprises secrets.

And god damn it if the thought of that doesn’t make you giddy.

“Of course,” you say in a sweet tone of voice, looping your arm in Lex’s. “The honor would be mine.”

He leads you towards a private area of the lounge and as you pass by Bruce, who’s still on the floor, you glance over at him and give him a dirty look, making it clear that you hate his guts and the next time he tries something like this, you won’t hold back.

You don’t know what Bruce wants and why he’s suddenly showed up after four years of your leaving, but chances are he’s only here to serve his own agenda and you want nothing to do with him or his crazy ass family. You have your own life and are finally happy for the first time in years, and you’ll be damned if you’ll allow all your hard work to be destroyed.

If it comes down to it, you’ll wage war against him and the rest of the Bats.

(Yes, clip their wings. Tear them to shreds. Grind them into powder. Tear down everything that they are and leave nothing behind so they are forgotten by the world.)

Bruce watches as you and Lex wonder off to some desolate corner of the lounge, simultaneously plotting an attack on Lex Corp that will hot Luthor hard and replaying his interaction with you, going through millions of different ways that could’ve gone better. Or at least, not ended with you almost tearing him limb from limb, the only thing saving him was Kent’s intervention.

Ok, maybe approaching you like Brucie Wayne, millionaire playboy philanthropist, was a bad idea, but it was the only way he could think of that wouldn’t scare you off. He really thought that talking to you with his usual charm and bravado would’ve at least given him a chance to talk to you.

All it got him was a look into your temper.

Fuck, the look of pure rage and disgust in your eye the entire time you talked to him. Right now, he just wants to curl up and die, but he also wants to scoop you up into his arms, hug you tightly, and beg for your forgiveness, no matter how much of a fool he made of himself or how much you bite, scratch, and hit him.

It’s then he thinks back on you shoving him and it’s then he realizes it doesn’t make any sense. He’s a solid six-foot-two, way taller than you and while he would never call you weak, you definitely aren’t a bodybuilder, so he should’ve been able to withstand your shove no problem. But he’s been fighting against beings with super strength all his adult life, so he knows the difference between a strong human and a Meta.

But you’re not a Meta, right? He’s spent the last twenty-four hours digging up every piece of information he can on you, your medical records from Southern Hills Hospital being one of the first things he delved into. When you were born, you were a healthy baby boy, no signs of illness and certainly no trace of the Meta Gene. He even has your medical records during your time in Gotham (Alfred being the one to take you to all your appointments because he certainly didn’t do it), and everything points to you being in perfect health.

So, how were you able to shove him like that, a man who goes toe-to-toe with the likes of Bane on a regular basis?

“Are you ok, Bruce,” Clark asks, extending his hand to help him up.

“I’m fine,” he responds, brushing the hand aside and getting up on his own.

“Pardon me if I don’t believe that, I could tell you were shaken up by that.”

If there’s one skill Bruce prides himself on, it’s his ability to conceal his emotions, able to hide his true feelings from anyone and everyone, even from telepaths such as Martian Manhunter.

But seeing how his son, his baby boy, feels about him made him forget his control. Him not being able to hide the pain he felt when you lashed out at him, clearly holding a lot of anger and resentment towards him, was one of the few experiences that has shaken him to his core.

“Mr. Wayne,” Vicky Vale says as she emerge from the crowd and approaches them. “Care to make a statement on what just happened?”

It takes everything he has to not let out a groan. Of course, Vicky Vale is always there whenever some drama happens to either him or his children in public. She had a field day with him when he she asked about his bruises and limp he got last time he fought Killer Croc and he had to play it off as some really kinky sex he and some supermodel had.

“Not now, Vicky,” he responds, leading Clark closer to where you and Lex walked off to. “I have a prior engagement with Mr. Kent here.”

“I didn’t know you had a son before Damian,” Clark whispers as they walk.

“Let’s just say I did everything wrong when it came to him,” he responds back, keeping his voice low. “I found out I screwed up and came here to try to make amends. You know how that ended.”

“I know, we all had front row seats to that. Also, I’ve been listening to his and Lex’s conversation the entire time.”

“What’s that bastard saying to him,” he hisses, pissed off beyond words that snake is talking to you, his baby boy.

“So far, Y/N’s just trash talking you, calling you every name in the book and angry that you ruined his big night.”

Bruce winces at that. He knew it’s Alfred you want here to share in your achievement, but he couldn’t miss this night, not when he’s missed so much of your life. To see you, smiling on stage and acting so humble after wining an award as important as that was absolutely mesmerizing.

Of course, your speech hit him like a freight train. He knew he wasn’t the father you deserved, but to hear you talk about your time with him so poorly was more than he was prepared to handle. Of course you miss your mother and he’s glad you think so highly of her, but is there really nothing he can do to make you reconsider giving him another chance? To give his family another chance?

“Lex is now offering to be a benefactor to Gould Games; Y/N have total creative license on all projects and would be given a massive office in one of Metropolis’ premiere high-rises.”

“In exchange for WE secrets, no doubt.”

The thought of you and Lex working together makes him sick. The man is a snake and wouldn’t hesitate to betray you if it benefitted him in any way. If you need money for your new games, he’d be more than happy to do it! You could be a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises with as large a budget as you want, with your choice of office in Wayne Tower or around Gotham. You’d have all the best computers and software that money could buy and if you need to hire more people, you can choose all the people you want and he’d personally arrange for them to be flown to Gotham, ready to work as soon as possible.

“That’s right,” Clark responds. “Don’t worry, he turned him down. Looks like you won’t be losing nay more money to Lex this year.”

“Y/N doesn’t know anything.”

As sad as it is, that’s the truth; you’d been shut out by all of them that you couldn’t give any of his secrets away. Hell, you don’t even know that you’ve been living with Gotham’s vigilantes.

“He’s been kept in the dark about everything,” he mutters as he looks at you, chatting away with Metropolis’ biggest wannabe.

Maybe he should tell you that he and your siblings are Gotham’s vigilantes? Not that it’s any excuse with how they treated you for yeas, but with any hope, it would make you more understanding on why they were always so busy and at least consider talking with them.

Just then, Clark winces at something Lex just said.

“What,” he snaps.

“Lex just invited him for dinner. And based off his tone, he has more in mind than just business.”

And with that, all he can see is red and he’s filled with rage at the bald bastard.

“Bruce, wait,” Clark calls out as he stops over to where you are.

“Bruce,” Lex says with a smirk as he approaches the both of you. “I hope you’re not looking for another beating from Y/N.”

He looks over to you, your expression clearly indicating you’re visualizing beating the hell out of him right now.

“Of course not, I just wanted to extend an invitation to him for dinner. It’s been forever since we had a father-son dinner.”

“We’ve never had dinner together before,” you snarl.

“His loss, I assure you,” Lex responds, giving you a look that makes Bruce want to punch his lights out.

“Y/N has nothing you want, Lex,” Bruce growls, trying to keep his anger from getting the best of him. “Leave him alone.”

“I disagree, Bruce. Y/N is charming, witty, and a delightful to be around.” He has a twinkle in his eye that makes Bruce even angrier. “He definitely takes after his mother.”

Bruce opens his mouth to spit some insult at the fucker, but you intervene.

“Yes, Momma raised me well,” you say, looking right at him before looking back at Lex. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Luthor, but I’m afraid I’m heading back home first thing tomorrow morning. Maybe the next time I’m in the area?”

“I’m certainly hoping that will be soon.” He pulls out a card and hands it to you. “My personal phone number and email. The next time you come to Metropolis, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me and I’ll see to it you’re afforded every luxury this city has to offer.”

“Thank you,” you responded, taking the card and pocketing it. “I certainly hope to visit again soon. Metropolis is way better than Gotham. Hard to believe that cesspit is its sister city.”

He winces hearing your clear disdain for his city, the home of his family. Your rightful home.

“Indeed,” Lex chuckles. “Gotham is so painfully outdated in every respect it’s almost funny. If I had my way, all of its archaic structures would be torn down and replaced for more modern and aesthetically pleasing replacements.”

“That style is Gotham,” Bruce growls, unable to put up with the disrespect of his city. “Gotham has resembled its current form for over a hundred years now. It’s a reflection of its storied past.”

“A storied past of misery and insanity,” you respond. “Gotham isn’t a place where good people end up. It’s a spiderweb that slowly drains everyone within it of all they have, leaving nothing but empty husks behind. Maybe all of it should be torn down.”

You say the words, but all he hears is his voice. When his parents were killed, he felt the same way about Gotham as you do. It took him years to finally shed his hatred and resentment for the city and see its beauty. As much as you’d probably hate to admit it, you really are his son.

“I’d love to stay and continue this riveting conversation, but I’m afraid I have an appointment across town. He turns to his bodyguard. “Mercy, ready the car.” She nods and leaves. “And Y/N, I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay here in my city. Perhaps you’d allow me the honor of taking you to the airport myself?”

“I’d like that very much, Mr. Luthor,” you say, giving that bastard a smile that makes his blood boil.

“Please, call me Lex.”

“Ok, Lex,” you say with a chuckle.

Oh, he’s going to make Luthor suffer for this. When he gets back to the Batcave, he’s going to plant so many viruses into Luthor’s systems, he’ll spend months recovering a single piece of data.

Finally, the man walks away, leaving you and him alone at last.

“I’ll say this only once, Mr. Wayne,” you say in a tone that shows you mean business. “So listen close: I don’t know what you’re doing here or what you hoped to achieve here, but stay away from me. I’m finally happy for the first time in years and I won’t allow you to fuck it up for me.”

He winces at your words. And the fact that you’re calling him “Mr. Wayne,” like he’s a stranger (though with how he treated you for over ten years, that’s not too far from the truth). He knows that he has no right to be called “dad” or “father,” but you can’t even call him by his name like your siblings do? Do you really hate him that much?

“Y/N, please—“

“Shut the fuck up,” you growl, cutting him off. “This is your only warning: stay away from me. I’m not weak like I was when I was first dragged to Gotham. Keep butting in where you don’t belong and I’ll personally reunite you with your parents.”

You go to walk away, but he grabs you by your shoulder. You quickly snap your head to look at him, your expression so full of hate and disgust. He knows this isn’t helping his case, but he can’t let you leave like this; he needs to keep you here so he can talk to you, to beg you for just a few minutes of your time.

You grab his hand with yours and begin squeezing so hard his hand begins to throb and he has to fight to hide his expression of pain from the crowd.

Not only do you not look you visit the gym, but this type of strength is something beyond what a normal human is capable of. Just what secrets do you have?

He meets your gaze and he has to suppress the fear he feels when looking in your eyes. There’s hate in them, no doubt about that, but there’s something else in them. Something dark. It also doesn’t help that you have his mother’s eyes and seeing them look at him that way cuts him to his core.

You shove his hand away from you and you storm off, ignoring as a dozen journalists come up to you and leaving him to stand there, watching you walk away from him and ignoring the throbbing of his hand.

“You ok,” Clark asks after walking up to him.

“No,” he mutters. He looks down at the camera in the Kryptonian’s hand. “Did you take any pictures of him during the ceremony?”

“Yeah,” the reporter responds, holding it up. “I was in the press section of the audience. I got a couple good shots.”

“Send them to me,” he orders while walking off.

Many reporters try to talk to him, but he doesn’t spare them a second glance. Right now, all that matters is planning his next move. You’ve made it very clear that you resent them for how they treated you while you lived with them and while he understands that perfectly, you need to understand that he’s your father and his children are your siblings.

He’s happy that you’ve made a life for yourself in Nevada and are successful in your career as a video game developer, but you’re a Wayne and all Waynes belong in Gotham, under his roof.

He gets his phone out and tells his children to be ready for a family meeting as soon as he returns in the morning. As much as he wants to find a way to bring you back to the fold on his own, he can’t do it alone. With any luck, your siblings will be able to reach you. Hell, he might have to call on Alfred to help bring you home.

He will uncover everything about you (including whatever what you just did) and when he does, he’ll use that knowledge to make you realize you’re son and your rightful place is by his side, where he can keep an eye on you and shield you from the dangers of this world.

One way or another, you’ll come back to Gotham and when you do, he and you’ll siblings will shower you in the love you deserve. And after that, they’ll throw the biggest gala ever, with you as the centerpiece, and show you off as the most important member of the Wayne Family; all of Gotham elite will climb over one another in hopes of courting you, but he and you siblings will never allow them to come anywhere close to you as you won’t need anyone but them to keep you company.

It doesn’t matter how long it takes or what he has to do, he’ll learn your secrets (as is his birthright) and lead you back to where you belong.

Even if he has to drag you back home by your ankles.

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katsu28 · 2 months ago

Text

summer's golden haze - chapter four

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a confession, a second first date, and the start of something special. (4.8k)

a/n: happy birthday landooo!!! my gift to him is a girlfriend 🙂‍↕️

previous chapter | masterlist

A loud clang from the kitchen startles you from your sleep, blinking awake to a still dark room.

Your head throbs a little bit, but the headache isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. It’s easy to ignore, especially since your mind is occupied by the snoring boy sprawled out under you.

Lando’s fast asleep on his back, one arm slung over your torso loosely while the other hangs off the end of the sofa above his head, legs tangled with yours. You don’t remember cuddling up like this during the night, but you’re not complaining. He’s warm and comfy, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest soothing.

You almost don’t want to get up, but your curiosity about the noises coming from the kitchen wins out in the end. Very carefully, you wiggle out from under his arm, peeling yourself away from him as slow as you can so as to not wake him.

Once you’ve successfully extracted yourself, you can’t help but drop a kiss to Lando’s forehead before you go, pushing his curls away from his browline to do so. He lets out a little sigh, rolls onto his side, but remains deep in slumber as you pad out of the room.

The ruckus turns out to be Camille puttering around the kitchen making coffee—an essential hangover cure.

“Sorry, sorry, I was trying to be quiet. Did I wake you?” She hisses, cringing. You wave an absentminded hand, stifling a yawn as you plant yourself on a stool at the counter.

She slides a mug of coffee towards you and you gladly accept, leaning over the steam wafting from the piping hot drink. It’s taking all of your willpower not to gulp it all down in one go and burn your throat.

Camille lets you sip and sit as you attempt to wake yourself up a little more, but you can tell she’s dying to say something. You sigh. “Say what you wanna say.”

“Oh thank god. I hate you for making me wait more than five seconds, but whatever. Anyways, Lando stayed over last night?”

“Mhm, yeah. He did.” You bob your head noncommittally, staring hard at the dark liquid in your cup. Despite your laser focus, you can still feel Camille’s eyes boring into the top of your head, and when you finally do look up at her, she’s looking at you very pointedly. “What? We talked for a bit, and then we fell asleep.”

“And that’s all that happened?”

“Uh…” Your voice goes higher pitched than necessary, one eye squinting shut. You want to tell her everything, but you haven’t had the chance to speak with Lando yet. You’re not sure what “everything” entails yet.

Lando shuffles into the kitchen right at that moment, rubbing furiously at his eye with one hand while the other scratches at his stomach aimlessly. He extends his arms high over his head in a loud yawn and stretch combo, in doing so revealing a strip of tanned torso that has you nearly choking on your sip of coffee.

That earns you two confused, yet amused looks, for wildly different reasons.

“Hot.” You say lamely, in a very poor explanation. Lando’s expression turns slightly smug. “The coffee. Burned my tongue.”

“Morning, sunshine!” Camille chirps happily. Knowingly. She beams at Lando and it stops him in his tracks, blinking unsurely at her chipper form like he’s hallucinating instead of responding. “Cool, just stare at me like I’m an alien.”

“Sorry, I just—how are you not hungover right now? You could barely walk straight last night,” He asks incredulously.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She hums, winking at him.

Lando pulls himself onto the stool next to yours with a groan, but doesn’t hesitate to give you the best smile he can muster in greeting. “Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” You say softly, wrapping your hands around the mug in front of you. “You?”

“Really good. Best sleep I’ve had in months, actually.”

“On a shitty couch with no back support? Interesting.”

Lando checks to see that Camille isn’t paying any attention before he responds. “Maybe it was the company.”

You feel your cheeks blaze hot under his intense gaze, but you can’t bring yourself to break eye contact with him. You still need to address what happened last night. It’s still something you haven’t quite wrapped your head around yet, and you feel the need to stall so you can gather your thoughts some more.

“Coffee’s fresh on, if you want some,” You blurt.

Lando takes your reaction in stride, as if he senses you need time. “Oh, that sounds amazing right now.”

Instead of going to pour himself his own cup, he eases yours out of your hands and takes a hefty sip from it in one fell swoop, before you can even tell him it’s just coffee. He doesn’t like plain black coffee. Then he shudders, face scrunching up in adorable disgust. “Blegh. Needs milk. Sugar, too.”

“That’s because it’s mine, and I happen to think it’s just fine the way it is, thank you very much.”

“You don’t wanna share?”

Your nose crinkles in the same way his had a few moments ago. “Not if you’re going to dump a fuckton of sugar in it.”

“Not a fuckton! Just a spoon or two. Maybe three.”

“Get your own, Norris.” You roll your eyes playfully, and Lando cocks his head in challenge, lifts your mug back to his lips for another long sip, this time obnoxiously loud. Paired with the adorable crooked troublemaker’s grin, you have to fight the need to kiss him again.

You want to, but you can’t. Not yet.

Samira and Maren trudge in a little while later, looking much worse for wear than you all. Neither of them even have it in her to reply to any of your good morning’s, only to make it over to pour themselves a generous mugs of coffee.

“See, that’s what I thought you lot would be like right now,” Lando says, waving a hand at your two zombies of friends. “That’s what normal people are like after hitting up four bars in a night, you psychopaths.”

“If my head wasn’t pounding right now, I’d punch you in your pretty boy face,” Samira grumbles, glaring at him through bleary eyes. “What’re you even doing here, anyways?”

“Who d’you think brought you all home last night?”

“Then why do I remember Max doing a horrible rendition of We Belong Together by Mariah Carey?” Maren groans, face screwing up in confusion.

In perfect timing, you hear the front door open, and then Max’s booming voice.

“Your savior has arrived!” He saunters into view with his hands behind his back, as if he’s hiding something behind him. The closer he gets, the more you can smell something mouthwatering wafting from whatever he’s just brought.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear, I guess,” Camille chuckles.

Max juts his lower lip out, smacking one hand over his heart. “Aw, you guys were talking about me? All good things, I hope.”

“Always, mate,” Lando assures him, but not without shooting you a cheeky wink as soon as his friend turns away.

��Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Samira grits out, glaring at no one in particular. “You’re all being way too loud right now.”

“Guess that means you don’t want the food I brought?”

“...What is it?”

“Sugar and carbs.”

“Hand over the box right now and you’re forgiven.”

The four of them get into some other conversation quickly after that, giving Lando the privacy to lean over towards you, lips nearly ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Think we can slip out and have that talk now?”

You cast a glance at your friends fighting over the pastries in the box. They won’t even notice you’re gone.

Lando’s mouth is on yours as soon as you’re out of sight and earshot, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You almost forget what you’re supposed to be doing, but catch the thought at the last second before it slips away.

“Mm, Lando, hold on—” You mumble, splaying a hand flat across his chest. He lets out a distracted sound of question, squeezing at your waist. “Less kissing, more talking,” You chide.

Lando pouts, but obliges, taking a step back to put just the smallest bit of space between you. “Fine, fine, I’m listening.”

“Look, I don’t—I’m not normally one to do things that scare me. And when you told me who you were, I immediately shut down because I thought no, that’s not me. I can’t do that, that’s too scary to be me. I wanted to play it safe.”

His heart beats strongly under your palm, if not a little quicker than usual with your fingers curled into the softness of his rumpled jumper.

You’re not looking at his face right now. With how vulnerable you’re being with him right now, you aren’t sure that you’ll be able to utter the words if you look him in the eye.

Instead, you’ve got your gaze trained on his hand on top of yours, the collection of bracelets on his wrist that you remind yourself to ask about another time.

“Getting to know you, realizing how much I like you, I think it also made me realize that life is too short to always play it safe. Some people are worth stepping out of my comfort zone for. What we are, what we could be—you’re worth stepping out of my comfort zone for,” You say softly, but firmly.

It’s nothing but the absolute truth. You’re putting yourself out there in a way you’ve never had the courage to do before. But Lando, he gives you courage. He makes you want to try.

“So this is me, doing something scary, asking if you’ll…take a chance on me?”

Only then do you muster up the courage to look him in the eye, and when you do, you’re met with the biggest, most smitten grin you’ve ever seen grace his face. Dimples on full display, eyes squinted with happiness, he’s smiling so hard it almost looks like it hurts.

“I’ll take every chance I’ve got on you,” He says earnestly, cupping your face in both hands. “And if I’ve got none left, I’d find some more, ‘cause you’re worth it a hundred times over.”

“Sorry it took me so long to figure my shit out,” You say sheepishly.

He gestures towards himself suggestively, waggling his eyebrows. “I knew you couldn’t resist all this for long.”

“You’re so dumb,” You scoff, shaking your head at his antics. Even so, your affection for him has never been clearer. You may say he's dumb (you know he isn’t), but he’s yours now. He’s yours now and you've never been more excited to see what’ll happen.

“Well, you like me, so…guess you’ve just got to deal with it.”

“Yeah? And what do you think I should do about that?”

“What do I think? You wanna know what I think? I think you should…” He trails off, pushing in closer, closer, closer, until his mouth hovers a millimeter from yours. Careful fingers tilt your chin up to guide you the rest of the way, meeting your lips gently.

You’d kiss Lando all day if you had the time, just because now you can, but there’s still the issue of the when and how you’re going to tell your friends. Reluctantly, you pull away. “We should get back before they notice we’re missing.”

“Probably, yeah.” You wait for him to move but he doesn’t. He just looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

“What?” You reach up hastily in an attempt to smooth out your hair. “Do I look okay?”

“You look perfect.”

“Stop being so sweet. I mean, do I look like I’ve just been kissed within an inch of my life?”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

You press one more quick peck to his lips in lieu of a response, giving his hand another squeeze before turning on your heel to head back. Lando follows behind like a puppy, close but not too close.

All eyes are on you the second you step back into the room, four pairs flicking from Lando to you, back to him, then back to you. Granted, it probably would’ve been a smarter idea to return at separate times so as to not raise suspicion, but it’s too late for that now.

“...What?” You try for a lighter tone to throw them off, tilting your head to the side.

One second passes. Two, three, four seconds. You almost think you can pull this off. Then—

“You fuckers!” Maren huffs, seeming much more alert and awake now. “You couldn’t have waited another day to get your shit together?”

Definitely not the reaction you were envisioning in your head, if you’re being honest.

“‘Scuse me?” Lando asks, looking both bewildered and a little bit offended by the outburst. He aims a sideways glance at you for an explanation that you can’t provide.

All it does is confuse you, but for some reason, Samira begins to giggle uncontrollably. Even Max looks a mixture of happy and smug.

“I just lost thirty bucks to Max because of you two!”

“You bet on us? What the fuck, mate!” Lando exclaims incredulously.

Max lets out an offended noise from the back of his throat. “You expect me not to take my chances on easy money? Get real, mate. I can give you a cut of it if it gets your knickers out of a twist.”

“What they mean is, we’re glad you finally figured out you belong together,” Camille says earnestly, only a tad apologetic. Lando takes this moment to sling an arm around your shoulders, tucking you against his side and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Right, well, in other news, I actually came over here with a purpose other than providing joy to everyone,” Max interrupts the tender moment, clapping once. “Lando, we’ve got Keegan’s thing today, so we gotta, y’know—gotta get going, yeah?”

Lando inhales sharply, shoulders slumping. “Right. Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“Yeah, I know you did. Too busy wooing your lady and all,” Max teases, aiming a wink in your direction that has you throwing up a playful middle finger at him. Lando turns to face you, frowning.

“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta—I wish I could stay, I really do. I totally spaced on this thing one of our mates has going on today, we promised we’d go—”

“It’s okay, Lando,” You say, endeared by his scrabbling for an explanation. He didn’t really need one to begin with, but it’s cute that he feels the need to explain himself. “Go do your thing. I’ll see you when you’ve got time.”

“You’re the best. How did I get so lucky?” He sighs, dramatically dreamy. Humor twinkles in his eyes.

“Bye,” You chuckle, moving to peel yourself away from him. You want to get in on one of the pastries Max had brought before they’re gone.

“Wait, wait.” Lando slips his fingers through yours, tugging lightly to stop you before you can get even a few steps away. “Before I go. Do you have any dinner plans tonight?”

Your brows pinch in the middle. “No. Why?”

“I want a do over of our first date. One that doesn’t end in…y’know.” You hum in thought, like you’re even contemplating turning him down, and he lets out a little frustrated whine that makes you giggle again. “Come on, let me take you out. Wanna wine and dine you properly, baby.”

The term of endearment rolls off his tongue so easily, so casually, like he’s called you it all along. It makes you concede.

“Where are we going?”

“That’s for me to figure out before tonight,” He hums. You raise a semi-skeptical brow. “I’ve got ideas, I swear! Just wear something pretty and be ready by seven. I’ll be by to pick you up then.”

“Okay.” You nod. Lando perks up, beaming bright. He kisses you again, briefly but enthusiastically, before turning to follow Max towards the front door. “See you tonight. And you better not be late!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”

The rumble of a car driving away echoes out soon after the two boys disappear from sight.

You sigh lightly, returning your attention back to the enticing box of pastries on the counter. You pray the one that had been calling your name in the little peek you'd gotten when Max first handed them over is still there.

Your hand gets smacked as you eagerly reach for the box, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to make you curse. You look up to see all three girls waiting expectantly for you to fess up and tell them how you’d gone from awkwardly avoiding Lando to what they'd just witnessed.

“Can I at least eat first?” They shake their heads firmly, and you whine. “What? Come on, I’m starving!”

“Explain, then eat.”

Your shoulders creep up towards your ears in a shrug. Seeing as it was kind of just a gut feeling more than anything, it’s a little hard to articulate with words. You try your best at it anyways.

“I…realized I was making a mistake by walking away because I was scared. You guys know I’ve never been great with change, but I dunno, maybe change is okay sometimes.”

“Oh my god, our girl is growing up.”

-------

The closer it gets to seven, you find your nerves growing with every tick, tick, tick of the clock. You’re not even sure why. It’s just dinner, and it’s just Lando. You’re comfortable with Lando. You like Lando.

So why does it feel like you’re about to do something so much bigger than that?

Dinner might as well mean canon event in your mind. Things with Lando are literally brand new, not even a full day old yet, but it feels like something monumental. Your first date ended in shambles (thanks to your own doing), so the urge to make sure this one goes perfect is high.

The pressure is on, and you don’t do too well under pressure. That doesn’t even include the fact that your feelings for him are stronger than anything you’ve felt for anyone before.

The moment Lando pulls up in front and you lay eyes on him climbing out of the car though, all your worries start to melt away. He looks so happy to see you again, even though you haven’t even been apart for a full day. It makes you remember that there’s no reason to get all worked up about anything with him.

“Hey, you,” He says, leaning in to wrap an arm around your waist as soon as he’s close enough. “Missed your face today.”

“Just my face?” You tease.

Lando’s head lists to one side, nose scrunching adorably. “Maybe other parts of you too.” Your eyebrows lift towards your hairline amusedly at his words and he groans, nudging you gently in the ribs with a large hand. “Oh, get your head out of the gutter! I didn’t mean it like that.”

You giggle, dotting a kiss to his pouting lips. “So what’d you come up with for our second first date?”

“Why don’t you get in the car and see?” He offers out his arm and you take it gladly, accepting his help into the car too. You think he’s about to start the car when he slides into the driver’s seat, but he catches you by surprise by sneaking in another kiss instead. “You look amazing.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” You shoot back. He’s gone for simple but put together with a classic white button up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and some dark trousers, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t pull them off fantastically.

“All for you, baby.” He grins, winking boyishly. “I got us a reservation at the nicest restaurant in town. Well, nicest according to the loads of travel blogs me and Max looked at. Fancy seeing if Greek summer gal dot com knows what she’s talking about?”

“With a name like that, how ever could she be wrong?” You play along, lacing your fingers through his. He dots a kiss to your temple.

Lando chats about his day on the way into town, all the way until his phone rings. His brow furrows, and for a split second you think it might be work calling again. If it is, you have half a mind to answer it yourself and chew them out.

“Sorry, d’you mind seeing who it is?” Lando lifts himself off the seat, shoving a hand into his pocket to squeeze his buzzing phone out and passing it to you. A wildly unflattering photo of Max flashes across the screen.

“It’s Max. Want me to answer?” You offer, giggling at the silly sight. He nods gratefully, keeping his eyes on the road. You tap the accept call button, putting the other boy on speaker.

“What’s up, mate?” Lando says, hitting you with a ‘get a load of this guy’ sort of look. “Kinda in the middle of something here.”

“Yeah I know, that’s why I’m calling. You can’t go to that restaurant.”

Lando’s expression morphs into one of confusion, one you’re sure that you’re mirroring as you squint back at him. “Uh…sure we can. I made a reservation, everything’s set already.”

“I know, asshole!” Max huffs. “Someone must’ve leaked your name on the reservation to the press or something, ‘cause I just drove by a few minutes ago and it’s crawling with people. Like, swamped with paparazzi and fans.”

Lando’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, face screwing up into something between anger and despair. “Shit. That’s not good.”

“Just thought I’d let you know before you get there,” Max says. He sounds guilty, but he has no reason to be. You’re glad he’d been able to get a hold of Lando beforehand. “You can still go out, just…maybe find somewhere else to go, I dunno.”

“Thank you, Max,” You chime in.

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up, mate. Cheers.”

Lando flicks on his blinker to pull off to the side of the road the first chance he gets after Max hangs up, and when he does turn the car off, he immediately goes to bang his head against the steering wheel. “This is so bad,” He groans.

You smooth a hand down his back in an attempt to soothe him. “It’s fine, Lando. We can just go somewhere else.”

“I wanted this so badly to go perfect, and again, I’m the reason why it’s all going to shit.”

“It’s not going to shit. And you wouldn’t be the reason for it, even if it was,” You insist firmly. He straightens up in his seat, turning to face you with doubt crinkling his face that you immediately want to rid him of. Your hand finds his, prying his fingers off the steering wheel to intertwine. “I mean it. I don’t care that we’re not going to some fancy restaurant. All I care about is that we’re together.”

Lando squeezes your hand, bringing it up to his lips to press a grateful kiss to your knuckles. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

“I know.” You shrug, feigning nonchalance. It makes him chuckle, brings back the twinkle in his eye.

After driving for a bit, you eventually find yourselves at a little gyro spot to grab some food. You push open the door to get out once Lando has put the car to a stop, but at the very last moment, you turn back to face him.

“You should probably stay here,” You say, gnawing on your lip.

Lando pouts, but doesn’t make a move to exit the car. He must know it’s for the best. Even so, he digs out his wallet, pressing a few bills into your hand. You click your tongue, giving your head a shake. “Don’t look at me like that. I asked you to dinner, I pay for it.”

“Alright, fine.”

“Mint. Get me something good?”

“‘Course I will. Salmon, right?” You quip, smiling innocently. His hatred for fish is something you’ll never tire of poking fun at him for.

“Don’t even joke about that, you monster!” Lando exclaims, slapping a dramatic hand over his chest. You laugh out loud. “And don’t you think about getting fish either, or I’ll never kiss you again.”

“Well, someone’s dramatic!”

“I’m serious!”

You leave him behind at that, giggling to yourself about his theatrics.

The lady working the counter in the little mom and pop gyro shop is very kind, compliments your outfit and calls you a beautiful young woman while you wait on your food—even gives you an order of veggie kroketes, on the house.

She kind of reminds you of your own mother, whom you make a mental note to call when you have the time. You’ve been having such a good time here, you’ve nearly forgotten the rest of your world outside of it.

You wind up finding someplace not far away to enjoy your food once you’ve gotten it. A hidden spot, a little off the road—not a place anyone would come across unless they were looking hard enough. Perfect for two people who’d rather not attract attention.

Lando procures a beach towel from the boot of the car for the two of you to sit on as you eat.

“I’m sorry about the restaurant again. I usually don’t use my actual name when I do things like that, but they were just about booked up and I really wanted us to go, so I did,” He sighs, tracing a finger along the patterned cotton. “I had no idea it’d get leaked, I swear. Guess I should’ve seen it coming.”

“Does that usually work? Using your name to get things.”

Lando’s cheeks flush pink and he smiles guiltily, ducking his head momentarily before nodding. “Usually, yeah. I don’t do it often though. Almost never, really. Only for special things, and this…well, I wanted it to be just that. Special.”

“It is special,” You say, letting your knee bump his.

He scoffs lightly like he doesn’t think the same, lifting his half eaten wrap in the air. “We’re sat on the side of the road eating takeaway.”

Even a date like this truly is something special to you. Spending time with the person you’ve become so close with in such a short amount of time—the one who makes you feel things you’ve never felt before, who makes you feel like you can truly be yourself—it’s something you were starting to think you’d never have. Lando’s come along and changed all that.

“Do you think you have to impress me?” Lando doesn’t say anything, just lets his mouth snap shut, but you can see it in his eyes that yes, he feels the need to impress you. You’re not sure why, but you suspect it has less to do with you and more to do with his own feelings. “Because you don’t. I couldn’t care less about your name, your money, or anything else that comes with it. I like you for you, not for what your status can get us.”

Lando stares back at you long and hard, as if he’s searching you for any ounce of indication that you’re not telling him the truth. You’re certain he’ll find nothing, because even though you’re still getting to know each other—flaws, fears, and all—you’ll never lie to him.

“I’m sorry,” He says eventually. “I dunno why I thought—” He cuts himself off with a shake of the head. “Y’know what, nevermind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be better.”

“You don’t need to be better,” You hum, resting your head against his shoulder. “You just need to be you.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re really good at this pep talk thing?”

“Never had to give anyone this many pep talks before.”

Lando pokes his fingers into the ticklish spot between your ribs in response. You reach to bat away his hand, but he moves quicker, leaning in to drag his nose against your cheek.

“Is now a bad time to tell you I did actually get the fish?”

Lando rears his head back faster than you could’ve imagined, looking so absolutely horrified at your insinuation it has you breaking composure almost instantly. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was two seconds away from gagging out loud. “No you did not.”

“I didn’t, but wouldn't it have been funny if I did?”

“That is so not cool,” He grumbles, lips pulling into a pout. You have the urge to kiss it away and you fight it for a moment, but then you remember you can kiss him whenever you want, so you do. It seems to make him forget about his disgust, because he kisses you back immediately.

You’re one who’s dazed when you finally resurface for air, but you manage to smile sweetly. “Better now?”

“Getting there. Maybe a little longer would help.”

“Just a little longer?”

“A lot longer works too.”

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#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris fic #lando norris series #ln4 x you

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mcrdvcks · 2 months ago

Text

i love you, in every time ࿐‧₊ 1880 - labyrinth of my heart

chapter summary: When walking the streets of Chicago he spots you across the street, so real, so alive. Logan takes this as a second chance; but fear slowly slithers up, making him wonder if he'll lose you all over again.

word count: 9.3k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: first, i want to say thank you so much for the support and love for this series! this is way shorter than the first chapter, only because i wanted the ending to feel abrupt to hopefully make it feel more realistic. anyways, i'm super excited for next chapter since it's a concept i haven't ever really done before. but for now, enjoy this while it lasts :)

warnings/tags: fluff, angst, outdated mindsets on women, character death

series masterlist - chapter 1 → chapter 3

Logan left New York City after you died, going back to Victor who told him exactly what he expected to hear, ‘you shouldn’t have fallen in love,’ and ‘the only people we can trust is each other’.

The Civil War had begun seven years after your death as he and Victor fought for the North for four whole years. There was one thing he always kept with him, the ring he bought for you, that he never got to use. It stayed in his pocket at all times, never leaving, always there.

He had been doing the same thing he was doing before he met you, moving around the country, never staying in a spot for too long, doing odd jobs to stay afloat.

Logan found himself in Chicago, walking along the sidewalk, the faint sound of a train in the distance. The air was heavy with the scent of coal smoke, the city bustling with life in the late afternoon. Men in long coats and women in modest dresses hurried past him, some tipping their hats in his direction as he walked by. It was just another city to him, another place he would pass through on his way to nowhere in particular.

It had been 26 years since you died. Twenty-six long years, but to Logan, it still felt like yesterday. The weight of your loss hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had only grown heavier. Every town, every face he saw, reminded him of you in some way. That soft smile you always wore, the way you’d brush your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. He kept your memory alive in the smallest of ways. The ring he’d never had the chance to give you stayed in his pocket, its presence a constant, painful reminder.

He walked without a destination, his mind lost in the past as his feet carried him down the streets of Chicago. The city had a pulse of its own, far different from the quiet life in New York where you’d once lived, where you had died in his arms. He hadn't felt truly alive since then—just going through the motions of life, the decades slipping by as if time itself didn’t matter.

As Logan neared a small schoolhouse, something caught his eye. A group of children were gathered outside, their laughter echoing through the street as they played. But it wasn’t the children that caused Logan to stop. It was the woman standing among them, her smile bright as she helped one of the younger boys tie his shoe. The world around him seemed to blur, fading away as his gaze locked onto her.

It was you.

Logan’s heart stilled in his chest. He blinked, sure that his eyes were playing tricks on him, but there you were, the same face, the same gentle presence. You looked exactly as you had all those years ago—maybe a little younger, maybe a little different, but unmistakably you.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He just stood there, watching you laugh with the children, completely unaware of his presence. His mind struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. You were dead. He had been there. He had held you as you took your last breath, felt the life leave your body. And yet, here you were, as if the last 26 years had never happened.

Logan’s feet moved on their own, pulling him closer to the schoolyard. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat dry. His mind raced with a thousand questions. How could this be? Was it some kind of dream? A cruel trick?

But the closer he got, the more real you became. You were wearing a simple dress, your hair tied up in a way he hadn’t seen before, and yet everything about you felt so familiar. The way you carried yourself, the warmth in your eyes as you spoke to the children—it was all you.

“Excuse me, miss,” he called out, his voice rougher than he intended.

You turned at the sound of his voice, your eyes meeting his for the first time, and Logan felt his heart lurch. It was like being thrown back in time—like the years between this moment and the day you died had vanished. You looked at him with a polite curiosity, but there was no recognition in your eyes. No flicker of memory. To you, he was just a stranger.

“Yes, can I help you?” you asked, your voice soft, kind.

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly explain what was running through his mind? How could he tell you that he had loved you, that he had lost you, and that now—somehow—you were standing in front of him again?

“I... I thought I knew you,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. He didn’t trust himself to say more. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the ring in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier than ever.

You smiled, but it was the smile of someone trying to be polite, not of someone who knew him. “I don’t think we’ve met before,” you said. “I’m Y/N. I’m the schoolteacher here.”

Logan swallowed hard. Of course, you wouldn’t remember. You had no idea who he was, no memory of the life you’d lived before. To you, this was just another day, another moment. But to Logan, it was everything. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You were here, alive again, but you weren’t his Y/N. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m Logan,” he finally managed, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t hide. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, his heart aching in a way that felt both familiar and new.

You nodded, offering another warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. Was there something you needed?”

Logan shook his head slowly, still reeling from the shock of seeing you again. “No,” he said quietly. “No, I... I just thought you looked like someone I used to know.”

You tilted your head slightly, a curious look in your eyes. “I get that sometimes. Chicago’s a big city, but it can feel small.”

Logan nodded, though his mind was far from this moment. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from you, couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some kind of miracle—a second chance. But what could he do with it? Could he approach you, tell you everything? Or would that only drive you away?

Before he could say anything more, the school bell rang, and the children started to gather their things. You glanced back at the sound, then looked at him with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I have to get back to my class. But maybe I’ll see you around?”

Logan nodded, his throat too tight to respond with words. He watched as you turned and walked back toward the schoolhouse, his heart aching with the weight of all the things he couldn’t say.

For the first time in 26 years, Logan felt hope stir in his chest. You were here. You were alive. And even if you didn’t remember him, even if you didn’t know who he was... he couldn’t walk away. Not this time.

---

Logan stayed near the schoolyard most afternoons, hidden just enough not to draw attention, watching you from a distance. It felt strange, almost painful, standing there, knowing you had no idea who he was. Every time you emerged from the schoolhouse with Ida, another schoolteacher, chatting and laughing, the urge to approach you tugged at him. But fear held him back—fear that you’d think he was insane, or worse, that you’d reject him outright.

He clenched his fists inside his coat pockets, feeling the cool metal of the ring press against his palm. It had been with him through wars, across states, through lifetimes. And now, here you were, alive again, and he still didn’t know what to do with it.

It was absurd, the way his heart raced just from seeing you walk down the street. How after all these years—after so much pain—hope could sneak its way back in. This wasn’t just a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t the type to believe in magic or miracles, but what else could explain this?

As he lingered, the school bell rang, signaling the end of another day. Children poured out of the building, laughing and running. A few hung on your arms as you walked them down the steps, their chatter filling the air.

Logan shifted from foot to foot, nerves prickling along his spine. Just talk to her, idiot. You’ve been through worse.

But when you stepped into the street, Ida at your side as usual, the words died in his throat.

“Y/N, you coming for dinner at my place tonight?” Ida asked, tucking a stray curl beneath her bonnet.

You smiled, brushing your hands on your skirts. “Can’t tonight, but I’ll stop by tomorrow. The kids wore me out today.”

Ida chuckled. “You’ll turn into an old maid before you’re thirty at this rate.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh was warm. Logan felt the sound of it settle deep in his chest—like an old memory coming back to life. It was a laugh he hadn’t heard in 26 years, and it took everything in him not to run to you right then and there.

As you and Ida turned the corner toward the tenement, Logan followed at a distance. His heart hammered against his ribs. He just needed a moment, a chance to say something—anything.

Finally, the two of you paused outside the building. Ida gave you a quick hug before heading upstairs, leaving you alone on the stoop. You stood there for a moment, adjusting your shawl against the evening chill.

This is it. Now or never.

Logan forced his feet to move, crossing the street toward you.

You looked up as he approached, a little surprised but not alarmed. “Logan, wasn’t it?”

His throat felt tight, but he gave a short nod. “Yeah. Logan.”

You smiled softly, the same kind smile that had haunted his dreams. “What brings you by?”

He cleared his throat, trying to find the right words. “I... I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, but there was no fear, only curiosity. “About what?”

Logan shifted his weight, his hands tightening around the edges of his coat. The ring in his pocket seemed to burn against his skin, a reminder of everything unsaid.

“I... You remind me of someone,” he admitted, voice low. “Someone I lost a long time ago.”

You studied him for a moment, your gaze steady but gentle. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan’s jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he muttered. “It was.”

There was a beat of silence between you—heavy, charged with the weight of all the things Logan couldn’t say. You didn’t know him, didn’t know what you’d meant to him in another life, but standing here, so close to you again, it felt like the world had tilted back into place.

“You... wanna walk for a bit?” Logan asked suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Something in his expression must’ve stirred your kindness, because you nodded. “Alright.”

The two of you started down the sidewalk together, the city humming around you. Logan kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers brushing the ring again and again like a talisman.

“So, how long have you been in Chicago?” you asked, glancing over at him.

Logan shrugged. “Not long. Just passing through.”

You gave a small smile. “It’s a good place to get lost in for a while.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable rhythm after that—small talk, nothing too deep. Logan told you bits and pieces about his travels, careful not to reveal too much. He learned that you’d moved to Chicago a couple of years ago, taking the teaching job because it felt right.

“I’ve always liked working with kids,” you said with a soft smile. “There’s something... hopeful about it, you know?”

Logan nodded, though hope had been a foreign concept to him for a long time. But walking beside you now, listening to your voice, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of warmth he thought he’d lost forever.

As the evening deepened and the sky turned a dusky purple, you reached your building again. You stopped on the stoop, turning to face him.

“Thank you for the walk,” you said, your smile gentle. “It was nice.”

Logan nodded, his heart heavy with everything he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Yeah. It was.”

For a moment, it felt like time stood still—like the universe had bent just enough to give him this moment with you. And even though you didn’t remember him, didn’t know the history you shared, Logan knew he couldn’t let you slip away again.

“Y/N...” he began, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You tilted your head, waiting.

He swallowed hard, the words catching in his throat. “Can I see you again?”

Your smile widened, something warm flickering in your eyes. “I’d like that.”

Logan gave a short nod, his heart pounding against his ribs.

“Good,” he murmured.

And for the first time in 26 years, Logan allowed himself to believe—just for a moment—that maybe, just maybe, he’d found his way back to you.

---

You had taken up Ida’s offer after all, you lived in the same building so it wasn’t like it was out of the way for you.

“Oh, hey! Thought you weren’t gonna come by.”

You shrugged, taking off your shawl, “changed my mind.” You sat down on the couch and told Ida about your walk with Logan, and she listened intently.

“I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed him. He’s been watching the schoolyard for the past few weeks.”

"Wait, what do you mean, ‘he’s been watching the schoolyard for weeks?’” you asked, your brows knitting together as you leaned forward.

Ida waved her hand dismissively but gave you a sly smile. “Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He hasn’t been creepy about it or anything. Just... noticed him hanging around, that’s all. Kind of hard to miss a guy like that, don’t you think?”

You blinked, a sudden flush creeping up your neck. “A guy like what?”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” she teased, sitting down across from you. “Tall, rugged... that serious, brooding look. You’re telling me you didn’t notice? He’s practically been glued to the corner across from the schoolhouse for days.”

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking back to the walk you’d just had with Logan. You hadn’t seen him watching the school, but now that Ida mentioned it... there had been something in his eyes. A familiarity you couldn’t quite place, like he was looking at you but seeing something—or someone—else.

“I didn’t know he was hanging around,” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “But... he seems kind. Sad, but kind.”

Ida leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest with a thoughtful hum. “Sad, huh? You picked up on that, too?”

You nodded, feeling a strange tightness in your chest. There had been a weight to Logan’s presence, something unspoken in his voice, like he was carrying the world on his shoulders. And then there was the way he looked at you—like he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to.

“You think he’s okay?” you asked quietly.

Ida shrugged, her teasing expression softening. “Who knows? The world’s a tough place. We all got our own burdens to carry. But... maybe he’s looking for something.”

“Looking for what?”

“Maybe someone to share the load,” she replied with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Maybe that someone’s you.”

You shook your head, the idea seeming too far-fetched. “I don’t even know him, Ida. I mean, we just talked for the first time today.”

“Hey, stranger things have happened,” Ida said, getting up to grab a pot of tea from the stove. “You felt something, right? That’s not nothing.”

You sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I guess. He did say I reminded him of someone he lost.”

Ida paused, setting the teapot down carefully. “Lost, huh? That would explain the sad part. But... why hang around you then? What’s he hoping to find?”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to her. The idea that Logan had been watching you, even unknowingly, made something stir in your chest—a mix of curiosity and something you couldn’t quite name.

Ida handed you a cup of tea, sitting back down beside you. “Well, maybe next time you see him, you can ask.”

You looked up at her, one eyebrow raised. “Ask him why he’s hanging around the schoolyard?”

Ida laughed softly. “Maybe not that bluntly, but yeah. There’s something about him, Y/N. Might be worth finding out what.”

You sipped the tea, the warmth spreading through you. Maybe Ida was right. Maybe Logan was carrying something heavy, and maybe—just maybe—you could help.

---

The next day, you found yourself more aware of your surroundings as you walked to the schoolhouse. Every sound, every movement seemed sharper. You scanned the street, looking for a familiar figure, but Logan wasn’t there—at least, not that you could see.

The day went on as usual, though you felt a bit distracted, your mind drifting to the walk you’d shared with him. There was something about Logan that pulled at you, a quiet intensity that you couldn’t shake. He was a mystery, and part of you wanted to solve it.

When the school day ended, you lingered outside a little longer than usual, hoping—half-expecting—that he might show up again. The children ran off, their laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared into their homes. You smiled at the sight, but your thoughts were elsewhere.

“Looking for someone?”

You jumped slightly, turning to find Logan standing just a few feet away. He had approached so quietly you hadn’t even heard him.

“Logan,” you said, surprised but not unwelcome. “I didn’t see you.”

He gave a small shrug, his hands shoved into his coat pockets. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You smiled softly, your heartbeat slowing as the initial surprise wore off. “It’s alright. Just didn’t expect to see you today.”

Logan shifted his weight, his gaze flicking to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I wanted to see if you’d like to take another walk. If you’re not too tired, that is.”

You hesitated, but only for a second. There was something in his voice—something vulnerable, almost hesitant. And despite not knowing him well, you found yourself wanting to say yes.

“I’d like that,” you said, stepping down from the schoolhouse stoop.

The two of you started walking again, this time in a different direction, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the street. For a while, neither of you spoke. It was a comfortable silence, though, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Logan walked beside you, his steps steady but deliberate, like he was trying to figure something out.

“Why’ve you been hanging around the school?” you finally asked, your curiosity getting the better of you. “Ida said she noticed you there for a while.”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, and he didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know. I guess I was just... drawn there.”

“Drawn there?” you echoed, glancing up at him.

He nodded, his gaze fixed ahead. “Yeah. Like I said before, you remind me of someone.”

You didn’t press, sensing that whatever it was, it was personal. Instead, you walked in silence for a few more steps before Logan stopped abruptly.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said, turning to face you fully. His eyes were intense, but there was something almost apologetic in them. “If I am, just tell me, and I’ll leave you alone.”

You shook your head quickly. “No, you’re not making me uncomfortable.”

Logan studied your face, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave a small nod, almost as if he was relieved.

“Alright,” he said quietly.

The conversation shifted after that, lightening as you talked about small things—the city, your students, even the weather. Logan listened more than he spoke, but you could feel him relax bit by bit, the tension in his posture easing as the afternoon wore on.

When you reached your building again, Logan stopped with you on the stoop. There was a moment of hesitation, like he wasn’t sure if he should stay or go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked, offering him a small smile.

Logan looked at you for a long beat before nodding. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

As you turned to head inside, you couldn’t help but glance back over your shoulder. Logan was still standing there, watching you with that same look in his eyes—the one that made you feel like you were more than just a stranger to him.

And in that moment, you realized... you didn’t want to be just a stranger to him either.

---

After about a week of Logan walking you home, it became a familiar routine. Each time, you’d stand on the stoop, exchanging a few words before you’d head inside, always with that lingering feeling of something left unsaid. But tonight was different—the air was colder, and the wind was biting, so when you reached your building, you didn’t hesitate.

“You’re not going out in that cold again,” you said firmly, reaching for his arm. He tensed slightly under your touch, but you ignored it, tugging him toward the door. “Ten minutes outside in the cold, you need to warm up before you go.”

Logan didn’t protest, but you could sense his hesitation. He glanced around the dimly lit hallway as you led him up the stairs to your small apartment.

“Don’t worry,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. “I won’t keep you long. Just until you can feel your fingers again.”

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, following you inside. Once you were both in, you motioned for him to sit down on the worn couch, tossing your shawl onto a chair as you made your way to the stove to boil some water for tea.

Logan stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning the modest space, before finally sitting down. His presence seemed to fill the room, making it feel smaller, more intimate.

“You don’t gotta fuss,” he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the silence. “I’m alright.”

“Humor me,” you replied with a soft smile, setting a kettle on the stove. “Besides, I’ve been dragging you along on these walks. Least I can do is make sure you’re not freezing to death.”

Logan huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back into the couch. His eyes followed your movements, though his expression stayed guarded. He looked... cautious, like he wasn’t sure how to be here with you, in this space. It was strange, this carefulness, coming from a man who seemed so unbreakable.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” you asked, turning to face him while the water heated up. “We’ve been walking for a week, and I feel like I barely know you.”

Logan’s gaze shifted, and you could tell he was weighing his words. “Not much to tell,” he said after a beat. “Just a guy who’s been around a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “That’s it? No family, no friends? You just... wander?”

He looked down at his hands, his fingers idly tracing the worn fabric of the couch. “Had family once. Friends, too. Lost most of ‘em.”

There was a heaviness in his voice, and you could feel the weight of his words. You didn’t push him, though. Instead, you poured the hot water into two cups, walking over and handing him one.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “That must’ve been hard.”

Logan took the cup but didn’t drink right away. He stared down into the tea, his expression unreadable. “Life’s hard for everyone,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You sat down beside him, the warmth from the cup seeping into your hands. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, sipping tea and letting the quiet fill the space. There was something about being near him that made you feel calm, like the world slowed down for a little while when he was around.

“Why’d you let me walk with you?” Logan asked suddenly, his voice rougher than before.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “Most people wouldn’t... They’d be scared, or they’d push me away. But you... you let me stay.”

You frowned, trying to find the right words. “I don’t know... I guess I just felt like... I should.” You shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious under his intense gaze. “Besides, you’re not exactly a scary guy. Brooding, sure, but not scary.”

A small, barely-there smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not afraid of much, are you?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Not really. I mean, what’s the point of being afraid? Life’s hard enough without worrying about things that might not even happen.”

Logan’s smile faded, replaced by that familiar look of sadness. He stared into his cup for a moment, then set it down on the table in front of him. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess you’re right.”

The silence stretched between you again, but this time it felt heavier, like there was something unsaid hanging in the air. You could feel it, pressing down on both of you, but neither of you seemed ready to break it.

Finally, Logan stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. “I should go,” he said, though he didn’t make a move toward the door.

You stood up too, your heart pounding a little harder than usual. “Logan...”

He turned to face you, his eyes dark and full of something you couldn’t quite place. “Yeah?”

You took a step closer, your hand reaching out to touch his arm again. “You don’t have to carry it all alone,” you said softly.

For a moment, he just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, without saying a word, he nodded once, a silent acknowledgment that you didn’t need to explain.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said quietly before turning to leave.

You watched him go, your heart heavy but hopeful. There was something between you—something unspoken, something old—and you weren’t ready to let it go.

Not yet.

---

It had taken a few more days to convince Logan to come back into your apartment. You weren’t sure how you convinced him this time, but you were happy that you did.

Your apartment smelled nice and homey. Before you had left for work, you had put bread in the oven to bake, and now, as you came back home with Logan in tow, it was finished. The warm, inviting scent of freshly baked bread filled the room as you stepped inside. Logan hesitated in the doorway, lingering for a moment before following you in, his expression unreadable but curious.

You busied yourself with the bread, slicing into the crust and offering Logan a piece. He took it, though his attention seemed more focused on you than the food.

"Thanks," he muttered, taking a bite.

You smiled, trying to ignore the way your heart sped up just from him being here. "I was thinking..." you started, turning to grab a couple of plates from the cupboard. "Maybe we could go into the city tomorrow? It’s market day. There's a lot to see, and it’d be nice to get out of the schoolhouse routine for a bit."

Logan raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the counter. "Market, huh?"

"Yeah, you know, just... walk around. Maybe pick up a few things." You looked over at him, half expecting him to decline, but to your surprise, he didn’t.

"Alright," he said, his voice low but without hesitation. "I’ll come with you."

You smiled, feeling a small flutter of excitement in your chest. "Great. It’ll be fun. I promise."

---

The next day, you found yourself walking through the bustling streets of Chicago with Logan by your side. The market was crowded, full of people haggling and chatting, the air thick with the smell of fresh produce, spices, and the occasional whiff of roasting meat. It was a world away from the quiet walks you'd shared, and you could feel Logan's unease in the busy atmosphere. But he stayed close, his hand brushing yours more than once as you wove through the crowd.

"Do you come here often?" Logan asked, his eyes scanning the vendors with mild interest.

"Once or twice a month," you replied. "I like the energy here. Makes the city feel alive, you know?"

Logan grunted in response, though he didn’t seem entirely convinced. You could tell he wasn’t used to this—being around so many people—but he stuck close to you, his presence protective without being overbearing.

After a while, you stopped at a stall selling flowers. The colors were vibrant, a burst of life in the middle of the dusty street. You picked up a small bouquet of wildflowers, smiling as you held them up.

"These are my favorite," you said, glancing up at Logan. "They're simple but... I don't know, they make me happy."

Logan’s gaze softened as he looked at the flowers in your hand, then back at you. There was something in his eyes, a flicker of something unspoken, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a few coins, handing them to the vendor before you could protest.

"Logan, you don’t have to—"

"Consider it a thank you," he said quietly, cutting you off. "For the bread."

You blinked, surprised but touched by the gesture. "Well, thank you."

He nodded, and the two of you continued walking, the flowers resting in the crook of your arm as the city bustled around you. For a while, you walked in comfortable silence, the sounds of the market fading into the background as the two of you wandered further from the busy streets. Eventually, you found a quiet park at the edge of the city, a small, peaceful space away from the noise.

You sat down on a bench, feeling the cool breeze brush against your skin. Logan sat beside you, his posture relaxed but his eyes always scanning the area, as if he couldn’t fully let his guard down.

"Do you ever stop looking over your shoulder?" you asked, half teasing but curious.

Logan’s mouth twitched into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Old habit."

You studied him for a moment, sensing there was more behind those words. He had a way of holding himself, like he was always ready for something, always waiting. It made you wonder just how much he’d seen, how much he’d lived through.

"I’m glad you came with me today," you said softly, looking out at the park. "I feel like I’ve been stuck in a routine for a while now. It’s nice to just... do something different."

Logan glanced at you, his gaze lingering a little longer than usual. "I’m glad I came too," he admitted, his voice low.

There was something in the way he said it, something that made your heart skip a beat. The air between you felt different, charged with a quiet tension that neither of you seemed willing to break. You wondered if he felt it too—the strange pull between you, like something just beneath the surface was waiting to be uncovered.

After a long pause, Logan spoke again. "I ain’t good at... this." He gestured vaguely, his brow furrowing as he searched for the right words. "Being close to people."

You turned to him, surprised by the admission. "You’re doing fine," you said gently.

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly, and he shook his head. "It’s not that simple."

You felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. Whatever it was, it made you reach out, your hand lightly brushing his. "You don’t have to explain," you said softly. "I get it."

Logan’s eyes flickered down to where your hand rested near his. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he turned his hand over, his rough fingers brushing against yours in the faintest of touches. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step—like maybe, just maybe, he was letting you in.

---

As you walked to the tenement building after work one day, you glanced over at Logan. “You ever been to the exhibition hall in the city?”

Logan looked over to you, slightly puzzled by the question. “The exhibition?”

You nodded, turning toward him. “There’s a display of inventions and art from all over. I heard they’ve got this new thing—electric lights. I was thinking about going this weekend, and… maybe you’d like to come with me?”

For a moment, Logan just stared at you, as if unsure what to say. The idea of stepping out into the city, surrounded by people, probably wasn’t something he did often. But he shifted slightly, his eyes softening in that way they did when you caught him off guard.

“You want me to go with you?” he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

“Well, yeah,” you said, smiling. “We’ve been walking the same few streets for days. Thought it might be nice to do something different. Besides, I’m curious about those lights. They say it’s going to change the way people live.”

Logan gave a low, thoughtful hum, and for a moment, you worried he might decline. But then he nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “Alright. I’ll go.”

Your smile widened. “Great! We can meet at my place on Saturday afternoon, then head out.”

The conversation drifted back into easier topics—your students, a new bakery that had opened nearby, and the way the city seemed to grow busier every day. But beneath it all, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this small invitation marked a shift, a way to see more of who Logan was beyond the quiet man who walked beside you in silence. Maybe out in the world, you’d understand him better.

---

Saturday came quickly, and the two of you walked side by side through the busy streets, the sounds of horses and carriages filling the air. You led Logan through the bustling avenues toward the exhibition hall, your excitement barely contained.

“Ever seen anything like this?” you asked, glancing up at him as the towering hall came into view.

Logan’s eyes flicked over the building, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not in a while.”

Inside, the hall was a wonder of modern marvels. Booths lined with mechanical inventions, sculptures, and paintings from around the world. The hum of excitement filled the air, and the bright new electric lights cast a strange, almost magical glow over everything.

You wandered the displays together, your curiosity leading the way. Logan stayed close, his attention less on the inventions and more on you. Every now and then, he'd glance at a piece of machinery or a strange-looking contraption, but his eyes kept drifting back to your face, watching the way your expression changed with each new discovery.

"This is incredible," you murmured, leaning in to get a closer look at a large machine labeled as an ‘automatic loom.’ You smiled at Logan, your excitement clear. "Can you imagine how much time this would save?"

Logan nodded, though you could tell his thoughts were elsewhere. "Yeah, I can see how it'd be useful."

You moved to the next display, but Logan lingered for a moment. When he finally caught up, you were already studying a painting—a soft, pastoral scene that contrasted with the industrial energy around you.

"It's beautiful, isn’t it?" you said, glancing at him.

Logan’s gaze flicked to the painting, but quickly returned to you. "Yeah," he said, though it was clear he wasn’t talking about the art.

You felt his eyes on you again and looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something there—something that made your heart skip. Logan had always been protective, always hovering just close enough to shield you if need be. But this felt different, like there was more to it now.

"You sure this ain’t boring for you?" you asked, trying to lighten the moment. "I know you’re not one for crowds."

Logan gave a quiet grunt, his version of a chuckle. "It’s fine. Long as you’re enjoying yourself."

You smiled, touched by the sentiment. "I am. Thanks for coming with me."

For a while, you wandered together in silence, taking in the sights and sounds of the exhibition hall. The crowds around you buzzed with excitement, but the space between you and Logan felt almost separate—like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.

At one point, you stopped in front of a display showcasing early electric light bulbs. "Look at that," you said, pointing to the glass bulbs flickering with soft light. "They’re saying these will replace gas lamps soon."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Doesn’t seem right, replacing something that’s worked for so long."

"Change is good sometimes," you said, glancing at him. "It keeps things moving forward."

Logan met your eyes, his expression soft but thoughtful. "Guess I’ve never been good with change."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words. "Maybe you just haven’t found the right reason to embrace it yet."

For a moment, Logan didn’t respond. His gaze lingered on you, like he was trying to make sense of something. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Maybe."

As the afternoon wore on, the two of you eventually stepped outside the exhibition hall, the sun low in the sky and the city’s evening glow starting to take over. The air felt cooler now, a welcome relief after the warmth of the crowded hall.

You walked beside Logan in comfortable silence, but the charged undercurrent between you hadn’t faded. It felt like something had shifted—like you’d both acknowledged a deeper connection, even if neither of you had fully put it into words yet.

"You want to get something to eat?" Logan asked, breaking the silence.

"Sure," you said, smiling up at him. "There’s a place not far from here. They make the best stew."

Logan nodded, falling into step beside you again as you made your way toward the small restaurant you had in mind. The quiet between you was easy, but there was an unspoken understanding that something had changed between the two of you today. Neither of you said it out loud, but you didn’t need to.

As you entered the restaurant, the warm scent of food filled the air, and you found a table near the back, away from the main crowd. Logan took the seat across from you, his eyes scanning the room out of habit, but eventually settling back on you.

"This place isn’t so bad," he said, giving a small nod of approval.

You laughed softly. "Glad it meets your standards."

Logan smirked, but there was a softness behind it. As the two of you talked over dinner, you realized just how much you enjoyed moments like this—quiet, simple, yet meaningful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or fancy places; it was about being together, about the way Logan made you feel safe and seen.

---

One day, after inviting Logan into your apartment once again, you set out to make tea like you always do.

You felt a cough building up in your throat, so you grabbed a small handkerchief from the counter and coughed into it. You had seen the school doctor while you were at work, and he said you just had a mild cold.

Logan, who was sitting on the couch, immediately turned his head to you, his heart almost beating out of his chest. He’d heard that cough before—26 years ago.

"Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, almost hesitant.

You turned around, still holding the handkerchief to your mouth. "Yeah?" you answered casually, noticing the tension in his voice but thinking nothing of it. “Just a little cough, nothing serious. I saw the doctor earlier, and he said it’s just a cold.”

Logan stood up slowly, his eyes fixed on you, his expression unreadable. He took a step closer, his mind racing back to 1854, to your last days—bedridden and coughing, just like this. He had lost you then, watching helplessly as the illness took you. He couldn't shake the feeling, the memory, and the fear that history might repeat itself.

"Cold, huh?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge to it.

"Yeah, no big deal." You smiled, folding the handkerchief and putting it back in your pocket. "Really, Logan, I’m fine."

Logan’s jaw tightened. He had seen too much, lived too long to believe in coincidence. This was too familiar, too painful. And yet, here you were—alive, vibrant. This time, he couldn’t lose you again. He wouldn't.

"You should take it easy," he said, stepping closer, his tone gentler now. "You been workin' too hard at that school."

You raised an eyebrow, sensing his concern but not quite understanding the depth of it. "I’m fine, really. It’s just a little cold. Nothing that rest and tea won’t fix."

Logan didn’t argue, but the worry in his eyes didn’t fade. He reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before he gently brushed his fingers against your arm, grounding himself in the fact that you were here, with him. This wasn’t 1854. But the memory haunted him.

You noticed the way he was looking at you, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid to lose you. "Hey," you said softly, resting a hand on his. "What’s really going on?"

Logan’s breath hitched for a moment, and he fought the urge to pull you closer, to tell you everything. But how could he? How could he explain that you’d been here before—that he’d watched you die, that he’d loved you once in another life, in another time? Instead, he just shook his head, the weight of those memories too heavy to share.

"Just... don’t push yourself too hard," he said, his voice quieter now. "I’ve seen people get worse when they don’t take care of themselves."

You nodded, though his intensity still lingered in your mind. "I promise, I’ll rest." You gave him a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Besides, you’ll make sure I do, right?"

Logan’s lips quirked into the smallest smile, but there was still something distant in his eyes. "Yeah," he said softly. "I will."

The moment hung in the air, the unspoken weight of Logan’s past pressing down on him, though you couldn’t see it. You were the same, and yet not. The woman he had once loved and lost was standing right in front of him, alive, but without any memory of that life you’d shared.

---

You didn’t see Logan for a few days, which was unusual, ever since he started walking with you he had never missed a day.

You couldn’t help but worry a tad bit, it wasn’t like him to just not be there. Even Ida had made a few comments, including now as you sat in her apartment, just a few doors down from your own, sipping tea.

“He hasn’t been by at all?” Ida asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “That man never misses a day. He’s usually lurking outside, waitin’ to walk you home.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s been three days now.”

Ida leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. “You don’t think somethin’s happened to him, do ya? That man is tough, sure, but even the toughest get into trouble sometimes.”

You shook your head quickly, not wanting to entertain the thought. “No, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s... not the type to explain himself much.”

Ida hummed, though she didn’t look convinced. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t show up soon, you ought to go find him. He’s a good man, Y/N, and you’ve only known him a month, but it’s clear he cares about you.”

The truth of her words settled over you, heavy and unspoken. You cared about Logan too. Even if you didn’t quite understand the pull between you, it was there—undeniable. And the fact that he hadn’t shown up, without so much as a word, made your chest tighten with worry.

Later that evening, after you’d left Ida’s apartment and returned to your own, you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Logan had become part of your routine, part of your day-to-day life. And now that he was gone, it felt like something was missing.

Just as you were about to turn in for the night, a knock sounded at the door.

Your heart jumped, and you rushed to open it, half expecting—half hoping—it would be Logan.

And there he was.

He stood in the doorway, his coat damp from the light rain outside, his hair slightly tousled. His eyes, though, were what caught you—the familiar intensity, but with something else lurking beneath. Something darker.

“Logan,” you breathed, stepping aside to let him in. “Where have you been? I was starting to get worried.”

Logan stepped into your small apartment, his broad frame somehow filling the space, making it feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything right away, just ran a hand through his hair and exhaled sharply, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts.

“I needed time,” he finally said, his voice low and gravelly.

“Time for what?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he was about to say wasn’t easy for him.

Logan glanced at you, then looked away, as if he couldn’t meet your eyes. His jaw tightened, and you could see the struggle on his face—like he was wrestling with something deep inside. After a long pause, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, the words sounding foreign in his mouth, like he wasn’t used to saying them.

You blinked, taken aback. Logan was the last person you ever expected to hear those words from. “Scared of what?”

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, and you saw the vulnerability there, raw and unguarded. “Of losing you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan… we’ve only known each other for a month,” you said softly, though the words felt strange even as they left your mouth. Because deep down, it felt like you’d known him much longer—like this connection between you was more than just a month in the making.

“I know,” Logan said, his voice rough. “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

There was something in the way he was looking at you, something desperate and pained, like he was holding onto you with everything he had. You wanted to ask him why, to understand what had happened in his past to make him feel this way. But instead, you just reached out, your hand finding his.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand gently. “I’m right here.”

Logan’s breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, he stepped closer, his hand cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch rough but gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away. It was just the two of you, standing in the quiet of your apartment, the air between you thick with unspoken words.

And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was urgent, almost desperate, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words. His lips moved against yours with a fierceness that took your breath away, and for a moment, all you could do was hold onto him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his coat as you kissed him back.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His hand still cupped your cheek, his thumb gently brushing along your jawline.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Your heart ached at the raw honesty in his words, and you wanted to promise him that he wouldn’t—that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. But something about the way he said it made you hesitate, made you wonder what he wasn’t telling you.

“Logan…” you started, your voice soft. “What aren’t you telling me?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. His hand dropped from your face, and he took a step back, his expression guarded once again. The walls he’d let down just moments ago seemed to be rising back up.

“I’ve lived a long time,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ve lost people before. People I cared about. I can’t… I can’t go through that again.”

You felt a pang in your chest at his words, but there was something else there too—something unspoken. “Logan… who did you lose?”

His eyes flickered with pain, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he just shook his head, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You wanted to press him, to understand, but you also knew that Logan wasn’t someone who opened up easily. So instead, you just stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a gentle hug. He stiffened at first, but then his arms slowly came around you, pulling you close as if he was afraid to let go.

“I’m here,” you whispered against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For now, that was all you could offer him. And for now, it seemed to be enough.

---

You and Ida sat in the back of the rattling carriage, bundled against the cold, the wheels creaking beneath the weight of your bags from the market. The late afternoon sky was heavy with clouds, promising rain before nightfall and a storm by morning.

“Supposed to come down hard tomorrow,” Ida said, clutching her shawl tighter. “Glad we got everything done now. Don’t wanna be caught in that mess.”

You smiled, shifting a bag of potatoes off your lap. “It’ll be nice to have an excuse to stay in and rest. Logan’s been after me about taking it easy anyway.”

Ida gave you a knowing look, her brow lifting. “That man likes you, Y/N. More than you think.”

You shrugged, though your cheeks warmed slightly. “I know he cares. He’s just… different. Keeps to himself.”

“He’s different, alright,” Ida muttered, peering out the carriage window. “But he’s not the type to care about someone without good reason. Don’t let that one get away.”

You didn’t respond, but your thoughts drifted to Logan—how he had kissed you that night, holding you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. There was something ancient in his touch, like he had carried the weight of loss for far too long. You didn’t fully understand it, but you felt it—something deeper than words or time.

The carriage jolted suddenly, jerking you forward in your seat. The horse up front whinnied, wild and panicked.

“Whoa!” the driver shouted, yanking hard on the reins.

You clutched Ida’s arm, your heart racing. “What’s going on?”

The driver cursed, standing in his seat to get a better look. “The damn harness snapped! The horse—”

Before he could finish, the horse bolted, the broken leather straps slapping wildly behind it. The carriage lurched, and you and Ida were thrown sideways. The wheels screamed as they spun out of control, the driver shouting as he fought to keep it steady.

“Hold on!” he yelled.

The world tilted violently as the carriage careened off the road, slamming into a ditch. Bags spilled across the floor, and you hit your shoulder hard against the side wall. Ida’s scream filled your ears, but the noise was drowned out by the thunder of the collapsing carriage, wood splintering and wheels buckling beneath the weight.

And then—nothing.

The carriage stopped, shuddering to a halt in a twisted heap at the bottom of the ditch. The rain started, light at first, pattering against the wreckage.

---

Logan was walking back toward your tenement building, the collar of his coat turned up against the cold drizzle, when he saw it—just beyond the next block, down by the road.

The sight hit him like a punch to the chest.

A carriage, overturned, one of the wheels still spinning lazily. The horse was gone, its reins dangling uselessly from the harness. People were gathering, but no one dared approach the wreckage yet.

Logan’s heart stopped. He knew—he just knew.

His feet moved before he could think. He sprinted toward the wreck, rain falling harder now, soaking through his clothes. His boots hit the muddy road with heavy thuds, splashing water as he ran faster than any ordinary man should.

By the time he reached the scene, a bystander had climbed down, trying to pry the splintered door open. Logan shoved him aside without a word, claws itching under his skin, ready to tear the door off if need be.

“Someone’s inside!” the man stammered. “Two women—”

Logan didn’t wait. His hands found the edge of the door, and with a growl of effort, he yanked it off the hinges. Inside the crumpled interior, he saw you, half-buried beneath scattered bags.

“Y/N!” His voice cracked, raw and frantic. He dropped to his knees and pulled you free, cradling you in his arms.

You stirred, barely conscious, your head lolling against his chest. Blood streaked your temple, and your breath came in shallow gasps.

“Logan…?” you whispered, confused, your hand weakly grasping his coat.

“I got you,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “I’m here. You’re gonna be fine.” But even as he said it, dread gnawed at him—this wasn’t fine. It was happening again.

Ida groaned nearby, struggling to sit up, but Logan’s focus was locked on you. He pressed a hand against your side, where your ribs felt wrong under his touch. He could feel the heat of your blood seeping into his fingers.

“No, no, no…” Logan whispered, shaking his head. The storm raged around him, but all he could hear was the shallow rasp of your breathing.

You looked up at him, your gaze unfocused, but your lips curled into the faintest smile. “I told you… I’d rest…”

“Don’t,” Logan begged, his forehead pressing against yours. “Don’t do this. Stay with me. You hear me? Stay.”

You blinked slowly, your hand slipping from his coat. “I… tried…”

Logan clenched his jaw, biting down hard against the scream building in his chest. His healing mutation would keep him alive through anything—but it couldn’t save you. Not now. Not again.

He kissed your forehead, his breath shuddering. “I can’t lose you again, darlin’. Not like this…”

Your breath hitched once, then stopped.

“No,” Logan whispered, rocking you in his arms. “No, no, no…”

His hands trembled as he pulled you closer, your lifeless body limp against him. The rain poured down harder, drumming on the wreckage, but Logan didn’t care. He sat there, holding you, feeling the familiar, soul-crushing emptiness settle in his chest like an old wound tearing open again.

And still, he held you. Because this time, just like 26 years ago, he couldn’t let go.

in this chapter logan is 48 years old and reader is around 22-24 years old. just a reminder that going forward there is going to be an age gap between the two since logan obviously keeps getting older.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #james howlett x reader #james howlett x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett fic #i love you in every time

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itneverendshere · 2 months ago

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INVISIBLE STRING - SERIES MASTERLIST - r.c

synopis: after being thrown out by his abusive mother, rafe finds himself in harsh reality of living on the streets. that’s when he crosses paths with you, a kook who seems to have it all. against all odds, you offer him a second chance, pulling him into a world he doesn’t belong to—but your love bridges the gap between your worlds. with everyone rooting for their downfall, they must decide: can their love survive the weight of societal expectations, or will their differences tear them apart?

･῾ ᵎ chapter one⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter two⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter three⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter four⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter five⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter six⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter seven⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter eight⌇

[more to come]

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stevesgother · 1 month ago

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Let's Hear It For The Boy!

Pairing - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, cursing, oral (f receiving), emotional sex, aftercare, tooth rotting fluff bc i love them, latter half as usual is not proofread bc i can't bring myself to read my own smut. maybe someday!

AN: here’s a little Dress bonus chapter bc so many people loved that series! I know i didn’t let them bang in the final part, so here ya go. I hope it scratches the itch :)

The sounds of a specially curated mixtape drift and settle over the room. Steve has you underneath him, his entire weight crushing you like your own personal safety blanket. He peppers kisses over every inch of exposed skin and then some, giving you a brief reprieve from the steamy makeout session you were previously engaged in.

It had been 3 weeks since New Year's Eve. In that time, Steve has managed to spend every waking second with you that he could. He’d taken you on lavish dates to the only fancy restaurant in this dying town– Enzo’s, and you’ve spent countless days snowed in, watching “borrowed” tapes from Family Video. He takes you grocery shopping and puts your favorite cereal in the cart before you get the chance to grab it yourself. To be loved by Steve, is to be seen. You think he knows you better than you know yourself, in every way except for one.

You had decided to take things slow, for the fear of risking everything the two of you had worked so hard to build over the length of your entire friendship thus far. Steve loved you, and you loved Steve. He had a reputation, or he did at one point, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel taken advantage of. More importantly, he wanted to take his time with you.

In the midst of a sweet, languid kiss, you hear the beginnings of Deniece Williams’ ‘Let’s Hear It For The Boy’ and break away from him with an excited gasp.

“Stevie Baby, this one’s for you!” You brace yourself against him enough to flip him onto his back, reversing your previous position and straddling his hips. He giggles when you grab your hairbrush from your nightstand to use as a makeshift microphone, and sing pitchily to the verse.

“‘Cause everytime he pulls me near, I just wanna cheer, let’s hear it for the boy!”

You give a seated performance as you sing and wriggle on his lap. He rolls his eyes in an attempt to pretend like he doesn’t find your theatrics the most endearing thing he’s ever seen.

“Let’s hear it for my baby!” You shake both his shoulders and give him a smacking kiss on the cheek, “You know you gotta understand!”

Steve didn’t know it was possible to be more in love with you than he already was. The adoration he felt for you was insurmountable; the blood in his veins seemingly replaced by pure sunlight that seeped from him wherever you touched. He wanted to marry you, he was sure he was going to marry you.

When the song finally hummed its last notes, you flopped dramatically against his chest. Hair mussed and chest heaving with the exertion of singing him all four minutes of the song. He deserved it, after all.

“Have I ever told you you’re a horrible singer?” he asks playfully.

You swat his chest and laugh, “Rude!”. Forget the other five, teasing was Steve’s love language.

“I still love you, though,”

“Yeah I don’t know, the juries still out,”

“Alright, I think that’s enough out of you,” he says as he flips you over in one sweeping motion to lay on your back again. You’re a fit of laughter as he presses open mouthed kisses down your neck and over your collarbone.

Your giggling starts to subside when your senses clock how good his lips feel against your skin. You exhale a breathy sigh when one of his large hands presses firmly up your side, his other hand cupping your cheek. He grins up at you before returning to passionately collide his mouth with your own. You moan into it, presenting him with the opportunity to slide his tongue eagerly against yours.

“Nothin’ else to say, huh?” He smirks down at you. You can only respond with a blissful shake of your head ‘No’.

Your legs are hugging either side of his torso, and he gives an experimental grind of his hips against your clothed core. You can feel the hard outline of him and it elicits a groan from you, tugging the hair at the nape of his neck that you have woven through your fingers.

“That feel good?" You’re embarrassed to be panting slightly already, it's just the effect he seems to have on you.

“Yes– Steve,”

The most the two of you had done until this point was hand stuff, and even then it was few and far between. That’s not to say you haven't thought about doing more; lately it actually seems to be all you can think about. You feel like a horndog teenager again.

Steve continues to kiss you as he slips a hand beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts, and he can feel the wet spot already forming on your cotton panties. You let out a breathy whine at the sensation.

“Pussy feels so good baby,” he murmurs against your mouth, “wonder how she tastes,”

Your eyes turn to saucers at his implication, but he only smirks at you as he shuffles slowly down your body, pressing kisses all the way down your torso and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

He makes eye contact with you as he slips two fingers beneath your waistband again to ask, “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please,” you try not to sound too pathetic as you lift your hips to assist him in removing your layers.

Steve’s never seen you in anything more intimate than a bathing suit on a hot summer day. Now he’s staring at you like you’ve hung the moon just for him. His best friend, the love of his life, and he’s about to go down on you. It feels like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

“Everything okay?” you chuckle nervously, feeling the weight of his gaze on unexplored territory. It feels vulnerable in a way you’ve never felt before, and you’re scared he doesn’t like what he sees. You weren’t a virgin, and neither was Steve; but right now, you might as well have been.

“Yes, yes, sorry. You’re beautiful. It’s perfect, everythings perfect,”

It always feels like the greatest privilege to watch Steve’s usual dominant and confident exterior melt away. It’s not often you get to make him flustered instead of you, and you can’t help but find it adorable.

He nuzzles his stubbly face into your thigh, and inhales deeply; taking in your scent. It causes your stomach to erupt in somersaults. He locks eyes with you as he slowly removes the last barrier between you and his mouth. Self consciousness takes over when you realize he can finally see all of you, causing you to tighten the space between your thighs.

Steve’s quick, though. He stops you with a hand on each leg, keeping you open for him. “Don’t be shy, honey. I wanna see you,”

“Okay, I trust you,” You stare up at your popcorn textured ceiling to escape the intensity of it all. Just then he places a tentative kiss to your clit. It’s barely anything but the surprise of it makes you cry out in pleasure. Steve takes it as a sign to properly begin, and he laps at you like you’re his last meal.

“Oh, Steve!” Your hands fly to his hair and you tug, eliciting a groan from him that vibrates through your core and amplifies the feeling of his tongue on you.

“Taste so sweet, baby,” you can hardly hear him as he’s nose deep in your pussy. The sharp point of it massages your sensitive bud as his tongue teases your entrance.

If that wasn’t enough, you’re seeing stars when his index and middle finger breach your hole, hitting that spongy spot inside of you that only Steve could reach. He curls his fingers as his lips wrap around your clit and you all but grind against his face. He quickens the pace, and you can already feel the beginnings of your climax in your tummy.

“Steve– ah!– I’m gonna come,” you cry and he doesn't change a thing. No speeding up, no slowing down. There’s not a thing on this earth that could separate his mouth from you. All that matters to Steve is making you finish on his tongue, and hearing those sweet little sounds you make when you do.

Your release washes over you in waves as you sloppily grind your hips against Steve’s face. When he finally looks up at you from between your sticky thighs, his face is shiny with you from nose to chin and he’s beaming. Actually beaming.

“Did so good, baby,” he praises as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and leans down to kiss you, “so beautiful,”. It’s a strange thing to taste yourself on someone else’s tongue, but you really don’t hate it. If anything, it turns you on more.

He continues to kiss you with a renewed fervor, you reach a hand between your bodies and palm him against his sweatpants. The whimper you elicit from him spurs you on enough to slip a hand beneath his waistband and take his velvety length into your hand.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been so hard in his entire life, every nerve in his body alight like a live wire. Unconsciously, he thrusts into your hand– desperate for some friction. The soft skin of your fingers feels euphoric wrapped around his length.

“God– I love you,” he half groans into the crook of your neck as he grinds against your palm.

“Baby,” you gasp, “I want you– I wanna feel you,” Your hips start to lift again, in search of any type of stimulation. This seems to break him out of his arousal induced trance as he snaps his head up to look you in the eye.

“I– like you want to, want to–?” he sputters, suddenly nervous at the idea. Still, you find his hesitation at your request charming. It’s obvious how much he cares for you.

You giggle, “Yes Steve, I ‘want to, want to’,” you repeat his words back to him in the same cadence, causing him to roll his eyes, though the action has no real irritation behind it.

“Okay– Yeah, Okay,” he’s reeling as he reaches into the drawer of your nightstand to retrieve a condom from the box you’ve kept there for a little over a week now. Tearing the foil with his teeth, he rolls the rubber down his length with expert fingers. You try not to think about the fact that he’s done this probably a million times before you.

“If it hurts or you want me to stop or you don’t like something–”

“I’ll tell you,” you cut off his anxious rambling with a hand on his cheek, “I promise.”

He nods and presses his forehead to your own. It’s a little sticky with sweat already, but you don’t mind. He smells like cinnamon and mint and something so ineffably Steve.

When he finally pushes into you, you’re both gasping into each other's mouths. He wraps his arms around your back in a sort of hug, not bothering to hold himself above you anymore. He needs to be as close to you as he can possibly manage. You return the embrace, locking your ankles behind the small of his back and placing his cheeks in your palms to kiss him deeply.

When he’s finally to the hilt and your hips are completely flush, he gives you a moment to adjust before setting a rhythm.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes– yes, I'm good. You feel so good, Steve,” You can feel tears brimming at your lashes with the intimacy of it all. Having him like this– this is something you’ve only ever dreamed of. The affection you feel is insurmountable.

His hips start at a slow pace, he’s so big you can feel him in your stomach. “Faster, baby, please,”. And who is he to deny you when you ask so politely?

“Don’t cry, love,” He removes a hand from behind your back to wipe away a stray tear, and kisses the salty trail it left down your cheek.

“I just love you– I’ve waited so long,” you hug him tighter around his neck as he starts to pick up the pace.

“I know, I love you,” You can feel his hips stutter and you realise he’s close. The shared sweetness bringing you both closer to the edge. You cry out again as he repeatedly hits that sweet spot, the small thatch of hair at his base providing the perfect friction.

“I’m close–” he manages to strangle out.

“Me too. Inside me– please,”

He falters only for a moment, “You sure?”

“Yes, Steve, I need you,”

Your nails dig and leave crescent shapes in his shoulders. You miss the sound he makes when you tug gently on his pretty locks, so you do it again. It’s enough to send Steve hurtling over the edge of his orgasm.

“Oh -- I’m coming,” He all but shouts and the sounds he’s making are obscene enough to have you there with him.

“Look at me, baby,” he commands, not unkindly. He’s so pretty like this– cheeks flushed pink, lips permanently fixed in a ‘O’ shape, sweat beading at his upper lip; his brow bone and hairline.

You stare at each other as you come; it’s the most intimate thing either of you have ever experienced. Suddenly you realize Steve has tears welling in his eyes, too. You pull him into a slow, languid kiss. You press your lips to the corners of each of his eyes, as well.

When he moves to pull out, you wince slightly and he soothes his hands up and down your leg as he stands. “I know, honey. Stay there, I'll be right back,”. With that, he slips his boxers back on and makes his way towards the bathroom. When he returns, he’s holding a warm washcloth and a small dixie cup of water. As you drink, he takes the liberty of cleaning you up, as gentle as you’ve ever seen him.

He kneels by the bed to be level with you, and runs a hand over your head to brush away stray hair. The repeated motion in which he does it nearly puts you to sleep.

“Want me to run you a bath?” You almost cry again. How is he real?

“That’s okay, maybe in a little while,” you’re becoming too sleepy to talk properly now, you raise your arms signaling for him to join you in bed. “Just want you to lay with me,”

“I think I can manage that.”

He moves to hold you against his chest, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, and you fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

335 notes · View notes

mo0nfairy · 1 year ago

Text

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ THIS IS A LIFE, PART ONE !

summary :: in every universe, spiderman will inevitably lose the one thing that matters most to him: y/n l/n. miguel o'hara, peter parker, and hobie brown have all suffered through this story. they soon discover another version of you is alive, bound to fall in love with miles morales and to die abruptly. with the prospect of a second chance and a newfound obsession, these four men will do anything to keep you at their side.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 7.5k

content warnings :: yandere!miguel, yandere!miles, yandere!noir, yandere!hobie, reader death, gore/violence, murder, electrocution, fire, guns, alcohol, cigarettes, suicidal tendencies, kidnapping, stalking, physical restraint, child abuse/neglect, allusions to a child's death, physically abusive ex-boyfriend, infidelity, & torture.

──── October 17th, 2099 — Miguel O'Hara remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. August 24th, 1934 — Peter Parker remembers the day the same way he will never forget you. July 3rd, 2020 — Hobie Brown remembers the day the same way he will never forget you.

Y/N L/N. Miguel O'Hara, Peter Parker, and Hobie Brown will never forget them the same way they will never forget how it felt to lose them.

The inevitable fate of your demise is a cannon event for all spider-people. To love this person with every shred of their being only to live the rest of their lives without them; to love this person with all the might their body can contain only to let go of their hand in the end. It crushes their soul. Countless people are forced to live with the consequences of being bitten by a spider, not one had suspected it would be so detrimental.

Not when it is your life that has been taken.

Written in the stars is this destiny. How they will never love another again, but vow to be a hero and refrain a similar fate from falling onto anyone else. Many have been able to crawl out of the bottomless pit that is grief, but others have succumbed to the unforgiving anguish and let their life escape them. Just the way yours had. After all, what is life if you are not present? What is the point of living if there is no one there to patch up their scars and praise them for their heroic acts? There is no point, which leaves these three particular spider-people here. Their body is stuck in the past, reliving each moment with you up until they lost you forever.

October 17th, 2099. It was all his fault. Maybe if he hadn't let his violent tendencies toward anyone who isn't you slip through the seams, maybe if he had been more persistent in his reminders of how loved you are. Maybe if he had tried harder, Miguel O'Hara would still have you here at his side.

Miguel's attempts to make this sudden transition in your life as easy as possible turned out to be disastrous. He is not stupid; he knows this upbringing into this new lifestyle you claim to be "kidnapping" was blunt. He knew this, yet still, his plans on easing you through this change had collapsed right before him. Time had passed, and he naively assumed your fear had depleted, far too caught up in the sheer delight that came from holding you in his arms. Days and nights spent trailing his fingers down the expanse of your skin and kissing away the bruises his fangs had left upon your lips. This is a dream, Miguel always catches himself thinking.

And his sweet daughter, Gabriella. How she adored you so much. Even more so than her own father, he often joked. Coming home to find you both brushing the hair of her numerous dolls, baking treats that were rich with far too much sugar, or fast asleep on the couch while some whiny kids show plays on the television. His heart hammers like a fluttering hummingbird at the sight of you so soft and calm with his daughter. However, your guard then builds itself back up, brick-by-brick, faster than a gust of wind when he makes his presence known. In a way, Miguel found himself... jealous of Gabriella. That gentle and loving nature of yours, why couldn't he have it for himself? Why couldn't you give him some of that attention, even just a blink? What could that crybaby brat possibly have done to deserve such an amazing thing!?

No matter what kind of thoughts suffocate his mind, Miguel always tried to keep himself composed in front of you. With his tall, muscular physique, it makes sense why you are so intimidated by his appearance. If he were to ever let this satiating envy bleed through the bandaids, however, you'd certainly never open your heart to him. The prospect alone makes his chest tighten with dread.

And he had been so negligent towards his daughter, it only makes sense why she would turn to you. With how breathtaking, elegant, brilliant, electrifying you are, Miguel can understand why she loves you so much. Still, this does not refrain him from tightening his jaw whenever his daughter does something as trivial as hug you. That should be me with Y/N. Let me hold them, let me hold them, let me hold them like that.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his envy through sharp gazes, a towering frame, and muffled shouts through the thin walls. It's his fault he never assured you these ugly emotions were never your fault, since you could never do any wrong in his eyes, after all. It's his fault he didn't drown you in even more heaps of affection, to further remind you of just how much he needs you.

It is his fault you are dead.

Overcome with drowsiness, Miguel heedlessly packs his daughters lunch for school that day. Despite how you are usually the one who does this task, since you have always adored looking after the little one, you needed your rest. And he was insistent on treating you with even more intensive care, all to prove that he is the right one for you. No one else. Meanwhile, Gabriella sits at the kitchen table with her backpack on, swinging her short legs back and forth. She is bright with full energy that contradicts her father's state in a comical manner.

"Y/N/N always cuts my food into cool shapes! Yesterday, they made my sandwich star-shaped!" Gabriella exclaims to her father with admiration.

The mere mention of your name from someone else makes Miguel freeze. A sudden surge of anger wraps around his lungs like a sheen layer of morning dew resting on Spring grass. You treat her with such attentive care, why can't he get any of that? What is so special about her that he doesn't have? What does he need to change about himself in order to get you to love him the way you so fatuously love her? Miguel casts his gaze across the counter and finds several bottles of cleaning products you must have forgotten to put away. So endearing, so adorable. An idea then sparks. While Gabriella continues to babble about how cool and amazing you are, Miguel finds himself considering something he will never be able to take back.

Just a dash of some drain cleaner in her sandwich and this problem will fade away.

"Y/N/N!" The sound of your nickname shouts through the air upon your arrival. Gabriella is more than elated to greet you, but your eyes remain locked on Miguel. In other circumstances, he'd be thanking the heavens above for this bit of attention you have given him. At this moment, however, there is a disturbed gleam of horror in your expression that makes his stomach twist with apprehension.

The energy is not directed towards Gabriella, as you caress her cheek and gift her that smile of yours that rivals sunlight. Miguel inadvertently rolls his eyes at the sight, envious as ever. As she continues to ramble to you about her success at a recent soccer game, you retrieve all the cleaning products and return them to their respective place underneath the sink. Not without shooting a burning glare at Miguel, however. Had he made his intentions that obvious? You wave him aside from his stance at the pink, glittery lunchbox and he obeys. Pretending to finish up his original efforts, you examine every snack inside for anything this crazed man may have tampered with.

"Good morning, button..." The nervous tremble in Miguel's voice doesn't tarnish the sheer adoration that seeps from his tone.

Your short response of "'morning" could barely be heard over the thunderous sound of his heart shattering. Yet again, you have broken his heart. And still, he will crawl back to you every time, aching for any inkling of your regard. Soon, you're saying your goodbyes to Gabriella and wishing her a wonderful day at school. Planting a quick peck to her cheek, Miguel's talons grow and dig crevices into the steering wheel while he waits for his daughter to join him in the vehicle. Oh, if only you could give him the same act of affection, he would never ask the universe for anything ever again.

And if only he had known how the rest of the morning would play out, he never would have left the house.

When Miguel finally pulls out of the driveway, giving you a quick wave that is not reciprocated, you let your guard down. You almost watched this man murder his daughter. Tears begin to form in your eyes as the revelation simmers like boiling water. With more time here, who knows what lengths he'll travel to?

Fortunately for you, with how occupied he was with his daughter and his own inner turmoil, he had entirely forgotten to lock the door to his office. The one place neither you nor his daughter were allowed to venture into. You were unaware of what is within the room or how anything inside could aid you in your attempts to escape. What you were aware of, however, is how paranoid he was in his efforts to keep you out of there. Peeling back the curtain and taking a fearful glance out the window, just to ensure this psychopath who claimed to be your soulmate wasn't lurking, you embark on your journey into uncharted territory.

Miguel had mentioned several times in his late-night talks with you about his job at Alchemax. His boring explanations about the technology he was working on there did wonders in lulling you to sleep. Now, seeing the scatterings of machinery that littered the room made you gasp from their futuristic appearance. One contraption had caught your attention, however. It seemed to be a current project, evident in the numerous tools and papers inked with equations littered around. Upon stepping closer to the contraption, a holographic screen sputters to life. You find several distorted, glitching files that all attain to you in some shape or form. Y/N's wish list, Y/N's checking account, and Y/N's security camera footage. Curiosity does spark, but with how swiftly Miguel is able to drop his daughter off and speed home to return to you, the time you had was not versatile.

If I can piece together how this gadget works, I may be able to call for help and get Gabriella and I as far away from this man as possible, you think to yourself.

The machine continues to stammer pathetically as if it were desperately chasing its own life. Trying to peruse through the technology to find anything useful, its poor performance prevented you from any fruition. In a fit of frustration, you pull your hand back and deliver a harsh smack! to the side of the machine. With how little time you have, you can feel your opportunity for freedom begin to fade away with every glitch that erupts. With one final, violent slam to the machinery, the metal borders protecting the numerous open wires inside fall, and a sudden wave of electricity surges through you. Your entire body goes rigid before you splat harshly against the ground. You are now left entirely lifeless, except for the electric shocks that cause your stiff form to twitch in response.

With that, your life was over. October 17th, 2099 — the day Miguel O'Hara inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

August 24th, 1934. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had stayed with you more and neglected the city, maybe if he hadn't been so careless with expressing his love for you. Maybe if he had tried harder, Peter Parker would still have you here at his side.

Peter, too, attempted vigorously to make your transition to this new life with him as smooth as possible. At the very beginning of this new adjustment, hope had still plagued your mind. As days turned into weeks, soon months, the forest fire that was your persistence had slowly been snuffed out like an old candle. Now, all you can do is sit at the window seat of his apartment and just pray that someone will recognize your face. From the numerous missing persons' posters that were now left behind in dumpsters and rain puddles, you could feel your luck grow thin. Everyday looked like this, all with this lovesick maniac at your beck-and-call, deluded enough to believe this fantasy of being your doting partner to be reality. The amount of egg-creams you've drank is bound to make you vomit at some point.

At the end of the day, you had gotten what you had wished for. You were once a journalist, putting all your time into unmasking the famous Spiderman. The truth of his identity was now in the palm of your hands. However, there were far more consequences to this wish than you had originally anticipated. And Peter is overcome with guilt when he thinks back to how disastrous his efforts to give you his heart turned out.

It's his fault he had so carelessly exposed his acts of heroism through the stench of gunpowder and chunks of blood beneath his fingernails. It's his fault he didn't spend more time showering you in the affection you truly deserved. It's his fault he never assured you the inevitable fate of the bastards that hurt you was never your fault, just so you can realize that everything he does, no matter how calamitous, was all for your benefit.

It is his fault you are dead.

Slow dancing with you in the gentle haze of the moonlight peaking through the window, swaying along to some romantic melody echoing from the saloon across the street, amorous words that you'd hear from the lips of a poet whispered into your ear — this is where heaven is. This is all that he has ever dreamed of; this is all he has ever wanted for the two of you. This is what makes him happy.

"My heart is bleeding in your hands, dollface. It's all yours, I'm all yours." Peter's breath tickles your neck, the infatuation-stained harangue finally coming to an end as he continues to sway you along to the harmonies outside.

You often joke to yourself that you could stab Peter in the heart, give him even just a sliver of the turmoil he has forced into your life, and he would still give you a smile with blood painting his teeth and that revolting gleam of pure, unadulterated devotion in his eyes. With this devotion, however, comes dark, dark side effects. This was not a surprise to you, considering how you've been locked up like a bad dog for these past several months. Still, when you inhale and the sharp odor of iron poorly masked with bleach overwhelms your senses, you find yourself taken aback.

The clamoring sound of the bolts to your prison cell your captor claims to be your love den being unlocked brings you out of your thoughts. When the door opens and Peter walks in, all you see is a euphoric, hopelessly-besotted partner. With the sudden stench that is still heavy in the air, however, you feel a new, sudden sense of dread with his presence. He is elated to see you, as he always is. An impassioned kiss to your lips and an ardent compliment are essential to your everyday encounter with the man you thought once to be a superhero. Sometimes, a gift of fresh, blood-red roses may accompany him in his attempts to woo you further, as well.

Through the whiff of cigarettes sitting on his trench coat when he envelops you in a much-needed embrace after his long day of work, you sense something else. The tang you had inhaled from outside the bedroom is now stuck to his form, nestled beneath the aroma of late-night brume and smoke. You force a gag down your throat and reciprocate the affection, trying to push your suspicions to the back burner in your mind. The rest of the evening is like any other: listening to some tunes from the radio as the two of you play a card game, all that Peter deems as a "romantic date". Your winning strike against him (he always lets you win, but he won't tell you this) falters when your brain can't help but wonder what he was so occupied with outside that door.

As devastating and exhausting as the truth is, coming to terms with reality is the only chance you have of returning to the life you once had. Hoping he'll wake from his delusions and let you off your leash is nothing more than a pipe dream, you realize. If you want freedom, you'll have to take it by the neck and claim it as yours. So, as the hours of the night fade into dawn, you conjure a plan in your head while the man beside you snores in a deep slumber (not without a few sleepy mumbles of flattery for you, though).

The scheme you had so flawlessly crafted was quick, simple, and easy. You would do something you have never done before: initiate affection with Peter.

This was your ploy: fulfill all the fantasies his lovesick brain was infested with and watch with a newfound sense of hope as he forgets to lock the door, too dazed from the pleasure your sweet attitude had brought him. And it worked marvelously. Not only did this man forget to lock the bedroom door, he had entirely forgotten to lock the front door of the apartment altogether. The prospect of this mistake being a test of your loyalty lingers, but when you watch through the window as he swings away from building to building, you let out a roar of laughter.

After your fit of hysterics, a smile sits on your face as you tread to the front door. Something stops you in your tracks when your hand hovers over the doorknob. When you leave, you will have nothing but months of memories to defend yourself with. Who are the authorities going to believe — you, a mischievous journalist, prone to bending the rules for a good headline, or Peter, the famous superhero, notorious for his restless efforts to save the city? Despite the freedom you have dreamed of being right in your palms, you step away from the door. Instead, you look around for any evidence deemed beneficial. Whatever can put him under the negative limelight is satisfactory to you.

No stone was left unturned in the apartment, all besides a single door at the end of a long corridor. The night before, Peter had been so frantic with his time inside (all in order to get back to you sooner) that he was sloppy with his efforts in cleaning his mess. The spilled bleach he had accidentally knocked over was still lying in a puddle; the nauseating scent of fresh blood still satiated through the air like a fragrance. And lastly, the latch on the door had been left unlocked.

Without so much as a second thought, you enter the room and let your curious eyes soak in the sheer horror that resides within.

A metal chair rests in the middle of the room, leather straps tightened around a body that sits motionless. Two tables are located on the sides of the room where all sorts of gut-wrenching tools reside. And there is blood everywhere. What was once a second bedroom for buyers of the apartment has now been morphed into a torture chamber of sorts.

The person restrained in the chair, you weren't sure if they were even alive. Everything is drowned in so much heaps of red, attempting to use your mere first-aid knowledge is impossible. What is most perceptible, however, is the way their eye had been forcefully torn from its socket. It resembles a runny egg how it causes bodily fluids to cascade down their face. The amount of flesh on their body that had been torn asunder, the gag in their mouth that was oozing with tears and saliva, the gushing blood that continues to hastily seep from infected wounds. Everything makes your eyes blur and your stomach churn with nauseau.

With the career you once had as a journalist, you've seen some disgusting sights. Sneaking onto crime scenes from a brawly saloon fight gone too far or snapping pictures of the result of Spiderman's "heroic" acts to save citizens, you've become desensitized to gory scenes. But, this. This wasn't like anything you have ever seen.

"Y/N?" You hadn't realized how deafening the silence was until the poor victim is able to speak out.

With one eye practically staring daggers into you, the revelation hits you like a train. That voice, that eye. This is no other than the man you had called your boyfriend before this mess had snuck into your life. Or, ex-boyfriend, as you'd prefer to refer to him as. The status of your relationship was left a mystery after the night he had come to your home drunk and reeking of someone's perfume. Your insistent demands for him to sober up and inform you of his recent whereabouts earned you a harsh slap across the face. With a loud shout of how much of a “shitty partner” and "piece of cityside trash" you are, the person you thought to be the love of your life storms out of your home. Never to be seen again.

Hastily, you unclasp the restraints that left his skin numb and bruised. With how malnourished he had become from his time spent here, it was fairly easy to support his weight. You swing his battered arm around your shoulder and help him stand on his emaciated legs. After only two steps, he pushes you off of him harshly with what little strength his body was able to garner. His attempts served well, as you feel your stomach hit a table adorned with blood-stained utensils that make you sick to imagine how they were used.

"You... How could you...?" As his weak voice fills the air, you feel your stomach fold into itself. Does he think you did this?

Opening your mouth to begin stammering your way through what you intended to be a thorough explanation, a loud bang! then pervades the air. Without a second to process his actions, the man grasped the pistol left on the table and pulled the trigger. A stream of smoke now stems from the barrel. The betrayal, the aversion, and the debility in his expression tell you everything you need to know. You were so close to the finish line that would grant you freedom, but when you shift your gaze down, you're devastated to find a bullet hole protruding through your chest. You then slump to the ground and your killer falls not long after you, the act of merely standing too much for his abused body.

With that, your life was over. August 24th, 1934 — the day Peter Parker inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

July 3rd, 2020. It was all his fault. Maybe if he had been more attentive to your safety, maybe if he hadn't exposed how soul-crushing the love he has for you is. Maybe if he had tried harder, Hobie Brown would still have you here at his side.

As opposed to the others, Hobie did little to ease you into this new life with him. The transition was curt, violent. With you as a bartender, drunken customers are most certainly not a rare sight. However, when you rejected a man who had one too many drinks and he reacted with violence, it caught you off-guard. And Hobie, the lead singer of the band that consistently played at your bar, had become blind with rage. Through the mess of the blood on your head when the beer bottle shattered against you and the apple-red matter staining Hobie's guitar as he smashes it relentlessly into the man's skull, these events somehow landed you where you are now.

An abandoned building on the outskirts of town, that's where you had woken up. The debris around the room was masked with string lights and band posters adorning the walls, as well as a rickety bed frame scarcely supporting a lone mattress. With bleary vision and an even fuzzier head, you gain consciousness abruptly. You find yourself on the bed with thick, itchy blankets draped around you, clothes that certainly do not belong to you on your body, and spiky belts used to restrain your limbs. Barbed wires and decaying planks of wood board the windows; the lack of passing cars and loud pedestrians outside cause you to worry about how far you are from the lively city you called home.

A lanky figure makes their presence known, dressed in those all-too-familiar garbs. Spider-Punk, the man you'd always see performing at your penurious bar, despite how widespread their band was. Much to your shock, his large hand finds the trim of his mask before tearing the garment off. Beneath is a gorgeous face embellished with piercings and a wild head full of hair. Large, wet eyes overwhelm you. And there is only one discernible trait you could read clearly through his expression: desire.

The way your plump body pools from the hems of the small clothing he dressed you in from his closet, fuck. Hobie has thought of this moment plenty of times — finally being able to take you away, just the two of you. He swore up and down he'd keep his fervid cravings at bay. But, when you're truly here in front of him, looking like that. He has to dig his long nails into his palms to physically restrain himself from lunging for you like a feral animal in heat. God, you look too fucking good.

From here on out, the relationship you have with Hobie sprouted into something only you would call treacherous, something only he would call rapturous. Being trapped within the small expanse of this grimy room, your new life has shown how perceptibly different your reactions are from one another. You are entirely dumbfounded at these new circumstances you've been forcefully thrust into. Meanwhile, Hobie attempts to put space between you both to avoid giving into his irresistible hunger. Though, it doesn't take a genius to notice how his hands always find their way to your naked skin and how his eyes linger on the intimate parts of your body. And it most certainly doesn't take a genius to notice the sheer terror and confusion stuck to your expression.

The discomfort the residence brings does little to ease you, as well. How your body is restricted against the firm mattress has your limbs aching with cramps. Your neck throbs from no support, considering the lack of pillows. But, Hobie always remarked that his chest is more comfortable to lay on, anyway. His clothing reeks of alcohol from the numerous bars and parties he’s attended, but also from the expensive perfumes, lotions, as well as the skin and hair products he received from his time being a runway model. The scent now clinging to your skin fails to bring you any of the tranquility he wished you would feel. Meals shared between you two were often dowsed in grease and cheap in flavor. Your captor never put much effort into making your dinnertime together anything reminiscent of a romantic date in Italy or something along those themes. He would much rather eat something else for dinner, after all.

This is what life looked like for the next several months. Records spinning and filling the air with headache-inducing songs he says he had written about you; Polaroid pictures scattered around the room that display different variations of the same scene: you sitting pretty with Hobie's hands and lips all over you. Never, never, has this man ever felt so much bliss in his entire life. He has always preached about how the idea of "love" is nothing more than propaganda meant to earn greedy, capitalistic companies more money with their cheesy movies and Valentine's Day garbage. When you entered his life in all your glory, however, he was ashamed to put his pride aside and admit those irritating pop songs may have been correct.

"I don’t need nothin’ else. 'Long as I have you here, birdie." He fidgets with the necklace he had given you that was currently draped upon your neck. His lucky guitar chip is swung upon the chain, since it always belonged to you, anyway. You will always be his muse.

With how carelessly he let himself be swathed in the warm blankets of love, how carelessly Hobie had let you slip from his fingertips.

It's his fault he had so frivolously expressed his protective nature through blood-stained bar floors and constricting arms encompassing your body. It's his fault he never assured you these conflicts weren’t your fault, it was only the monsters outside who wished to separate true love. It's his fault he had disciplined himself so heavily for his big heart, fearful of losing self-control with the love of his life.

It is his fault you are dead.

You regret not tallying the days you've spent locked up in this birdcage. Carving lines into the deteriorating walls to represent the slashes this new life has left in your sanity. It feels as if lifetimes have tread by you, the same day repeating itself like your own personal nightmare. Mere months have gone by and unbeknownst to you, the sweet escape you so despairingly crave is sitting upon the horizon. The circumstances of your freedom were the absolute last thing you had wished for, however.

Hobie’s history of being a heartthrob and heartbreaker were no secret to you, but his newfound loyalty to the innocent person he had taken from their previous life was even more evident. All the possessive, delusional fans that were convinced they'd marry their favorite singer, it was just so easy for Hobie to indulge in some casual fun before leaving them behind in his dust. As the story of all Spider-People goes, however, Y/N L/N is the tool that throws this man into a whirlpool of enamoring disarray. Embracing this newfound happiness was exhilarating for him, but Hobie was so dazed from it, he never had thought that karma would slither itself between you two.

A certain groupie, wholly convinced she and Spider-Punk are soulmates, was devastated to see how carelessly the love of her life abandoned her. Her mind had sprinted to all sorts of gut-wrenching conclusions. Am I not enough? Is he moving on? Is there someone else? Her worst nightmare materializes into reality when she stalks behind his tall figure and follows him to a building one late night, an odd pep in his step as he enters. What she assumes is just another exclusive club location with more taboo forms of partying, she is left stunned when she catches sight of what sights lie within.

The man of her dreams is found in the depths of infidelity. Through the crack of a rickety door coated with locks, there he was. Chest pressed against the back of someone else, who was sound asleep beneath an array of blankets like a baby in a crib. With his arms locked around them like a lifeline, Spider-Punk presses long, intimate kisses to their face. The words she had begged to hear from him, he was so frivolously drowning this stranger in such, despite their unconscious state. Every syllable was dripping with lust and smitten-induced hysteria. Tears brim in her eyes from how desperately she covets to be you in this moment.

With a shattered heart and a festering rage, she comes to the conclusion of what she must do. She will take him back, no matter what it takes.

Rarely did Hobie ever leave the expanse of your room, he wanted to stay with you forever. When he did, however, it was for some quick cash at yet another gig he and his bandmates had landed. Singing his lungs out, knowing every lyric revolves around the one waiting for him back home — you have brought him ecstasy he still cannot fathom the sheer weight of. A Friday night like no other, Hobie would spend the evening beneath the blinding spotlights, drinking the hours away, before returning home and cuddling with the only reason he chooses to live.

Through the barricaded windows and doors, a sudden stench of what appears to be smoke invades your senses. A big city like this, something along these lines is nothing out of the ordinary. After all, you were so thrilled to finally be granted a night to yourself, anything that would jeopardize this gift from the universe is seen as insignificant. When the heavy smell becomes more perceptible and the unmistakable sound of fire cracking gets louder, you feel dread tickle down your spine. The fear settles into your bones before you can think of a logical way to escape. Hobie did everything to ensure you wouldn’t leave his side, after all.

Air soon becomes precious, your lungs begin to squeeze, your skin is burning with scorching pain. It brings you the hell you had carelessly thought you felt before. A final cry of help into the suffocating air and you feel your life begin to fade. Meanwhile, the lost groupie stands near the entrance, holding back a satisfied smile. An onslaught of concerned pedestrians and firefighters accompany her. And Hobie was still far away, alcohol heavy in his system and the joy of returning to you seeping through his body like a drug. So blissfully unaware of what awaits him when he comes back to the place he had called home only with you.

With that, your life was over. July 3rd, 2020 — the day Hobie Brown inevitably lost the only thing that ever mattered to him.

The effects your departure has left on these men are all nothing short of disastrous. No longer do they have the vibrant, loving souls they once held. Day by day, they are dragging the dead carcass that is their own body, suffering through every second and hoping it will be their last. The paths your death have led these three are unique from one another, but they all find themselves in one specific space. Spider-HQ, within Nueva York on Earth-928. The story the multiverse has written for them had so selfishly taken their happiness away from them. Taking the pen for themselves and creating the most beautiful fairytale where you are alive and back in their embrace is the only purpose they now have.

Now, Miguel O'Hara stands at the office he earned from becoming the leader of this society. Upon the various monitors displayed around him are scenes taken from numerous different universes. Lethargy sits like bags of bricks beneath his eyes, slowly blinking as he ensures no minor mistake is present. If the multiverse were to crumble, his sole objection to save the only important person in Spiderman's life will fall with it. When he verifies all is well on Earth-1610, something perceptible then catches his gaze and he does a double-take. Any sign of fatigue within him is snatched out of his body, leaving him more awake than ever before.

Within this universe, Miguel finds you.

Before, these universes have only displayed the effects your death has left on all the spider-people. Today, however, is the first time he has seen you alive since the day he lost you. Lyla snickers and accuses him of having a cute, teenage-like crush when she takes notice of the sheer captivation in his expression. Little does she know how much history lies in your mere face. It is heart-crushing, how much the simple sight of you enjoying a cup of coffee (with one too many sugars, as he knows you've always preferred) has such catastrophic effects on him.

Piles of schoolwork are scattered around your desk, covered in information adhering to your current college major. Even with your lack of sleep, school-induced annoyance, and general exhaustion over everything in your life, Miguel has never seen something quite as breathtaking as you in this moment. An epiphany sprouts in his brain as quickly as the sight of you caused his soul to blossom, just like it did all those years ago.

Maybe he can stop it. Maybe he can get you back.

Your death is inevitable, and even though Miguel was aware of this, dread still pervades his stomach at the prospect and churns with his breakfast. What really makes him shudder is when he reads through the cannon events assigned to you. A flare of jealousy ignites within him when he finds an unfamiliar name in the midst of your story.

Miles Morales, the Spiderman you are meant to fall in love with. What good is he? He's just some stupid kid, what more could he possibly do that Miguel can't? Why would you choose this loser when he can give you everything you have ever wanted!? In a sudden fit of rage, he grasps hold of whatever matter was closest to him and uses all the strength within his muscular arms to hurl it across the room. His chest heaves with infuriated huffs; his claws slice into the meat of his palms. He is enraged, yes, but he is mostly devastated that the beautiful face on his screen will soon meet their inescapable demise.

Not only will he do everything in his power to stop your death, but Miguel also vows to put his blood, sweat, and tears into ensuring you do not fall for this boy. Additionally, he will formulate a plan to bring you back into his arms without destroying the multiverse as a whole. With that being said, this does not change how reality on Earth-1610 continues to play out in front of him. It’s like a television show; a show he'd give a 1-star rating out of sheer pettiness.

In his last year of high school, Miles Morales' life was thrown into a tornado when his parents enrolled him in a new school to finish his last semester. And the 18-year-old boy absolutely dreaded this. New people, new location, new clothes that poke and jut at his skin uncomfortably. With the hefty responsibility of being Brooklyn's sole hero and hiding this truth from his loved ones, this sudden alteration in his environment does not relieve any stress. Swiftly, Miles conjures a plan to convince his parents to send him back to the way his life once was. Slack off, play dumb, and bring home report cards that are absolutely atrocious and his parents will have no choice but to give their son what he wants.

However, this is not what happened. Much to Miles' dismay, the grand idea his parents had was to not let him continue his education comfortably. Instead, they hired a tutor to aid him through his final months of high school.

Rio and Jeff had invited this tutor for dinner at their home, which Miles had flaked on entirely. Mostly due to his duty as Spiderman, but partially from how sour he was about the state of affairs. When he returned home, their anger was practically palpable. However, this disappointment soon shifted into a long, insufferable tangent about how marvelously smart, mannerly, and kind this tutor was and how embarrassed they were because of him. That Saturday, he was expected to join this tutor in the school's library or his parents may consider grounding him once again. Miles has to refrain from rolling his eyes at their never-ending lecture.

March 11th, 2023. It will be all his fault. This day is the day Miles Morales will inevitably meet the only thing that will ever matter to him.

To earn some extra support through your time in college, you had decided to take up tutoring in your free time. The myriad of students you had met all possessed the same attitude — the kind of attitude you'd expect from teenagers whose parents forced them to do schoolwork in their free time. Miles fit this category well, at first. And how your situation developed, it was oddly refreshing to finally meet someone who isn't repudiating every second with you.

15 minutes late, open backpack spilling with paper, tie loose around his neck, the student most certainly made his presence known when he stumbled into the silent library. Attempting to fix his untied shoelaces, you rush over to help him and save him from any further embarrassment he was already enduring. You are able to catch the folder that had tumbled out of his bag before it hit the ground, to where he mumbles a quick "thanks" in response. His gaze is still locked to the strings of his shoes he was attempting to tie together as swiftly as possible. Nearly tripping, Miles makes it to the table you had once organized thoroughly, but was now cluttered with everything this boy had thrown onto the surface.

Oblivious to you, the boy whose parents described as having a "heart of gold," was doing everything in his power to appear as rude and ill-mannered as possible. Deliberately arriving late, making a fool of the two of you, messing up the neat array of lesson plans and pencils you arranged. Anything to convince his parents to send him away from the nightmare that is this school. This plan of his was seized from his mind like a rug pulled out beneath his feet when he finally turns his shoulder and shifts his attention to you. What Miles expected would be the slowest, drawn-out hour he's ever experienced would actually be the most exciting, life-beaming 60 minutes he’s ever experienced.

Your voice sounds like honey as you introduce yourself to him. And that heart-stuttering smile of yours works wonders on him. Miles had already known your name, but hearing it from your mouth made him think he was listening to a symphony of angels. Since the last few stages of high school are stressful for everyone, you decided to cut him some slack and offer a kind hand for him to shake. All thoughts of his old school and the comfort it brought are all eradicated as he stares into your soul with those wide, bambi-brown eyes. After months in this new environment, you must be a gift the universe sent to compensate for all the misery he has endured. And fervently, Miles accepts you as the best gift he has ever received.

"I'm Spiderman." His mouth moves before his brain can compute. Your brows furrow in response, scrutinizing the confession for some sort of punchline.

“I mean- shit, uh… I mean, I’m Miles... You-You know, like- kilometers, yards, feet. Except, it's Miles this time... Y-... Y'know?"

His relentless stammering to try and prove himself worthy of your time while also acknowledging he accidentally told you his deepest secret earns him a quick giggle. And the sound bouncing from your lips is nothing short of paradisiacal, especially when he is the cause. A sudden wave of silence then rests between you both. You, laughing nervously to lighten the awkward tension. Miles, entirely flabbergasted at how he could have ever wanted to miss out on something as profoundly magnificent as this. His mind runs rampant while his wide eyes remain locked on your averting ones. Do it, do it, do it. Just do it already, Miles!

He pulls his hands up, your eyebrows furrowing once more trying to consider his intentions. He then lands his touch upon your shoulder.

"Hey..." Miles' voice drops several octaves, a fiddly excuse of a smirk forms on his lips, and he squints his twitching eyes that still hold the same crazed wonder they've had since they first landed on you.

"Hi...?" Your response expresses nothing but sheer confusion, not your face burning from the attention like Miles had initially strived for.

Wrapping your hand around his, your mere physical touch sends flares of electricity down his skin. Goosebumps bloom across his arms and his entire body halts in place, tense with shock and nerves. In an attempt to forcefully remove his hold on you, you're startled to find how he is now stuck to your hand. As if he had lathered his hand in heaps of glue before touching you, the efforts you took to get this boy off of you only resulted in your skin painfully stretching.

So enveloped in the way his heart lurches from holding your hand, a sudden, hushed whimper of "you're hurting me!" and Miles feels a gasp involuntarily escape his throat. Attempting to pull away from you, as much as he wishes not to, only intensifies your pain. What had Peter told him to do when this happened? Oh yeah, just relax! But, how on Earth can he possibly relax when your hand is in his!?

People are staring, exclaiming in annoyed distress over their interrupted study time. You're trying to piece together how Miles had managed to cement his hand to yours and why he refuses to let go of you. Meanwhile, Miles is apologizing profusely for inadvertently harming you, while also soaking in how rhapsodic it is to have your hand in his. He knows he has fully fallen into oblivion when the prospect of letting go of you hurts him more than the relentless pull and twist of his flesh.

So much for first impressions, right?

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MANY LIVES THAT COULD HAVE

BEEN ENTANGLED FOR ETERNITY . . . ❞

gif credits :: miguel, miles, peter, & hobie.

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happysnowseal · 5 months ago

Text

Deals and Desires (final)

Sylus x OC | Midnight Stealth!AU

genre: smut, lil’ comedy, enemies to enemies who fuck

rating: explicit

description: You fail to find the brooch within 24 hours, so the twins suggest you offer Sylus something else in return for getting into the auction—your body. Turns out, your desires are aligned, no matter how twisted they seem.

word count: 8.8k

warnings: IMPROPER use of Evol, tentacle smut, “rope” bondage, lore from Midnight Stealth and the two chapters we meet Sylus (duh), Luke and Kieran being instigators, mentions of hentai, OC’s turned on by Sylus and his Evol and is conflicted, rough sex, breast play, fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), double penetration, unprotected sex (this is fiction), standing 69, mirror sex, sneaky sex, electrostimulation, cum eating, multiple rounds.

a/n: IT IS DONE. IT IS HERE! I made a post saying imagine Sylus manipulating his Evol into tentacles to fuck OC with… and voila! This was born. I incorporated a lot of the game dialogue/events but also put my own spin on it. Asks, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated! 💌

You must be sick in the head.

Ever since you witnessed those black-red tendrils dissipate the man in black who abducted you into nothing but mere crimson specks, something strange awoke in you. Witnessing such a cruel death shouldn’t pique your curiosity, but beneath your horrified expression was a deep fascination for the leader of Onychinus’ powers. Not that you’d ever tell him.

A simple flick of the wrist or snap of the fingers is all it takes to summon those menacing black-red tendrils. The powerful mist would coil your vulnerable body, manipulate it, bind it—all for his intentions of resonating with you.

However, as the shopkeeper had stated, you can’t resonate with him. On a subconscious level, you’re rejecting him, scared of him, or disgusted by him. So you wonder: is it possible to fear him yet desire him also?

When Sylus proposed a deal that would aid you in your quest for the Aether Core, you couldn’t resist. You had twenty-four hours to find a brooch he had hidden somewhere in Onychinus’ base. Yet despite searching every nook and cranny, you came up short of nothing.

The first time Sylus caught you, he was reading a book on the couch. His calm demeanor didn’t match his appearance, which screamed sin. The gold-rimmed glasses on his face matched a gentlemanly scholar's, but his body was adorned in a lavish red robe, with a V-line low enough to expose his toned pecs. Seriously, who was he showing off for?

“Get out.”

Once you were caught snooping, the same black-red mist formed make-shift handcuffs that bound your wrists. You groaned, dwelling on your loss.

The second time he caught you was when he was dusting his shelves, his back toward you. He was no longer in his robe, having changed into a black dress shirt and matching slacks. Without sparing you a glance, one word left his lips.

“Leave.”

The black-red tendrils were back around your wrists and you whined. “Ugh… I was caught again…”

Third time’s the charm, right? You had your gun loaded and after cocking it, you said to yourself, “This time for sure, I’ll…”

A pair of black slippers showed up in your peripheral and you slowly looked up to see the same, steeled expression in those crimson eyes and that cursed red robe again. It was like a second skin on him at this point. He let out a weighted sigh, which diminished your confidence.

“... I know. I’ll go now,” you said, defeated. He didn’t use his Evol this time, and you’re at war with yourself as to why you even noticed. Or why it mattered so much.

The last time Sylus caught you was the worst. He was in the shower, so you seized the chance to search his bedroom. Desperate, you even sunk to the low level of animal abuse when you shook Mephisto, his crow with mechanical wings, like a piggy bank for answers.

That’s when Sylus turned off the water and panic struck you, so you hid. There was a small window of opportunity to escape, but a phone call came in, deterring your plans. He answered, you eavesdropped, and when things were getting juicy, he noticed your presence and chuckled.

“Mr. Sylus?” the man on the call said.

“It’s nothing. Just a stray cat who happened to barge in.”

This time Sylus not only apprehended you by the wrists, he lifted you in the air as black-red mist swirled around his left hand. The call ends as he sets you down on the bed, and you wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole. Not because you failed, but because you didn’t want to face the humiliation of how his Evol brought back a certain spark you thought fizzled out.

Sylus’ back was turned, selecting a record before placing it on his record player.

“Have I underestimated your determination or overestimated your intellect?” he asked. You stared at your bound wrists, trying to ignore the shiver that ran down your spine.

“You’re the one who suggested a deal. But here you are making things difficult—” you said, fiddling with your thumbs. He approached you, a stern look flashing across his sharp features.

“You’ll have to work harder.”

He grabbed one of your wrists, and red sirens went off in your head. Your mind raced a mile a minute, wondering what his intentions were as he dragged you off the bed. You commanded him to let go, and he obliged, but only after he shoved you out of his room.

“Leave,” he said, his head gesturing to your right, “I’m going to bed.”

At least he kicked Mephisto out too, so you didn’t have to face the loss alone.

Which brings you to the present. You’re scribbling doodles of the bastard as an outlet for your anger, making the stylish choice of adding devil horns on top of his head.

It’s bad enough you’ve been trapped in Onychinus’s base for who knows how long. The man who’s held you captive should be your worst enemy, yet every encounter ignites an inferno in the pit of your stomach. Try as you may, but the dark thoughts you shove in the back of your mind are bubbling to the surface. If anything could anchor you back to reality, it’d be this—remember the mission.

You were to get into the auction to find the Aether core, which you can’t do without his help. But you couldn’t find that stupid brooch, so you’re back to square one. You scrawl over the sketch of Sylus, the pressure harsh enough that the paper threatens to tear until only a tornado of black ink is left.

“You’re pulling your hair out over this, huh?” Kieran says, sitting atop a table with his back towards you. He looks over his shoulder, so his voice will reach better. “If you want to do something, maybe we can help you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, casting the notebook aside.

“If you want to conquer our boss’s heart, you’ll have to use a different approach,” Luke says, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m not trying to conquer his heart. He’s trying to conquer mine if anything,” you retort, folding your arms across your chest as you stand. Luke pulls a book from underneath the table and slides it across in your direction. You walk over, pick it up, and drop it just as quickly like it was a ticking time bomb. “What the fuck?!”

“Strike when he’s off-guard!” the twins chorus with Kieran leaning forward as Luke makes claws with his hands.

“Yeah, I suppose anyone who receives a hentai novel would be caught off-guard! What’s wrong with you two?!” You have to tear yourself away from looking at the erotic cover, depicting an anime girl being fucked by black tentacles belonging to what seems to be a demonic being. He had it all: horns atop his head, ebony eyes, endless tendrils, and a smokin’ hot bod like Sy—wait. No. Don’t look at it anymore. Even sparing it another glance feels like corruption and sin.

Luke chuckles, taking the explicit material back and flipping it open to a specific page. “For some people, they get bored once they have everything. So only those who dare to challenge their authority can catch their interest,” he reads.

Kieran’s sharp memory allows him to quote the story without having it in his hands. "When you're dealing with such a person, you bow down and submit or take them out in one go."

“What are you on about?” you ask, exasperated they’re quoting the pornography like it’s a holy scripture. Luke shuts the book and slides it towards you again, but you grimace like it’ll taint your soul.

“If you don’t want to conquer his heart, perhaps it’d be smarter if you conquer his… desires.”

“If you bow down and submit, maybe our Boss will have a change of heart and help you get into the auction. I mean, no one’s ever offered him their body,” Kieran adds. Your hands fall to your side, balling into fists until your knuckles turn white.

“I’d rather take him out in one go,” you say through gritted teeth. It’s not like you haven’t tried. However, the crazy bastard used you to shoot himself in the chest and you haven’t been the same since. Man thinks he has regenerative healing properties and he’s all that. Pfft. “You two are insane if you think being promiscuous is the solution.”

“In the end, Boss wants to resonate with you. You don’t have to like him, but your body can. Think about it,” Kieran insists, tilting his chin down slightly. The mask he wore shields his face, but you can imagine the impish grin from his inflection. “There’s nothing more intimate than spending a night together.”

“Read the comic,” Luke says, and you can tell from his tone he’s smirking despite the matching mask on his face. “Maybe you’ll find it enjoyable.”

“N-No. This is insanity. You’re telling me your Boss wants to fuck someone with his Evol as… tentacles?”

“Now you see why no one’s ever offered their body,” Kieran says matter-of-factly.

“This is stupid,” you mutter, clasping a hand to your forehead. “I’d rather die than fuck Sylus.”

“She might die even if she does fuck Sylus.” Kieran’s quick to elbow his brother in the side, and your heart is lodged in your throat, beating so loudly like it’s about to burst. He’s right. You could. You’ve seen what his Evol could do to a person.

But you’ve also thought about what it could do for a person. For you.

“Just… think about it,” Kieran says, his voice gentle like he’s coaxing a kitten out of its hiding spot. “If you give our Boss his ultimate desire, I’m sure he’ll do the same for you. You’ve never once thought about him in such a way? You’re not a tad bit curious?”

Luke and Kieran were treading dangerous waters. These two instigators somehow burrowed into your subconscious, forcing you to come face-to-face with your depravity.

You roll your eyes to maintain aloofness, but the book ends up in your possession seconds later. “I’m taking this for research. You’re sure this belongs to him?”

“Absolutely!” they chorus and you’re not sure hearing double aids their credibility.

“Boss is least guarded when he’s sleeping,” Kieran informs. Aren’t we all?

“You only have one shot,” Luke says, emphasizing his point by sticking up his forefinger. “Don’t waste this chance. Just do it!” He gives you a supportive fist pump and you peer down at the lewd book cover again.

What choice did you have? The twins presented a rather salacious solution, but Sylus was your only means of getting into the auction. As Luke said, if you can’t conquer his heart, perhaps you can conquer his desires.

No matter how twisted.

Three hours later…

Time slips away from you as you’re engrossed in your “research.” Not only was it full of filth, but the plot (if you can even call it that), was eerily similar to your situation. The girl on the cover was a demon hunter who fucks a demon to get him to do what she needs. Every drawing is breathtaking, detailed, and graphic. The way his tentacles bent her body to his will, the various positions, how it slithered around her body—it awoke the same feelings you had the night you met Sylus.

The dialogue instilled shame, lust, and more than enough sexual tension to charge a lightning storm. You had to pause every few pages, fanning your face until your cheeks cooled enough to continue. An earthquake couldn’t pry this masterpiece from your grasp and you were determined to finish it.

Once you’re done, you slam the book shut. You take a deep breath, regaining a sense of clarity when a realization dawns on you.

This was why Sylus’s Evol fascinated you. How every time he manipulated your body, a surge of adrenaline coursed through your body until your heart nearly gave out. You indeed feared him; everyone did. But fear was a mask you’ve clung onto so desperately to disguise the dark truth.

Sylus could’ve killed you at any time, but he chose not to. Sure, he has ulterior motives, but the control he has over his power is undeniably sexy, and knowing he can’t kill you meant you had control over him too.

You’ve hidden your desires under revulsion and endless banter when maybe he was right. You’re two kindred spirits, who are more alike than you want to admit. Someone created this book to satisfy the same urges you’ve been depriving yourself of and if Sylus indulged in these fantasies, then you’re not insane for wanting the same thing.

You’ve made up your mind.

If you offer your body to Sylus, it’s a win-win. You’ll get into the auction and you no longer have to feel ashamed about wanting him.

For the mission of course.

You head to Sylus’s bedroom, standing outside the wooden double doors. A pair of Evol-sealing handcuffs are in your possession, courtesy of the twins. You place them in your back pocket and rest your hands on the gold handles, giving yourself a mental pep-talk.

All or nothing!

You turn the handles and march in, seeing Sylus sleeping in his canopy bed with his back against the plush headboard instead of the mattress.

Is he a vampire? Eh. Red eyes, white hair, gorgeous—might as well be.

Climbing onto the bed gently, you watch his chest heave, his breathing evident but it’s so light that you’re tempted to press your ear against his chest to ensure he’s alive.

“Sylus… Sylus?” you say, confirming his dormant status. A soft chuckle escapes you as you whip out the handcuffs, lifting his wrist and attaching it to the golden vintage bed frame. “This is what you get.”

Now that he’s immobile, you can’t help your feasting eyes from ogling his exposed skin. That red robe was both a curse and a blessing, a warning of caution, yet you choose to ignore it. You hover your finger above his abdomen, contemplating whether to make contact when a hand snatches your wrist, lifting it to eye level.

“Showing up uninvited at this hour… Want me to tell you a bedtime story?” he says before tossing your wrist aside. You place both hands on either side of his head and his eyes slightly widen, but he remains composed. This would be a lot easier if you straddled him, but patience was a virtue.

“These handcuffs nullify a person’s Evol for an hour,” you declare. He stares at the restraints, his face devoid of emotion before settling his attention back on you. “No matter how powerful you are, you’re helpless as of now.”

“Really?” he asks, the corner of his lips hinting at a small smile. It’s subtle and leaves as soon as it comes. “What do you plan to do then since I’ve become your prey?”

You remove your hands and lean back to sit on your knees. “You’re going to listen to my counteroffer.”

To your surprise, he nods like he has nothing better to do. Maybe the cuffs weren’t necessary. “I’m intrigued. Continue.”

Clasping your hands together, you clear your throat like you had prepared a speech when in reality, your brain is scrambled. What are you supposed to say?

Hey Sylus, do you want to fuck and use your Evol on me like tentacles? It’ll help us resonate!

You might as well put a big fat sticker on your head that says “FREE $.99! FUCK NOW!” and get it over with.

“I’m getting bored,” he states, stirring you from disorganized thoughts. You press your lips into a thin line, mustering whatever courage you have left.

“Look… from the beginning, you trapped me here, forced me to resonate with you, and even said ‘we’re the same’...” You wet your lips out of habit to calm your nerves, and he doesn’t miss it. “I couldn’t find the brooch in time and need your help to get into the auction. And you want to be able to resonate with me. So…”

“Get to the point.”

“I’m offering you my body for the night,” you blurt out. He raises an eyebrow and his usually calm demeanor breaks for the first time as a flicker of confusion dances across his face. You would take pride in that, but his face quickly morphs, so you jump out of bed with your hands up, worried he’d deny you. “Hold on. Let me explain.”

Not like he had a choice. The fact he was handcuffed eludes you for a moment, but once you remember, it eases the tension in your shoulders. He waits for you to continue, the smug look on his face not helping to ease your nerves.

“I don’t like you and you don’t like me. But you want to resonate with me, so if we sleep together, maybe… I’ll hate you less. Besides, we have similar desires. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

His eyes glint a haunting crimson from the golden glow of his night lamp. “Do tell. How do I look at you?”

Your knees almost buckle from his deep, smooth voice. “Like… Like… you hate me.”

“Astonishing misunderstanding. Yet somehow you’ve concluded this means we should sleep together?”

You might as well die of embarrassment. “If it’s for the mission, I can detach my personal feelings. We do this and there’s a chance I’ll be able to resonate with you better. After all, what’s more intimate than spending the night together? It’ll work unless… you’re inadequate in bed.”

It’s brief, but you’re sure Sylus clenches his jaw as his lips press into a slight frown, his eyes narrowed on you with laser-like focus. You turn away from him, smacking your cheek like a spanking for being stupid enough to question Onychinus’ leader’s skills in bed.

“Are you done?”

You whip your head around. “Um… yes.”

An exasperated sigh escapes him. “You say you failed to locate the brooch, but your twenty-four hours aren’t up yet. There’s still time.”

You place one hand on your hip while the other waves him off, dismissing his words. “I’ve searched everywhere already!”

“Everywhere. But not everyone.”

The light bulb in your head goes off and you’re back by Sylus’ side on the bed, holding your palm out like an entitled brat.

“Where’s the brooch?”

His smile reaches his eyes and he gestures his free hand across the expanse of his body top to bottom. “Help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

You run your fingers along the black lapels on his robe, checking the inside layer first. The fabric is silky smooth to the touch, but you’re distracted by how hot his skin is on the back of your fingers. No brooch though.

Next, you check the outside of the lapels and sure enough, you feel a hard, circular object. Pulling it out, you see the crow brooch with a lustrous ruby in the center. You giggle with glee.

“Do you really think I hate you?” he questions.

“Now it doesn’t matter at all. I won!”

“Deals have conditions and my condition wasn’t met. The offer has expired already.”

“But you said…”

Shit. The handcuffs on Sylus start to glow red, similar to how blacksmiths heat materials in a furnace. The metal soon melts, allowing your once prey to become the predator.

Your attempts to escape are futile, given Sylus’ quick speed, and you’re thrown onto the bed. He hovers over you and your fight-or-flight instincts kick in as you throw a punch, but he catches your wrist and pins it down without batting an eye.

“You’re pretty good at running away.”

“Let me go. I already have the brooch.” He pins your other hand down, enveloping his large hand over your clenched fist.

“I told you. My offer has expired already, so the real question is… when does yours?”

Sylus is staring down at you with crazed, crimson eyes as the sound of your heartbeat rings in your ears. His hands are warm, too warm. Like they’ll burn you alive or maybe that’s your body heat rising exponentially from how close he was. His scent wafts over you, filling your nose with pleasant notes of cardamom and something herbal, which soothes your nerves and helps you rediscover your voice.

“I… I…”

“Use your words.”

“I only made you that counteroffer because I thought I failed. The brooch has been found. Who cares about the rules? You’re the leader of the N109 Zone. You break them all the time.”

“Careful, sweetheart. My patience is running thin. I’m only keeping you around because you’re still useful. And…” He squeezes your fist like he wants to pry it open. A warning. “I truly enjoy seeing my little prey struggle.” He brings your enclosed fist in front of his chest. “Especially when it thinks it can get away from me. Now tell me… what similar desires do we share?”

Okay. Maybe if you scream loud enough, Mephisto will fly in and—

“Answer me.”

Who were you kidding, Mephisto would sell you out in a heartbeat. That damn crow better not have seen you reading pornography. And those twins… they better start counting their days.

You pull your lower lip under your front teeth, hoping to seal your answer shut for good. But Sylus’ right eye glows red, and you writhe underneath him, turning your head to the side. His Aether Core will reveal your deepest desires if you make eye contact.

Sylus grabs your chin and forces you to look at him, probing into your subconscious and witnessing all your shameful thoughts. Eerie voices fill your mind, their murmurs are difficult to understand, but the pain they bring is borderline unbearable—an unfortunate side effect of Sylus’ intrusion. Once the glow in his eye fades, you feel like yourself again. But the twisted smile on his face let you know things were far from over.

“So that’s what you mean by shared desires… You want me to use my Evol on you. No… you want me to fuck you with it.”

“That’s not true! Luke and Kieran—”

He runs his thumb across your lips, an effective solution for your yapping mouth. “Such improper use of an Evol could have devastating consequences. You are too gullible, kitten.”

Damn it. Those two…!

“Don’t call me that,” you bite back.

“Oh? You have quite the mouth on you today. First, you make a big show of offering your body to me and now you don’t have the guts to tell me exactly how you want me to take you?” He leans closer, his lips ghosting above your own with the slightest touch. “Confess your true desires, [Y/N].”

“N-No. The twins set me up.”

“That book may not belong to me, but I assure you… my desires are all my own. And they align with yours. All you have to do is confess.”

He doesn’t move and prolongs eye contact to where you feel stifled, trapped, and heated in places you shouldn’t. The leader of the N109 Zone doesn’t play around and knows what he wants and the means to get it. But you like challenging him. You like being challenged by him too.

You stay quiet because giving in too easily is what he wants.

“That look in your eyes… Are you trying to seduce me?” You form what you believe is a scowl, but it results in another teasing smirk. “As long as you have desires, there will always be deals to make. So what will it be?”

“I want to get into the auction,” you say, uttering the same script to maintain a semblance of professionalism. “That’s all.”

He sees the brooch jutting out from the space between your forefinger and thumb, easily able to lift it from you. “Don’t move.”

To your surprise, he pins it on your shirt and sits on the edge of the bed. You sit up and lean on your elbows, tilting your head at his sudden behavior change.

“Technically, you did find the brooch. I won’t go back on what I promised you.”

“Wait, that’s it?”

“You sound rather disappointed.” He gets up, and you follow suit off the bed like a lost kitten. “If getting into the auction is all you desire, consider it done. You can leave now.”

His back is facing you, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s disappointed too. You fidget with the brooch, running your thumb across the smooth jewel. Without thinking, your hand latches onto his like a magnetic force. Sylus spins around, glowering as you intertwine your fingers through his.

“Let me resonate with you.”

“So brash… you’re getting more and more interesting.”

He entertains you and utilizes his Evol, the black-red mist wrapping around his forearm like sprouting vines as he brings your entwined hands up to eye level. He closes his eyes as more mist envelops where you two are connected, and you watch with bated breath as scarlet specks float inward.

Devour him… he’s yours. He’s right there before your very eyes.

Those eerie voices are back, and you’re strangely compelled to heed their words. An ivory glow shines where your palms meet before an explosive burst of energy emerges, a spiral of lethal scarlet and radiant white from your combined powers. Sylus opens his eyes and lets go of your hand, allowing ivory flakes to cascade down like confetti.

“It’s a shame. But not a surprise.”

“We can try again. Let’s—”

“I admire your tenacity, kitten. But I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

Your insides feel like an unattended kettle, whistling from immense frustration and on the verge of exploding. You can’t leave now. Not after he gave you what you wanted. There is a thing called give-and-take, and you’re not one to only take. The guilt would eat you alive.

“I don’t want to owe you. Here,” you grab both his hands, “one more time.”

Sylus lifts his arms and pins you against the nearest wall with hands above your head. Your breath is knocked out of you when your back collides with it, the impact causing the lamp to nearly topple over. His glare is murderous and your sick mind dared to find it incredibly attractive.

“Your stubbornness is what’s going to get you killed someday,” he warns. You see him lean back and remove his hold over you, but when you try to move, you feel restrained. His powers; they’re bounding you. “Is this what you want? For me to use my Evol on you?”

“Isn’t that what you want? I don’t want to owe you,” you repeat. “So I’m ready for whatever’s going on here. You can… use me for the night.” The last part was barely above a whisper, but Sylus’ hum as he folds his arms across his chest lets you know he heard you.

“Do you know what you’re requesting, little one? My Evol is dangerous,” You feel the restraints tighten and they only stop when you yelp in pain. “Yet it’s almost like you welcome it. Even if it hurts. Do you like it when it hurts?”

The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, so you kick in his direction with all your might. Hunter instincts, if you will. But the black-red tendrils around your ankle make you sweat as he lowers your leg without breaking eye contact, pinning both ankles to the wall.

“Feisty kitten thinks she’s a tiger now, huh?”

“Why don’t you get on with it already?” you snap, impatient. Sylus grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips pucker like a fish.

“What makes you think I won’t kill you?” Like his razor-sharp words, you feel something akin to a collar around your neck. It prickles your skin while restricting the flow of oxygen to your lungs and you gasp like you’re trying desperately not to drown. You feel light-headed, but his Evol takes mercy on you and grants you enough air to breathe, though you know it comes with the price of answering his question.

“Because you would’ve done so already,” you answer, though your voice is shaky. Sylus nods, as if satisfied with your reply.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“Clever girl.” The praise sounds delicious rolling off his tongue. “One final question.” He releases your face and bends down to meet your eye level. “Do you desire me?”

Having been inside your head, the answer was obvious. He’s looking for confirmation, a verbal confession to make whatever feelings you have for him tangible. The man is a walking red flag, and you’re about to wave a white one in surrender.

“If I don’t?” you question, challenging his authority one last time.

“Then I’ll release you.”

“And if I do?”

“Then… I hope you’ll allow me to have you. All of you. Deal?”

A beat passes and you gulp, your head saying no, but your body and heart screaming, “Yes.”

His hand comes up to caress your face, almost lovingly. “Yes, what?”

“I desire you.”

Sylus gives you a full smile, the corners of his eyes creasing. “You’re aware of the risks, right? With the snap of my fingers, I can tear things to shreds,” He carries out the action and as promised, his robe is shredded to bits of black and red confetti. Your eyes trail down his well-developed abdominal muscles and pronounced V-line until they settle on… “Enjoying the view?”

His teasing lilt reminds you to close your gaping jaw. Hell yeah, you’re enjoying the view. Not only was this man well over six feet, his body rivaled that of a Greek God, and he was blessed with a massive cock too? Of course. Things had to be proportionate.

“I… you… that robe was expensive, wasn’t it?” That was quite possibly the lamest response you could’ve come up with.

“It seems like the little kitten is distracted. Probably needs a toy to keep her occupied.” Sylus flicks his fingers, commanding the whirl of black-red mist to rip your clothes and you shriek in surprise. The brooch falls to the floor with a soft clink, and he picks it up, gently putting it on his nightstand. His attention returns to you and your exposed body, and you take pride in how his cock throbs at the sight. “So she likes lace. Pretty.”

You bite back a scream when a black tendril with cracks of glowing red light slithers up your body in between the valley of your breasts, tearing your bra right off. Another one coils around your thigh before it rips your panties off too. The appendages seem to multiply, wrapping your body in an intricate pattern similar to shibari. There’s no pain and they feel smooth, cooling your heated skin.

“I can manipulate things at will with the flick of a wrist. My powers are pure energy meant for destruction, and you’re here wanting to use them for pleasure.”

He leans close to your ear and nibbles the shell of it. The sensation tickles, but you’re too tense to move a muscle. His voice is husky as he whispers, “I could kill you right now. It’d be so easy…”

You hold your breath when he leans back enough to scan your face, relishing the turmoil in your eyes. “I-I trust that you won’t.”

“You know…” His index finger travels alongside your neck, then to your breast, tracing your areola in circular motions. “As soon as my Evol makes contact with anyone, people would die almost instantly and experience the most excruciating pain.”

He’s now rolling your nipple in between his forefinger and thumb, pinching it enough to hurt and elicit a whine from you. “S-Sylus…”

“But that’s not the case with you. Do you know the violence it took to become this gentle?”

You don’t know why your heart swells, but his words were sweeter than any confession. “Thank you…”

His eyes widen slightly and he stops his actions, tilting your chin up instead. “Say that again.”

“Th-Thank you… for being gentle with me.”

He closes his eyes and shudders like your gracious manners sent waves of pleasure throughout his body. A sharp inhale comes, and then he’s staring deep into your eyes like he could see your soul.

“What a good girl you are thanking me… but I must warn you. I meant what I said about having all of you. You’re not the only one with fantasies, [Y/N]. And mine are anything but gentle.”

“I can take it.”

He gives you a half-smile. “Is that so?”

“You doubt me?”

“No. But I think you might underestimate me. After all… I’m possibly ‘inadequate’ in bed.”

Shit. Maybe you shouldn’t have challenged him. But your bratty nature couldn’t leave you well enough alone. “Prove me wrong.”

Sylus’ resolve crumbles and he holds the side of your face as his lips meet yours for the first time. His pressure is gentle like he doesn’t want to scare you off, and once you two find rhythm, he deepens the kiss and you moan as the taste of cinnamon overcomes you. Spicy, very much like him.

His tongue prods its way through once your body relaxes, sliding across your own, the action far more lewd than romantic. He groans and carefully takes your bottom lip in between his teeth, pulling back in the most sexy manner. You moan and he swallows it, kissing you again with more fervor as his hands explore your body.

First, he traces your curves and trails down until his hands cup your ass, squeezing the soft flesh. Then he brings them back up, kneading your breasts and you mewl at how rough he handled them. Eventually, the kiss breaks, leaving a thin trail of saliva that connects your lips until it eventually severs.

“Beautiful…”

One word and you’re all heart-eyes for the man as heat rushes to your cheeks. If he wanted to tease you for it, he restrains himself and takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking harshly before releasing it with an audible pop. His tongue pokes out, swirling around the bud while his hand tends to the other. Your back arches involuntarily, but you’re quickly reminded of your immobility, which causes more arousal to drip down your thighs.

Sylus stops messing with your pert nipples to suck harshly between the valley of your breasts, inevitably leaving a nasty hickey. He pushes them together and then lets go, loving how they jiggle.

“I wonder…” he muses, taking two fingers to tease your folds. “Oh… you’re so wet and I haven’t even put them in yet.”

You squeeze your eyes when he inserts them in slowly, your slick making the transition smooth as he stretches you out. “Fuck… Sylus, please.”

“What? Are my fingers not enough?” He stills and the lack of movement frustrates you to no end. You want to thrash around, but you’re still glued to the wall.

“N-No. Please… please move them.”

“You beg so prettily,” He pulls them out and begins fingering you at a snail’s pace. “But it’s not enough. You can do better.”

“Please!” you exclaim. “I need more…”

“God, you’re dripping on my hand and I haven’t done much.” He moves faster, his fingers knuckle deep and curling in spots that have you clenching hard. It’s like he’s coaxing out more of your essence with each stroke and then challenges you with a third finger. “Does it feel good?”

You can hardly respond with how stuffed you feel, your lust insatiable as he speeds up.

“Yes? No? Maybe so?” he asks, amused by your struggle.

“Y-Yes… good… so good…”

Your pussy is making obscene noises and you’re feeling a warmth building in your abdomen, especially when Sylus kisses your neck. His lips are scorching hot, almost searing as if you were being branded. You submit and let him mark you, focusing on the pressure within as your high is approaching. He uses his free hand to hold yours, interlocking your fingers together.

“Fuck!” you shout, feeling like you couldn’t breathe fast enough to keep up with his bruising pace. “I’m going to come, I—”

He seals your words with another kiss, and your scream is muffled when your orgasm hits you like a gunshot. It’s brutal and intense, causing you to see stars for what feels like the longest minute of your life.

At the same time, your interlocked palms glow bright red and ivory. Unlike before, this explosion caused a surge of power to pass through his bedroom like shockwaves, destroying most things that came into contact. The roar is deafening, but all you can focus on is Sylus and how good he made you feel.

“Come back to me.”

You don’t realize when he stopped kissing you. Or when he removed his fingers. Or when you stopped being pinned to the wall. Sylus is holding you up and when you see how his eyes softened for the concern for your well-being, you’re smitten.

“I’m okay…”

His demeanor shifts, the change so sudden that it is like a phone going from light mode to dark mode. The man manipulates your body with his Evol and throws you onto the bed without a second thought. Black-red mist envelops your body again, this time cuffing your wrists in front. Tendrils wrap around each breast, your torso, and your neck, constricting tightly until you resemble a beautifully decorated present.

Sylus joins you on the bed, settling in between your thighs as he lies on his stomach as if he were a sniper. He has his Evol pry them wider, so your pussy is exposed for his feasting eyes. His arms are secured under your thighs, an extra precaution to hold you in place.

That’s when an untimely knock comes.

“Boss? Is everything alright?”

“We heard a loud crash!”

Damn it. Luke and Kieran have impeccable timing. And the way the corners of Sylus’ lips tug into a smirk instills panic in you.

“Answer them. Make it convincing,” Sylus whispers. You watch as he dips down until his white hair is all you can see. His lips latch onto your lower ones and you’re choked up, trying not to moan too loudly as he tastes you.

“We’re… We’re fine!” you exclaim, though your breathy tone is far from convincing. Sylus grunts in disapproval at your poor performance, and the vibrations are a suitable punishment. “Sylus and I have are having a disagree—ah!—ment.”

Fuck, why does he have to lick your clit right at that moment?!

“Oh no, you two are fighting?” Kieran asks, his voice cracking slightly from his concern.

“Give up, [Y/N]! Our boss is relentless!” Luke adds with a faint snicker. Tell me about it.

Sylus continues to give you kitten licks before licking a long stripe across your labia folds. You’re bucking your hips because you want more, but you’re also trying to close your thighs to escape the pleasure. It’s no use when you’re restrained and have no choice but to let him eat you out to his heart’s content. It’s when he inserts a finger to join in his salacious tongue that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you breathe. “Sylus, if you keep going… they’ll hear me.”

“Then I suggest you stay quiet. What would your colleagues say if they knew the best hunter in Linkon is lusting over the leader of Onychinus?”

“I’m-I’m not!”

“Keep telling yourself that, sweetie,” He gives you a short break to clean your juices off his fingers, sucking them like they were a popsicle. “And oh how sweet you are, indeed.”

“Don’t kill each other!” the twins chorus. Sylus chuckles and shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb.

“Leave us,” he demands. “We have ways of… negotiating. Even if it takes all night…”

There’s some shuffling before you hear their footsteps recede down the hallway until silence remains.

“That was mean,” you whine. He tilts his head, swiping his upper lip with his tongue ever so slowly.

“You think that was mean? Oh… you underestimate me.”

He rises from your thighs and kneels on the bed, but his large frame still towers over you. “Wait, I—”

A snap of his fingers seals your mouth shut. You see the crimson specks floating around your mouth and protest, but they’re reduced to muffled squeals.

“Like I said before… you have quite the mouth on you today.”

Your eyes enlarge when you see a black-red tentacle rise from between your thighs. It sparks at the tip, which transforms into a cock-head to simulate a human penis. It’s not too thick, but it still makes your heart beat erratically.

Sylus takes both your hands and squeezes the right one first. “If you want me to keep going, squeeze your right hand,” He squeezes the left one next. “If it’s too much and you want me to stop, squeeze your left.”

His thoughtfulness brings those butterflies back. You squeeze your right hand and he nods, commanding the tentacle to run its tip up and down your folds. It brushes your clit every so often, which makes you sigh in pleasure. Then it enters you slowly, your arousal making things run smoothly.

It penetrates you about six inches deep before pulling out halfway, only to slam back into you with greater force. Your cries are muffled, but Sylus can tell you’re enjoying yourself by how your eyes roll back. The appendage thrusts into you at a maddening pace, your body rocking back and forth from the notion, and Sylus enjoys seeing the erotic sight of your tits bouncing. The tendrils around your breasts constrict while smaller ones branch off, wrapping around your nipples and teasing them too.

The make-shift gag around your mouth converts into another cock-head tentacle, forcing its way in so you’re sucking it off. Sylus groans at the beautiful sight of you submitting to it so willingly.

“You’re so pretty when you submit… I can’t imagine how sexy you’ll look when I take you,” he praises.

So many parts of you are being stimulated and you’re sure you’ll come again soon with how each thrust, both in your pussy and mouth, speeds up. It’s almost like they were losing control, taking you with them. It’s not until you feel a small spark from below that you yelp.

The sensation was like static electricity that you get if you rub your feet on a carpet. Not life-threatening, but a nuisance that stings for a brief second.

“My Evol is energy manipulation… that energy is hard to control sometimes…” Sylus says in a low voice. “It might even shock you.”

You can’t hear much over the squelching noises from your pussy and mouth as the tentacles work into you, hungrily, greedily, until the build-up from below is enough to cause your whole body to shake involuntarily. Your orgasm approaches and then is heightened when a small jolt of electricity shocks your clit.

The tentacle in your mouth removes itself, so you can scream until your voice gives out. The other one leaves your pussy once you stop shaking, and you are still on the bed, catching your breath. However, you feel something warm and wet on your stomach, so you lift your head enough to see spurts of cum leaking from Sylus’ cock.

His hands are still holding your own. Did he come from simply watching you?

“I’m not going to apologize,” he says without a hint of remorse. “You excite me.”

You’re flattered, truly. Especially when his cock is still erect, almost angry with need by how much it throbs. You wonder if it’s painful.

The mist around your wrists vanishes, but your body is dragged off the bed to the opposite side of the room, where Sylus’ grand wall mirror reaches the ceiling. You’re suspended in front of it and he wraps his arm around your waist from behind, twirling your hair with his other hand.

“Do you know how irresistible you are? Such temptation… that’s why I’m taking my time,” He takes his finger, swipes across your stomach, and gathers enough cum to coat his digit before lifting it to your mouth. “Open.”

You obey and he lets you taste himself, the action so wicked. So dominating. So sexy. His cum is salty and slightly bitter, but addictive.

“Good girl. Are you ready for what’s next?”

“Yes.”

His Evol controls your limbs and suddenly, you’re flipped upside-down with Sylus’ cock in front of your lips while your pussy is facing his. Your legs are wrapped around his neck and you’re taken aback at the extreme position.

“I’ve always thought Standing 69’s would be… enthralling. Always wanted to try it.”

The blood rushing to your head blurs your focus and your adrenaline spikes at the thought of possibly falling. But Sylus’ powers are strong and you’ve yet to see them falter. As if he can read your thoughts, he says, “Don’t worry, kitten. Rest assured I won’t drop you on your pretty little head.”

“It’s still scary…”

“I know. But isn’t that what makes it thrilling?” He pulls you closer by placing his hands on your ass, placing a chaste kiss on your cunt. “The sooner you finish, the sooner I’ll have you right-side up.”

Another challenge you can’t back down from. You take Sylus’ cock in your mouth and it reaches the back of your throat quickly from its impressive length. It’s also thicker in girth than the tentacle you sucked off earlier, which makes you gag.

Sylus throws his head back, panting from how soft and warm your mouth feels. He snaps his fingers to release your wrists, allowing your hands to find purchase on the back of his thighs.

“If it becomes too much, squeeze twice.”

You respond by bobbing your head up and down, which earns a sharp inhale from him. He isn’t one to fall behind, so he indulges in your sopping cunt like a glutton, moaning and grunting into it like an animal. Meanwhile, you relax your jaw so it becomes easier to adjust to his size, swirling your tongue as you maneuver up and down.

Your eyes shift to the mirror, seeing your compromised position and lewd actions. You barely recognize yourself or Sylus for that matter. He’s so engrossed in eating you out that his eyes are closed like he’s enjoying heaven on Earth. It pushes you to work harder, keeping up with his pace.

Right before Sylus is about to reach his peak, you hear another snap. He stops eating you out and you feel something bumpy rub itself against your pussy. Then Sylus’ fingers spread your ass cheeks and you feel it probing around your other hole.

Your mouth stills and your eyes widen at the sight of a black-red tendril that’s now ribbed at the tip. It slowly enters, stretching you to take each ribbed section, simulating the action of being fucked repeatedly. Sylus is back at work, inserting his tongue into your vagina in hopes it’ll distract you from the burn, but it only makes you clench harder.

“Relax…” he reminds you before diving back in again. He’s bucking his hips to remind you to continue, and you do your best as saliva pools so much that it drips down near your eyes. Everything feels too much, too tight, especially when the tentacle starts fucking your asshole. The ribbed texture only adds to the intensity and hits spots that border pain and pleasure.

Sylus’ hips begin to stutter and you’re seconds away from passing out from the light-headedness. Fortunately, he finishes in your mouth, the thick viscosity of his cum coating your throat while you orgasm for the third time tonight.

The noises he lets out are feral and if you had the chance, you’d record them so you could get off to them another night. You feel the pressure in your ass disappear and as promised, you’re right-side up again, but your limbs feel like jelly. Sylus wraps his arm around your waist, his hold secure as he flashes you a satisfied grin.

“Open.” You’re still in a daze, but the command gets through to you and you show him your mouth. When he sees you have swallowed, he hums in approval. “You really do hold up your end of the bargain. I suppose I’ll finally give you what you want.”

He grabs your hand and places it on his dick, which is slippery from your saliva. He’s still semi-erect but a few strokes is all it takes to get him up and running again. The man’s a beast and refuses to be in a cage.

Guiding you to the bed, he lays down first on the mattress, his hands clasped behind his head as he rests on a pillow. In the blink of an eye, you’re suspended over him, the black-red mist parting your thighs and slowly lowering you until your pussy barely grazes his tip. Your wrists are bound behind your back now and you’re like a puppet, bent to his will.

“What do you desire, Kitten?”

“You,” you beg. “Please.”

“You wish for me to take you raw?”

You’re nodding like your life depended on it. “Yes.”

“You wish for me to use you?”

“To your heart’s content.”

He says nothing else and sinks you onto his fat cock, and despite the many sessions he’s used to prep you, there’s still a slight burn from how much he stretches you. It feels incredible as he bottoms out, knocking the breath out of both of you.

“Oh god…” you say, trembling from how full you feel. “You’re so big…”

“And you’re so tight. It’s like your pussy doesn’t want to let go of me. So greedy.”

The mist controls your pliant body, helping you bounce up and down without pausing for a break. Sylus does a jazz hands motion with the widest grin on his face.

“Look, kitten. No hands.”

You almost growl at his cheap jokes, but his throbbing cock deters you from your thoughts, almost impaling you from its brute force. Sylus reaches out and pulls you so your chest meets his, his arm hooked around your back to hold you in place, giving you a short moment of reprieve.

“Raise your head,” he commands. You feel so drained, but you force yourself to do it and he gives you a quick smooch. “I need you to relax.”

The ribbed tentacle is back and you feel it gliding in between your ass cheeks, prodding your rim every so often like it’s mischievous.

“S-Sylus, it’ll be too much,” you say.

“You can handle it. But let me know now if you want to stop.”

You bite your lower lip, considering his words. “No. Don’t stop.”

“That’s my girl…” The tendril pushes into your asshole, taking its time as each ribbed section feels like a repeated attack, pushing the limits of your body. You’re utterly stuffed once it’s in as far as Sylus allows and you feel his cock throb in your sore pussy.

Sylus jerks his hips first and then the tentacle joins as they pump in and out of you, alternating and becoming more violent. You’re biting down in the juncture between his neck and shoulder to steady yourself, and he lets out a strained fuck, yes, thrusting up into you so hard that you sob, tears pricking your eye.

Just when you think there aren’t any surprises left, a second tentacle sneaks around to your lips, seizing its opportunity to enter when you gasp. It gags you and now all three of your holes are being used and abused, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. The stimulation is overwhelming, the pressure bottling, your pussy squeezing Sylus’ like a vice—you’re both not going to last much longer.

“That’s it, that’s it—fuck, I adore you,” he pants, closing his eyes and focusing his energy to give you his all. The tendril occupying your mouth releases you, allowing the mantra of Sylus’ name to fall from your lips as euphoria greets you.

You’ve come many times tonight, but this one saturates you in overwhelming pain and pleasure. Everything is sore and you can’t stop seeing four of everything until Sylus lifts you by the hips, coming on his stomach and not inside you. You collapse onto his chest when the mist dissipates, the two of you catching your breath.

There isn’t enough money in the world to convince you to move, not after what you’ve experienced. Yet something lifts you off Sylus and you’re about to cry again.

“No, no more…”

“Hush now,” The mist positions you in Sylus’ arms bridal-styled as he gets off the bed, his strong arms securing you. “We’re going to the bathroom to clean ourselves up. You’re staying with me for the night.”

You nuzzle into his embrace like a kitten, and a fond smile rests on his face.

“Okay.”

A/N: You made it to the end! Yipee! Thank you for giving my writing a chance. PLEASE let me know if you enjoyed. 🌹

#sylus smut #sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #lads sylus #sylus x you #sylus qin #my writing #lads smut #lnds sylus

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spider-stark · 10 months ago

Text

INFINITELY YOU

part one // back at the beginning

SUMMARY - In every universe, Peter Parker seems destined to fall in love with you. And, in every universe, he realizes it too late. When universes collide and two of them are granted a second chance at rectifying their biggest mistake, neither of them are willing to let the opportunity go to waste–even if you end up not being the person they thought you were.

WARNINGS - 18+, story will contain mentions of blood, broken bones, weapons, suggestive language, and more. all versions of peter are between the ages of 19-23 in this story. I will try to update warnings accordingly for each chapter, but please read at your own discretion

WORD COUNT - 5.4k

// masterlist // series masterlist // send me your thoughts // playlist // no way home fan fiction //

The world seemed to slip out from under you, fracturing beneath your feet and leaving you to sink into a deep, dark hole.

It was quiet—so unbearably quiet—and the tension between you and your estranged friends had become so thick that you feared it would soon take form and seep into your lungs. Maybe that would be for the best, you thought, wondering if suffocating on your collective grief would somehow be easier than whatever came next.

“Aunt May…” You sputtered, unable to force the words out. Shaking your head, you asked, “Are you sure?”

God, what a stupid question. You almost wanted to slap yourself for asking something so mindless.

Ned’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying to swallow his own sorrow. “I wish we weren’t,” he said with a small, wistful chuckle, still too shocked to fully acknowledge the gravity of it all. “But… yeah, we’re sure. She’s… She’s gone.”

Your heart sank, unable to think of the right string of words to form a reply.

With your mind reeling, you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking that this was some sort of cruel joke–the kind where the punchline would never quite hit. But all it took was one look at the red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks of Ned and Mj to know that they were telling the truth.

She was dead—Aunt May was dead.

And, somehow, it seemed as though that wasn’t even the worst part of the mess your friends had gotten themselves in.

“I know that it’s a lot to take in all at once,” Ned started back up, perhaps noticing the way the color seemed to drain from your face. “If you need me to go back over it or explain anything then I can-”

You stopped listening to him, staring blankly at the doormat beneath their feet. They hadn’t even bothered to come inside your apartment, too panicked to waste any time before delving into the details about Doctor Strange and the multiverse and other Spider-Man’s.

But honestly, you didn’t care about any of that.

You didn’t care about string theory or whatever multiversal villains had apparently slipped into your world—because you couldn’t stop thinking about what Ned had said about how May died. It hurt to think about it, the shrapnel and debris that had torn her flesh, the glider that had punctured her side and left her bleeding out in Peter’s arms…

Aunt May had died a horrific and brutal death, and you weren’t sure that there would ever be any way for you to come to terms with that.

“Peter,” you finally spoke, fire raging in your eyes as you looked at Ned. “Where is Peter?”

He spared Mj a sidelong glance, as if silently asking for her permission to answer. Frustration began to prick your skin, crawling up your spine as your stare turned harsh, offended that he didn’t just tell you outright. You knew that things between the four of you hadn’t ended well, but this…

Mj crossed her arms, looking almost as frustrated as you were with Ned’s choice to look to her for permission, and decided to answer in his place.

“Downstairs,” she told you, her tone purposefully clipped as a way to show that the wounds sustained in the downfall of your friendship had not yet healed–and you didn’t care, because you knew that yours hadn’t either.

“Is he…” you trailed off, not sure how to say it. If May’s death had been so brutal, then God knows what kind of injuries Peter might’ve sustained in the fight?

But you didn’t have to speak, because whether the two of you liked it or not, you had been friends—and she always knew what you were thinking. “He’s safe,” she told you, quelling your nerves just a little. A reluctant sigh slipped her lips, shaking her head as she added, “But he’s not okay.”

You knew what she meant—physically Peter had survived the fight with this Goblin man that they had told you about, but mentally…

You understood why she was hesitant to tell you about it, too. Of the three of you, there was only one that had ever been able to delve down into the depths of Peter’s trauma and help him claw his way back out of the gnawing pit that threatened to consume him—and it wasn’t either of them.

And, just as Mj knew you, you knew her.

She didn’t want you around Peter, not anymore—and so if she was willingly telling you that he wasn’t okay, then it meant that she knew how much he truly needed you right now.

“You guys should’ve told me sooner,” you grit your teeth, desperately trying to bite back against the resentment rising in your throat. “You should’ve told me as soon as all of this started, instead of waiting until everything went to shit.”

It wasn’t your intention to sound bitter, but that didn’t stop you from coming across that way. Ned recoiled from your tone like a blow, but you didn’t have it in you to feel guilty right now.

They had been dealing with all of this multiversal crisis bullshit for nearly a week now—and yet none of them had thought to say a single word to you until now. And while you knew that your presence likely wouldn’t have changed the course of events that had unfolded, it still hurt.

And it still made you angry.

“What do you need me to do?” You asked after realizing that neither of them intended to respond to your sharp statement.

“Well,” Ned started, nervously rubbing his sweaty palms against his khakis, “it’s gonna take us some time to figure out where the villains are hiding, and even longer to work out what to do with them. And, since these other Peter’s have dealt with these guys before, we could really use their help…”

He trailed off, once again looking to Mj, this time to silently urge her to finish his sentence.

She rolled her eyes. “We need you to let them stay here.”

Your brows furrowed, glancing between the two of them as if once again waiting for some sort of punchline to hit. It didn’t.

“It might take us a bit–a few weeks, maybe—to find all of them and stop them. And now that Happy’s complex was literally blown to pieces, we don’t have anywhere for the two of them to stay while they help out.” Mj tried to explain. She looked defeated when she said, “We didn’t know who else we could go to that would actually understand.”

Understand.

If you weren’t still reeling from everything they had just told you, then you probably would have laughed at the word. You would hardly say that you understood what was going on—but you knew what she was getting.

Mj’s dad would hardly allow two random men to stay in his house with them, and Ned’s Lola probably wasn’t too keen on the idea either. With Happy’s place destroyed, they had nowhere left to turn.

You weren’t sure how to feel now that you knew they had only come to you because you were their last choice.

At the risk of aggravating Mj, you said, “I wanna talk to Peter.”

“I don’t know if now’s a good time,” Mj swiftly shot back. “I told you that’s he’s not okay—”

“But he’s here,” you stated, nodding your head towards the stairs somewhere behind them that led back down to the lobby. “And you’re insane if you think I’m gonna agree to let two random ass men stay in my house without at least knowing what his plan is.”

Mj bristled at the harshness of your tone; and so did you.

You weren’t used to this.

Mj had been your friend for far longer than she had been whatever she was to you now, and neither of you were used to this—to your once special connection being reduced to nothing more than strained conversations and fractured feelings towards one another.

“Fine,” Mj surrendered, her hands lifting slightly. “Do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t until then that you realized that you had been waiting for her permission, even though you didn’t believe you truly needed it. Peter was your friend—and he had been your friend long before he even knew Mj. If you wanted to talk to him, then you had every right to.

Yet you still hadn’t been able to will yourself to push between the two of them until she had spoken, side-stepping to let you pass. When you started descending the stairs to the lobby, you were shocked that neither she nor Ned followed, offering you a sense of privacy with Peter that you hadn’t expected—as if she still held some shred of trust in you.

You didn’t want to think about it though, unsure of how you felt about that, too.

Halfway down the dank stairway of your complex, you felt a shiver dance along your spine. It prickled your skin and set your nerves on edge, but it didn’t catch you off guard. You always felt this way when Peter was around—as if your body could always sense when he was around, even when you hadn’t yet seen him.

The last step creaked when you placed your weight onto it, and from across the poorly maintained lobby, Peter’s neck snapped in your direction at the sound.

It felt like ice skittered across your bones at the sight of him, your heart lurching against your ribcage.

You had gotten used to seeing Peter battered and bruised years ago. Even before he became Spider-Man, he often found himself the victim of bullies and assholes, rarely going more than a few weeks without a busted lip or a new bruise. But this…

This was different, somehow.

It wasn’t just the blood-stained suit that set your heart racing, nor was it the lacerated skin or his sweat-matted hair. No, those things were normal—in the same way that being bitten by a radioactive spider was normal.

It was even normal to see him standing before you, his chin high and shoulders back, presenting a perfect image of strength even after experiencing something as traumatic as losing May.

Peter’s relationship with trauma had been intimate enough these past few years that you weren’t shocked to see him like this, standing tall rather than balling up and crying on the floor. You figured that was what most others would do if they were in his situation.

But Peter wasn’t like other people.

Peter was a hero—and if you had learned anything about heroes in your lifetime, it was that they were incredible liars.

His eyes couldn't lie, though.

Bloodshot and ringed with exhaustion, his eyes were what had made you feel so sick, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

They lacked the life and hope of the boy you had loved so dearly, replaced with something like rage—a pure, unbridled and unrelenting type of rage. Looking at him now you couldn’t ignore the burning talon that seemed to rake against your mind, filling your brain with thoughts you didn’t want to think right now—telling you that looking at Peter now, with the light draining from his eyes, was the same as looking in a mirror.

“Peter,” a metallic tang danced on your tongue as you dug your teeth into your cheek, biting back against the tears threatening to well-up in your eyes.

Letting your instincts guide you, you rushed across the lobby to where he stood by the front door, reaching for his hand without a second thought.

His suit had been torn along his palm, and as you felt the warmth radiating from his calloused skin, you tried to take some comfort in the fact that at least he had survived—even if you still weren’t ready to accept that May hadn’t.

“Don’t,” He yanked his hand back from you, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say you’re sorry.”

You froze for half a heartbeat, your hand hanging awkwardly in-between the two of you. “I wasn’t going to.”

You weren’t sure if you were telling the truth, but it didn’t seem to matter either way.

Either way, you tried to understand his reaction, even as you winced from the sting of rejection. What good would an apology really do for a boy who had already lost everything?

It wouldn’t bring the light back to his eyes.

It wouldn’t bring May back to life.

“Ned told me everything,” you told him, unwilling or unable to say Mj’s name right now. You clenched and unclenched your fists, painfully aware of the absence of his warmth. “You know I’ll do anything I can to help, so just tell me what needs to be done and I’ll do it.”

Peter scoffed, his jaw tensing. “We both know that what I want doesn’t matter,” he said bluntly. Motioning to your surroundings, he continued, “If what I wanted mattered, then we wouldn’t even be here. We wouldn’t be asking for your help—wouldn’t be dragging another person into this and asking them to risk their life!”

You did your best not to react, knowing that he hadn’t meant it quite as bad as it sounded. It already hurt knowing that you had been Mj and Ned’s last choice for help, but knowing that Peter didn’t want you to be a choice at all hurt far worse—even if it was to keep you safe.

“Well, you’re here now,” you told him, keeping your voice steady. “So you might as well tell me what your plan is—or at least tell me how long I’ll need to play bunkmates with strangers.”

You were lying when you had told Mj and Ned that you needed to talk to Peter before agreeing to let the alternate Spider-Men stay in your apartment—you didn’t care about housing with strangers, aware that there was nothing they could do to you that you haven't endured before.

Selfishly, you had just wanted a reason to come down and talk to him. To see him. To know that he was alive. You didn’t care about anything else.

Sometimes you worried that you didn’t even care about your own life, only Peter’s.

But Peter cared about your life—far more than you would ever want him to.

“My plan doesn’t matter,” he said, his tone clipped, “cause I don’t want you getting involved. And I definitely don’t want you to let those guys stay here, alright? We don’t know them.”

You steeled yourself, resisting the urge to argue with him and instead asking a simple question. “Do you have anywhere else for them to go?”

He didn’t respond, huffing out a breath, already frustrated with the defiance he knew you were about to display.

“You might not want my help, but if Ned’s right–” you told him, gesturing backwards towards the staircase, “–which he usually is—then you’re gonna need these guys.”

“But that doesn’t mean we need you,” Peter protested gruffly.

Your chest tightened, but you kept shoving back against the hurt. Later, you would deal with that later.

“It doesn’t matter if you need me,” you retorted with a defiant tilt of your chin, unwavering as his rageful gaze seemed to pierce through your skull, “because you’re stuck with me either way.”

You hadn’t expected the statement to affect him, but it did, his voice softening slightly. “I always have been.”

“Exactly. So you might as well make this easy on the both of us and not fight me on it,” you declared, trying to conjure up the most convincing smile you could offer. “Let me help, Peter.”

A sigh slipped his lips, heavy with reluctant resignation as he realized he wasn’t winning this battle. “We’ve already lost so many people… I’ve lost so many people. And there’s already enough blood on my hands,” he said, lifting his hands to display the torn, blood-stained fabric, driving his point home. “It doesn’t matter what I say—so let them stay here or don’t, I don’t care. But just know that whatever happens to you, it’s not on me. Because I told you to stay out of it, alright?”

He took a step closer, and you didn’t dare move a single muscle as his lips hovered just inches from your own. “Do whatever you want,” his voice was barely a whisper, laced with a venomous edge that nearly made you tremble, “but don’t expect me to come running to save you when it all goes to shit.”

His words hung in the air like a curse, lingering in the lobby for far longer than he did. As soon as the promise had left his lips, he was already turning on his heel and shoving the door open, abandoning you in the dim space.

You knew better than to think he meant it.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You stuck your hands beneath the running faucet, scrubbing the blood from a jagged cut on your palm. It wasn’t all that deep, shallow enough that it probably wouldn't even leave a scar once healed. When you were done rinsing it, you cupped your hands and gathered the water in them, splashing your reddened cheeks.

Crying would have been a normal part of grieving for May, and when you forced yourself to look back at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but wish that you could’ve been a little more normal.

But tears hadn’t been the cause of your flushed appearance—no, because you had never been very good at expressing the more delicate emotions, like sadness.

You were good at expressing anger, though.

You were very good at expressing anger.

After Peter had stormed out of the lobby and abandoned you to choke on his cruel promise, it had taken you several minutes to work up the nerve to go back upstairs and face Mj and Ned. By some stroke of luck you had managed to keep a tight leash on your often volatile attitude, telling them your decision to let the other Peter’s stay with you.

And then you lost control as soon as they left, loosening the reins on your anger and taking the uncomfortable feelings out on a nearby potted plant, shouting curses as you tossed it at the wall.

By the time you thought to clean it up, after finishing another string of irate profanities, your hands had been shaking so bad that you cut yourself on one of the dirt-covered shards. And maybe, once you felt the jagged ceramic dig into your palm, you should’ve hissed or cursed more or stopped cleaning to patch yourself up.

But you didn’t. You stayed quiet, continuing to pluck the shattered fragments off the floor until you had gotten them all, dumping them into the trash before grabbing the broom and dustpan and cleaning the dirt and scattered leaves, too.

There were more important things to deal with than cleaning a dirty wound.

Like making sure none of your friends could see that you weren’t nearly as composed as you tried to seem.

The familiar rhythmic rapping of Mj’s knuckles against the front door made you forgo the bandage you were going to fix to your palm, tossing the rag you’d used to dry your face into the sink and heading straight to the living room.

Carefully shoving your injured hand into your pocket, you opened the door and tried not to look surprised when Peter wasn’t standing in-between Mj and Ned. Of course he hadn’t come with them—why would he? He had already made it clear how he felt about all of this.

It did become significantly harder to mask your shock however when a tall, messy haired boy stepped into view from behind them, clad in a crimson and cobalt webbed suit.

“Get inside,” you hissed a bit harsher than intended, stepping aside and waving the three of them into your apartment.

The last thing you needed was your neighbors seeing an unmasked, alternate version of Spider-Man standing in front of your door. It had already been risky enough that Peter had come here in his suit, standing in the lobby and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Once they were inside, you shut the door and turned to Ned. “I thought you said there were two of them,” you noted, avoiding looking at the lanky Spider-Man who seemed just as desperate to avoid you, busying himself with walking around the room and studying the art on the walls.

Ned shrugged. “He didn’t wanna come.”

“Not that he didn’t want to come,” Mj pointedly corrected him, frowning at his bluntness. “He just wanted to keep patrolling. The Goblin, the one who…” she cut herself off, unable to force the words off her tongue. Scrapping the sentence altogether, she started again, “The Goblin’s from his world, so he seemed to think that he had the best chance of hunting him down. But we gave him the address.”

You didn’t bother giving her an actual response, a subtle nod the only sign you had heard her at all. She didn’t seem to care much, just as unsure of what to say to you as you were to her.

“So,” Ned clicked his tongue, trying to cut through the growing tension. “This is Peter 3!” He announced, gesturing to the other Peter, who was picking up a frame that had been face down on an end table. “That’s what we’re calling him, at least. Y’know, to tell them apart. The other one is Peter 2.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Creative.”

Done dawdling over Ned and Mj, you forced yourself to look at the un-masked hero from another world. He was placing the frame back onto the table—not face down, as he had found it, but up-right. You frowned at the photograph it displayed, a picture of you, Ned, Mj, and Peter from sometime last year.

“You’re awfully nosy,” you told him, your voice like ice.

His muscles tensed, hesitating as he faced your gaze. “Sorry,”

His voice was slightly deeper than Peter’s, his hair a shade or two darker, his features a bit less soft, but still noticeably young, putting him in his early twenties at most. Truthfully, if it weren’t for the suit he was wearing, you would’ve never guessed that he was supposed to be the Peter Parker of another world.

You had expected him to be more… Peter-like, in appearance, and yet as far as you could tell the resemblances were very slight, if they even existed at all.

The mannerisms were there, though. The subtleties of Peter Parker, the things that most people never noticed and yet were ingrained in your mind. He licked his lips, a nervous tic that left you always carrying chapstick in your pocket. His hands hung at his sides and you saw the way his thumb tapped against each of his fingers, starting with his index and ending with his pinky, only to start over again.

Watching him, taking note of every familiar twitch and tic and habit, made something in your chest tighten.

And, when you told him your name, it was as if your icy tone had melted altogether. “It’s nice to meet you.”

For a moment you thought he wouldn’t respond, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly, eyes darting around the room. But then, suddenly, he gave you a weak smile. “You too.” A trace of amusement laced his response, too subtle for you to detect.

“We’ve gotta go,” Ned suddenly spoke, jutting a thumb towards the door. “Peter’s waiting outside so he can make sure we get home safe, but-” he stopped, brows furrowing as considered whether he should finish. “But text us later, okay? Just to let us know that you’re okay.”

Your heart stuttered at the mention of Peter’s name, at knowing that he actually had come—even if it hadn’t been for you—but you didn’t mention it.

Instead, you focused on Ned, giving your sweet friend the kindest smile you could muster—which, admittedly, didn’t feel like much. Despite everything that had happened with your friends in the past few months, your fight had never been with Ned. He was just caught in the middle, unfairly forced to pick sides.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to be mad at him for picking Peter. Not when you knew that you would’ve done the same.

“I will,” you promised.

Ned gave you an equally somber smile before opening the door to leave. Even once Ned was in the hall, already descending the staircase, Mj lingered in the entryway—not for long, a heartbeat, maybe—turning back towards you just long enough to mutter, “Keep your guard up.”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything back to her before she let the door slam shut, following quickly after Ned and leaving you alone with… this guy.

The other Peter had abandoned his spot by the end table, seemingly done with investigating your apartment and left to do nothing but stand awkwardly a few feet away from you, clearly unsure of what to do or say now that it was just the two of you.

“So,” you breathed out, popping your lips. “Peter 3, yeah? Good name. You go by that back home, too?”

He laughed, a suit-clad hand nervously rising to the back of his neck. “Uh–yeah, no, definitely not. Just plain ole’ Peter Parker over there.”

The nervous energy radiating from the boy almost seemed contagious as you started to pick at your nails. “Do you have a nickname?”

He blinked, looking as if he hadn’t heard a word you said. “Sorry, what?”

“A nickname,” you repeated, only for your brows to then furrow. “You have those where you’re from, don’t you? Nicknames? Like, you know, something you go by other than your actual name?”

“Oh! Yes—sorry, yes we have nicknames in my world,” he exclaimed, his pale skin starting to flush.

“I just thought that this whole numerical system thing that Ned’s going with to keep track of who’s who seems a little dehumanizing, yeah?”

“For sure,” he agreed, sucking on his lip as he nodded along with you.

You gave him a second, waiting and waiting for an answer to your apparently long-forgotten question, before asking, “So… Do you have one?”

The slight blush that had tinged his skin instantly darkened, suddenly the same shade of crimson as his suit. His grip on the back of his neck tightened, too, his fingertips prodding into his own skin.

“Sorry-” he apologized for the millionth time, more nervous laughter spilling out alongside it, “I do! I mean, sort of, I think. I don’t know if it’s really a nickname, but back in my world you really just called me by my last name most of the time anyway, so–I don’t know—maybe that would work?”

The sheer quantity of word vomit spewing from his mouth was impressive and likely hard-to-follow for most, but you consider yourself a bit of an expert in the anxious ramblings of Peter Parker.

“In your world?” You echoed, instantly catching the subtle mention. “We know each other?”

Maybe it shouldn’t have been shocking to learn that there were other versions of you throughout the multiverse as well, and yet it was. You figured that it was plausible, of course, considering that two variations of Peter had just been thrown into your world, but for some reason it just didn’t feel right.

You reasoned that anyone would feel that way, though.

“Yeah,” the boy, Parker, answered, a bit clipped. “We do.”

“Interesting.” Your brows lifted, “Are we friends?”

Parker scrunched his nose, his head tilting slightly.

“Yeah,” his voice was an octave higher than before, and if you knew him better, then you likely would’ve called him on the obvious tell. But you didn’t know him, and so you didn’t say anything when he decided to double-down on the lie, “Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Well I guess that means that this is just as weird for you as it is for me, then.” You laughed, trying to add some humor to the situation.

Parker gave a tightlipped smile. “Definitely weird.”

The seconds felt like they stretched into minutes after that, silently racking your brain for something to say, hoping that he might say something—but, eventually, you settled on offering an escape from the situation instead.

“You’re probably exhausted from the whole multiversal travel thing, so if you want, I can just show you the guest room and give you some privacy or something,” you told him, vaguely gesturing towards the hallway.

Parker seemed to relax a bit at the prospect of being alone, loosing a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Uhm–yeah, that’d be great, actually.”

He followed you down the short hall, his hand finally falling from his neck and his skin returning to its normal complexion as his nerves began to wane.

“This is it,” you told him, the hinges crying out as you shoved the door open. “It’s not much, but it’s somewhere to sleep, at least.”

Wasn’t much felt like an understatement, though the room was typical for a New York apartment.

A tad bigger than your average shoebox, there was just enough space to fit a full-sized bed, a small armoire, and a single nightstand adorned with an old desk lamp and a little pink teddy bear—a gift from Peter, years ago.

Parker walked into the room, looking around and brushing his fingertips against the emerald quilt. It was a bit old and somewhat thin, but it was better than nothing you supposed, and Parker certainly didn’t seem like he was going to complain about it.

“It’s great,” he assured you, and even though he did sound genuine, you couldn’t help but snort. He looked over at where you still stood in the doorway, giving you a timid smile as he said, “Way better than sleeping on the streets.”

You returned the gesture, lazily lifting a shoulder. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning. That mattress is about a hundred years old, so it’s probably the equivalent of sleeping on really lumpy cement.”

Parker hummed his amusement, carefully perching on the edge of the bed, his smile seeming to deepen when he caught sight of the little bear on the nightstand.

“I guess I’ll let you get some sleep,” you told him, reaching for the door handle, “if you need anything—extra blankets, or something—just let me know; my room’s right across the hall.”

He muttered his thanks, but as you went to pull the door closed, you heard your name fall from his lips. It was strange sounding, strangled and foreign, like he didn’t quite know how to say it. When you turned back to face him, a subtle wince seemed to etch across his face.

“Can I… Can I ask you something?” Parker stammered out the question, his voice faltering like a candle flame in the wind.

You nodded once, fingers still wrapped around the knob, savoring the coolness of the brass against the now-clotted wound on your palm.

He took a breath, his gaze momentarily flickering back to the teddy bear on the nightstand. His thoughts felt heavy on his tongue as he tried to force them out of his mouth, “Are you happy?”

You blinked at him, unsure of what to make of the hope that seemed to cling to each syllable and half-wondering if you’d heard him right.

“I-” you tried to start, only to realize that you had no clue what to say.

There was a fleeting moment where you realized that you could tell him the truth. You could tell him that happiness felt like a distant shore far from your reach, forever obscured by the fiery tempest of a brutal and ancient rage—a rage that, sometimes, didn’t even feel like your own.

But then he looked at you with those big, expectant eyes; eyes that should have been foreign to you, and yet felt so familiar—and you realized that he wouldn’t like that answer.

Sucking in a breath, you evaded his question as best you could. “Ask me again when all of this is over,” you told him, your lips curving into a soft, playful arc, “and maybe I’ll tell you the truth.”

This time when you went to close the door, he didn’t stop you.

series masterlist

a/n - i wish that i could properly express just how amazing (and terrifying) it has been to rewrite this story. first created at quite possibly the lowest point of my life, infinitely you has provided me with a necessary escape at a time when i desperately needed it. now that i'm in a better position, i found it necessary to give it the plot, writing style, and dedication that it deserved. i'm aware some people might not be interested in a rewrite and that's ok, but for those that are i just wanna say: thank you, thank you, thank you for giving infinitely you (and me) another shot. you're incredible.

if anyone would like to be added to the tag list, just let me know! as of right now, chapters will be posted every other monday, though i may switch that to weekly soon!

part two, titled "crullers & constants", to be released april 1st

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simplyraeblue · 4 months ago

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first times (shoto todoroki x reader)

ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP femreader x virginshoto you've had a crush on your friend shoto for a long time, and unbeknownst to you he's been crushing as well. not only that, he wants you to be his first time; for everything WARNINGS: swearing, smut, mentions of masturbation, oral (m receiving) •◡ ◠ word count: 3,380 A/N: this will be a 3-4 part story, with each chapter building up in smut levels

part one | part two | part three |

part four | part five

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as the night wound down and the loud laughter and clamor of dares faded into memory, the mess left by the boys was evident throughout your apartment. empty cups, discarded snack wrappers, and other remnants of the evening’s chaos littered the living room. one by one, your friends trickled out, their departure marked by sloppy goodbyes and promises to clean up later.

Shoto was the last to leave, but instead of heading home, he stayed behind to help you tidy up. the two of you worked in comfortable silence, picking up the trash and putting things back in their places.

as you were clearing the last of the cups that Kirishima and Kaminari had strewn across the coffee table, Shoto's voice broke the silence. “we didn’t finish our seven minutes,” he said suddenly, causing you to pause and turn to him.

you gave a small, tired laugh. “technically, we did. we went well over the seven minutes, in fact.” you resumed picking up the cups. silently grateful that Bakugo had been persuaded to drive Kirishima and Kaminari home.

Shoto, now standing next to you with a thoughtful expression, asked, “truth or dare?”

you put down the trash bag you were holding and placed your hands on your hips. “truth.”

“did you enjoy our kiss?” Shoto’s eyes were earnest as he awaited your response.

“yes,” you replied, feeling a flush rise to your cheeks. “truth or dare?”

“truth,” Shoto said.

“did you enjoy our kiss, Shoto?” you asked, returning his earnest gaze.

“yes,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. “truth or dare?”

“truth,” you said again.

Shoto almost pouted. “no, pick dare. i have something in mind already, and you picking truth won’t work.”

you chuckled at his display of frustration. “alright, fine. i’ll switch to dare.”

“i dare you to let me kiss you again,” Shoto said, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and anticipation. the weight that had settled on his chest since earlier in your room seemed to lift with his confession. throughout the evening, as he chose dare each time on the off chance he could kiss you again, he had participated in various childish dares with this one goal in mind.

Shoto didn’t give you a chance to respond; instead, he gently cupped your face in his hands and pulled you closer. the sudden proximity made your breath catch in your throat, and your heart raced with a thrilling mix of anticipation and nervousness. as Shoto leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, you felt an overwhelming sense of warmth and longing that made you wish you could dissolve into his embrace.

with a growing sense of confidence, Shoto guided you backward towards the couch, his lips never leaving yours. he maneuvered you both down onto the cushions, the kiss deepening as he settled beside you. this was a moment he had yearned for over a year, each time you worked together as pro heroes, his feelings only intensifying. he was determined to savor every second of this long-awaited connection.

for you, the kiss felt like a puzzle finally coming together. it encapsulated everything you had felt from the moment you first recognized your crush on him, to the countless times you had called Mina, gushing about his small gestures and acts of kindness. now, it had culminated in this perfect, intimate kiss.

the kiss was tender and gentle, embodying everything you had hoped for. Shoto’s touch was delicate, as if he were handling something incredibly precious. his lips moved against yours with a natural grace, fitting together like they were made specifically for this moment.

after a few blissful seconds, Shoto pulled back slightly, his eyes locking with yours. you slowly opened your eyes to meet his gaze, and he could feel his heart swelling with affection. the warmth in your eyes told him that you saw him as more than just a hero, more than just Endeavor’s son.

“so,” Shoto said, his voice soft but filled with curiosity, “when you talked about the bases earlier, you left one out.”

you felt a deep blush spread across your cheeks as you realized what he was hinting at. “home base, right?” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “i left it out because it’s... a significant step. it means going all the way with someone.”

“making love,” Shoto said, his tone thoughtful.

“yes, making love,” you confirmed, your heart fluttering at the sincerity in his voice. the way he spoke the words made the whole concept feel even more profound and intimate. it wasn’t fucking, or having sex, it was making love in his eyes.

“how would that go?” Shoto asked, his question causing a warm flush to spread across your body. the thought of the next step made your heart race.

“well,” you began, your voice wavering slightly as you fidgeted with your hands in your lap, “it would start with what we’re doing now, this closeness and intimacy. then, it would naturally progress to... more intimate things, like touching each other in more private places.”

Shoto’s eyes darkened with an intense, sincere gaze as he said, “i would like to touch you elsewhere.” the boldness of his statement made your heart leap into your throat. did he fully understand the implications of what he was suggesting?

“we can take things slowly, if that’s what you really want,” you offered, trying to steady your voice and manage your racing thoughts.

“i’ve received plenty of advice from the guys,” Shoto said, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

you chuckled softly, shaking your head at the absurdity of it. “okay, maybe don’t take all the advice those guys give you too seriously. they can be a bit... over the top.”

Shoto’s earnest expression did not waver. “are you being serious about this?” you asked, wanting to be absolutely certain.

he nodded; his gaze unwavering as he looked at you with deep sincerity. you couldn’t help but smile softly at him. “and you... want your first time, for everything, to be with me? not someone else you might consider more special?”

“no one is more special to me than you,” Shoto replied earnestly, his heart pounding in his chest. he had discussed all the right questions with Midoriya, seeking advice on how to recognize true feelings and when the time was right. once he had his answers, he knew deep down that there was no one else he wanted to share these moments with. for him, you were everything.

you drew in a deep breath, your cheeks flushed with the weight of his confession, the seriousness of the moment settling over you. "come with me," you said, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions. gently, you reached out, taking his hand in yours. with a purposeful but tender grip, you guided him away from the couch and towards the bedroom.

once inside, you led him to sit on the edge of the bed, and he complied, his expression attentive and earnest. you took a moment to gather your thoughts, then spoke, your voice firm but reassuring. "i want to set some ground rules before we go any further. i’m going to ask for your consent before i do anything, and i’ll make sure to tell you exactly what i plan to do. if at any point something makes you feel uncomfortable, you need to let me know immediately. and if you ever want to stop, we stop, no questions asked."

Shoto nodded, his gaze meeting yours with a look of understanding. "that all sounds fair," he said, his tone serious but calm. "where do we begin?"

you sat down beside him on the bed, your hands instinctively resting over your chest as you tried to calm the rapid beating of your heart. the excitement was almost palpable, making it hard to focus. "kiss me," you said softly, your eyes locked onto his. "right now, just do what feels right for you."

to your surprise, Shoto’s lips crashed into yours much more forcefully than last time, like he was needier. and he was; if the dare hadn’t been erupted earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to slow himself down. he was touch-starved, a man hungry for more, and he wanted you.

as he deepened the kiss, you heard the soft moan he let loose, sending heat washing through your body. with his lips parted, you took the chance to gently caress the roof of his mouth with your tongue. he practically melted at the action, leaning further into you.

you continuously had to remind yourself that this was Shoto, someone who deserved tenderness and love, not just a way to get yourself off. but the way his hands were now gripping your waist and sending hot and cold sensations through your skin… it was driving you wild.

for a moment, you pulled away, seeing his eyes still closed with his brows furrowed. “for someone who hasn’t done this often, you are very good at making out, Sho.” you tell him while trying to catch your breath.

“what’s next?” he asked.

your eyebrows raised in amusement. “what’s the rush?”

“i’ve been imagining this for a long time, y/n.” when Shoto’s eyes connected with yours, you saw that his pupils were blown out, filled with a deeper desire than you could’ve imagined inside of him.

while Shoto didn’t show any nervousness, you felt it growing more and more. you usually weren’t one to be shy, but right now everything felt different.

“if you want to, we can touch each other while we kiss.” you tell him. “anywhere.”

Shoto placed his hands further up your torso, looking at you for permission before you nodded. he leaned in to meet your lips again, feeling adrenaline rush through him. the feeling he got from kissing you was enough to drive him insane, an emotion he had never felt before beginning to build.

your hands drifted from his neck to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palms. as you allowed your hands to lazily travel further down, his traveled further up, settling on your ribs and just below your breasts. when his thumb traced the line of your bra, you embarrassingly let out a moan, but to Shoto, it sounded like music to his ears. he took the chance to deepen the kiss, allowing his tongue to enter you and caress yours.

“Sho.” you murmured, breaking away for a moment to catch your breath.

“tell me what to do.” his voice came out hoarse and low, and his eyes pierced yours with a fierce determination.

“you’re making it really hard for me to take this slow for you.” you laughed nervously, your body trembling under his gaze.

“then don’t take it slow.”

you blinked a few times, trying to register his words, hoping to kickstart your brain into high gear to figure out what to do. “Sho...” you breathed lowly.

“i trust you.” Shoto interrupted, placing his hand over the one you had on his chest. “take the lead. please.”

with his plead, the fire within you burned hotter than ever, and you quickly moved to straddle him on the bed as your lips connected with his once more. this time, he kissed you back feverously, like he felt the same hunger you did.

“are you sure?” you asked, wanting to double check... maybe even triple check... that he wanted to do this. he nodded into your shoulder, a muffled mph coming from his mouth.

the time passed by quickly, and the kiss grew until you couldn’t take it anymore. you wanted to show him what it felt like to feel pleasure, even downright damn euphoria. selfishly, you wanted to feel it too. you moved from his lips before starting to litter kisses along his jaw and down his neck, working your way down as your hands fidgeted with the bottom of his t-shirt. when he sensed what you were trying to do, he quickly pulled his shirt over his head, almost making you gasp at the sight.

his body could’ve been the work of a god.

before you let yourself get flustered, you continued to pepper kisses in a trail from his neck, down his torso. with each kiss, you could hear his breath stuttering. “tell me something, Sho.” you whispered against his skin. “have you ever... touched yourself?”

you looked up to find Shoto’s face turned pink, but he nodded in answer.

“y-yes.” he stammered out. Shoto didn’t want to admit to you that he’d never done such a thing until he’d met you, until he’d realized what his feelings meant. he felt dirty thinking about those nights, when you’d visit him in a dream, and he’d wake up to a feeling in his stomach and an erection he needed to solve.

“good boy.” you smirked up at him, and he could’ve imploded just from the look. he could only watch with anticipation as you worked to remove his belt, then undo the clasp on his pants. “i’m going to touch you here, like you’ve done yourself. is that okay?”

again, he could only muster a nod in response. you gently pulled on his pants, dragging them down to his ankles and only leaving his boxers behind. you could see the growing erection under the fabric, and the thought of what was underneath made your mouth water.

before you removed the fabric, you let you palm lay flat across his erection, sliding up it ever so gently. Shoto barked out a moan, and you felt pleased with yourself.

“tell me to stop if you need me to.” you told him, but with his breathing already labored from one touch you doubted he would speak up.

you placed a soft kiss on the top of the fabric, feeling his cock twitch underneath at the contact.

as if on pure instinct, Shoto’s hand went to your head, working his fingers into your hair. he didn’t know what had driven him to do such a thing, but it felt right.

with his apparent eagerness, you hooked a finger under the band of his boxers before tugging, sucking in a breath once his cock was released from the fabric. of course, shoto was beautiful, it made sense that his cock would be too.

you felt a warmth pooling in your stomach, travelling down to wet between your legs. you lightly tapped his thigh, getting his attention and having him look down at you before you gently licked a stripe from the base of him to the top.

his fingers gripped your hair, not so rough, and he hissed. fuck, his friends never told him it felt this good. every primal instinct inside of Shoto was screaming at him to pull your mouth down onto his cock and stuff your face. it took all his strength to restrain himself from fear of hurting you.

“that f-feels...” Shoto stopped mid-sentence when you pressed your tongue flat against his tip.

“talk to me, Sho.” you whispered, kissing his already leaking tip and taking his precum into your mouth.

“don’t stop.” he whined, his hand fisting in your hair tighter than before.

having Shoto beg in front of you sent dirty, wicked thoughts straight to your brain. you’d never walked someone through sex before, let alone something you deemed as simple as a blowjob, but seeing him coming undone before you drove you feral.

you were done with the little kisses and licks you’d been giving him, finally deciding to take him fully. he watched with half lidded eyes as you opened your mouth and eased his tip past your lips, using your tongue to caress circles around it. Shoto’s head dipped back in pleasure, leaving you to take in more of him.

fuck, you hadn’t realized how big he’d actually be. you struggled to lower your mouth over his cock, before you finally felt it hit the back of your throat. Shoto moaned at the feeling of his tip touching your throat. as gentle as he could, he bucked into your mouth, wanting to feel more.

“holy shit, y/n.” he breathed, trying to keep his body from spasming out of control. the feeling of you taking him was delicious, and it was making his head swim. if he hadn’t been on the bed already, Shoto swore he might’ve passed out from pleasure.

you worked your mouth up and down, slowly at first, to get all of him wet with your spit. with each bobbing motion you made, more moans spilled from Shoto’s lips. you could feel him twitching in your mouth every time your tongue stroked his leaking tip.

to give your jaw a break, you pulled your mouth off him with a satisfying pop before letting your hands replace where you were. it took two hands, but with the saliva you’d left behind and his precum dripping, you stroked him gently, working his cock between your hands.

“i feel hot all over.” Shoto murmured, one hand still on your hair while the other gripped at the sheet.

“is this what you feel when you touch yourself?” you asked, looking up at him as he panted with every stroke.

“y-yes. if you don’t stop, i think i might...” he moaned, breaking up his sentence, when you swiped your thumb over the soft spot between his shaft and tip.

“cum for me, like you do when it’s your hand and not mine.” you instructed, before taking his tip back into your mouth but letting your hands work up and down his shaft, picking up your pace.

Shoto began to thrust more wildly, unable to stop himself from almost fucking your face. a coil had formed in his stomach, and it was so close to being released. when he’d done this himself, it was pleasurable, but only a means to an end to solve an erection. now, what you were doing to him felt like heaven, your mouth a soft and warm rapture.

he felt that heat in his stomach grow hotter and hotter, until it felt like it was burning. Shoto gripped your hair in his hand, lifting his hips to drive his cock until he felt the back of your throat, and only then did he feel that band within him snap. he let loose a load moan as he saw stars, shooting his cum deep into your throat and watching as you took every drop, gazing up at him with beautiful eyes.

when he started to come down from his release, you pulled your mouth off his cock, licking up the last dribbles of cum before placing a gentle kiss on his tip. “how was that, Sho?” you asked, your face flush as you looked up.

sweat gleamed on Shoto’s forehead and torso, his breathing heavy but his smile unwavering. that familiar grin, the one that made your heart skip a beat, was fixed on you.

instead of speaking, he cupped your face in his hands, pulling you gently towards him. his lips met yours in a kiss that was both passionate and tender. between kisses on your lips, cheeks, and neck, Shoto panted out, “that was amazing. you’re amazing.”

you laughed softly into his mouth, your cheeks flushing at the compliment. “i’m glad you feel that way,” you replied, your voice warm and affectionate.

as you both caught your breath, Shoto settled you onto his lap and ran his fingers through your hair. his voice was a gentle murmur as he nuzzled into your neck. “as much as i want you to show me more, i’m struggling to keep my eyes open,” he said softly. you chuckled, understanding his exhaustion.

“let’s get some sleep, okay?” you kissed his forehead, before helping him to stand from the bed.

as you changed into comfortable pajamas, Shoto merely pulled his boxers back on before climbing into your sheets, snuggling comfortably into one of your pillows. you climbed under the covers next to him before he pulled you close, wrapping an arm around your waist and having your back pressed against his chest.

“show me more tomorrow.” Shoto whispered, kissing your shoulder before letting his head sink into the pillow.

you blushed, but gave a lazy mhm in response, settling in comfortably next to him.

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Link to Bakugo x reader here

(word count: 2,328)

Link to Kirishima x reader here

(word count: 902)

#mha fanfiction #bhna fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction #boku no hero academia #bhna x reader #mha smut #mha shoto #shoto x reader #shoto torodoki #todoroki shoto #shoto todoroki #mha x y/n #mha x reader #mha x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #shoto smut

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