#The Good Old Days (Past Verse)

[marvelouslymarly]

After Midnight (Bob Reynolds x female superhero!reader)

Pairing: Bob Reynolds/Robert Reynolds/the Sentry/the Void x female superhero!reader

Part two out now!!! Read here

Summary: You're out with the team when some dude starts acting like an ass. Bob helps you get away and takes you home to show you how a lady should be treated...

Rated E for explicit - Minors do not interact!!

CW: physical violence (bar brawl); the void showing up for a second there; some hints at sexual harrassment/assault (no on page rape!); Bob dancing with reader; fluff; half of this is smut (first time reader and Bob sleep together; oral/female and male receiving; fingering, p in v sex (protected); multiple orgasms) [i think i need a pastor]; minor thunderbolts* spoiler warning bc this is set after the film

Word count: 10.6k words (and I thought the last one was a long one, LOL)

Masterlist

[A/N #1: Got the idea for this on the drive home from my parents' place while listening to After Midnight by Chappel Roan, so here you go]

[A/N #2: thank you to @scuttle-buttle for cheering me on and reading through this!!! Dedicating this to you, babes🫰🏻]

The music was blasting over the speakers, and you could feel the beat in every cell of your body. The team had decided to go out that night, needing a break from training and recon-missions and the same old day-in-and-day-out of the last few weeks. While the guys had stayed back at the bar, Ava and Yelena had pulled you into the center of the dance floor, telling you to put yourself out there and have some fun for once. You knew that they were right. It had been a while since you forgot about work and everything that came with first being one of Val's shadow ops and then becoming part of what Val intended to become the new Avengers.

Even after a few months, the title still didn't feel right. It was just too loaded with expectations, with ideas and opinions about who you should be, what you should or shouldn't do. You guys weren't shiny and new. You were rough around the edges, with problems and your own past full of mistakes and regrets. You all had things you'd like to forget or wished to have gone up in flames with every little detail Val put in that vault.

Being called the "new Avengers" felt like stepping into footsteps not only way too big to fill, but also just the wrong shape to begin with. It was like trying to match the tracks of bears with those of lions. You were a different species of heroes - and even calling yourself heroes felt wrong somehow. You were too familiar with being the bad guys, with having your stories twisted, being used for whatever wrong someone wanted done without getting their own hands dirty. But now, you were supposed to be the ones stopping the bad guys, to fight the guys you were made out to be before.

So, this night out felt like the right call for multiple reasons. It was good for forgetting about work, but also for getting to know each other outside of work settings. You'd lived with them for months and knew everything about who preferred what guns, who would do what whenever you were out on missions but whenever you came home, you'd retreat into your own spaces, resting and trying to figure out where you all fit into whatever Val had in mind when she called the press on you and announced her new team of superheroes come to save the world.

~~~

Earlier that evening, while putting on that one dress in the back of your wardrobe, you could hear your mother's voice in the back of your head, telling you not to dress this provocatively. To be a good girl and cover yourself before the Lord's eyes. You felt the anger you'd repressed for so long bubble back up inside of you. Images of the time before you ran away from home came rushing back in. 

The front lawns of the neighbourhood peppered with signs with psalms and verses written on them. Crosses in every room of the house you’d grown up in. The metal rods and mosquito nets outside the windows to “keep evil out” but, in all honesty, they were there to keep you from climbing out the windows in the middle of the night. Memories of everything your parents tried to make you believe about the virtues of life and how to be a pious girl and a good servant of the Lord. 

You could feel the bile rise, thinking back to the person they had tried to turn you into.Their attempts to marry you off to some boy from the community. Michael Dawson. A good boy, named after the archangel. A god-fearing boy just barely old enough to drive a car. In the year before your parents had told you about their plans, you had barely exchanged two sentences with him. But still, it was blatantly obvious to everyone who looked at him and at the way he looked at Paul for even a second, that this probably wouldn’t have been the happy and sacred marriage your parents had envisioned for you.

When the blip first happened, it felt like you were set free from everything you hated so much. With your family gone, there was nothing holding you back from leaving the community while the rest turned to prayers and service. Just having turned 18 a couple of weeks ago, you’d grabbed the keys to your father’s truck and never looked back.

You caught a look of yourself in the mirror and thought about how far you'd come in the last 8 years. How much distance you'd put between your old life and this new one - regardless of how lost you still felt sometimes. You thought about how you moved to the big city and took up self-defense classes after a close call on your way home from work one night. How powerful you felt once you’d realised you loved to fight and get stronger both physically and mentally. That now, there was very little that you couldn’t get through because you didn’t have to rely on prayers anymore.

You pulled the dress down in the front, revealing more cleavage, and adjusted how your breasts sat in the built-in cups. The thought of your mother’s jaw falling to the floor at the sight of you in this get up, her hands doing quick work to bless herself, sent a smirk to your lips. You smoothed out the dress, letting your hands dance over the sides of your body while you admired yourself. The tightness of the dress, hugging you in just the right places, the skirt just long enough to cover the ass that you trained so hard for. Reapplying the dark red lipstick, you smacked your lips in a playful manner and ran your hand through your locks before leaving your room and joining the others in the common area of your shared apartment.

You could still hear the whistles Walker had sent your way, adding an approving 'looking good, [y/l/n]' after standing up straighter and looking you up and down. You rolled your eyes at him while you put your purse over your shoulder, and then adjusted the leather jacket thrown over your am.

"You clean up nice, too, I guess," you retorted and looked around the group.

Ava and Yelena had put themselves into their best party outfits as well, wearing a knowing smirk while putting up both thumbs, respectively. When your eyes landed on Bob, you could see a faint pink tint to his cheeks, and he quickly averted your gaze, nodding vigorously.

"Yeah, you look really nice... Really... nice, yeah!" He cleared his throat, the blush deepening a few shades. His jaw clenched and you smiled to yourself, having secretly hoped he'd like the way you'd dressed up.

When you'd first met him in the vault those few months ago, in the scrubs that seemed three sizes too big for him, he looked like a helpless puppy, his blue eyes so big and excited at what he'd stumbled into - literally. But then, when you saw what he was capable of, both as the Sentry and the Void and your interest in him grew. He was no longer just the sad, helpless puppy but something more intriguing. Someone with layers that you wanted to uncover one at a time.

After first moving to New York and into the Watchtower with the others, there weren't many chances for you two to interact, to get to know each other better. But when it became more and more obvious that he wasn't ready to be sent out into missions with the rest of the team just yet, you came up with the idea of rotating who would stay at home with him. The rest of the team welcomed the idea of it and so, whenever someone wasn't needed for the mission, they'd try and help Bob figure out how to channel his inner Sentry without also summoning the Void with it. Or they'd bake cakes or make dinner for when the others came back.

You'd stayed back with him two times at that point but every time you asked if he wanted to join you for a gym session or for a swim in the new pool, he'd come up with excuses. Saying he'd sprained his ankle the last time he was working out with Bucky or that he'd just done his daily laps in the morning and was looking forward to reading that one book he didn't have the chance to get to yet. The first time around, you figured he was just a little anti-social and needed some more time to get comfortable but then you heard about how Yelena had gotten him to punch the punching bag so forcefully that it came off the hinges and flew to the other side of the gym and how even Walker could convince him to try some new technique to compartmentalise.

When he declined your invitation to watch a movie the second time you stayed behind, you grew weary, scared that you'd done something wrong or that he just simply didn't like you at all. That the interest you had in him wasn’t reciprocated. But, seeing him blush at the sight of you all dolled up set the tiny bit of hope you still had ablaze once more. On the way to the bar, you caught yourself disengaging from the conversation, coming up with ideas or ways to get him on his own, hoping that he’d be more forthcoming once he had a drink or two in him.

~~~

The feeling of arms slipping around your waist brought you back to the bar and to the song you were mindlessly singing along to. Hands were moving down to your waist, holding onto you as you swayed your hips from side to side. Your eyes travelled down your figure, thinking that maybe it was one of the guys playing a trick on you but then you didn't recognise the tattoos winding up the left forearm and into the rolled up sleeves. Your head turned to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of you had come up behind you but you couldn’t quite make out who it was, an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach.

Looking around for the girls, you saw that Ava and Yelena had gone back over to the bar, probably to get you guys some drinks. Also sitting at the bar, you made out Walker, Bob and Bucky - the latter engaged in a conversation with some girl desperately trying to get his number from the way she pushed her phone into his direction, a bright smile on her lips, despite the restrained expression on his face and him shaking his head repeatedly, pushing her phone back every time it made contact with his chest. 

Wildly gesticulating with every fiber of his being, Walker was talking to Bob, who was staring into the glass in front of him. You weren’t sure if he was just lost in thought or if he had one too many was getting overwhelmed by the loud music and people pushing past him in the crowded bar, his face inattentive to what Walker was talking about and his shoulders slumped. His gaze wandered over to you, as if he’d felt your eyes on him, and then to the guy behind you, his jaw clenching tightly. Just as quickly as his eyes had met yours, they were back on the remnants of whatever drink he had been musing before, his knuckles turning white in the dim light.

The arms around your hip pulled you back, bringing your attention back to the dancefloor, and you felt a very clammy shirt press into your shoulders before the smell of cheap alcohol mixed with even cheaper breath mints filled your nostrils. Your whole body tensed, when the guy’s right hand travelled back up your side and stopped just under your breast for a second, before moving to the front and up to your neck.

"Hey, Mama, you alone here," the voice slurred questioning, hot breath hitting your ear and neck, and sending goosebumps down your body. His hand was slowly wrapping around your neck and made you turn your head again. Out the corner of your eye, you could clock the name tag on his shirt, making out ‘Sam’ written in cursive stitches.

Feeling your throat close up from the stinging aroma of the cheap liquor he must've bathed in, you tried to push Sam’s arms off of your body, scratching at his skin. But his grip didn’t budge one bit, only growing tighter, his nails digging in through the fabric of your dress and into your neck.

Your desperate pleas for him to let go of you seemed to be useless, lost to the loud music coming from the speakers in every corner of the dance floor. But you couldn't get anything out above a feeble whisper, tears brimming in your eyes while snippets of the last time you went to a bar raced through your brain.

"Why are you so tense? Let's have some fun, baby," Sam pushed and started to grind into you from behind, his dick getting harder with every move, pressing into your behind.

Again, you looked around for the rest of the team, hoping someone would notice your struggle and come over to help. But Ava and Yelena were nowhere to be seen, and Walker must’ve gone out to get some fresh air with Bucky because they weren’t where you had last seen them either. The only team member you could still make out was Bob, sitting at the bar with his back turned to you, waving down the bartender for another drink.

Realising you were on your own in this one, you tried to turn around, to get some leverage on him and were just able to turn your face away when he leant down and tried to press a kiss to your lips. 

“I told you to leave me be,” you repeated forcefully, your flat hand landing on his cheek in a satisfying slap.

An urgent cry left your mouth, then, and the force behind your shove grew stronger, pushing Sam away from you and making him lose his balance. He stumbled back a step or two before he caught himself again, glaring at you.

He pushed up his sleeves again and started to come at you, an evil sneer on his face.

"What's your fucking problem, bitch,” he spat and looked you up and down, stepping closer slowly.

“You dress like that, and then you turn into a prude when -"

He was cut off short when a fist met his jaw and threw him into the people surrounding you, a tooth and a spray of blood flying from his mouth. You looked at who had landed that blow, still unable to fully comprehend what had just happened.

To your right, there stood Bob, his mouth hanging open a bit and his eyes glowing a dangerous golden colour. You hadn't noticed him getting up from the bar and coming over, but you were deeply grateful for him doing so, scared of what would've happened if he hadn't stepped in.

When he realised what he'd done, he shook his head slightly, the blue returning to his eyes once more, and he got ready to fight. With his fists raised in front of his face, he waited for the other guy to get back up again.

“What do you want, you limp noodle of a man, huh? You just got lucky with that one, fella.” The other guy pointed at Bob before spitting blood onto the light-up dance floor and cracking his neck, walking up to Bob. When he was still a few steps from him, Bob threw another punch, this time with even more force behind it and knocking Sam right out. There was a dark air around him, blackness enveloping his fist and travelling up his arm right before your eyes.

“She told you to leave her alone, asshat,” the Void growled, his voice several shades darker than that of Bob.

Looking at the limp figure before him for a split second, the Void went back in, throwing punch after punch, the black hand glistening from what must have been even more blood. Scared of what he’d do to Sam, you tried pulling Bob off of him, whispering into his ear that it was enough and for him to come back to you.

“Bob, please. He’s down already”, you begged and finally got enough strength to drag him away. Cupping his face, you tried to get Bob to focus on you and the black started to recede from his arms, his bloody hand cradling your face in return. It took a moment for the blue to return to his eyes again, for his jaw to unclench and the deep frown to relax a little.

"Are you ok, [y/n]?” Bob’s voice had gotten softer, his eyes searching yours for any sign of lasting harm. 

"Yeah, I think I just need some fresh air," you murmured and held onto his shirt, your legs feeling like jell-o all of a sudden.

Bob wrapped a protective arm around your back when he felt you dip against his stature and pulled you closer, his eyes going to somewhere behind you. He gulped loudly and you looked over your shoulder at what he’d seen.

"You two!" The security guard pointed at you and Bob, and then motioned for you to get out of there.

"Congrats, you just earned yourself a no-return ticket out of this bar," the guard added, and Bob started sputtering, trying to argue about how Sam had started it, how he was just trying to protect you and that Sam should be the one getting kicked out of the bar instead. Picking up the bloody mess that the Void had turned Sam into, the security guard started for the door, looking over his shoulder as if waiting for us to follow him.

"Oh, don't worry, he's going with you!" The guard pushed Bob towards the back exit, Bob's shoulders slumping a little before making his way out of the group of onlookers, pulling you with him by the hand. You intertwined your fingers with his, trying not to lose him while pushing through the mass.

"Our friends are still inside," you tried when you got outside, but the security guard wouldn't have any of it, telling you 'life sucks' and 'better luck next time' while propping Sam up against the wall of the back alley. Without another word, he made for the back entrance before the door fell shut on him, and then disappeared into the turmoil inside the bar.

Looking around the dark alleyway, Bob scoffed before turning towards you, an angry look on his face.

"What a dick!"

You just shrugged your shoulders and felt tears well up in your eyes again, the shock of the situation wearing down and the fear taking over once more. When you tugged at his hand, Bob looked down, realising he was holding your hand, fingers intertwined, and let go before scratching the back of his head.

"Sorry, I didn't realise..."

He wiped his hands on his shirt, the blood staining the white shirt he was wearing under the flannel, and apologised again. When the first tears started to roll down your cheeks, a sob left your mouth and pulled his gaze back to you. His eyes widened in shock and his jaw went slack again, his brows knitting together in a regretful frown.

"Oh, no... I didn't mean to... [y/n], please don't cry..." He came up to you and cupped your cheeks, looking into your eyes deeply before wrapping his arms around you tightly. "I'm sorry... I just get really clammy hands whenever I feel... overwhelmed… And well, the blood and all…"

The embrace was warm, his arms feeling like a protective blanket wrapping around you, shielding you from any more harm. You sidled up to him, relishing in the comfort the hug offered against the cold air of night-time New York in early December. You stayed wrapped in his arms for a second, silent tears rolling down your cheeks while you tried to gather yourself, listening to the faint sound of his heart beating rapidly.

When you heard the groggy groans of the figure behind you, you tensed again and looked up at Bob, his face breaking further when he saw your tear-stained cheeks.

"Can you please get me out of here," you begged, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, and he nodded quickly before letting one arm fall down from its place around your frame and cupping your cheek.

"Yeah, sure. Just tell me where to," he affirmed, wiping away the latest tears with the pad of his thumb. When he realised that you were shivering, he shimmied out of his flannel, wrapping it around your shoulders and mumbling ‘here, this should keep you warm’ under his breath.

"Just take me home, please." You pulled the soft fabric around you tighter, the warm scent of cedarwood and vanilla mixed with his own warm smell enveloping your senses.

He nodded again and turned towards the exit of the alleyway, his right arm wrapping around your shoulder again while he led you towards the main street.

~~~

You guys spent the first few minutes of your walk in silence, not sure how to make conversation after what had happened.

That was until you were stood at a red light and Bob turned towards you, his arm having fallen from around you a few blocks ago.

"I'm sorry, I got us kicked out of the bar," he apologised and put his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, the uneasy look from earlier making its way back onto his face, knitting his eyebrows together and making him pull his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You really seemed to have a good time until that fucker turned up," Bob went on and you shrugged, the fun from earlier already a distant memory in the racing tornado of thoughts wreaking havoc in your mind.

"It was alright", your voice was low and you kicked at the burger wrapping left behind on the sidewalk, hoping you'd be able to boot the haunting images of past trauma away with it.

"Maybe it's stupid, but I kinda wanted to dance with you up there", Bob admitted, looking off towards the traffic light on the other side of the crossing. 

His fingers were mindlessly fidgeting with the brand label at the hem of his shirt, a nervous habit you had observed so often when you were around him. When his gaze met yours, the small smile playing on his lips sent butterflies to your stomach, a warmth you hadn't felt in ages rushing up your arms and down your back.

"You looked really beautiful, you know. In the lights, lost to the music. Like you were somewhere else entirely and you didn't have a care in the world", he added, a chuckle at the end of his sentence, and his eyes sparkled, reflecting the cool light of the headlights lining the street.

"I would have liked that", you admitted, offering him a warm smile in return before turning your attention to the changing traffic light indicating you were allowed to cross the street.

“You wouldn’t have enjoyed that for long though,” he replied, chuckling to himself again, before looking over to where you were walking by his side. “I am a really terrible dancer. Like… I’ve totally got two left feet. Just the thought makes me feel sorry for your toes.”

He struck a pose and wiggled his butt to imaginary music when he reached the sidewalk, looking over his shoulder at you with his bottom lip between his teeth and trying his best to look seductive.

This had you laughing loudly then, holding onto his arm for support and putting your head against his shoulder, your eyes closing in appreciation.

“Thank you! I really needed that right now, Bob,” you got out between laughs and grinned up at him, the butterflies in your stomach making you feel like you were 14 all over again.

“Always at your service, m’lady.” He bowed and winked at you before continuing his way down the street, pulling you with him by the hand.

~~~

“Ok, so, I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick, but how about we put on some music after and have that dance party”, you suggested, walking through the elevator doors and looking over your shoulder at Bob, who had an easy smile on his face, his cheek a healthy shade of pink from all the laughing.

He put his arms out and grabbed a hold of the lapelles of the flannel you were still wearing, pulling you back closer to him before wrapping his arms around your frame in a tight hug. You snuggled up to him, ignoring the bloody streaks on his shirt and buried your head against his chest.

“What’s that for,” you asked, looking up at him from under your lashes and trying to keep yourself from blushing at the softness in his eyes.

“I just felt like hugging you, that’s all,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “You looked so cuddly in the dim light, wrapped up in my flannel.”

The words left his mouth quietly, barely above a whisper and when he realised he’d said it aloud, his eyes grew wide, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in a thick gulp. After trying to find the right words to reply to this and coming up empty, you pushed up on your tiptoes and put a quick kiss on his cheek. Scared you took it too far, you wriggled out of the embrace and turned to the general direction of your bedroom, leaving Bob standing near the elevator, his fingers repeatedly running over the spot that you had just kissed, his eyes glued to where you had just stood and his mouth opening and closing rapidly.

“Remember, dance party in the living room in ten minutes,” you yelled over your shoulder and vanished in your bedroom.

~~~

You connected your phone to the speakers in the living room, sneaking up to Bob sitting on the couch and wrapped your arms around his neck, a giant grin playing at your lips.

“Ready to dance, Bob,” you whispered in his ear cheekily, drawing out his name and letting your hands run down his chest while your towel dried hair fell around you.

He grabbed your wrists and pulled you over the back of the couch swiftly, making you land with your head in his lap, his hand quickly moving to your hip to keep you from rolling off the couch.

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he joked and pulled you up with him, his arm wrapped around you and letting his hand rest on the small of your back.

“Well, if you dance anything like what you showed me down on that street corner, I’m in for a hell of a time.” You pulled your phone from the pocket of the shorts you had gotten into after the shower and looked through your playlist for a good song to start with.

“Here, I think this will be a good one,” you mumbled, choosing ‘Me because of You’ by the Faim, and wiggled your eyebrows at him playfully, when the song started playing over the speakers.

 “Ok, I think I can work with this,” he said, nodding his head and moving the coffee table off to the side to make more room for us to have fun. He stretched his arms and cracked his neck, starting with a simple step-touch and moving his shoulders to the beat of the song.

You studied him for a second, suddenly a little scared of what he might think of you if you just let loose and have fun. He motioned for you to come closer and you followed his request, stepping closer and trying to keep from laughing, when he faked licking his pointer and pinky and smoothing his eyebrows over.

“Come on, you can’t hold back now, [y/n],” he yelled over the music and pulled me closer right when the song said ‘dance with me, feel the beat, follow my lead’. He placed your hands on his shoulders and then put his hands on your waist again, starting to waltz with you for a whole two seconds before both of you burst out laughing.

“You wanted to dance with me. So, dance, love,” he added and moved his body to the beat again.

“I’m nervous,” you confessed, running your hands over the clean shirt he put on while you were in the shower, and looked at him, biting your lip restlessly.

“Close your eyes and just imagine I’m not here. You’re alone in your room where no one can see you. And then do what you do,” he tried, brushing a strand of towel dried hair out of your face.

“If it helps, I can close my eyes, too,” he offered and put his hands over his eyes, peeking through his fingers.

“Fine,” you grumbled and moved away from him a little, turning your back on him but then looking back over your shoulder to make sure he had his eyes covered.

When you saw that he really wasn’t peeking, you started to move and smiled to yourself, feeling the music take over your body and jumping up and down giddily. After a few seconds, you started to sing along and moved freely, turning around and shimmying your shoulders and nodding your head.

“Are you doing it? Are you dancing,” he asked, still covering his eyes but moving his hips to the beat.

You peeled his hands from his eyes and pulled him into the middle of the carpet, making him stumble over his own feet. He opened one eye, looking at your dancing figure, and you tried to hide the smirk playing at your lips. He joined in with dancing and pursed his lips, concentrating on his moves so as not to stumble over his own feet again.

When the chorus started to play for the last time, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer again, and started swaying with you, his head on top of yours. He intertwined his fingers with yours and then moved away from you, extending his arms before stepping in again. He threw your arms over his shoulders and stepped past you before turning around quickly, to repeat this spiel another time, though instead of simply stepping past you, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, swaying from side to side.

Bob sang along to the words, his voice in your ear as his head dipped down a little and then he spun you around and caught you in his arms again more masterfully than he had led on to believe before.

“Tonight, I’ve changed, yeah. I’m only me because of you.” He put his cheek against yours and hummed happily, picking you up and twirling you around.

When the song had ended, he held you in place, your forehead resting against his. His gaze was moving back and forth between your eyes and your lips, his breath having grown a little shallow. You could feel his hand travel up your side and then caress your cheek, his face coming closer until you could feel his shallow breath on your lips, the tips of your noses just millimeters away from each other.

Expecting him to close the last bit of distance, you closed your eyes and turned your head upwards a little, your heart beating rapidly inside your chest. The moments until he finally put his lips to yours felt like an eternity, millions of thoughts running through your brain, the anticipation of what it’d feel like to kiss him raising goosebumps across your body. When he finally closed the distance and kissed you, his lips were soft, moving against yours slowly at first and then you deepened the kiss, moving your hand to the back of his head. Your other hand ran up his chest, feeling his pecs flex under your touch. 

When your teeth sank into his bottom lip, he let out a soft moan and you slipped your tongue into his mouth, exploring it carefully and moving your tongue in sync with his. His hand grabbed a fistful of your shirt and he moved you back over to the couch, letting you drop into his lap when the couch hit the back of his legs and he sat down.

You straddled him, your left arm wrapping around him to hold onto the backrest to keep you from falling into him, while your right hand ran through the hair at the back of his head, pulling on it softly, when one of his hands moved up the outside of your thigh to your hip.

He pulled away from you for a second, trying to catch his breath, his mouth hanging open a little while he searched your eyes for any sign of regret. When he couldn’t find any but instead realised that your mouth had split into a bright smile, he chuckled cheerfully and kissed you again hungrily.

With the kisses getting more and more heated, you started grinding into him, the aching need for feeling him closer growing in the pit of your stomach. When you rolled your hips a little extra hard, he groaned deeply and the grip of his hand on your hip grew stronger, a pleasant pain running up your spine and making you throw your head back.

His lips went to your neck, peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses on the soft skin and then he started sucking on the pulse point underneath your ear, biting and licking and driving you into overdrive. The fingers buried in his hair pulled on his locks and his growing bulge started to rub up against you just the right way when he bucked his hips in response.

“We… should probably…”, he started in between kisses and you nodded mindlessly, trying to get as much friction from grinding down into him harder. 

“Fuck, [y/n], ok, wait…” He stopped you from moving your hips by wrapping his arm around you and pulling you impossibly close, and then made you look him in the eyes before going on: “I can’t do it like this… If I have you, I want all of you.”

You gulped at this, realising he wasn’t joking and felt your jaw go slack.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, but I will not let this be how I have you for the first time.” His thumb caressed your cheek and he kissed you softly, his forehead falling to yours, probably fighting the urge to just have you right then and there.

“Then take me to your room, Bob,” you mumbled breathlessly when he pulled away again, nuzzling your face with his in a love-drunken state. You placed soft kisses all over his face, earning a little chuckle from him, when you moved down to his neck, his head falling back to give you more room to work with.

“[y/n], god, you drive me crazy,” he moaned and let his hands slip underneath your shirt, sending shivers down your spine from the tiny sparks his touch left on your skin. Letting out a ‘mh-hm’ in response, you ran your thumb over his bottom lip and kissed him again, your tongue slipping into his mouth easily.

His hands went down your back and held onto your ass when he picked you up in one smooth motion, your legs wrapping around his hips to gain more stability. Your arms snaked around his neck and a chuckle escaped your mouth when he stumbled over the couch on his way out of the living room, holding you in space with one arm while he steadied himself.

“How about we stop kissing until we’re actually in your bedroom,” you joked and he nodded, telling you ‘that’s a good idea’ before making his way over to his bedroom, his steps quick and assertive.

“Wait, we still have to turn off the music,” you realised when you were halfway down the hallway and Bob stopped dead in his tracks, sighing heavily. He looked back over his shoulder and you could see the cogs work behind his eyes, trying to decide what to do.

“Ok, you go turn off the music and I’ll get everything ready?”

Setting you down on the floor, he pecked your lips and then slapped your ass, making you jump a little and hurry back to the living room. You made quick work of turning off the music and grabbing your phone, eager to get back to Bob and what you were doing, running back down the hallway to where his bedroom was. Sliding in through the door, you stopped when you saw that Bob was on the phone with someone, holding up a finger to you just as you wanted to ask what was wrong.

“Oh, no, y’all can stay out longer. No… No. [y/n] wasn’t feeling too hot, so I took her home.” He looked at the floor for a second, scratching his head while trying to understand Yelena over the thumping music on the other side of the line. “I think she’s sleeping already. No… I don’t think she’ll mind! Go have fun, you guys,” he added and then ended the call after telling Yelena goodbye.

“Is everything ok,” you enquired, walking up to him and putting your phone on his desk, the screen lighting up and showing you had a couple of missed calls from Yelena and Ava. He matched you and put his phone down next to yours, before turning back to you and searching your face for a second.

“Yeah, they were just worried where we went and because they couldn’t reach us earlier.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer and brushing the hair from the slope of your neck, adding a ‘so, where were we’ before running his fingers over the soft skin under your chin.

“Are they coming back already?” You asked, your head falling back when Bob started to kiss your neck.

“No, there’s this party at another bar they wanna check out.” He bit your neck playfully and then nuzzled the side of your face, telling you that the two of you should be in the clear for the next few hours. He picked you up again and walked over to his bed, dropping you in the middle of the mattress before climbing onto the mattress and kneeling down between your legs.

“Next few hours? What do you have planned,” you asked cheekily, your hands working on taking off his shirt.

“I’m gonna take my time with you, love,” he replied, helping you to get him out of his shirt and kissing you passionately.

Your fingertips ran over his abs and up into his hair again and you pulled him down with you, moaning when his hips settled between yours like puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly.

“God, you sound so good when you moan,” he whined desperately, his hand caressing your cheek and then running through your hair. “You sound so much better than I could ever imagine.”

“You imagined how I’d sound?” Your voice was barely a whisper, too much anticipation and desire clouding your brain already. The building tension in your core was painful at this point and you could feel your arousal gathering between your legs.

“More often than I’d like to admit, yes.” His kisses were growing hungrier with every passing second, his hands running down your sides, pulling at the fabric of your shirt and digging into the bare skin of your legs. He wanted to feel your skin and memorise every inch of it, having wanted to touch you for months now.

“What did you picture,” you asked, flipping you over and straddling his hips again, pulling your shirt over your head and grinding your hips into his rhythmically. His eyes were wandering over your torso, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he sat up and wrapped his arms around you to work on undoing your bra. When he’d opened the clasp in the back, he slipped the straps down your shoulders, kissing the freckles that dusted your skin there.

“The way you’d sound… How you’d taste…” He pulled your face closer, his fingers on your chin, and placed his lips on yours again, this time slow and deep. His other hand came up to your right breast and cupped it, running his thumb over your nipple hardening from the relative cold in the room. “How you’d look taking me. The way your face breaks when I make you cum…”

He bucked his hips, his clothed erection pushing up into your clit and you gasped, running your fingernails over his abs, your head falling forwards to rest on his shoulder. You moved your hips with his, the layered fabric of your shorts and panties rubbing up against your core with every thrust of his hips. It had been a while since you last were intimate with someone, so you could already feel the knot in your lower stomach begin to tighten, your breath hitching when Bob’s tongue licked over your sensitive nipple before taking your breast into his mouth.

Your hand travelled further south and you lifted your hips, dipping your fingers into the waistband of his joggers, realising he wasn’t wearing any boxers underneath when you made contact with his hot skin. Trying to meet his eyes, you lifted your eyebrows in surprise and he shrugged, letting go of your breast with a popping sound.

“Hey, a guy can hope, right,” he tried to defend himself and smirked at you, when you pushed him down onto the mattress, while your other hand slipped into his joggers fully and wrapped around his hard length. He was bigger than you’d imagined, thicker too, and at the thought of having him inside of you, your pussy started to ache deliciously and eager.

You pumped your hand up his length slowly and his eyes rolled up into his head, his jaw hanging open slightly, a string of curses and whines leaving his mouth. Seeing him enjoy your touch this much, sent you into overdrive, and you moved off his legs, pulling down his joggers with you, before throwing them to the other corner of his room. His erection sprang free and you took in the sight before you, Bob leaning on his elbows, completely naked and looking sexier than you ever dreamt up.

Running your hands through your hair, you felt your cheeks heat up and hid your face in your hands, chuckling to yourself for a second.

“What? [y/n], what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong,” he asked, worry evident in his voice while he moved to sit up a little, his hands on your shoulders.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you started and took a deep breath, letting your hands fall from your face and meeting his eyes. “It’s just been a while and I… Well, I didn’t think I’d ever end up in this situation,” you added, your eyes darting over the smile lines appearing around his eyes and the dimple in his right cheek. “I think, it just hit me that this is happening, you know?”

He nodded, understanding you perfectly well, his thumb caressing your cheek before he kissed you. His arms wrapped around your shoulders and he laid you down gently, settling between your legs. You deepened the kiss, running your left hand through his dark locks while your right hand travelled down his back and settled on his hips. You wrapped one of your legs around his hip and smiled into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his skin on your own.

“Like I said, we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And we can take our time, there’s no rush. Not tonight,” he murmured against your lips, his forehead resting on yours between soft kisses.

“I want you, Bob,” you whispered, searching his eyes, the blue of them having darkened by lust. “I want all of you.”

His face split into a bright grin and he let his head fall to the crook of your neck, hiding his own nervousness by peppering your skin with kisses again. His left hand moved down your side and to the leg wrapped around his hip as he angled his hip a little, his erection brushing up against your core again. You moaned softly and tried to meet him better, your leg snaking around him more tightly.

“If we’re really gonna do this, then we’re gonna do this right,” Bob said, his voice darker than before and sending shivers down your spine.

He pulled away from you, his fingertips moving to the waistband of your shorts and he pulled them down your legs, your panties coming off with them. Bob tossed them over to where his joggers had landed and spread your legs slowly, taking you in and biting on his bottom lip, his eyes sparkling in the dim light from his bedside lamp. He let his fingers dance over the inside of your legs, drawing loose shapes on your skin from your ankles up to your hips and then grabbed one of his pillows from above your head. You lifted your hips and he put the pillow under your ass, settling between your legs and looking at you intently from under his lashes.

“You sure you wanna do this? You can say no or stop me at any time,” he assured you and you nodded, biting down on the knuckle of your index finger in anticipation, butterflies making somersaults in your tummy. He lowered his head and blew on you, earning himself a low whimper from you, the air feeling cold against your wet pussy. He ran a finger up between your folds and chuckled, sending vibrations through your core from how close his mouth was to your center.

“God, you’re already so wet and I haven’t even done anything.”

His finger slipped into your vagina with ease and the squelching sound that was heard by him pulling it out again, made the blush on your cheeks deepen. He pushed his finger back in and then curled it, making you moan his name loudly as he brushed your g-spot. He repeated this a couple of times while his tongue ran along the outside of your folds, slowly making its way inwards. When he finally ran the tip of his tongue up your folds and flicked your clit, your hips bucked, another moan falling from your lips, having him hum in response.

“You taste so good, babe.” He lapped at you and then slowed down again, the tip of his tongue circling your clit and then flicking it with a masterful tab, sending sparks up your spine and making your toes curl. Your fingers buried into his locks again and you pulled on them, pulling him closer in an attempt to get even more friction.

“Mhm, do you like that,” he asked, meeting your gaze and smirking cheekily.

“Yeah, feels good, Bob,” you moaned, your head falling back down and your eyes rolling back when he removed his finger from your hole and circled your pussy with the tip of his tongue. Then, he added another finger up, running them through your folds and back down towards your vagina before thrusting them in, this time a little more forcefully.

You yelped in surprise and pulled on his hair, your legs going a little numb. He waited to move his fingers for a second, looking down at how his fingers had disappeared in you completely and then pulled them back out a bit, curling the same way he did before, brushing over your g-spot again. When he’d found a good rhythm that had you breathing heavily, the knot tightening in your stomach, he put his mouth on you again and pushed you over the edge, your toes curling while your legs tensed around his head. One of your hands left his head to move to the bedsheets, gripping it hard as pleasure rushed over your body like a tidal wave.

“Fuck, Bob, you feel so good.”

You were writhing under him, Bob relentlessly licking up your juices while you clawed at his shoulders and rode the highs of the orgasm coursing through your body. The wet noises of his fingers pumping in and out of you filled your ears and you felt another wave of the orgasm rain down on you when his teeth scraped over your sensitive nub before flicking it again with his tongue. You could feel your walls clamp down around his fingers and then heard him chuckle deeply, before his arm pushed down on your hips, keeping you in place.

He kept at it, fingering you and eating you out, only coming up from between your legs when you started to come down from the high, your breath still rushed and shallow. You ran your hand through your hair, and looked at him, moving up your body, his lips glistening from your arousal and his spit mixed together. He put his fingers into his mouth and sucked your juices off of them, closing his eyes in ecstasy and the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smile, after he pulled his fingers out again.

“God, that was so hot,” he breathed, putting his lips to yours and kissing you hungrily. You nodded, deepening the kiss by slipping your tongue into his mouth and tasting yourself on his tongue. Your hand ran down his torso and wrapped around his length again, your thumb wiping over his tip and feeling the sticky precum leaking out of him. With your brain still hazy from your recent orgasm, you pushed him down onto the mattress and started peppering kisses on his neck, moving down to his clavicle and his chest, the nails of your free hands scratching over his chest, while the other one pumped his length slowly.

When you were on the same level with his dick, you looked up at him and opened your mouth, taking him in as far as you could, your hand still wrapped around the part of him that didn’t fit into your mouth anymore. You started bobbing your head up and down his length and his fingers ran through your hair, his hand cupping the back of your head and aiding you in keeping an enjoyable rhythm, while whines and moans fell from his lips.

“Oh, fuck. You’re better than I ever imagined,” he whined, his hips bucking and his dick hit the back of your throat. 

Your eyes travelled back up his figure and you opened your mouth a little further, trying to take more of him. Tears were brimming at the corners of your eyes and your own arousal started running down the inside of your leg, so you moved your free hand to your clit, rubbing yourself while sucking him off.

After a couple more bobs of your head, Bob groaned loudly, his hips tensing and his grip on your hair getting harder. His cum spilled onto your tongue and you swallowed it, humming in enjoyment, while continuing the motion of your hand pumping up and down his length. Feeling another orgasm approaching from your own fingers between your legs, you moaned, some residual cum of his running out the corner of your mouth and dripping on his length.

Biting down on your lips, you looked up at him, his mouth hanging open at the sight of you pleasuring yourself. He motioned for you to come closer, pushing your hand away from between your legs to take over while pulling you into his lap again. You rested your head against his shoulder, while his fingers were drawing circles around your clit, pushing you ever closer to the edge. You could feel that you were getting overstimulated already and whined, wanting to get the release you so desperately needed. Pulling his lips to yours and kissing him hungrily, you moved your hips a little to meet his touch, his fingers slipping into you once more while the pad of thumb brushed up against your clitoris.

“Bob, don’t stop. Please, I’m so close,” you whined, your face falling at the pressure building in your core.

“Come on, baby. Come for me,” he whispered into your ear and nibbled on your earlobe, thrusting his fingers into you deeper and curling them on their way out.

Feeling his tongue lick over your pulse point was enough to make you fall over the edge again, his fingers brushing your g-spot again and again, sparks flying between your bodies. Your nails dug into his back and you rode his fingers, moaning his name at the top of your lungs.

“God, I love it when you moan my name like that.” 

He put you back down on the mattress, knowing you’d need the support of the bed beneath you, your legs having turned to jelly and shaking from all of the stimulation. Your chest was rising and falling quickly while you tried to catch your breath, absolutely exhausted from two big orgasms so close together.

“Do you need a little break,” he asked, laying down next to you and running his fingers up and down your sides. You turned your head toward his and the look on his face was so soft, caring and full of love, making your heart ache at being the object of his adoration. You nodded, still unable to form words, the last after waves of your orgasm having your ears ringing and your fingertips feeling numb.

Bob pulled you a little closer, wiping the beads of sweat from your forehead, and placed soft kisses all over your face, telling you how beautiful you were. How lucky he was to be here with you at that moment. How he never thought this would actually happen.

“You know, I thought you didn’t like me,” you told him, your voice still barely a whisper, your fingers starting to draw circles on his chest while his fingertips did the same on your shoulder blade. “That you didn’t want to spend time with me when the others were gone because you secretly hated me.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever liked anyone as much as I like you,” he said softly, his hand cupping your face and making you look at him, before going on: “I’m sorry that I made you feel like I hated you, but it is clearly the very opposite.”

He kissed you then, softly and with all the love he felt for you. Your lips melted against his and a warmth spread in your chest, creeping up the back of your neck and rolling over your legs and into your tiptoes. This kiss was different, it wasn’t hungry or desperate but still intense in its own way. Even after everything the two of you just did, you felt closer to Bob now, his arms wrapping around you tighter and flipping you on your back again, your legs intertwined lazily and his broad chest like a shield keeping you safe.

You stayed like that for a little while then, making out and exploring each other’s body slowly, your touch soft and meaningful, as if you wanted to memorise every inch of the other’s figure. You couldn’t say how long you were just lying there, enjoying each other’s presence and forgetting everything around you. It could’ve been five minutes or it could’ve been an hour but it didn’t matter to you because you were right where you wanted to be. Wrapped in his arms, having his lips on yours and feeling his delicate touch on your body.

His lips ran over your shoulders, dusting the freckles with love, while your lips grazed his collarbone, your fingers gripping his ass cheeks and earning you a high pitched giggle from him.

“Are you ticklish,” you enquired, a cheeky smirk on your lips and he shook his head vigorously, trying to push your hands off of him.

“No, of course I’m not ticklish. What makes you think that?” He rolled his eyes and tried to put a little distance between you two, his hands swatting at you trying to poke his sides.

“I don’t know. That very manly giggle that just slipped past your lips, maybe,” you teased and his jaw dropped, so threw yourself at him playfully, making him lose his balance and taking you down with him.

“I don’t know what you're talking about. What giggle?” He grinned up at you and cupped your cheek, pulling you down to him and kissing you again passionately.

With your leg thrown over his hip, you could feel him getting hard again and you moved your hips, straddling him once more. You purred softly at his length pressing up against your folds and instinctively grinded down on him, coating the underside of his dick in your arousal. Bob’s hand gripped your hip and he stopped you from moving for a second.

“Wait, I’ve got condoms in the drawer over there,” he murmured, motioning to his bedside table, and his voice broke when you rolled your hips into his again.

“I’m on the pill, so,” you started, kissing him quickly and then added: “I’m good either way.”

He looked at you and for a second, his brows knitted together in a frown. He let his thumb run over your bottom lip and you stopped moving, lifting your hips a little before leaning over to his bedside table.

“I just wanna make sure nothing unexpected happens, you know,” he started to explain and you looked over your shoulder, opening the drawer slowly.

“Bob, hey. It’s ok, really!” Your hand looked for the packet of condoms and took one out when you found it, before turning back to him. “I’m glad you wanna be safe, love.” You cupped his cheek and smiled at him, placing a quick kiss on his lips. 

You opened the shiny packaging and took out the condom, turning it over in your fingers to have it the right way around. Pinching the tip of it, you looked at Bob and asked him if he was ready. When he nodded, inching closer to you, you grabbed his length and put the condom on, pushing the rubbery material down his length easily. His hand came up to caress your cheek and he kissed you softly, his fingers burying in the hair at the back of your head while you climbed onto him, straddling his hips again.

With your hand still wrapped around his length, you guided his dick along your folds and then lowered onto it, moaning at the burning sensation of his thickness stretching you slowly. Bob’s jaw dropped and he groaned at slipping into you, his teeth digging into your bottom lip. You stayed there for a second, trying to adjust to the feeling of him filling you up so well and held onto his shoulders before you lifted your hips again slowly. The delicious pain of his size slipping in and out of you made your brain go foggy and you sank down onto him with more ease this time. Picking up the pace, you threw your head back and rode Bob’s dick, his right hand on your breast, kneading the tissue while his tongue worked on the nipple of your other breast. His left hand was on your hip, guiding you as you took him.

“Mhm, you fill me up so well, Bob,” you mused and bounced on him, the pain having turned to pleasure a few thrusts ago. His mouth let go of your breast and he pulled your face down, kissing you hungrily and he bucked his hips into yours and slipping in deeper with the next thrust, bottoming out. You moaned into his mouth loudly and let a giggle fall over your lips as you noticed the familiar feeling of your orgasm nearing.

He stopped moving for a second and turned you around, so you were beneath him and then he grabbed your right leg and moved it from around his hips to have it over his shoulder instead, changing the angle at which he thrusted into you.

Bob groaned against your mouth as he bottomed out again, his balls slapping against your ass with the next thrust and you let out a moan of his name, your nails digging into his back.

“Ugh, you’re so tight, babe. Feel so good,” he slurred and went to town on you, thrusting in and pulling back out, his bed groaning under his movements.

“You gotta tell me if I’m too rough,” he whispered into your ear, enveloping you with his form and leaning on his elbow while his other hand held onto your leg.

“No, it’s good. So good, Bob,” you assured, relishing in the feeling of him filling you up to the brim and stretching you with every thrust. You knew that you were close again, the knot twisting and tightening and you reached between your bodies, your fingers working on your clit while his dick slipped in and out of you at an exquisite pace.

He looked down at where your bodies met and whined, his forehead falling to yours. The sound of skin hitting skin filled the room and you were glad that the rest of the team was still out, fearing just how much they would’ve been able to hear of what you two were doing.

“[y/n], fuck, you feel so good. I don’t know how much longer I can…” The movement of his hips got a little sloppy and you kissed him again, steadying him with a hand on his ass while you tried to meet his thrusts with your hip.

“It’s ok, babe. Come, Bob. I’m right behind you,” you purred into his ear and his hips stuttered, a low groan falling from his lips. You moved your hips, helping him ride out his orgasm and kissed his closed lids, when he suddenly thrusted into you harder again, pushing you closer and over the edge.

You fell with him, your third orgasm of the night sending lighting through your whole body. You clung to his body, biting into his shoulder and scratching your nails over his back, earning a wince from him at the pain that seemed to send him into a flurry. Your walls clenched around him as your orgasm progressed and he put his lips on your neck, riding out your shared orgasm, his breathing quick and shallow.

When he came down from his high, he sighed, an exhausted but gratified look on his face, and laid down next to you. You curled up to him, throwing your arm over his chest and putting your head on his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart and his quick breath.

“Did I hurt you?” The question came suddenly and you looked at him, confused at where the concern was coming from.

“Why are you asking?”

“This was my first time since the medical trial,” he started and turned onto his side, wrapping his arm around your hip.

“No, you didn’t hurt me, Bob. Quite the opposite, actually.” You caressed his cheek and kissed him softly, before adding: “I enjoyed it very much, if you couldn’t tell.”

A proud smile pushed up the corners of his mouth and he shook his head, chuckling lightheaded.

“God, you’re an incredible woman, [y/n].”

[tojisun]

the hand that feeds you

— “i take care of her, s’all.”

johnny mactavish x f!reader

cw: 18+ work - minors dni; age difference; daddy issues (kinda the central plot); cooking as a love language; slow burn but in high speed; a breath of angst; power imbalance; canon divergence - regular/non-military life au // amazing divider by @gildui! // 6.5k words

extra notes: this is a very self-indulgent work. there are holes in the plot, 100%, so ignore those holes pretty pls </3 also ik this is more of a captain johnny-verse but midway through, i started projecting so i might’ve written him incorrectly and im really sorry for that!!

being roommates with johnny is not as weird as it is; he’s amicable, at first, then full blown nice when days passed. he’s not loud, per se, but there’s always a constant chatter streaming from his space, like he physically can’t sit still through the silence which is great because you don’t fare any better with the stillness too, so reminiscent of how it was in the suburbs.

you moved to a neighbourhood just skirting past the inner city just because it’s a lot cheaper. but even then, rent was always high and your little box in a rundown complex wasn’t going to sustain you forever even if you wished it would. then, an opening in johnny’s townhouse was posted, almost half-price than whatever is up in the market, and it’s great despite your skepticism. hell, it’s more than great — it’s lifesaving.

your shitty job at the bookstore really can’t cover much of your expenses anymore, and sure student loans and the grant is great, but the growing debt makes you wince so it’s whatever at this point. you’re about to graduate soon anyway, pooling work experience from volunteering and club organizations, and it’s not like you can even go back to how it was.

(underway to law school, primed up before your father’s scrutiny but the burnout got to you before you could even write the LNAT. you realized that being a barrister wasn’t really what you wanted so you changed programs, midway, and switched to children’s education.

god, the disappointment in your pa’s eyes was so big, you knew to pack your shit before he could even kick you out.)

it’s… tough.

god, is it tough. none of your old friends and colleagues could stay in contact, which you don’t hold against them because most of them, by now, have graduated and entered law school. you’re straggling about two years back because of the switch in programs, and everything’s gone too tight. your budget. your social life.

your dating life.

johnny often distracts you from it all — he works in downtown, in one of those high-rise buildings often reserved for limiteds or holding companies, and has to travel off the city every three months. he makes good money, he said jovially, and you know it’s a nudge as to why your portion of the rent is cheap in the first place.

when you finally bit the bullet and asked why he put up one of the rooms in the market, johnny just shrugged and said he needed someone to house sit but sort off permanently. said something like last time he left, the pipes bursted and he couldn’t really fly back to help with the repairs.

it’s great being with him. he’s bright and bubbly, but also dependable in ways you never really thought about. like—

well, it’s all mundane things so listing them feels embarrassing, and it makes you feel as though you’re a touch-starved damsel and johnny just so happened to be the next older man to give you any attention and his time. but you can’t help it. god, you can’t help preen at the way he exists beside you.

he’s just so… beautiful, is what it is.

rugged and charming and loud and filling. the townhouse is too big for the two of you, but johnny makes it work. makes it feel like the two of you just fit into each other’s spaces.

early mornings are spent with him lilting between english and scottish, his exhaustion plastered onto him even after he’s downed two cups of coffee. he bumps his hip onto yours when he ambles out to prepare for his work, grumbling something like good morning and how’re you. afternoons are more lively and productive; it’s of you coming back from campus at six in the evening only to find him in the kitchen, fixing up dinner. it’s always something fancy and rich in flavour; something he always eats with wine on the side.

you, uh, you never thought he could actually cook, let alone feed himself well, but there he was, always a plate ready for you too like it’s expected that you’ll eat dinner with him. like spending time with him was just natural — the sky is blue, the ocean’s deep, and you and johnny fall into each other like there is an invisible string pulling you close to him.

it’s a beautiful change of pace, and there are more days now when you can breathe in a little easier, and you know it’s all because of johnny. it’s all him who pulled you out of your slump and out of that darkness and gave you the room, literally, to grow.

he’s beautiful, but you’ve said that already, haven’t you? he’s just… so good to be with.

then, johnny began picking up and bringing some home.

.

the first time it happened was shocking, really.

you had an early morning, something that’s so murky now in your memories so you’re unsure if it was anything uni related or work related, just that it was five in the morning and you were clambering downstairs as quietly as you could. you rounded the length of the hallway from the platform to the kitchen when you ran into someone.

“steady,” she’d said, voice hoarse and loud in her shock too.

you yelled, jumping, arms swinging because was there an intruder, and it took johnny physically subduing you for you to calm down. looking back now, you burn in embarrassment, but then you had been so worried, your body wound up so tightly in your fear.

“shh,” johnny had murmured with that wry grin. “s’just me, lass.”

your eyes danced between him and the brunette — pretty even in her rumpled shirt, with long legs and a small waist — trying to understand what was going on. you are sure johnny had told you before that he wasn’t seeing anyone so who—

“your girlfriend?” she asked johnny, turning to him with her lips pursed and her brow cocked up.

the question settled in your stomach, doing wonders to your already-fragile psyche. you’d just spent hours thinking about johnny and what he meant to you; what living with him meant. how it eased up something carved within the trenches of your being, like you’d always been waiting for someone like him.

the question was a reminder, like prickling you with icicles, leaving you to navigate the swoop. but johnny had laughed, nothing mean but so dismissive that you felt the curl of shame brandishing from the base of your spine like johnny was laughing at you.

“oh, nah,” he replied, arm still slung over your shoulders. “she’s sorta my ward, yes? i take care of her, s’all.”

that’s all. you’re nothing more to him but a ward. a tenant. not even a friend—

she hummed, then leaned over to kiss johnny, her eyes still drawn to you like she’s watching, waiting for a reaction, and when she got none, she trudged to the door. you and johnny watched as she bent down to slip in her shoes, some stilettos with red bottoms, before wordlessly disappearing into the darkened morning.

“pretty,” you chirped, trying to break the tension of whatever that was.

johnny laughed in that way that surely crinkled his eyes, only to steer the conversation away by asking why you were up early. you remembered what you had to do and you dived to the kitchen in a flurry, chatting about the deadlines and due dates — so it was a school thing — and johnny just watched, silent, humming, eyes still curved in his glee.

you left no sooner than his… paramour did and, for a while, that was that.

but your semester is coming to a close and your schedule is changing, but so is johnny’s. he’s coming home later and later, but always seemed to offer apologies in the form of easy-to-microwave meals for your dinner. they’re still homemade, probably cooked up in the morning before he left for work, and you’d messaged him to say that he didn’t need to worry about you. that, sure, you came to him amidst financial struggle, juggling work and school, and trying to decide if you would have to starve this month because of rent, but you can cook. for yourself and for him too.

johnny’s face did a terrible thing when you mentioned that in person, the first in a while after things got hectic.

“what,” you bit out, embarrassed.

“nothing,” he said, blinking like he was realizing things he shouldn’t. “s’fun doing things f’r you.”

then he clamped up, spooning soup into his mouth, some of it messily dribbling into his chin. it’s not like you were doing any better, with how your throat closed up at his words, eyes going wide.

it’s been a thing, is what it is, but neither of you two have ever acknowledged that it’s a thing. it’s been a wordless experience — of johnny taking over things when it comes to the house because of course he will, it’s his home, but he always covers things for you too. things you’re sure normal landlords don’t really worry about, but not johnny.

there’s always extra food in the kitchen, extra blankets when the weather dips. there’s even a new cooling machine for the summer even though you know johnny’s room already has an installed air conditioning. he’s even changed the seats in the dining room because he caught you once hitting your hip after an all-nighter on a project.

then, he refurbished the den to make it your office.

“you didn’t have to,” you told him, mind racing at your savings, wondering if he was going to increase your rent.

johnny just shook his head with an almost fond roll of his eyes and clapped your back, arm hovering there. “s’all yers, hen.”

everything he did always accounted for you. so why the women?

they’re all long limbed and trimmed waist, with eyes that sparkled even when all you’ve seen of them is always within the poorly-lit hallway. they have voices that curl teasingly, breathy like they’re enticing johnny for one more night. and they’ve always, always, treated you like a—

like a kid.

a burden, almost, of johnny’s.

and, hell, maybe you are. johnny’s almost twice your age; he’s also already well-established in his career, some senior position that you can’t really follow but one he talks about with fondness. he’s got land rover-money, the car in his garage big and black and almost military grade, and it looks so expensive especially beside the crappy civic you were able to snag for a cheap price because it’s got about three-hundred-thousand mileage already.

you’ve got nothing to give him, other than the lousy rent payment that he doesn’t even really need but is just asking for courtesy because it’d be so weird for him to offer a room, or two now given you have the den too, for free. you’ve got nothing on your name, and if it isn’t pity that makes johnny care for you, then you don’t know what.

maybe his string of one-night stands are right — you are just a kid.

that maybe you really are still too wet behind the ears for the real world that you go running to the next person that could protect you from it, stumbling into his life and licking up every drop of his attention, mistaking his kindness for devotion. his care for love.

.

you should have known, then, that the thoughts would ripple, leaving you to feel like the days are unnavigable. obsession quickly took root, growing fangs, and it ensnared you; a vice noose at what had been a pleasant coexistence.

hell, you can barely stand being with johnny because of the jealousy. it’s a shameful thing, but a part of you thinks you deserve johnny more than the others do.

you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s nightmares and the horrors that spill from his lips when it’s twelve in the morning and the two of you have hit the bourbon. you tell yourself that nobody knows about johnny’s aversion to the windows in the living room; that the reason why the curtains are a deep green is not to match the new plants he’s allowed you to fill up his home but because they shroud the panels more than the cream ones had. you tell yourself that nobody knows that johnny can sing; that he can cook a mean tomahawk; that he likes reading; that his wrists were hurting so he’s currently scheduled for a surgery; that he’s soft to you.

the women don’t know this johnny, you tell yourself, nails clawing at the hems of your chest. they don’t know him the way i do.

it’s a pathetic whisper. it’s so laughable. so juvenile.

they’re right. they’re right.

(you’re just a—)

“i don’t see you anymore,” johnny murmured one morning, when things have gone quiet again, a cup of coffee sitting on the counter while he watches you throw orange peels into the garburator.

he just got back from a work trip in aberdeen, his exhaustion loud on his face. his hair is overgrown, the bottom ends of his mohawk curling along his nape. he was there for over three weeks, skirting almost close to a month — the longest he’s ever been away — and you had tried so hard not to message. not to drop casual check-ins because you’re sure no tenant ever does that to their landlord, but johnny had remained just as friendly; asking things like if you wanted another potted plant, a monstera or a dragon tree, or if you still had that swiss chocolate he brought home as a gift, or—

the list of his questions grew, but you’ve given him clipped replies, not knowing how to act right anymore since your quiet realization. even the “thing” that you thought you shared with him had fizzled at the drop of the women coming-and-leaving, and you are left to pick up the pieces.

it’s not like you’re broken or ruined or angry. god, no you aren’t.

but you feel unsteady, like now that you know that you liked him more than he liked you, you forgot how to breathe. how to live without that looming burden because your affection is nothing but a burden.

what will johnny do if he finds out? you can’t afford a new place to move into, not when you’re so close to graduating, the finish line just about to graze your very fingertips with how near it is. money is still tight, and johnny has already spoiled you rotten. has shown you how it is to live a comfortable life. and if he learns of your feelings, you would lose this. more than anything, you would lose him.

so you detached yourself from the noose, curling into yourself and using his work trip as a way to move on.

jesus — move on, huh? like there was a ‘you and johnny’ to even move on from. like there was anything there to read. like there was anything there to pull away from; twitching fingers drawing back into the spaces of your ribs, tucking yourself away from his warmth.

“i’ve been so busy, john,” you muttered, just as tired.

“yeah?” he said, still light. still jovial. “let me cook something nice for ye, huh? reward yer hard work and all.”

“i can’t.” you swallowed down the prickle lodged in your throat, eyes ducking away to avoid seeing his. “i’ve got a meeting with the club.”

(you missed the way johnny’s smile dipped.)

“oh,” he said.

you shrugged, internally wincing at your weak attempt at being normal, before gathering your thermos and your messily-wrapped sandwich. johnny was still standing by the counters when you turned around from the sink, his bulk so close to yours in ages. it had been so long since you could just reach over and feel his warmth; feel the soft pudge of what once were hardened muscles.

he’s looking at you with such sad eyes that it’s jarring to truly see because he’s looking at you like—

like he’s losing you.

“i’m gonna…” you trailed off, not really knowing how to end this truly awkward interaction.

“yeah, f’course,” he croaked out. “take care of yerself huh, lass?”

“thanks.” the smile on your face felt more like a grimace. “see you.”

he said nothing more after that, his eyes still searching; still furrowed like something’s changed and something’s happening, and it made your stomach drop because please. please don’t let him notice.

but johnny just watched as you went, his coffee all forgotten.

(something bloomed in the soft press of your heart, flickering like a young ember. you’ve never realized how longing could feel like your mouth is stuffed with cotton.)

.

johnny hasn't picked up since his return from aberdeen.

they’re getting a new firm so the shuffling has been brutal, leaving johnny to clamber out at five in the morning before coming back home when it’s pushing 11pm. the scruff on his face is becoming more unkempt, salt and pepper becoming more intense, but even then, he’s never looked more ruggedly beautiful as he is now.

it’s like he’s aged years and you shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to the change, but looking at johnny now makes you ache in a different way — core throbbing, throat parched and eyes stinging as you watch him. you’re so drawn to his gravitational pull, unable to detangle yourself now that it feels like he’s more back in your life than he ever was.

and you know it’ll end up hurting you. that you’ll go back to isolating yourself at the drop of a new girl in the house, the smell of her chanel or bvlgari perfume filling up the crevices that you’ve dutifully dusted every saturday morning while johnny’s out for a run. he’s made having casual lovers a cycle, one that you cannot blame him for because johnny doesn’t like you back.

but johnny’s been so attentive to you these days. he’s been a hovering presence even when he looks like he’s one blown wind away from passing out in his exhaustion, his warm hand always on the small of your back as he walks you to the door before chirping a hearty, “kick ass, bon!”

he’s back to fixing up food for you, like that blip in your schedule got him all creative because now, it’s not even just dinner. you’ve got breakfast waiting for you in the microwave, and packed lunch already in your bag, carefully tucked beside the manila folders and plastic envelopes for your capstone. it’s like he’s making up for something which is dumb and wrong because now, you’re all swooping stomach and prickling lungs.

“yummy?” johnny asked, catching you wriggling in excitement at the flavour bursting into your tongue.

your cheeks tingled, feverish, before giving him a shy nod.

he huffed, something so achingly fond, and rested his chin atop his crossed arms. you didn’t know what to focus on — the scruff on his face or the hard lines of webbing veins spilling from beneath his folded sleeves. then, he crooned, “good. that’s good.”

you ran upstairs to your room, throwing an excuse about finishing up your paper, before locking the door, and feeding your cunt two fingers to satiate the burn. the stretch was delicious, raw and sweet, and you humped your wrist, trying to douse the flames burning you up.

you thought of johnny, of the way he looked and how much nicer he’s been; of johnny and the way he was so kind to you, so caring like you’re up in his priority list again, overtaking his busy schedule and the firm restructuring, and his needs.

your orgasm felt like a ripping of reality, your mind splintering at the edges as you’re stretched thin. it felt like you’ve been pulled taut, then released with a resounding snap. it felt euphoric, like the explosion of something intoxicating. something wickedly addicting.

you knew that this could never be unmade. your affections had grown their tendrils, curling past the quiet admiration and spiralling into something unforgiving. into something greater than yourself.

“fuck,” you had rasped out, eyes prickling with tears as shame rushed into your chest. “fuck.”

you didn’t need this. you didn’t need any of this.

but it becomes a cycle — wash, rinse, repeat.

johnny continues to go unshaven; continues to pour his attention to you. and you soak it up, needy and soft, unable to turn away with your tail tucked between your legs. you fall back to the ease of how it had been, hip bumping his, morning coffee shared in the silence, dinner a filling affair once more. all that’s changed are the lingering looks, the resonating touches.

how johnny’s wide hand falls to the small of your back more often; how his fingers just slots against yours every time he passes you your cup; how his eyes rove over your face, always searching for something you dare not hope for.

the last time he flicked his eyes down to watch the way your tongue lapped at your lips, swiping away at the extra cream, johnny’s pupils had constricted before a quiet groan rumbled from his throat. your thighs had quickly clenched close as heat exploded in the pit of your belly, spreading like wildfire through your veins. the pressure on your nub made you hiccup, like a whine dragging itself from your trachea, and johnny had snapped his eyes back to yours so quickly, it made you heady.

“bon–”

“i have to go,” you murmured, clamouring to shaky legs.

you fucked yourself to a deafening point once more, ears ringing as you squirted, the gush of your slick pushing past your fingers. you had to gnash your pillow cover to muffle the moan rumbling from the base of your throat, trying desperately to be good. to not be heard. to be better.

but johnny’s burning gaze on your lips was seared into your memory, blazing on top of everything, and you imagined—

god, you imagined.

the way he’ll take you — beard rough on your chin, thicker fingers spreading you wider, reaching deeper, before finally filling you up with all of him, bullying the whole length of his cock until he bottoms out.

you pressed on your stomach, dizzy, thinking about how johnny would hit that far. you know he would. the women he’s slept with have told you, anyway, in passing, describing how he was in bed with dreamy sighs like they weren’t still reeking of sex and johnny’s aftershave.

(you still wonder why so many of them were mean, their noses tipped up every time they saw you. they were the ones that johnny chose, the ones who were fortunate enough to have been his lover, so you wonder why they still sought you out like you were competition.)

“johnnyyyy!” you moaned, loud and long, your fingers prodding at your walls, and you knew that you’d regret the wrangled cry later, but you didn’t care then, too busy swimming in the aftermath of your orgasm.

.

but johnny heard it anyway.

he told you that he had heard you. 

it happened so quickly — one moment you were bent over the espresso machine, fiddling with the levers with bleary-eyed attempts, then the next thing you knew was that johnny was crowding you, trapping you between the warm bulk of his body and the counter, his eyes furrowed so deeply which made the lines on his forehead run much deeper.

“whu’?” you asked, blinking tiredly at him.

johnny just did this shaky breath that rattled his whole body, like he was propped up by a couple of sticks instead of his whole mass. the mood shifted with that weak inhale though, and you turned to fully face him, ignoring the beeping machine because johnny was still looking at you with those eyes.

the ones that made you feel seen, read, and laid bare before him. like he could weave his eyes past the fabrics of your shirt to peek into the very jagged shards of your heart and see the cross that you’ve been carrying. like he knew things about you that he shouldn’t.

“johnny?” you prodded again, finding his silence alarming.

“yer too young for me, m’eudail,” johnny finally rumbled out, voice thick and deep.

and it’s—

what.

your mind was pressing into your skull, trying desperately to link your synapses together; for the fog to clear and for your coherence to rise above the pull of drowsiness, but johnny was faster. like now that he’s said the first words, the rest just follow, unstoppable in their force and in their meaning.

“i told myself i couldn’t,” he murmured, still breathing shakily; gaze still too fragile. “that yer lookin’ for nothin’ like me, and that yer just tryin’ to get out there with yer career.”

he lifted a hand, fingers twitching, before balling it back down to a fist.

“told myself i’ve gotta let go. found a way to cope and shit.”

johnny took another ragged breath in, and it startled you into gulping one of your own — you didn’t even realize that you’ve held your breath as he spoke to you, your chest clenching tightly as your mind began to link the passageways together, filling you in on what he wasn’t really saying.

“but carin’ f’you was so easy. christ, it was even delightful, hen.” he chuckled, something that was somewhat raw and pained.

you licked at your lips, blinking wide eyes open. johnny tracked the movement, his nose flaring like you’ve done something more than a subconscious thing, his shoulders going taut.

“i like doing all sorta things for you. liked seeing y’eat what i cooked; liked seeing y’use what i got f’you. liked watching y’come home to me. to me.”

a soft sound echoed between the two of you, and it took you an embarrassingly long time to realize that it was a breathless whimper that petered out from the base of your throat. you didn’t even realize that you’ve curled into yourself, almost like you’re trying your best to shrink before johnny, and johnny crooned.

callused palm cupped the round of your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye. “told myself yer too young; that surely yer looking for someone closer to yer age, but bon, i heard y’last night.”

you startled in his hold, a quiet gasp piercing through the heat. johnny’s lips danced with mirth.

“s’right. heard a loud thump against the wall and ran upstairs, all worried, but guess my surprise, yes? y’were moanin’ my name so loudly, it’s like y’left yer door open.”

“johnny, i–”

“tell me,” he said, moving closer, his chest pressing against yours. “tell me t’stop, bon, an’ i will. but y’ve got to tell me. y’ve got to push me away.”

you looked at him, your eyes trembling at what he was laying out thickly, and your throat going parched at the blanketing desire rippling from him. there were so many things you wanted to ask, but his breath was tickling the bridge of your nose, dancing so close to the bow of your lips, and your heart ached.

desire coursed through you in waves, dribbling from the cup, and you lurched forward, chasing after his lips.

johnny melted into you. his hesitant touch turned greedier, more possessive, mapping your body and pulling you closer into him. his mouth devoured your own, gulping down the pleased little sighs and keens spilling from your lips. he kissed like a man starved, but you weren’t any softer; all nippy and desperate, fingers digging into his hair and fisting at the thin strands.

it was feverish, almost to a boiling point, and you needed more.

god, you needed more.

“johnny,” you mewled when he pulled away just enough to slide his damp lips along the cut of your jaw. “johnny, need you.”

“christ,” johnny sounded so wrecked, his voice rumbling deeply from where his lips were suckling on the soft curve of your neck. “i’ve been dreaming of this, mo luaidh. i knew i shouldn’t but yer so sweet to me and i– i wanted.” he said that word like it was dirty; like he’d been fighting tooth-and-nail to suppress it.

it made you tremble to hear how johnny desired you just as much. he had always felt unobtainable; always danced too far from your grasp and was always bigger than what you knew you could handle — his lovers had always looked divinely; pretty, yes, but fierce in their own right like they knew how to live without johnny; and you know they could, because they didn’t need johnny the way you do. they didn’t look at johnny like you do, like he hung the stars with those thick and aged hands of his.

but as you stood there, feeling every word punctured onto your skin, you couldn’t help but begin to cry, the tears springing from your eyes to slip down your cheeks. johnny rubbed your back, soothing and gentle. 

“i wanted t’take you – make y’all mine,” he whispered. 

you hiccuped, shaky from the weight of your hunger, and nuzzled close. your hands fell from fisting his hair so you could claw at the sharp corners of his shoulder blades, feeling the muscles there rippling, all taut when he bent forward and kissed you.

“please,” you began, feeling your mind thinning because you wanted more. more. more. more. “i can be– johnny, s’always been you. nobody else but you.”

you tugged him away, cupping his jaw and forcing him to look at you. and god, johnny looked so devastatingly beautiful, his eyes all furrowed and his cheeks all flushed, and his lips spit-sheened.

“fuck me,” you whispered, tired of dancing around.

he groaned, something that sounded so pained, before he was tugging you with him, up the stairs and skirting past your room and into his. 

you’ve never been in johnny’s room before, just as he had never been in yours since you moved in, and until now you still don’t know what you had been expecting upon walking in, but the smell of johnny wafting through was almost gut-punching. he smelled so close, like he was everywhere — surrounding you from the ground-up, dousing every pore with him until even your mouth felt full.

and johnny, he smelt like home. 

there were no more words uttered as he stripped you off your pyjamas, sure fingers making their way down the buttons, unlatching them from the hemmed slits. you watched with heavy eyes, blinking slowly like everything had been wrung out of you, leaving you pliant and soft. johnny hummed, appreciative, and mapped kisses from your heaving chest, teeth nipping at the fat, before moving on, sprinkling every expanse of your skin with such reverence. 

your hands were balled to your chest when he reached the jut of your belly, his chin hovering just above your crotch. johnny flicked up his darkened eyes at you, asking silently.

you gave him a nod, not trusting your own voice too.

johnny’s eyes had turned into slits, pleased, and hefted himself up just enough to be able to fit his hands on your hips and tugged your pants down. you shivered, the warmth in his room not enough to suppress the winter chill, and it made you buck into him. johnny comforted you with a quiet shh, rubbing his palm on the pudge of your thigh in soothing circles.

you don’t know why that touch was what did it for you, but soft sobs finally spilled from your mouth, scrunching up the desire into something undeniably frail. johnny didn’t startle though, like he knew that you had been wounding up to this tipping point, and instead continued to touch you tenderly, almost like if he could, he would cradle you close. 

“i love you,” you said, sniffling, because that was the crux of your vulnerability, right?

you love him. god, you love him. 

you’ve loved him since the day he sat you down for dinner and told you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, not anymore and not with him around. you’ve loved him since the day he flipped the den so you can have your own space for work; don’t mind the fact that he didn’t know if you were going to even stay, just that he insisted that you deserved that room either way. you’ve loved him since that swiss chocolate, since that cup of coffee, since he’s begun filling your painfully lonely days with his care. 

you’ve loved him since and now—

“oh, mo graidh,” johnny breathed out. “i love you too.” he kissed your thigh, scruff ticklish. “gu siorraidh is gu brath.”

you wanted to ask what that meant but johnny was already moving, sitting back up to strip out of his own shirt. you trailed your eyes down his body, capturing your trembling lips between your teeth at how breathtaking he was — soft with fat but still heavy with muscles, fuzzy with hair with the smattering pooling just underneath his belly button before trailing down to where they were hidden underneath his pants. 

you twitched before finally braving enough to reach out and brush your knuckle over the indents of his softened abs. johnny hummed, something that curled with appreciation, before covering your hand with his and holding it there. 

“all of me s’yers, hen,” he said with such finality that you felt it settle deep within the marrows of your bones. 

you nodded, emotionally spent and johnny lilted something else in scottish, so soft that it was almost a croon. you let him manhandle you — pushing your hips up so he could slot a pillow under for your back; you were so malleable to his touch as he took over, bending once again for a kiss while his fingers danced past the laces of your panties and into the damp heat of your pussy. 

you moaned, eyelashes fluttering when he pressed one in, so careful and slow, but you were so wet that it slid in with no resistance, gobbling it up knuckle-deep. johnny had groaned like he could feel your rising euphoria, before nosing along your temple as he wiggled the finger around, stroking at your walls. you wondered if he was going to tease but then he was pulling it out, only to plunge two in the next thrust, curling and stretching, and oh—

oh, ssss’good.

you don’t even remember how long he’d been spearing you with his thicker fingers, rough and long and reaching far, far deeper than you could with your own, but you laid there, sobbing, feeling your slick slip out, pooling, making a mess of your thighs and his sheets. johnny had moved from suckling on your neck to taking a nipple in his mouth, teeth softly gnashing at the bud. you felt like you were on fire, burning from your core, aching for a release. 

“cum f’me, m’eudail,” johnny groaned, breathless himself, his cock poking underneath his boxers, the fabric all wet from where his tip was, leaking pearled pre-. “let me see you.”

“johnny, i’m gonna– i’m–!” you squealed, legs jumping, squeezing johnny’s sides as you jolted, hips twitching at the bloating ecstasy. johnny just pushed down on your thigh, not letting up with the pace of his fingers. he was fucking you so hard that his hand’s slapping against your skin, his palm grinding down on your clit just right, and the pleasure sizzled into something biting. into something that was almost painful.

it was catastrophic, pulling you into two directions. johnny’s everywhere — his scent in your lungs, his fingers deep in your pussy, his mouth hot and wet on your tits, and like this, like this, you felt yourself breaking. 

ripping—

then, your orgasm was punched out of you. 

your senses had gone awry — throat throbbing as you cried out, your eyes going blind as they rolled into your skull at the final curl of johnny’s fingers. white noise filled your ears, and it was like you were submerged underneath water, wading through the crashing tides of your climax.

you came back to johnny peppering your face with soft kisses, whispering something you couldn’t decipher past the croon of your name and something like you did good and so beautiful. he’d already pulled his fingers out, and used both arms to cradle you close. you felt so empty — god, that wasn’t even his cock, yet — but your body thrummed pleasantly, almost like the itch was finally scratched. 

“johnny?” you puffed out, voice all scratchy and weak. 

“i’m here, bon. i’m here.”

you hummed, curling into his chest, head pillowed by his arm. you wanted to ask what about his own euphoria, but johnny seemed so content just laying there with you, not really desperate or needy, so you let it go, losing the battle against your drowsiness before finally slipping into a quiet sleep. 

.

johnny’s there for your graduation, carrying a big bouquet of only eden roses. you didn’t even know that those particular ones were expensive until someone from the graduation party oohed and aahed to their friend. 

your cheeks burned when their friend chirped, “well someone’s clearly loved.”

you know that what they said would have had johnny agreeing loudly if he was allowed in the lineup because he is never one to be shy about what he feels; or not anymore, anyway. he loves so fully and openly that you still wonder why it took the two of you so long to get together, but the days since then had just been kind and filling that you have long forgotten how it was to not be with him. 

they’re going to call your name soon, and your stomach swoops, excitement and anxiety mixing in a dizzying tandem. 

you’re graduating with a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a diploma in early childhood education, and this is not where you thought you would be when you first started university, but it’s the happiest you have ever been. and sure much of your poli-sci courses were scrapped when you changed majors, and that’s also a lot of money wasted, but you have three job opportunities lined up already and it’s like the seismic shift in your life had finally corrected itself. 

(your mom said she’s sorry that she and your pa couldn’t come, but you’ve stopped longing for their acceptance and told her it was fine.

there’s a date saved in your calendar, though, for a brunch with her and that was enough.)

you ducked into johnny’s arms when the graduation ceremony ended, careful of the bouquet he’s holding. 

“congratulations, bonnie,” he says, a hearty laugh rumbling from his chest. “christ, i’m so, so proud of you.”

you never pegged yourself for a crybaby, but tears begin to pool in the corners of your eyes at the weight of his words. 

“thank you,” you reply, soft and raw, and honest. 

johnny pulls you in, his lips warm as they’re pressed on your forehead. 

and this, just like this, you know things will only get better from here on out. 

[superhoeva]

𝐣. 𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭 – 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 (𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | worked on this instead of sleeping but it might be one of my favorite things i've ever written. very overwhelmed by this man and how self-destructive i feel like he can be. warning(s) include: language, fluff, angst, smut, very little dialogue, penetrative sex (mentioned, m + f), handjob (mentioned), bodily fluids, jack being back (whatever that means), attending/resident relationship, fwb vibes, also there's fluffy parts, i swear.

The room stinks of sex–of lingering musks and a slowly-dampening heat that serve as memorials to another night spent losing yourself in the surprisingly tender hands of Jack Abbot. A pulse between your legs, also a reminder. The heat there has far from subsided, lingering and still dancing itself through your veins.

You feel nice. The window on the far side of your room is cracked to stop the smoke from your cigarette you’d finished a few minutes ago from persisting for too long. Sounds from the city flutter in just under the floating chords of Nude by Radiohead.

In Rainbows, track three. Jack fucked you, face to face, the night he learned you knew every word of the song by heart. Then hummed the first verse with you while you rode him to his own peak.

Jack sits against your headboard, sheets hanging at his waist to shield his softening cock from the air of the night. His face is the better version of an already faultless story in this low lighting, the edges of his jaw and cheeks promising something dangerous.

You’ve chosen to rest on a pillow instead of Jack’s thigh, but lay halfway on your side to face the man. Makes it easier to stare at him as you fall asleep. He doesn’t let you get far, fingers of one hand coiling with yours as you play with the digits that started the night feeding you the fruit he bought three days ago. The old lady at the berry stand think ‘m cute, and always gives me extra Jack explained after turning up at your place with an extra carton of some of the sweetest tasting produce you’ve ever consumed.

You smile to yourself, thinking. He fed them to you. The scowling, rugged, sarcastic attending had fed his fourth year resident strawberries.

Jack squints at you, ignoring how his own mouth wants to twitch upwards. “What’re you grinning about?”

You shake your head. He accepts your answer with a rolling of his eyes, untangling his fingers from your and running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip before you get a chance to pout at the loss.

He’s been like this a lot recently–softer, warmer. Eyes overcast with… fondness? The hands that used to yank you into him tug at your body, now. Dragging and trailing at your skin like he’s memorizing the map of your body for when you aren’t near. You’ve wholly accepted the change, letting his grip linger and kisses lengthen into something that burns up your insides.

Grabbing his hand, you snuggle it to your face and close your eyes. He watches you with a still stare, waiting until your breaths even to let his eyes shine with silent tears. His mouth quivers as he makes sure to keep his sniffles quiet, rolling his head with a sigh.

He feels good. Too good, and it didn’t take more than three of his weekends off to get there. Hiding it used to be easy, swearing to himself that the reason you make his chest tremble is because of that trick you do with your tongue. Because of how snugly he fits inside you and how cockdrunk you get. Because of how pretty you beg when he makes you stretch your pussy out with your own fingers instead of his.

Those were the reasons he masked himself with. Forcing himself to go blind at how you snore even though you say you don’t, and wouldn’t look him in the eye after seeing the tiny spots of dry drool you left on his shirt despite his promises that it was alright. Ignoring how he ached through the seven days of shifts, doing his best to treat you like he hasn’t been balls deep inside you every weekend for the past year. Stuffing aside how he thinks of you even when you’re not around, how he almost mumbled I love you into your mouth as you jerked him to a lengthy completion across your stomach a month ago.

Jack’s fucked, and he knows it. He knew it when he woke up seven Tuesdays ago and reached out for you. It took him an embarrassing seven seconds to remember he wasn’t in your room, that you weren’t there. It takes him longer to realize how chilly he keeps his place.

That’s another thing about you, you’re always so damn warm. With patients and him, and so is your room.

He’ll miss that. It’ll take him a while to get over it, too. He’ll snap at residents and smile less but he’ll get over you. He has to. Regardless of how many tears he lets fall tonight as he thinks of the look on your face when you wake up not find him not in your kitchen making Saturday morning coffee but gone. Not letting you see him until the following Monday, and making sure to add a little edge to his voice when speaking to you.

No jokes. No touches. No winks from across the room. And no more weekends.

Wiping his face, Jack sucks in a deep breath and dips his head to look at you. A sad smile warps his face at the drool already leaking out onto your pillow.

Too wired to sleep, he spends an hour listening to your snores and studying your face with watery eyes before slipping his hand from your grasp with a sniffle. The man freezes when you shuffle, holding his breath until you nuzzle into the pillow. He finds his clothes after a few seconds of searching, hoping the quiet music still playing from your looped playlist is enough to cover the clinking of his belt and shuffling fabric.

Jack’s halfway out of your room when his body forces him to pause. It’d be so easy to give in. To concede, and peel off the clothes so he could slip back into bed with you. You’re always so tired after he fucks you, all you’d do is whine and tug him closer before returning to your sleep. Hugging him into you even though he always complains about waking up sweaty.

He stands in the doorway of your room for a long two minutes before turning to face you. Tipping to the bed with long strides, Jack swallows.

You wake six hours later. Music stopped, and Jack long gone.

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[kitty384]

In His Arms, Everything's Safe

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You come home to the quietest, most beautiful moment: Bucky slow-dancing with your baby daughter in the kitchen, reminding you that in his arms, everything really is safe.

Warnings: Fluff, domestic softness, parenthood, tears of the happy variety, gentle vintage vibes

The house is quiet.

That’s the first thing I notice when I step inside—no crying, no cartoons, no clattering dishes or tiny sock-covered feet sprinting across the hardwood.

Just soft music.

Something familiar. Old. Grainy vocals and piano gently slipping through the air like the house itself is humming.

I set the grocery bag down quietly on the counter.

And then I hear it:

Bucky’s voice. Low. Gentle. Humming along.

Curious, I peek around the corner into the kitchen.

And that’s when I see them.

Bucky’s barefoot, wearing sweats and an old white T-shirt that clings just a little too well to his back. His hair’s pulled half-up, messy, and he’s got our daughter tucked against his chest—her head resting under his chin, her tiny hand fisted in the collar of his shirt.

And he’s dancing.

Slowly. Carefully. Just rocking her back and forth in time with the music, feet gliding over the tile like he’s done this a thousand times before.

The record playing is old—real vinyl, one of Steve’s gifts from a few birthdays back.

The Andrews Sisters are singing softly through the speakers, something about dreams and moonlight and missing someone.

And Bucky?

He’s smiling.

Not his usual smirk.

Not the grin he wears when she babbles nonsense or throws mashed peas.

But something quiet. Full. Like this moment—right here—is something sacred.

And he doesn’t know I’m watching.

I don’t move.

I just… stand there, frozen, hand pressed to my heart, watching the two of them.

Our little girl is bundled in her favorite yellow onesie, blinking sleepily against his chest, soothed completely by his voice and warmth.

And Bucky—my Bucky—looks completely at peace.

Like nothing outside this kitchen exists.

Like this is the only world he needs.

He spins once, slow and careful, making sure to keep her tucked close.

Then he says, soft and almost shy, “You’re a good dancer, sweetheart. You get that from your mom.”

She lets out a sleepy coo.

And he chuckles. “Yeah, I agree. She’s the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

Tears sting my eyes.

Because he means it.

He always does.

After another verse, he finally catches me watching.

He blinks—then smiles wider, cheeks flushed just slightly. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I whisper.

“She fell asleep on me again,” he says, like an apology. “I didn’t want to put her down yet.”

“You better not,” I murmur. “You’re the only person who can get her to nap past thirty minutes.”

He shifts her just a little, kissing her forehead. “She likes the music.”

“She likes you.”

His eyes flick to mine. “You like me?”

I cross the floor to him. “I love you.”

I press a kiss to his cheek, then rest my hand over hers on our daughter’s back.

“She gets this from you,” I whisper. “The way she melts in your arms. The peace.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I think she’s just smart.”

“Smart enough to know she’s safe.”

That makes him pause.

His eyes glimmer.

And then he leans down and kisses me, soft and sweet, like he has nowhere else to be.

We stand there for a long time—him rocking, me holding onto both of them, the music playing gently in the background.

Our daughter breathes steadily between us, hand still curled in her dad’s shirt.

And for the first time in days—maybe weeks—I don’t feel tired.

I just feel home.

Later, Bucky tells me he used to dance like that in the ‘40s.

In the kitchen. With his little sister Becca. With his ma.

“I thought I’d forgotten how,” he admits, voice soft in the dark as we lay in bed. “But when I held her, it just came back.”

I smile and kiss his shoulder.

“You didn’t forget,” I whisper. “You just didn’t know you’d need it again.”

And when I wake up to music playing again the next morning—I already know where I’ll find him.

Masterlist

Request

[uhlillie]

b.b. | i'll be watchin' you – i

bucky barnes x reader | pre-CA:CW, canon divergence

wc. 2133 | no major warnings, no use of y/n, 2nd person pov. reader is gender-neutral with little to no physical description (to the best of my ability). very bucky pov centric. the mildest of allusions of stalker shenanigans, but nothing overtly malicious.

summary | bucky barnes, in his journey to reintegrate into society following the events of CA:TWS, finds himself mildly infatuated with a stranger who mistakes him for a homeless man. you, the reader, inadvertently find yourself a new guardian angel.

a/n | first bucky fic ever after a bout of inspiration hit me upside the head (and after reading tons and tons of amazing fic on this site). honestly, it's pure unplanned word vomit that i've polished enough to post. my apologies for any inaccuracies, as i'm running on poor memory and shitty google inquiries. lmk if this is anything good or if i should just hang up the pen in shame. 🫶

masterlist. - next part.

Bucky feels lost.

New York is a labyrinth to the uninitiated, the streets a cypher one learns with practice. It comes easily to some and harder for others. But Bucky is neither new to nor unfamiliar with the city. He used to be one of them, one of the many people who confidently walk these streets, a local well-versed in time-saving shortcuts and hidden gems.

As he wanders around, however, Bucky feels like a stranger lagging behind the rest. The city, to him, is now half-familiar in a way one might struggle to remember a word on the tip of their tongue or like walking through the hazy recollection of a dream conceived the night prior. Many things have changed in the span of seventy-odd years and his memory—shoddy at best given all that he's been put through—naturally fails him.

Bucky's jaw ticks, steel-blue eyes scanning his surroundings from beneath the brim of his inconspicuous cap. (It works wonders as camouflage in a city with maybe half a million or more men dressed just as inconspicuously as him.) He honestly isn't sure what he's come here for, standing idly by a crosswalk opposite of a library.

The building itself is unassuming, with features typical of the era it comes from: old brick and stonework, weathered at the edges and bearing a history that's outlived all of its patrons. Its silhouette falls neatly into place within this corner of the city, among other buildings of similar size and make, and evokes a sense of familiarity within him. But this isn't Bucky's neighborhood from the long lost years of his youth. Far from it, really. His feet had just brought him to this area without much thought.

Part of it must be nostalgia, he figures, of mostly faded memories of him and a younger, skinnier Steve checking out books from a similar looking place on one of their days off from school. Or of quiet afternoons conjuring vivid images from the imaginative worlds of his favorite science fiction novels. It's in this way that the mere sight of the building, older than he is, brings a sense of comfort. He lowers the brim of his cap, contemplative as he regards this relic of the past, when someone—you—stop to look straight at him.

"Hey," you speak first, your eyes wide with curiosity, and Bucky almost wants to melt into the sidewalk. He had snuck out of the Avengers Tower earlier for some fresh air and could not risk being found by a civilian. Steve learning of his absence was one thing, but Stark would definitely have his head if—

His thoughts are cut off as you speak once more. "Are you okay?"

Do I look okay to you? Bucky snaps in his head, the tips of his ears turning red as you scan him from head to toe. In the back of his mind, he wonders if you have any sense of self-preservation.

Because who in their ever-loving right mind would stop and talk to a stranger—a six foot tall, beefy stranger dressed in layers with long sleeves pulled low in the sweltering heat of July and with his eyes obscured in the shade of a baseball cap. Nevermind the fact that his hands are hidden in his pockets, both clad in well worn leather gloves; his movements careful in order to conceal the gleaming titanium of his prosthetic arm. Bucky's entire demeanor screams strange and suspicious, a walking caution sign to all those wary of undisclosed danger.

He answers you anyway, gruff and avoidant. "I'm fine." Sweat beads at his brow as he maps out an escape route from this conversation.

You unfortunately, not having the sense to just leave things be, have the audacity to give him an incredulous look.

"You're not fine," you declare suddenly, rummaging through your bag. "It's hot out and you've got a thick jacket on—" Bucky's almost tempted to walk away, unsure if you are about to alert everyone in the immediate vicinity to his suspicious presence. "—and I figure you're probably overheating in all that. So, here."

Bucky's stoic expression nearly falters when you all but shove a twenty his way. He's awkward as he holds it, the bill half-crumpled in his hand.

"Get yourself a cool drink, okay?" you say, voice soft with what he thinks is misplaced concern. "Wouldn't want you to pass out in this heat."

Bucky knows that you know that the twenty is more than enough for a single drink and a generous amount of change but you fix Bucky with a look of intense sincerity that he can't find the words to object to. Nor does he think to mention the fact that he's actually being housed by a multi-millionaire and that he really doesn't need the money. So he pockets the cash, mumbling a reluctant 'thank you' as you beam at him.

There's not much in the way of pleasantries after that, with you bidding him farewell and wishing him a good day in a manner that compels him to stare after you as you walk off towards the library—the entire reason he had been lingering in this area in the first place. He watches as you ascend the steps leading up to the entrance and disappear behind the heavy glass doors.

It stirs something within him, he realizes later, the random act of charity thrusted upon him. For the kind stranger who seems blissfully unaware of danger, Bucky figures he should keep an eye out just in case.

The late afternoon sun hits the New York skyline at an angle, casting long shadows over its streets. It's still hot out, warmth radiating from cracked concrete and uneven asphault, the natural consequence of an urban jungle built with materials that sap up heat like a sponge. Coupled with the humidity, the air feels heavy and thick as it weighs everyone down with perspiration.

You are hit with what feels like the brunt of it the moment you step out onto the street, a metaphorical slap in the face after leaving the air-conditioned bubble of the public library at which you work.

Summers are a busier time at the library, what with school being out and people looking for cool spaces to 'chill' in, pun intended. The chance to connect with the local community makes it all worth it in your opinion, even as you're run ragged juggling clerical duties, incessant inquiries from patrons, and making sure the shelves are neat and organized.

It's with this thought in mind, as much as you love your job, that you're glad to be free of it for the evening, eager to return to the comfort of your apartment.

The route home is easy at least, learned through trial and error after getting lost many a time in the seemingly identical rows of brownstones lining narrow streets. A prickle of something gives you reason to pause, however, and you still in the middle of the sidewalk. Some passersby shoulder their way past you, mumbling annoyances at the sudden obstacle in their path, but you pay no mind to them. Instead, you identify the feeling as unease even though there is hardly anything out of place as far as you're aware.

It's probably nothing, you think, trying to ignore the chill that trickles down your spine.

It's still the same path you traverse everyday anyhow, from home to work and back again, but you figure it's a little wise to err on the side of caution, so that's what you do. You round each corner with apprehension, avoiding the darker shadows cast by each building you pass. The prickling feeling follows you still, even with every look over your shoulder and cautious glances into dim alleyways. The quiet of the neighborhood hardly helps with the paranoia either, the sound of your heartbeat loud in your chest with every step you take.

As you walk, you think back to earlier, to the strange man loitering across the street from the library. He'd seemed lost with a distant look in his eye as he stared down the building like it had done something to offend him. At first glance, you assumed he was a vagrant: he was wearing clothes that were worn and slightly unkempt, his hair long and his cheek dotted with stubble. He'd looked like he could use a drink, really, so you gave him the money without thinking twice. And despite looking a bit put off by your offer of cash, he'd accepted it without question.

Maybe it wasn't a smart idea to butt into the business of a nameless stranger, now that you really thought about it. The inkling feeling of being watched is proof enough of your mistake. You curse your lack of foresight, picking up the pace towards your apartment, and practically skip up the stone steps into the safety of your apartment building.

You take odd relief in the normally arduous climb up the stairwell towards your floor, happy to hide away in the organized clutter of your shoebox apartment. But as you prepare to go to bed, you can't help but notice a strange shadow hiding across the street from the corner of your eye.

But when you look again, it's seemingly disappeared.

Weird.

"JARVIS," Bucky calls out, sprawled out on the floor of his quarters in the Tower, a duvet draped over his lower half and a pillow wedged under his neck. Despite much persuasion to sleep on the bed, he opted for the floor instead. (The soft carpet is a mild upgrade compared to his previous living situation, all things considered.) "Can you run a background check for me?"

"Of course, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS complies, the room falling silent soon after as the AI processes his request.

Bucky had returned without incident the evening prior through a well-hidden rear entrance, evading any line of questioning from Steve, Stark, or the others by holing himself up in his private quarters. JARVIS had supplied an alibi for him, an unlikely conspirator despite the distrust the AI's creator held towards him. It was oddly convenient and a quiet reassurance, especially when dealing with the annoyances of Steve's well-meaning interventions.

That was Bucky's biggest problem these days.

Following the fall of SHIELD and his subsequent apprehension by the rest of the Avengers, everything concerning Bucky was treated with an absurd amount of caution. Even Steve had taken to walking on eggshells around him, drawing a shaky boundary in an effort to "make his transition back into the world smoother," or whatever bullshit reason there was.

Sure, Bucky was the furthest thing from a stable person at the moment and, sure, it'd only take the utterance of his trigger words to undo all the progress he's made since escaping HYDRA's grasp, but it wasn't like he was made of glass, as if he'd shatter the moment he was touched wrong.

In fact, he was actually doing quite well for himself.

He self-regulates, following the same simple routine most days: wake up, eat, train, and sleep. He has hobbies; he has a laundry list of sci-fi and fantasy novels to catch up on, a fledgling collection of vinyls comprised of all the hits he'd missed following the War, and he people-watches whenever he gets the chance.

JARVIS breaks this line of thought, listing off a detailed summary of your description, occupation, and all other information in between: a library aide living alone, no immediate family nearby, and having moved to the area not too long after the Chitauri invasion that had terrorized the city.

Bucky listens on, eyes shut as he recalls his encounter with you. It was strange, being acknowledged by someone without ties to his past or the knowledge of his time as a living weapon. He clenches the fist of his left arm, the whirring of the inner mechanics just about audible in the quiet of his room. Would you have run if you saw this arm, cold steel and intimidation, in broad daylight? It would have been the most logical response, one he wouldn't fault you for if that had been the turn of events.

But as it stands now, Bucky remains a strange, nameless man to the public, an odd shadow skulking on street corners. He believes you would sooner write him off as an oddity, a curious encounter in a city chock full of them. Better that than any of the other alternatives, of eyes prying into affairs he's loath to unearth after years of brainwashing and torture.

Still, the small taste of "normalcy," even as unusual as it was, lingered on the forefront of his mind. And throughout the rest of his mundane daily routine, Bucky finds himself selfishly wanting more.

dividers by me | thank you for reading 🫶

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Okay, so, the ask about yandere platonic dick cheating and how the reader would react has me wondering; what would happen if the reader somehow found out that Dick didn't actually change and decided to go no contact, because they couldn't trust him or maybe because they just don't want to be around someone like that? Would that cause Dick to spiral more? What exactly would be the consequences of going no contact? (Like a complete cut off, although it'd be a bit hard to do that since they live in the same house)

(I was a bit disappointed to read that he probably wouldn't change, but it seemed realistic to me because habits are hard to break and everyone in the batfam is messed up. Although, I imagine after years of therapy or something similar there might be some sort of change. But, I doubt anyone in the batfam is getting therapy... except maybe reader)

Sorry yeah, i don't like to think Dick is actually a cheater or this shitty. I just like to humor different scenarios i get requested. But you cannot deny that this man is a messy whore. THIS IS THE FACE OF EVILLL

context

Look, cheaters are so sloppy. Even the ones who put the most effort into it are always bound to slip up. I imagine batsis isn't a fool. Like Richard...no way did you just go from being a serial cheater to suddenly being completely cleansed. You're an addict baby boy.

Like i said at first he's actually wanting to get clean for his baby sis and to be a good role model. I think it'd be very obvious to you that he's actually trying. He's irritable and really struggling to cope with the fact he has to put the phone down. You can see him obsessively checking his phone for what you'd assume to be a message or notification from one of his hookups. You can tell he's torn up about loosing his partners because he came clean about his unethical practices....

There's no hiding. This is such a deep seeded issue and it is really taking a toll on him. This is something like you said will need YEARS of therapy to fix.

So now Dick is trying to bullshit you a few days later...right in front of your salad! He's just sooo happy and he's proud about this new leaf turned????? Yesterday he looked like he was about to breakdown in tears because he'd been abstinent for just 48 hrs...and now he's glowing???

Dick, your patrol ended at 2 am last night...you came home at 6 am...please don't play with me rn.

not me getting heated. lol

He doesn't explicitly tell you he's back to his old ways. He's willing to keep lying his way into keeping you and this habit but it's undeniable. You know that his gf only forgave him because he lied to her too. It makes you sick when you saw the text of him telling her that he's busy with family and then left out for the rest of the day to go be with someone else.

Maybe you explode on him about it? Last time you were as nice as you could be about it but you cannot deal with the games anymore.

I liked to think in this scenario you're yelling at him and he's just still gas-lighting you, He throws every card to make you feel bad for accusing him. It absolute drives you mad. He's just so calm while you're are trying not to strangle him.

"Baby bat, i love you. I think you're just tired and are imagining things. You're convincing yourself that i'm still the old Dick because you're hurting...i understand and I forgive you. Maybe we should set up therapy sessions to help you let go of the past? Hmm?"

"YOU MOTHER FU-"

Ugh but i love him he's so fucked

The irony of him suggesting you therapy when he's the one riddles with mommy issues and the most insane coping mechanisms...

Dick isn't going to allow you to go no contact. You cannot go no contact with someone you live in the same house with. You are bound to interact and when you are dealing with someone like dick...it just won't work. The bat kids are extremely resilient and are well versed in making someone crack. You wouldn't be the exception.

More realistically you'd probably just be cold towards Dick. That's the best you can do. Not really responding to him and basically stone walling...

But i imagine this version of Dick to be much more forceful. He's done with your self righteousness. How dare you suggest moving out. That isn't an option because he needs to see his baby sister everyday. You are breaking up the family over this. You cannot cut him off because he's flawed...it's not that serious y/n. None of the other siblings are breathing down his neck. Maybe if you weren't so frustrating..he could actually become a better person. You are the one that is preventing him from being better with all your pressure!!

You packed your bags and are fully ready to walk out of this family for good because there's just too many wrong doings swept under the rug and here comes dick who is FUMING... He's trying to rip your bags out of your hands and grab you up..

You are not doing this to him. Stop being so-

Maybe your siblings step in and help you to leave. They help Dick calm down because they respect that it's your choice to live how you'd life.

Dick isn't stopping once you're gone. Especially if you're still in Gotham. There's a shadow that follows you where you go. Tons of messages and calls from unknown numbers. Even scarily enough..a blue toy bird left at your door with a small note that read

"Missed me, my little birdie? We'll be seeing each other again soon."

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 3 [Draft]

Saja Boys x Isekaid!Demon?Reader x Huntrix

Content Warnings: This chapter contains elements of gore & a Morally-ambiguous!Reader—this is a work of fiction, I do not condone or glorify violence in real life; Historical Inaccuracies—I'm not well-versed in Korea's history, culture, and language, so please go easy on me 🙏

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

It took you days to gather the courage.

You stood at the veranda’s edge, heart caught in your throat like a bird beating its wings against your ribs. Granny was just a few steps away, crouched in the garden, humming to herself as she carefully harvested young mugwort shoots.

You hated this.

The thought of leaving made your stomach twist.

But you feared something else more.

The longer you stayed near her in your current state, the more dangerous it became.

So one morning, you finally spoke. “Granny… I’ve been thinking.”

She glanced up, brow lifting.

“I’d like to travel with Merchant Seungbae. Just for a little while. I want to learn business trade, see other towns. Just… a couple of months. I’ll return before Seollal, I promise.”

You waited for her to frown. To ask what brought this on. To look worried.

Instead, her face broke into the brightest smile.

“Finally!” she beamed, standing with a groan and wiping her hands on her apron. “I thought you’d never grow curious. It’s good. Young souls shouldn’t stay cooped up like old roots.”

You blinked.

“That easily…?”

She laughed, swatting your arm. “Did you think I’d keep you chained to my teapot, child? The world’s wide and wild—go see it! Just don’t forget to come back before spring frost melts.”

You nodded, biting your inner cheek, swallowing a lump.

For her safety, you reminded yourself.

For her.

——oOo——

Merchant Baek Seungbae was delighted when you asked to apprentice under him.

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “You’ve got sharp hands—and sharper eyes. I could use someone like that. Stay sharp, and I’ll introduce you to a contact in Gaegok-si’s quarter district. Big meat trade up there. They’ll love your knife work.”

You bowed in thanks, heart still heavy.

The day of departure came faster than you thought.

Before you left, you stood beside Granny, bag slung over your shoulder, a few scrolls tucked carefully within. You had asked the night before if you could borrow some of the old books.

She had smiled knowingly. “Of course. Those old things finally have someone to keep them awake.”

You hugged her. Tight.

She chuckled, patting your back. “You’re acting like this is farewell. Tch. You’ll be back before I even notice the silence.”

You forced a smile.

“Don’t catch a cold,” you said.

“You better not forget how to brew my ginger root blend.”

——oOo——

Baek Seungbae’s home was in a bustling riverside trade town. Though modest in comparison to the central capitals, it was bright with color and voices, filled with the scents of roasted meat and inked parchments, salted fish and drying dyes.

His wife, Dame Hwayoung, welcomed you like a niece, immediately pulling you into the warmth of their tiled home.

And their daughter—

Baek Chorim was barely five, round-cheeked and forever full of chatter.

From the first night, she clung to your leg, called you unnie, and insisted you braid her hair in the mornings.

At first, you thought the ache in your chest would never fade.

But it dulled, slowly.

The warmth of their small family life bled into your days.

ginger root blend.”

——oOo——

Some mornings you helped Seungbae organize inventory and visit vendors. Some afternoons you stayed behind to assist Hwayoung with teas and spices. When both parents were busy, you became Chorim’s favorite shadow—chasing her through courtyard gardens, lifting her over puddles, listening to her lisp through memorized folktales.

You liked her laugh.

It reminded you of something you couldn’t remember—but still missed.

——oOo——

One afternoon, you accompanied the family to the central square. Market day.

You held Chorim’s hand as she led you past stalls and performers, sticky rice on her cheeks and a ribbon in her braid.

Then you felt it.

Eyes.

Several.

You turned.

Men—rough-clothed, thick-necked, lingering too long in the crowd. One tilted his chin toward you and smirked. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Your fingers tensed around Chorim’s.

They began to move closer—

Before a loud voice cut in.

“Oi! What business do you have leering at my apprentice?”

Seungbae, broad-shouldered and loud as ever, stepped between you and the men.

The men faltered. Muttered. Left with narrowed glares.

Afterward, you sat with him on a quiet bench while Chorim napped against your side, Hwayoung tending a stall nearby.

He sighed.

“There are still snakes left, even after the head’s been cut off,” he murmured.

You looked at him.

“The men earlier?”

He nodded. “Recognized the emblem on one of their belts. Old ties to the slave network. Bastards must still be scraping what they can.”

“…I thought that business collapsed.”

“It did. Mostly. When the boss died last year—the one in Hwado—it threw everything into chaos.”

You stared at the cobbled ground.

He continued, “But some rats are always too stubborn to drown. You’ve been noticed, girl. Best to lay low for a while.”

You nodded, demure. “Of course.”

But your thoughts were already elsewhere.

The way that man looked at you. The memory of blood. Of helpless eyes.

They would do the same to another, wouldn’t they?

Someone else's child.

Someone else's family.

Granny’s voice whispered in the back of your mind.

"Sometimes mercy takes many forms."

That night, after Chorim had gone to sleep, and the house had gone quiet, you opened the scroll again.

Gwi-ma.

The blue of souls.

The white of your markings.

The books didn’t say what you were.

But maybe…

Maybe you could decide that for yourself.

——oOo——

Apprenticing under someone as well-connected as Merchant Baek Seungbae opened doors you didn’t even know existed.

You weren’t stupid—your ears stayed open while your hands worked. You listened when deals were made, when whispers were passed between officials and vendors, nobles and guards, gossiping housewives and mercenaries alike.

It didn’t take long before you started to gather pieces of information—names, locations, drop points, debts owed and bodies gone missing.

Some of those names led to slave-trading rings that had survived the purge from Hwado.

You listened. You remembered. You asked questions when you could, innocently, carefully.

And when you had enough, you started collecting evidence.

Letters smuggled in crates of dried fish.

Account ledgers with false seals.

Descriptions of the branded scars they left on their captives.

You didn’t even know why you bothered to keep them at first.

It wasn’t like you were planning to report them to the magistrates.

So why the evidence?

Maybe it was to prove it. That they were evil. That they deserved what you were going to do. That the weight of their sins was written, stamped, signed, and sealed.

That if someone ever found your trail, they’d understand.

——oOo——

You weren’t a professional assassin.

You knew that.

You still flinched at loud noises. Still got caught in awkward silences when questioned too directly. Still stumbled sometimes when you moved too fast.

But you had something else.

Something more.

When the moon hung high and the house grew still, you tested your abilities. There were no instructions, no teachers—only instinct, trial and error, and half-translated demonology scrolls that barely described what it looked like from the outside.

Not what it felt like.

The first time you tried teleportation, you vanished in a wisp of white—your room swallowed by a soft distortion of air—and you reappeared in a bush three meters below your window, landing with a graceless thud and a yelp.

A servant found you moments later.

“What in the—Miss, are you hurt?!”

You groaned, brushing twigs from your hair, your excuse slipping out as easily as breath: “I tripped trying to hang herbs near the window and fell…while—uh—practicing a balancing technique I saw at the festival?”

It worked.

Barely.

You spent the rest of the night nursing bruises and scribbling mental notes.

It’s not about strength.

It’s about direction.

Intent. Where do I want to go? Not just physically—but emotionally. Spiritually. Pull that string and follow it.

You got better.

Faster.

Hungrier.

——oOo——

A minor slave den hidden beneath the façade of an herbal shop. You memorized the guards’ rotations. You confirmed the layout. You waited until the moon was high.

When you appeared, you did not appear before the captors.

Not yet.

First, you appeared within the cellar—behind crates and cobwebs—where the captives were bound.

There were five of them. Children and adults. Their eyes were dull, skin marked.

One girl blinked in terror as you knelt beside her, your white veil catching the moonlight like snow.

You pressed a finger to your lips.

“Please held onto each other.”

The next moment, they vanished in a blink of mist and wind.

You reappeared with them outside the city walls, tucked in a dense thicket along a stream where travelers sometimes rested. Far enough no one would stumble upon them. Near enough for rescue.

You whispered gently, “You’re safe now.”

The children whimpered, clutching one another. One of the adults, a man stared at you, lips trembling to form a prayer.

“There’s a shelter north from here, head there and they’ll welcome you.”

Before he could speak, you were gone.

——oOo——

Back in the cellar, the slavers had just realized their captives’ disappearance and were flipping out, blaming each other.

All of them—four men in total—in the same room.

How fortunate.

You appeared in the middle of the den in a burst of freezing air.

A lantern shattered from the sudden pressure, plunging half the room into flickering dark.

“What the—who the hell—?!”

Veiled in white, hood drawn low, body cloaked, face obscured. The floral patterns across your body lit up in soft, ghostly luminescence—beautiful and cold as frost-kissed lilies.

“Hello.”

The man in the front, you recognized him, the same one from the market.

“Remember me?”

Then your eyes flared red.

“D-Demon!” someone shouted, panic clawing into their voice. The room erupted in motion.

You raised your hand—your claws now visible, sleek and shining in the dim.

They reached for weapons—

“Too slow.”

You were already in front of the first.

Your hand plunged into his chest, flesh and ribs splitting under your fingers like wet silk. His heart beat once more before you ripped it out. His soul—blue, trembling, trying to flee—was devoured before it reached the air.

The dagger he reached for hit the floor with a clang.

——oOo——

The others shouted.

You let them. Let them swing their blades. Let them scream and curse and call you devil and ghost and monster.

You surprised yourself on how well you were holding up.

Another rushed you.

You teleported again, grabbing his throat mid-swing and slamming him into the ceiling so hard the plaster cracked.

You sucked his soul before his body could hit the ground.

One tried to flee.

You teleported above him and crashed down on him, then drag him back along the stairs by the neck.

“Spare me! I was just following orders—!”

“Then you'll follow them again. In hell.”

You crushed his windpipe.

The final one fell to his knees, shaking.

“P-please! I didn’t even touch them—I just—just kept the books, I swear!”

You knelt before him, gaze level.

“So you watched. And profited.”

You pressed your hand to his chest.

“I hope you remember this judgment in your next life.”

——oOo——

You feasted that night.

Souls as the main dish.

Flesh as the side.

Blood as the wine.

——oOo——

The wind was crisp with the bite of winter’s tail when you packed your belongings.

Exactly two months.

As promised.

The merchant family stood at the gate of their home, Chorim clinging to your sleeve like she had the first night you arrived. Hwayoung sniffled quietly into her sleeve. Baek Seungbae crossed his arms—but you could see the sadness softening the corners of his eyes.

“Are you really not staying for the new year?” Hwayoung asked gently, tucking a scarf tighter around your neck. “The town festival will be beautiful. The Mudangs will come—singing, dancing, warding the evil away. It’s always special.”

Your hands tightened around the strap of your travel bag.

You had heard of Mudangs.

The books didn’t name them outright as demon hunters—but everyone knew.

Guardians of the sacred. Wielders of talismans and spiritual rites. The ones who gathered during the final nights of winter to strengthen the boundary between the human world and what lay beyond.

The barrier that kept demons and their king, Gwi-ma, from devouring this realm.

The great seal.

The Honmoon.

Your head throbbed just thinking the name.

What would happen if they saw you?

What would they do if they sensed what you were?

Would you be sealed away—or worse?

You weren’t too eager to find out.

You bowed politely. “I’m honored. But I promised my granny I’d return before the first lantern is hung. And I miss her. I want to spend Seollal with her.”

Seungbae sighed, shoulders sagging, then smiled with an indulgent sort of defeat.

“Your stubbornness really does take after her, you know?”

——oOo——

Baek Seungbae offered to escort you as far as the village borders.

On the road back, you walked side by side.

He spoke of his plans for expansion, of traders from the east and an interest in rare teas he’d learned about through your work.

Just before the fork that led back to your home path, he paused.

“I have a thought,” he said. “What if every year, around this same time, you apprentice under me again? Just for two months. Come spring, you go back to your life here.”

You blinked.

A cycle.

Your mind immediately turned to the hunger. The one that took exactly these two months to return.

His suggestion couldn’t have been better timed if fate wove it.

You nodded. “That sounds… perfect.”

He grinned. “Then it’s settled. Just don’t be late—Chorim will bite my leg if I come home without you.”

You laughed, eyes shining.

“And next time, bring them to see Granny. I’ll brew a tea tailored to each of you again. I think I finally nailed Mrs. Hwayoung’s preferred bitterness.”

He chuckled. “She won’t shut up about it. You’ve got fans for life.”

You bowed deeply.

And he left with a final wave, vanishing down the trail like a good dream fading into the mist.

——oOo——

When you turned toward your village, your heart lifted.

The air smelled of woodsmoke and the last of the autumn herbs, the kind always dried just before the new year.

Your feet quickened.

You passed the familiar boulders, the edge of the herb garden, the crooked tree stump where the neighbor’s cat used to nap.

And then—finally—your village came into view.

The houses were standing, smoke curling lazily from chimneys.

You could hear the faint clang of a pan, children’s footsteps skipping across dirt, old neighbors haggling over the price of root vegetables.

Everything looked just as it should.

But still.

Your steps slowed.

You couldn’t put your finger on it.

A strange quietness sat behind the sounds. Like a layer of glass over a painting. Too still, too… watched.

But then—

“There she is! My girl’s back!”

Your heart leapt.

Nam Jinseol—Granny stood outside the tea shop, apron still dusted in dried leaves, arms open wide.

You didn’t hesitate.

You ran straight into her embrace.

She laughed, warm and sturdy as ever, her familiar scent of herbs and smoke wrapping around you like a safety blanket.

“Look at you! Tanned and walking like a merchant’s child. Did they work you to the bone?”

You shook your head, trying to fight the burning in your eyes. “No. I missed you.”

“Tch. You act like it’s been years. Come in, come in—your room’s just as you left it. I even saved your favorite tea.”

You let her lead you inside, shoulders finally relaxing.

The wooden door shut behind you with a soft click.

And for now, at least… All was well.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [24/06/2025]

[changetyre]

He's okay

SUMMARY: It's Ivy's first time at a race and it's a lot more emotional than anyone imagined. Part of the Verstappen Family verse

WARNINGS: crash-ish, crying, fluff

A/N: Requested over on Wattpad and one of my favorite parts of this series.

"And make sure you don't let go of mommy and daddy okay?" You smiled at Lea as she repeated instructions to her 1 year old sister both in their car seats at the back. 

"Listen to what your sister is saying Ivy it's super important okay?" Max encouraged Lea looking at his daughters through the little mirrors 

Today you were taking Ivy to her first race, memories flooded your mind of Lea's first race. Lea had been older when she went to her first race but this time around Lea had been so insistent on getting her little sister to the track ever since she was born, Ivy was a little calmer than Lea was when she was a baby so after a lot of discussion you and Max agreed she would be okay to go to the Monaco GP just like her sister for her first race. 

"Okay, girls we're here you ready?" Max asked.

"YEAH!" Lea cheered happily. 

"Yeah!" Ivy simply repeated what her big sister said not really knowing what was going on. 

"You ready my love?" Max asked you as he parked the car. 

"More than ready." You let out a nervous breath before hopping out of the car. 

You grabbed Lea from her car seat while Max grabbed Ivy keeping her safe in his arms as you all made your way into the track. 

Cameras flashed everywhere at the sight of the Verstappen family all together for the first time at the track, both daughters dressed up in RedBull merch much to Max's pleasure also getting flashbacks from his oldest daughter in orange in her first race. 

"Papa woud." Ivy whined covering her ears yet a big smile on her face. 

"I know honey we're almost there." Max kissed his daughter's cheek holding her a little tighter as you walked past the cameras and reporters. 

"IVY WE'RE HERE!" Lea screamed excitedly pointing at the Redbull hospitality where she spotted familiar faces.

"LEA!" The team members cheered as you walked into the hospitality high fiving the toddler who felt happily at home in this environment. 

"And who's this?" Christian and Geri stood up from his table where he was having some coffee.

"Tell them your name darling." You encouraged your daughter to talk with the few words she knew. 

"Iby" She babbled still struggling to properly pronounce her Vs 

"Oh, what a gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl." Geri melted at the sight of baby Ivy. 

Ivy giggled shyly as her eyes explored her surroundings just like Lea on her first day taking in everything around her. 

"Papa cow." Ivy pointed at the large Red Bull logo on the wall. 

"No Ivy it's a Bull, a Red Bull," Max explained frustrated, despite having Red Bulls everywhere around the house Ivy always insisted they were cows much to Max's dismay. 

By the time Max had finished explaining Ivy's attention was already on something else. "Papa down." Ivy squirmed in her dad's arms. Ivy was mostly good with being carried but not long ago she started walking on her own...still stumbling frequently and still not running...but since then she wanted to be put down as much as possible. 

This time watching her big sister running around and playing with the rest of the Red Bull team members gave her enough motive to try to run (walk) around on her own. Knowing this was a closed space where you could keep an eye on her Max put Ivy down who took off as quick as her little legs could carry her to her sister. 

You and Max both watched happily as Lea introduced her baby sister to the team members holding her hand at all times. 

"So far so good." Max let out a sigh of relief he didn't even realize he was holding in. 

"We've got some backup this time." You hugged your husband gesturing at Lea who was still holding her sister's hand while pointing out pictures of their dad through a wall in the hospitality. 

"NO WAY IS THAT?!" Your attention was drawn to the loud and obnoxious man you now called family coming into the hospitality. 

"DANIIIII!" Lea yelled letting go of her sister's hand causing Ivy to plop down on her bottom on the spot. 

"They literally saw him this morning," Max spoke baffled at the overjoy of both his daughters at seeing his best friend. 

You were going to help Ivy up but she didn't cry or whine getting up herself before walking over to Dani on her own. "Dani!" She yelled too as soon as she was in his arms. 

"Aww my babies." Daniel hugged them tightly. 

"Actually...my babies." Max chimed in expressing his slight jealousy at the sight of his daughters in his best friend's arms. 

"MY BABIES!" another voice echoed from outside the hospitality doors, Lando standing there with his arms wide open. 

"AHHH WAN!!" Ivy screamed even louder this time running (speed stumbling) to her godfather's arms, Lea close behind her. 

"This is ridiculous." Max shrugged while you laughed loving how your daughters felt at ease and loved. 

_____________

"bye bye papa." Ivy waved her little hand as Max's car drove out of the garage ready for FP1. 

You laughed. "That's right bye bye papa." You stared at your daughter who sat in your lap looking adorable with earmuffs on that were squishing her cheeks way too big for her little head. 

"Dani!" Ivy pointed at the screen where she recognized her uncle's car driving around. 

"That's right baby that is Dani." You confirmed. 

"Chas" Ivy continued pointing at her uncle Charles's car driving around. 

Ivy continued pointing at the cars calling out her uncle's names despite sometimes getting the number of cars wrong you still encouraged her to keep it up. 

But your attention was drawn away from your daughter when you noticed an orange car hit a barrier and spin out. Your heart skipped a beat not seeing the blurred number 4 car coming to a halt, some spoke coming out the back. The Red flag was brought out immediately. 

"WANN" Your attention was brought back to your youngest daughter who had witnessed the accident, a terrified expression on her face as tears welled up in her eyes. 

"It's okay darling." You picked your daughter up off your lap turning her around so she faced away from the screens. 

"WANN huwt!" Ivy sobbed in your arms. 

You sighed in relief at seeing Lando hop out of the car unscathed as he walked to the motorcycle ready to bring him in. 

"Lando's is okay baby I promise you." You tried to comfort your daughter to no avail, luckily for you, Lea had fallen asleep in her dad's driver's room where Vicky was watching her. 

"Mamma WANNDO!" Ivy continued inconsolably crying as her dad drove back into the pits and his car was wheeled back into the garage. Max hopped out at the sight of his distraught daughter. 

"Hey, what's wrong?!" Max pulled his helmet off running over to you. 

"She saw Lando crashed and she thinks he's hurt so she won't settle." Max noticed your distress too. 

"Ivy Lando's okay honey." Max tried his shot at comforting your youngest daughter taking her from your arms. 

"Papa Wann huwt." Ivy now cried in your husband's arms hiccuping and gasping for air between sobs. 

You and Max looked at each other wondering what to do. "Head to McLaren I'll text Lando." Max handed Ivy back to you. You nodded following his suggestion. 

Ivy continued sobbing in your arms as you made your way to McLaren, you noticed the camera's following you so you tried your best to shield your daughter's crying face from view. 

As soon as you arrived you hesitated to go in not wanting to overstep but Lando hopped out from the hallway, probably after receiving Max's text. 

"Ivy look." You tried to get your daughter to look up at her godfather but she was so distraught she wouldn't budge. 

"Ivy darling I'm okay." Lando walked to you nudging Ivy. 

Ivy's face immediately popped up at hearing his voice, her sobs stopping momentarily taking in her godfather. "Oh Wando." Ivy let herself fall into her godfather's arms hugging him tightly as she started crying a little softer this time. 

"Aww baby I'm okay." Lando's heart both broke and grew bigger at the thought of his goddaughter worrying so much for him. 

"Huwt?" Ivy asked him. 

"No I'm not hurt darling I'm okay I promise you," Lando reassured his goddaughter who held on tightly to him. 

You sighed another breath of relief at seeing your daughter calm in Lando's arms your heart also bursting at the thought of your daughter being so empathic with her godfather and those she loved. 

You let your daughter stay with Lando as long as she needed knowing Lando wouldn't be able to hop back into the car at least for the rest of FP1 but most likely also FP2 due to the damage. Eventually, Lando had eased Ivy so much that she had fallen asleep in his arms, her face all red and swollen from all the crying she'd done. 

"Looks like she tired herself out." You stroked your daughter's hair as her head rested on Lando's chest. 

"She really loves me doesn't she?" Lando asked with genuine emotion. 

"I think that's clear." You smiled. 

Lando rested his head on top of her little head embracing her a little tighter. "I love her so much too." He kissed her head. 

"I think she's deep in sleep, I can take her back." You were about to grab Ivy from Lando's arms. 

"No no!" Lando whispered yelling at you. "Just a little longer." Despite Lando's arms being numb at this point he didn't want this feeling to go away just yet. 

What a rollercoaster of emotions for baby Ivy's first race. 

[sundayenjoyer]

𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖲𝖤𝖠𝖱 𝖮𝖥 𝖥𝖫𝖤𝖲𝖧 𝖨𝖲 𝖬𝖮𝖲𝖳 𝖯𝖫𝖤𝖠𝖲𝖠𝖭𝖳 𝖶𝖨𝖳𝖧 𝖸𝖮𝖴

You decide that your darling husband has been overworking himself too much, thus you decide to plot a whole day's worth of trouble for your lovely scholar.

—🎕 wc ; 2.2k

—🎕 CW ; Middle-aged ratio, transmasc ratio, written with both ratio and reader as old, but imagine what you want, nipple sucking, pussy spanking, fingering with gloves on, incorrect use of glove(used as a plug I suppose), semi-public sex, office sex, praise, sadist reader, hickeys on the top surgery scars(ratio receiving), edging(ratio receiving), breeding(attempt at your own discretion considering this economy), slight dacryphilia (if you squint), dumbification, temperature play(brief mention)No gendered pronouns used for reader and can be read with a strap in mind, no beta we die like real men, writer is asexual, English is not my first language and ion mean that as a flex in grammar meaning this might be cooked. If I missed any, do tell.

—🎕 my first post is fucking smut I'm so fucking cooked bro like not even a hello?? I digress; this is best read with Southbound by Artemas in the background

Veritas Ratio was a smart man; most would consider him a paragon of intellect. He was an erudite scholar known for his knowledge in broad subjects, seeking to spread knowledge to the vast galaxies. So why was it that he was so easily dumbed down?

"Professor, Good evening," You spoke, a slight fondness in your tone, "Something the matter?"

As if you haven't been taunting him for hours. Like you weren't turning the already grey strands at the root of his scalp even whiter.

You've been taunting him for what felt like 5 system hours; A hard grip on his waist, nails digging into his waist here and there, kissing him a little too eagerly in some empty hall when his seminar concluded, and at the peak of your audacity, even pressed your thighs between his legs and pinched at his chest a few times with far too cold hands to be accidental under the pretense of 'Helping relieve stress'. Veritas was well-versed in these games you'd play. At the start, you'd go slow, pacing yourself so that by the end of it, he'd be furious, nerves lit on fire and more bothered than he'd like to admit. You knew to only tease when you were sure no one was there. Honestly, his age has gotten to him and made him far too lenient on fools who run on the dopamine rushes of sex. He was far too lenient on himself and seemed to mimic the behaviour of the individual stated, unknowingly becoming one himself.

"You know what you're doing." Veritas spat, a soft grimace though you knew it was not only light-hearted, and from the looks of the slight tremors of his hands, he was eager. Years of trained composure were lost to searing passion, simmering and boiling for hours, creating a complex flavour of confusion, irritation, and hesitant arousal. "Enlighten me."

So many years spent together, yet you get on his nerves all the same.

Veritas furrowed his brows further before pulling you close, reliving the same song and dance from earlier today and his past experiences with you. Sinking his teeth onto your lips as if you wouldn't bite back once he grew confident, a dance of who gets to outsmart the other was always how you both liked to play things to the point where even a simple kiss turned into teeth and tongue, legs between one another and to a fault, you both dumbed each other down to a level where compared to your everyday selves, would be an insult.

It didn't take long for you to win this game, as at this point, Veritas was too filled with need and eagerness to fight back, but that didn't mean he bit back his arguments any less. "Professor, such a shameless sight. Thighs spread on your co-worker's lap. Don't you have a reputation to preserve?" You'd taunt him as if that'd fluster him when all you've done all day is test his patience.

"For such an established man, you talk just as much as those who are all bark and no bite." He'd return, and that was your cue to stop talking. The formerly idle and gloved fingers dipping betwixt his thighs, trousers long forgotten in some part of your office and one leg held up by your other hand to give you easy access but even then, he was flexible but you can only do so much yourself when you're nearing your fifties. The soft fabric of those gloves of yours easily sinks in with an embarrassingly loud slick sound, soon joined by another finger due to how eager your husband has been. Cooing soft praises into his ear while you stretched him out, perfect cunt responding so well to whispered words into his ear that the scientific part of you sparked the greed of testing waters. Toying with certain keywords, kissing his reddened ear, and studying the reactions as though he was the perfect little toy. While you've done this many times before it's still a wonderful experience slowly coaxing surrender from your beloved Doctor that you can't help but try to make it a game for yourself, how loud can you make him whine, how wet can you get him without letting him cum, all of it.

It didn't take long for your deft fingers to get him to teeter on the edge, and it took even less time to notice his ticks. Reminiscent of the ticks of a countdown timer, for every second passed, a sharp click would sound; for every second inching closer to his release, his muscles would tense up, his thighs would shake a little more, and he braced himself to finish.

Unfortunately, you had other plans, and you swiftly pulled your fingers out despite knowing the consequences of your actions, potentially leading to an irritated husband in the morning if you fail to fulfil his expectations for such insolence.

"I apologise, my dear." You lied, and you weren't sorry for anything. You enjoyed breaking your husband, thoroughly. "The lights will shut off in a few minutes. Would you mind a relocation? Perhaps... somewhere well suited for this?" You asked, feigning a sweet tone and when you heard the soft grinding of your husband's teeth and the opening of his mouth that'd likely release a few whines at best and less than pleasant words at worst. Before your husband could hurl curses on you, he felt a sharp sting. His watery eyes had more wetness from the hot pain, while he could only uselessly let out a strained moan as he was in the middle of a rebut.

You softly massaged his clit, giving the area a bit of respite before landing a couple more hits while you circled the soft bud in between. "Try again," you ordered. "Y-Yes. It's alright." Your husband spoke, adopting a more docile response due to his mind still reeling from the mix of pain and pleasure.

"Good boy, so good to me, only me." You cooed whilst slowly switching places, letting him sit on your desk while you took your stained gloves. The pristine white had now turned greyish and slightly see-through. But that didn't matter; you didn't need to dispose of it now when you had the perfect place to hide the evidence of your passion. "Shhh, my love, my love, settle down. Don't finish just yet." You insisted as you slowly stuffed the satin gloves inside, keeping your beloved Doctor full and warm. At the same time, you licked the excess off, the slick wetness on your tongue to savour the fruits of your labour tasted ever sweeter. At the same time, you watched the expression of your beloved while he panted and tried to desperately look presentable enough to walk out.

Hc start | Time skip start

His chest is super sensitive. Like if you have cold hands, he'd come so fast. Like the added sensation of cold and if you were feeling nice and sucked and bit on his nipples he'd start whining from how sensitive the temp shifts are. If you don't have cold hands, dip them in ice water and rub your fingers softly onto his nipples, then when you mouth on them with your warm mouth, he'd go crazy.

Speaking of temp play, he'd likely be really sensitive, even tho he's at the age of mid-life crises. He'd love it if you used cold fingers to scissor him open, the contrast of his warmth and your cold hands and possibly your cold tongue on his clit would drive him so insane, poor thing.

Hc end | Time skip end

By the time you both got into your shared spaceship, you both couldn't keep your hands away from each other. Depravity in the way you both could hardly walk without caressing the other and dragging both of your feet. You two could be mistaken for drunks from how poorly you two could keep your balance.

Soon enough, you two arrived in your bedroom, a brief moment of separation from your kiss to shed your clothes, most of it anyway. Veritas had removed his slacks and anything that could prevent your access to his entirety and only left his button up on.

After you laid your husband onto the bed, without even bothering to remove your clothes. You spread his legs, reverence in the way you slowly removed the soaked satin from his noisy cunt before immediately placing kisses on his inner thighs, allowing a small moment of respite that was surely appreciated.

When you received the go-ahead and the proper safety precautions were set in place you finally latched your mouth onto your lover's clit, mouthing expertly on the bud while your ungloved hand, the same one you used to torture him earlier, stuffed him full again earning a more free sound. Inhibitions now long forgotten Veritas freely expressed himself, calloused hands, dry from years of sterilisation and soap now sit clammy on your head, gripping so tightly and lifting his own slightly to grind into your mouth, you allowed him to take control of this, getting off on his own pace as a reward for enduring the walk from your office to here.

You worship in the way you reciprocated Veritas' fervour, not letting a single drop go to waste when he finally came into your mouth, and you lapped it up like it was a gift from the Aeons, like a man in the desert with ambrosia. You switched your mouth for your fingers and vice versa, your mouth savouring the taste while your hands rubbed tight circles around the bud, prolonging the orgasm until your lover let go of your hair and you could properly rise.

Veritas had a fucked out expression, chest heaving so wonderfully and with a head tilted to the left. He could feel the faint pulse of his climax along with the beating of his heart, hammering against his ears from the adrenaline. He bonelessly reached out for you, kissing you and tasting himself on his tongue while you buried yourself deep inside of him, a slow pace despite the preparations made beforehand not to stimulate your beloved thoughtlessly. You instead allowed him to adjust while you parted from his lips and tenderly sucked on his chest, resting him for a bit without ceasing completely.

You nipped softly at the scars on his body; some were bites, teeth, and bruises from previous times spent loving each other, but the ones you paid special attention to were the ones you knew made Veritas cry out. You teethed on his top surgery scars, canines scratching tenderly against the healed flesh and making new hickeys on the scars, decorating it with your marks of affection like verbatim from how often you do this, how much you love this, how you both enjoy this.

Soft whines came from Veritas' lips, what was once a stern and cold professor now laid a boneless mess, mind-reeling from the pleasure, especially when you rubbed at the sensitive and delicately bruising skin, touching just a few inches shy from his nipples and slightly scratching your nails against his flesh, alternating between the pads of your pointer finger and the tip of your trimmed nails until you suddenly pinched and tweaked at the bud on his chest, the delightful squeeze only making his eyes watery and a slight grimace form on your darling professor's face.

You saw a sharp glare get shot in your direction, clearly Veritas' way of warning you to stop playing with him, but it certainly just felt like a far cry from the typical expression your beloved wore that made students nervous. No, you couldn't be afraid, not when you heard the soft whispers of his voice, when he panted, when you saw the way his blush extended to his ears and bridge of his Greek nose.

Situations like this reminded you how beautiful your husband was as if the very sight of his wasn't reminder enough; you thought how lucky you were, having someone who was equal parts the magnum opus and the begetter. It just solidified something for you; if Veritas was an art piece, his artist must have loved him dearly.

His breathing hitched when you began to move, tantalising with the slow pacing you rewarded(tortured) him. Lithe fingers expertly rubbing tight circles against his clit while providing a soft and slow pace, like tired mornings awoken so sinfully with desire and spent together a lazy and yet almost too stimulating pace that had him feeling like cotton stuffed his head and static filled his ears.

It wasn't long until the two of you were coming, hips stuttering. The loud sounds coming from Veritas were growing loud as desperate pleas along the lines of begging for more and not to stop fell from his lips like shrill whines. At the same time, you could only shush him, reassuring him you're not that cruel just yet until you both came, sticky fluids and a pleasing warmth grew in your husband's stomach, breeding him so well while his overworked head grew empty and hazy. At the same time, you continued soothing him while you rutted your hips, slowing down until you were just barely grinding and prolonging both of your orgasms.

—🎕 Hey chat, I don't really know how to end this, but I really hope you guys liked this, and I'm rlly lonely you guys should deff msg me>, <

[thebluester2020]

[SDV] "Sins of the Guilty"

Summary: SDV Bachelors lusting over the nun that's recently come to visit Pelican Town Warning(s): Not proofread, Sacrilege of nuns, Sub!Sebastion [Reader is kinda a dom in his part], Sebastion doesn't have active sex with the reader, it's only imagined, I kinda favored Sebastion's part ngl, Dom!Shane [The usual lol], This is the filthiest thing I've ever written ngl, Elliot is the king of making readers squirt fight me on that, Elliot is a simp low-key, Bachelors loosely follow the plot of the verses, Unprotected sex [Wrap it before you tap it folks], Pure filth, Porn with plot. Word count: 8,285 wordsSide note(s): Inspired by the fact that- I like nuns and priests man. Going to religious schools all your childhood will do that 💀. Also, sorry for not including all the bachelors. I mostly wanted to focus on those who I think would struggle the most with being presented with a pretty nun in front of them cause it's more fun that way pfft.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Shane - "Hopeless Sinner" 1 Peter 5:8 - Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.

♡ - Never in his life had Shane been a religious man.

Too much had happened in his life for him to even consider the possibility of a god, and even if there was such a thing? There was no way that they'd look down favorably upon them, especially with all the sins that weighed down his soul.

And he had a lot.

He was a drunk, he could hardly keep his eyes open half of the time. It was common for him to stink, absolutely reek of alcohol and past missed showers and he far too commonly let his alcoholism get him into frequent situations that he would only come to regret the next day. And to add to that list of sins? He wasn't exactly a people person.

He was rude and curt, saw people as an annoyance and treated them like such. He wasn't open to hearing people be kind to him much less try to suggest ways to change himself. The only time he felt semblances of happiness was when he was with his niece and even then? Those times were fleeting and brief, all because of his aforementioned addictions to the bottle.

And...despite all of that, all those troubles...he wasn't intent on changing.

In his eyes? He was a lost cause, too far gone and there was no point in expending energy on something that was damaged. And he only doubled down on that ideology when rumors began to circulate that a nun was going to visit the town for a little while. He even made it a mission to avoid any places where you could've possibly been at!

The last thing Shane needed was some old woman lecturing on the goodness of Yoba and the sins that came with drinking. How that "he wasn't too far gone" and that he could be "saved", all if he just believed and dedicated himself enough.

At least...until he saw you in person one day outside Pierre's shop on his way to get some cans of beer.

. . .

"You must be Shane, I'm Sister Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

It was like the entire world paused for the briefest of moments.

Just enough for him to truly take in your features the moment he saw you, right in front of Pierre's shop no doubt.

Your smile alone could have chased away the darkest of storms and replace it with a sun that shined as much as your eyes did. They were as wide and big as a dog looking up at its owner, he thought. As if you were expecting some type of praise or reward for greeting him with so much enthusiasm. You were slender-figured but graced with long legs, your skin appeared smooth and your lips were pink and full. Yet as Shane looked back down, he was shocked that you weren't wearing a long black dress like he had thought nuns wore but...shorts-

"Shane? Are you alright?"

"Huh? Y-Yeah...I'm fine." He cleared his throat. "How in the hell do you know my name anyway?" He continued, surprised when you didn't flinch at his rude tone.

"The Church made sure to brief me on people's faces and names before I came to visit!" Of course they did…though, he didn’t know whether or not to complain at this fact or to allow himself to silently be happy in a way. After all, it wasn’t everyday that someone cute knew his name off the bat, much less greeted him with a smile that didn’t have badly hidden disdain or disgust behind it.

“Anyway…” You cleared your throat. “You should come to service this Sunday! It’ll be my first one in the valley and I’d love to have everyone there, I-if possible of course.”

He clicked his tongue.

At the very most? He’d think about it.

“Maybe,” Then, he walked past you.

. . .

After the two of you first met, Shane tried avoiding you the rest of the week until Sunday passed him by.

But though be was successfully avoiding you physically, mentally was a whole other issue as no matter what he did? No matter how much alcohol he drank, you’d always find a way to squeeze your way into his thoughts. When he cringed at his own smell at times, suddenly he’d would be hit with a wave of grace as he remembered the smell of your light perfume. It was even beginning to infect his dreams.

Dreams that…were far more pleasant as of late.

In his dreams, you’d sit with him and talk out in some meadow somewhere. Perhaps you’d go on and on about the book of Yoba all the while you steadily inched closer and closer to him before you’d place a hand on his arm. Your chest touching him as your sweet words grew more sensual, forgoing the talk of holiness to instead invite Shane to touch you through your clothes.

But before getting to the good part?

He’d always wake up, left with an aching hard-on and his alarm screaming at him to get ready for work.

That was the first and possibly the only time that Shane began to believe that there may have been such a thing as "The Devil". After all, why else would he suddenly have these thoughts of someone who just arrived in town a few days ago? Especially someone so out of his league?! Also, the two of you only met once and you probably didn't even remember his name!

But after the fourth time of waking up, his own brain once again blue-balling him?

He knew he had to see you in person.

Even if it was just to hear your voice again.

. . .

So, the next day, he went to the shrine of Yoba where he knew you'd be.

And the second he knocked on the door, you responded with a gentle "Come in" before he stepped inside. And...he couldn't help but feel like a black sheep amongst all the holy symbols and the gentle sound of a religious choir playing from a phone, suddenly, the paranoia of Yoba knowing about Shane's unholy imagination of you began to glare up. He felt as if he was going to burst into flames as punishment for daring to offend a sacred place with his presence!

Once he had turned a corner and saw you sitting on a pew, facing the statue of Yoba however...all of a sudden, he was calm and he remembered why he was there.

He simply wanted to confess his sins and have someone hear him out.

"Shane?" You said as you turned around, a smile immediately jumping onto your features. "I thought that was you! It's easy to recognize grumpy voices in this town."

He rolled his eyes.

"Can I help you with anything? What's going on?"

When he opened his mouth, he realize that he didn't have a single clue about how to admit that he wanted to confess his sins. Especially when those sins revolved around you (not that he'd ever dare to say that part out loud). "I uh...want to confess my sins."

Your smile grew. "Oh? Please, sit." You scooted over on your pew before tapping the space next to you.

Obediently, he sat down but a considerable distance away from you. His hands started to sweat and shake, how was he supposed to confess that you were the source of his sins?! How was he going to tell the pure nun of the valley that he was struggling not to masturbate to you defiling yourself on his unworthy cock? The imagination of your moans combined with the image of you begging him to fuck you against the shrine of Yoba plagued his mind. And what's worse?

He didn't feel an ounce of guilt for it really...he just wanted to be around you. Be it fuel for the mind or something more, he just didn't know.

"...Something tells me that you didn't come to confess." You spoke breaking the silence and snapping him from his thoughts.

His heart dropped to his stomach. Did he do something to give himself away?

"How do you-"

"I've been doing this for a while, you tend to pick up clues." You chuckled. "So tell me, what's really going on? I'm a good listener."

The moment you turned around and looked at him, his breath hitched in his throat as his dream from the night prior suddenly flashed in the forefront of his mind. Your pretty pink lips soaked and glistening from your spit whilst you panted heavily like a bitch in heat, practically for him to do something to you, anything to you. Already, he started to feel his cock twitch inside his boxers, causing Shane to quickly clear his throat and look in front of him.

He tried to think about anything else to keep himself from getting hard in front of you.

"...I've been having weird dreams." He finally admitted. "Dreams that aren't...good."

You hummed to yourself for a moment before you responded. "Like..."I may do something awful" type of bad or another type?"

"Lustful." He muttered.

Like the flip of a dime, it felt like the atmosphere in the room changed.

"You've been lusting after someone?"

He nodded his head.

"Who?"

"Does it matter?" He said snappily, eliciting a chuckle from you.

"Don't be so snappy, I like a bit of gossip as much as the next person..." You scooted closer. "Though, if you've been struggling with these thoughts then...the correct thing for me to say as a nun is to suggest you to stop. To be tempted by the flesh is a sin, your thoughts should never be focused on such things."

Finally, Shane forced himself to look at you, fully expecting you to look at him with some type of reprimanding disgust in your eyes but...he was shocked when he found nothing of the sort. You looked at him like a tiger would eye a piece of prey. "But...?" Shane said.

"But, I as an individual say that you should pursue this person. Who knows, she may like you."

Now that made him snort, there was no way that you would like a drunk like him. He was certain of that. "I'm the town drunk, why would she— you like me?" He decided to be upfront, to which you met his words with shock for a moment before you offered him a simple smile in return.

"Nuns have needs too, and who said this had to be a permanent thing? I'll only be in town for a few more weeks, all your sins will simply...wash away, stay between us, once I leave."

It felt like his dream was becoming truer by the second. Only...you were naughtier than what he originally assumed based on your appearance, but it added to the charm, and with each sugar-coated word that fell from your pretty lips, the further his mind slipped into depravity and what he wanted to do with you as he felt his cock chub up against his thigh. After all, when was the last time he'd gotten his rocks off? His right hand and his brain could only stave off the longing for a real tight cunt for so long!

And as he watched you start to lift your dress and slip your panties down your legs.

He immediately took the plunge.

. . .

"F-Fuck!" You cried out as your legs were spread, Shane on his knees as his lapped at your cunt like a man-starved.

And he might as well have been.

He felt as if he had been in a desert for months and had finally spotted an oasis, your slick upon his tongue was sweet and dripped from your pussy like a nonstop faucet, something that he wasn't going to dare let go to waste as he alternated between tongue-fucking your sex with his tongue and moving onto sucking your clit whilst his calloused fingers plunged in and out of your weeping hole.

And you couldn't get enough of it.

"Sooooo d-deeep...." You whined as your eyes started to roll into the back of your head.

Shane's resolve would've snapped if he hadn't been so focused on both eating yu out and prepping you to take his leaking cock, the sound of you, a nun sounding so fucked out and horny...practically crying out for his tongue and fingers made him rut into the air to try and alleviate the tight feeling within' his pants.

"S-Shane...I'm- I'm cumming-" Your high-pitched whine suddenly died on your lips when Shane stopped pistoning his fingers in and out of you as he stood and shredded his clothes.

"No you aren't lil' slut, you'll be doing that on my dick." He grumbled, his hands practically shaking from how eager he was to get inside of you before he finally freed his dick from its confines and lined himself up to your entrance, his hand coming up to press against the middle of your leg and push it till it nearly touched your chest.

Your mouth opened in a wide O at the size of him, causing the man to chuckle.

"Never had something this big in your pussy?"

You unconsciously shook your head but, your pussy nonetheless twitched in eagerness for the man's cock. Despite Shane's eagerness though, he made sure to be as gentle as he could be with you as he gently pressed his mushroom tip against your hole, the feeling sending a rush of electricity over your skin at the feeling of a cock touching your pussy.

It was strange and...it felt hot. Hotter than what you expected it to be.

Shane gripped his cock at the base before beginning to press his tip against your hole, steadily inserting it into your hole before thrusting forward a little as he steadily filled you. The man groaned at the feeling of your wet walls clenching onto him, almost as if you didn't want to let him go despite you possibly being the first man you've ever been with. "L-Loosen up..." He whispered, already feeling a knot begin to form and tighten in his stomach.

It seemed he hadn't been laid longer than what he originally thought. It took ever ounce of Shane's strength and will not to fuck you like a toy, to be as gentle as he could be until he was certain you were ready to be fucked into the pew like you were begging him to when he first started to eat you out.

Then again, you weren't going to last long either as you had just recently had your orgasm denied.

"Y-You're too big..." You whispered, trying to relax your cunt like instructed to but it hardly seemed to do anything at all. You moaned when you felt Shane's cock twitch at your words, a cocky smirk crawling onto his stubbled features as he leaned closer to you. "I'm big huh?"

You nodded your head breathlessly, a moan tearing from your throat when Shane finally bottomed out inside of you, his hips pressing against your ass whilst he tightened his grip on your leg to keep you from trying to escape the stretch his dick gave you.

"J-Just fuck me..." You hissed, shooting a glare to try and chase your denied orgasm. And the man gladly did as you wished, slowly pulling himself out of you before suddenly slamming back into you, almost knocking the air from your very lungs before he immediately went into a harsh and brutal pace. Shane almost had a mind to tease how you looked, your lips flushed and lips wet from your shared salvia from your earlier kissing session.

Your moans were loud and unbridled, to the point where even he was worrying about whether or not your slutty moans would attract unneeded attention to the shrine!

But as his balls slapped against your ass, the sensation in combination with your cute moans only served to make his balls tighten in anticipation of his impending orgasm. "Oh Yob, r-right there!" You yelped out when Shane suddenly positioned himself to fuck into you deeper, his cock slamming into the deepest part of you with each thrust. Shane then moved his hand down from its position on your leg to your hips, using the leverage to pull you onto his cock as he threw his head back to let out a drawn-out groan.

"Fuuuuccckkkk..." He moaned, his mouth hanging open before he lazily looked back down at you, smiling at your fucked out expression as he spotted drool beginning to dribble out from the corner of your lips.

At that moment, his thumb reached to wipe the drool from the corner of your lips before plucking the digit into his mouth with a smirk at your taste. "Can't believe how lucky I am...Yoba must be real," Shane snickered. "I get to fuck one of his cute lil' slutty nuns...especially one that doesn't know what to do with herself when presented with a real dick in her cunt." He continued as the need to fill you up grew with each thrust.

You nodded stupidly, Shane had an urge to kiss you but...your moans sounded too good for him to risk messing up his position and ruining your pleasure that was causing you to cry out so abashedly.

"C-Cummin-" Your climax hit you like a freight train as your body suddenly went rigid. Your cunt spasmed and clenched impossibly tighter around Shane's cock like a vice grip, nearly making him stutter in his movements as you came around his cock. "Y-Yoba-" He hissed, sucking in his bottom lip as he leaned forward a little at the sheer pleasure your spasming cunt brought him.

Shane only managed a few more thrusts before he spilled into you, his stomach clenching and his body stilling as if it were putting all its remaining energy into filling you up.

A breath he didn't even know he was holding released when he finished and looked back at you. Your gaze was unfocused as your cheeks were flushed red and spit trailed down the corners of your lips.

"Oi, you with me?" Shane said as he pinched your cheeks together with his hand, gently shaking you to try and snap you out of your daze.

You could only respond with a soft moan before you looked at him but not at him. He chuckled, he would accept it for now. He just needed to get you dressed, after all...he definitely wanted to discuss if his confessions with you could be a regular thing, at least...until you left of course.

Elliot - "Forbidden Desires" Proverbs 6:25 - Do not desire her beauty in your heart, and do not let her capture you with her eyelashes;

♡ - When Elliot and you first met. It was on the beach of all things.

Out on the wooden pier that overlooked the ocean. Frequently, the writer would visit here to collect his thoughts for his writing and try to find inspiration from the gentle waves that crashed lightly against the pier and beach alike. Yet it was when he turned his head to the side briefly, the world suddenly seemed to stop on its axis.

He thought you were gorgeous.

Baked in the backdrop light from the sun, he nearly thought you had a halo on your head. Glowing with your holiness that made all the features on your face that much softer, like the way your hooded eyes looked out across the water almost longingly as if you were beckoning for a wave to come and carry you somewhere else. How pieces of your hair escaped your veil and blew with the sea breeze along with your dress.

The longer he admired you quietly, the more he thought you were an ethereal spirit, completely unaware of how you were tempting him despite your outfit telling him that you were the sister that the town had been expecting for about a week now. It was your job to be a role model as to how not to sin.

Yet...he wanted to do the opposite- "Are you going to keep looking at me, or will you say hello?" Your voice snapped Elliot from his thoughts before he finally noticed you were looking at him with a curious but soft gaze, a smile gracing your features when you saw how his cheeks began to tint red.

"E-Excuse me." He said as he stood up and dusted himself off. "I was just in shock, I wasn't expecting the long-awaited nun to be at the beach."

As the two of you stood side by side, he noticed how you were shorter than himself. "Oh," You said. "Did I interrupt your alone time?" You smiled.

Elliot smiled and shook his head. "Oh no, I don't think you could ever do that." He responded, your mouth hanging open a little as a blush of your own started to coat your cheeks. It was then that Elliot quickly cleared his throat and tried to find a way to apologize. It seemed like he wasn't himself, his thoughts kept coming out before he could fully think about whether he could say them or not!

"Sorry, I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable."

You then turned your body fully to face him. "Oh, you're not doing that. I find your forwardness charming." You were dangerous for Elliot's heart, the way you looked up at him made his mouth dry while equally making him feel as if he were floating amongst the clouds. Up until you caught his attention again with a laugh. "What's your name?"

"Elliot," He answered immediately.

"Y/N." You responded. "It'll be hard for me to come to the beach with my duties and all...you should try visiting the shrine in the Pierre's shop. I'll be there most of the time."

"How long will you be staying in town?"

"Two weeks." He struggled not to immediately frown at that answer, all while he simultaneously struggled to not throw a curse at Yoba for making him feel this strongly about one of his devoted followers. Elliot could be frank with himself, he knew that you would be in his every waking thought from this point onward. All he'd think about is how to get closer to you, get to know you and so much more!

"I hope you'll enjoy your two weeks here then sister." He finally said.

"Oh, I'm certain I will." Then you turned to walk away, your faint perfume tickling Elliot's nose as he was left along with his thoughts, his thoughts settling on the newfound fact that you were his muse.

All of a sudden, his inspiration to write came to him like rushing waves during a typhoon. Stories of how a man fell into a forbidden relationship with a woman, or perhaps a shorter tale of how a man falls in love with a spirit, someone he longed for but knew he couldn't ultimately have. Yet, as all the thoughts flew through his mind. One thing was for certain, you left him with a burning ache in his pants.

. . .

Later that night, he admittedly felt slightly guilty for palming himself over his pants at the thought of you. The pretty nun with the soft voice and heavenly features, although Elliot tried not to think too hard about your words from earlier, to not misunderstand how you phrased your words or how you looked at him as a signal for something more...the image in his head was far too addicting to let go so easily.

The thought of you bouncing on his cock while he sucked at your breasts, planting kisses all over your body as you moaned for more...was it wrong of him to have those thoughts? Then again, surely you knew how you sounded when you spoke to him on the beach! You sounded like you were interested in him! That you may have wanted to pursue something more with—

"Ah...look at me," Elliot murmured to himself, running his fingers through his hair as he scoffed at how ridiculous his thoughts were.

You were a nun.

You were just being friendly!

What he was doing was wrong. To think about a holy sister was potentially one of the greatest sins (at least, to what he knew about the book of Yoba).

Perhaps he needed Yoba more than he realized.

. . .

And that’s what prompted him to visit Pierre’s shop three days later, specifically where he knew you’d be, the Shrine of Yoba.

Elliot’s plans were simple, to confess his sins, receive your judgement and advice, then leave. Of course though, he’s leave out the part where his thoughts revolved around you despite the fact the both of you hadn’t known each other for that long. But once he was standing right in front of the door that would lead into the shrine…he felt like his entire body had frozen in place.

Were you actually a nun or secretly a demon? He thought.

No person should ever have power over another like this. But the moment Elliot’s nerves loosened up a little, he quickly knocked a few times on the door before a gentle “Come in” could be heard from inside, causing him to walk in before he immediately saw you getting up from your kneeling position at the shrine.

You smoothened out your clothes and then looked at Elliot with the same angelic look you gave him the first time you met him. “Elliot?” You said. “You came.”

He nodded his head, keeping his head down just long enough in an attempt to ease his blushing. “I figured I was overdue for confessing my sins.”

“Don’t be silly,” You chuckled. “We all come and confess our sins when we’re ready, there’s no pressure.”

It was easy for you to say, he thought.

You weren’t the one who was losing sleep over imagining the naked form of the person you just met. And as Elliot walked to sit on one of the pews, the more he couldn’t help but think that this may have been a bad idea. Although your attire was similar to what you wore on the beach, he didn’t know if his eyes were tricking him or not but…your clothing appeared…tighter.

Around your chest to be more precise and it was driving him nuts.

He silently begged Yoba that you wouldn’t come close enough to where you’d be able to spot his steadily growing hard-on. And thankfully, you kept your distance via sitting on the pew just in front of him with your back turned.

“Now, you may confess when you’re ready to begin.” You murmured a quick prayer before clearing your throat as a sign you were attentive and listening.

Elliot sighed. "Sister, I've been...well- I've had unholy thoughts as of late. Thought that revolve around a woman that I'm infatuated with."

When you didn't say anything in response, he continued.

"She's the most beautiful woman I've ever been blessed to see. But it would be wrong for me to pursue a relationship with her."

That was when you spoke. "May I ask why?"

Elliot's throat bobbed up and down at the question. "She's a nun."

The silence that followed was so loud that it nearly rang in his ears. Yet, as you turned around to face him, his mouth immediately fell open to apologize until a certain glint flashed in your ears as you looked at him with a smile, a finger tugging at the collar of your uniform.

"And...what do you want to do with this nun?"

"I want to kiss her." At his confession, it was like a string had broken before you and Elliot's lips crashed together. In the writer's mind, it was as if your lips were meant to be with his own, the taste of your mint-flavored lipstick addicting to his tastebuds as he felt around in your mouth. Your breathing became heavier, pressing yourself as close to Elliot as you possibly could despite the pew that still separated the two of you. "What else do you want to do to me?" You panted when you both separated, your breaths labored and heavy as a single string of spit still connected you two.

Elliot silently eyed the rest of your body.

"May I show you, sister?"

. . .

Had you known the man you met a few days ago was capable of this. You would've fucked him right then and there out on that wooden pier.

The position Elliot currently had you in was making you see stars and galaxies behind your eyes, your legs spread out on his lips as he held you tight against his form, almost as if he were afraid you'd disappear right before his eyes whilst he fucked up into you like a man on a mission. Each thrust making his cock assault your sweet spot deep inside you, you felt as if your organs were molding and reshaping themselves just to better fit Elliot's cock.

"Y-Yoba's name..." He whispered hotly against your neck, pressing wet open-mouthed kisses against the side of your neck and all the way down to your exposed collarbones from him hastily pulling down the front of your dress. "Y-You're so tight-" Elliot grit his teeth together as he groaned against your skin.

However, each time he fucked up into you, the sound of your sexes meeting reverberated throughout the small area of the shrine as your slick poured down from your pussy to pool and coat the front of Elliot's thighs, you were starting to...feel something.

A certain coil beginning to tighten tighter and tighter by the second in your stomach.

Compared to the orgasms you've given yourself in the past, privately when you were in your room or in an area you were certain was vacant of other people. This one was more intense and threatened to wash over you with such a force that you worried you'd pass out from the intensity! But, it was hard to voice such a worry when you were being fucked to the point that you couldn't utter a single syllable, to where you nearly had a mind to forgo this life and simply be the plaything of Elliot for the rest of your days.

"E-Elliot...!" You keened as you wrapped your arms tighter around his neck, Elliot's thrusts somehow growing even more ruthless as he tucked his face into the valley between your breasts.

"Shit..." You managed to hear him breathe out.

Your mouth steadily started to form a large O shape as the coil inside your tummy tightened more and more until it finally burst.

Suddenly Elliot stilled his movements to raise your dress higher to witness the wetness that flowed from your pussy like a fountain spewing water, his mouth dropping in shock whilst the lust inside his eyes grew at the arousing sight of your orgasm spewing from your cunt and splattering onto his thighs.

He was only snapped from his trance when he heard your fucked-out moan and your hand tap his shoulder.

"Truly, you are the woman of my dreams," Elliot said with an equally fucked-out voice as if he were the one who just came. "Do that again." Your eyes snapped open as you tried to quickly voice your protest but not before your words were shooed from your lips when the writer fucked up into you again, resuming his previous pace before he gently leaned you back, his hand resting on the small of your back to keep you steady whilst his other went to lift your leg higher so that he had a better view of your cunt.

The squelching noises were like a symphony to his ears.

But all he could think about was you squirting again.

The pew you both sat and fucked on was already dirty...defiled.

It didn't matter to defile it some more.

"Please, squirt on my cock again," Elliot begged. "Will this help my dear? Don't hold back, please." Without a single word of warning, the hand that held your leg up dived down to rub quick circles on your clit with his index and middle finger.

"F-Fuck! Elliot...baby, w-wait- you're going to-" Your entire body shook and convulsed from overstimulation as you struggled to keep your head and thoughts straight, moans falling from your lips shamelessly as you could hear Elliot's raspy moans and throaty groans, the sexy noises only serving to make you clench around the writer's experienced fingers.

Elliot took your pussy getting tight as a sign you were close once again, causing him to speed up both his thrusts and his fingers as they rubbed side to side without abandon on your clit. You tried to cry out for him to slow down, to give you a short break but your moans fell on deaf ears as Elliot only silenced you via fucking you harder to the point your moans took the place of the words you wanted to say as he abused your cunt. "Ahhh...." You moaned in pleasure as you felt something begin to well up inside you again.

"E-Elliot- f-fuck...." You couldn't do anything else but whine and beg, his name slipping from your lips repeatedly as his fingers on your clit sped up whilst he rose you forward a little to plant kisses along your breasts.

"Don't be embarrassed my dear," He whispered against your skin. "Just cum, I got you...please." At the sounds of his begging, that earlier feeling of a coil beginning to tighten started to nearly grow unbearable inside you, your eyes barely staying open as you allowed your body to take all the pleasure your eager lover was bestowing onto you.

"Oh, Yoba...fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-" Your body once again grew rigid as Elliot's eyes darted to where the two of you were connected, his eyes widening as your pussy clenched onto him tighter than before as a clear liquid squirted out from you and around his dick. Upon seeing that sight, he wasn't too far behind from his climax, managing a few more hard thrusts before his head dropped forward a little as he moaned.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath until it was you who broke the silence as you steadily rose your head and slid your hands to rest on Elliot's shoulders with a soft moan and a dopey smile. "You know..." Your voice was hoarse as your hand moved to catch Elliot's chin under your hand before you tilted his head back to make you look at him.

You pressed a chaste kiss to his lips, a sweet lovesick moan leaving the writer's lips before a smile slowly came onto his lips. "We should do this again."

"How..." Elliot took a moment to further catch his breath. "How long will you be in town?"

"Couple of months, we can discuss about this being a regular thing as well as...you possibly taking me out on a date next?"

He couldn't think of anything better.

Sebastion - "Hungry Recluse" Genesis 2:18 - Then the Lord God said, “It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him a helper fit for him.”

♡ - He had heard about a nun coming to the valley when his mother brought it up at dinner a few weekends ago. And back then? He didn't have a mind to care really.

He was a recluse.

He had nothing against religion but he preferred to stay away from crowds. If a nun was to come to the valley then he was more than certain you would bring a crowd, preaching about Yoba and the likes and he respectfully wanted no part of that.

So, imagine his shock one night when he was outside his home smoking. Only to spot a nun doing the same.

"A nun, smoking?" He nearly choked on his own cigarette. His words catching your attention before you cursed under your breath before you dropped your cigarette and quickly stomped on it with the heel of your shoe.

"Goddamn it..."

He scoffed. "And you curse too?"

You rolled your eyes. "If you're going to snitch to someone, do it now." As Sebastion stared, thinking about how much he wasn't going to snitch to anyone (after all, he believed it wasn't his place nor did he feel like anyone would believe him should he have wanted to do it). He couldn't help but think about how...well, how pretty you looked.

You sported a more roguish look to your uniform compared to what he was originally thinking you'd look like. Clean outfit with a bright smile, maybe a hand carrying a bible or the cross of Yoba perhaps. Instead? One side of your dress was bunched up, exposing quite a considerable amount of thigh as well as the black stocking you wore underneath, and the similarly colored boots that would've typically been hidden underneath.

Your make-up was gothic and you had a septum piercing along with a couple more piercings on the outer edge of your right ear.

And if he was seeing things right...was that black nail polish on your fingers- "Are you going to keep staring?" You said bitingly.

"Sorry," He apologized, quickly looking somewhere else. "I just didn't expect the nun to be-"

"A sinner?" You interrupted with a heavy sigh.

"Different." He finished his sentence.

You clicked your tongue. "Yeah well...that's what you get when you're an unwilling member of the church." You spilled.

Now he was really curious about you. This entire time, he had expected a goody two-shoes sister who would rave on and on about Yoba anytime that they could! Or maybe even some old hag as old as Evelyn was, nagging and constantly haggling people about converting and praying more to Yoba.

But instead? The town received neither.

Only you.

And he was absolutely enthralled by you.

So much so that he found himself unconsciously walking up to you before he cleared his throat. "Do...you want to talk about it?"

"I'm not looking for pity if that's what you're-"

"I'm not trying to pity you." He interrupted. "You just seem to be in need of a confessional as much as anyone else." He shrugged, his words sparking a chuckle that sounded like a melody in his ears.

. . .

And that was the beginning of you and Sebastion's relationship.

One where you two would meet under the guise of night every other day after you had finished your "performance" during the day of playing the innocent nun who wanted to spread the word of Yoba. Something that Sebastion quickly learned was nothing but complete bullshit. The two of you would rant about your lives and how much you two wished you could change things.

Whether it was from Sebastion's dreams of moving away from Pelican Town and into the city, to you ironically praying to Yoba that he'd give you an outing from the church.

The one day you'd be free.

"...Why are you stuck in the church?" Sebastion had asked one day, lighting your cigarette before his own.

You blew a puff of smoke before sighing. "Mommy and daddy had unresolved debts and issues." You said. "To pay 'em off, they got rid of me." You continued.

"Now I wear this damn get-up and play "Good follower of Yoba"." You mumbled a few curses under your breath afterward, ones that made Sebastion snicker under his breath as he considered your situation. Although obviously different, the similarities in your stories were eerily similar. The two of you longed for another life, felt as if you didn't belong in the current one you both lived, and, as much as you both could, you tried to actively change that.

But...where Sebastion could easily pack some things, get on his bike, and head for the city.

You didn't have that luxury.

"Why don't you move here?"

"Unresolved debts remember?"

"I know but...there's a lot of abandoned places here in the valley. We even have an abandoned farm not too far from here. You could live there."

"My cage would be no different then, just a new window to look out of."

A small smile crept onto your features when you spotted an apologetic frown appear on Sebastion's face. One that made you flush a little as his cheeks appeared puffier and cuter. You appreciated being able to talk to him, more than you'd ever be able to convey but...you weren't looking for sympathy or solutions to escaping that only involved you living a life on the run and in hiding.

In truth? Being asked by the higher-ups to visit this small town, meeting Sebastion?

It was as close to a blessing from Yoba as you'd ever get.

Back home, you were a glorified maid if not eye candy for old men. You'd clean for them, cook for them, bring them drinks...it was such a dull life. You hadn't even been able to go to college. You couldn't even do most math but you could damn well recite random passages from the book of Yoba.

You hadn't nor would ever be able to find love!

All talks of boys and falling in love were strictly forbidden, seen as nothing more than a gateway for potential sinning, something you'd eventually learn was nothing but complete hogwash as there were plenty of times you've seen your fellow sisters open their legs for priests when it pertained to the topic of being able to get away with some things. Here in the valley though? You didn't feel that pressure.

You liked it here.

You liked...well, you liked the people. They were nice.

"You should be happy here Sebastion." You said, breaking the silence.

"You have a good life here, it may not be the one you want it's the one that's the best path for you at the moment."

Sebastion rolled his eyes. "Easy for you to say, you don't live here."

"Maybe, but I'd need a million more fingers in order to count how many situations are worse than this." You sighed. "After all...you never know, one day you may find yourself liking it here. Life is funny like that." At those words, you placed a gentle hand ontop of Sebastion's for only a brief moment before you got up and walked away.

An act that only served to leave Sebastion's heart skipping beats and...strangely upset.

. . .

And he must've sat outside for an extra thirty minutes before he finally went inside.

Dinner tasted bland, and all of a sudden Demetrius' snide remarks and insults didn't even make him turn nor lift his head to briefly glare! All Sebastion could think about was you.

You, you, you, you, you.

He didn't know what sounded weirder or more pathetic.

Him chasing after you like he was in some chick-flick, exclaiming how he wanted to be with you despite only knowing you for going on close to a week now. Or if he said that you were the only person in this entire town who seemed to understand him! The only one who made him truly happy aside from the small yet rare-found joys in his life! He could introduce you to his friends, Sam and Abigail, he thought you'd get alone well with them.

Maybe you could teach Sam to play new songs? He remembered you mentioning how you knew how to play the guitar a little. Or maybe you could simply be another girl added to the group, someone for Abigail to hang out and talk with.

As Sebastion sat on his bed. His mind further diving into his racing thoughts that concerned you, so many situations revolving around the question of 'What if?' that he could barely keep track of them all! He wondered then about what if you'd be another addition to the farming community here. If you would actually take over that abandoned farm.

What would you grow, would you be good at it or would you only prefer animals like Marnie?

Or...maybe you'd be something else?

A writer like that one guy who lived at the beach with Willy.

Or maybe an inspiring somebody like himself or Sam?

Another member to the Adventurer's Guild perhaps?

He considered it all but the one scenario that made his heart strangely ache the most was...if you were with him.

You made him smile the most out of everyone here. Sebastion enjoyed your curt personality that blended well with your shockingly soft tendencies. You were pretty and when your lips weren't covered in dark lipstick, they shined a surprisingly glistening red. Your eyes were the most gorgeous underneath the moonlight ad your figure (if he couldn't guess from the first moment he met you) was something that made his jaw drop every single time.

Suddenly, there was a throb in his pants at the thought of what you'd look like underneath your clothes.

But no, even if you stated you didn't want to be a nun.

He'd give you the respect all the same. He wouldn't dare to do anything inappropriate with your face in mind. It wouldn't be right.

. . .

But oh...did he think it would feel so right.

It wasn't a bad thing to touch himself to the thought of you, was it? You weren't there and so long as you didn't know then technically sin would have ever been committed! At least, that's what he comforted himself with as he furiously jerked himself off underneath his covers, breathless moans leaving his lips as he imagined it was your hand stroking him off rather than his own.

And as he did so, he swore he was more turned on than he ever had been in his entire life.

He imagined you were wearing your dark lipstick as your hand went down to massage his balls, your lipstick leaving smudge trails up and down his cock as you flattened your tongue to trail along the prominent vein that ran on the underside of his cock. Yet as you did so, you kept a firm eye on him as you looked at him through your lashes.

"You must've been so pent up Sebby..." His cock twitched at the nickname. "Waiting for me to do this to you, you must've been thinking about this since the day we've met. Huh?" A whine left escaped him at your words, his vision beginning to blur from both pleasure and growing embarrassment as his cock began to leak more and more pre.

"Not going to answer~?" You purred. "That's okay, you seem to be way more talkative down here than with that mouth of yours."

"P-Please..." He whispered.

Your smirk grew as your hand quickened in its pace, your face leaning in closer to his to the point he could almost imagine your breath gently blowing on his face. "Please fuck me..." He moaned. "R-Ride my cock, j-just do something more with me."

"Such a good boy~"

As you sat up, you licked the tips of your fingers clean from his pre as straddled him to where your pussy hovered over his cock. He twitched at the feeling of your heat, his eyes glued on your dripping pussy before your finger tipped his head to look back up at you. "Keep your eyes on me." You ordered before swiftly pressing a kiss to his lips. A choked-up moan escaped Sebastion's lips when you suddenly sunk yourself onto him. Your hips immediately started a fast pace that made his eyes roll into the back of his head.

Until you suddenly slowed down. "W-Wha...?" He said dizzily, looking back at you. "Why-"

"Eyes on me Sebby~ or what? Is my pussy too good for you to listen to me?" You suddenly slammed your hips down, Sebastion's hand gripping the bedsheets with a loud moan before you resumed your original pace. "You should be following what I say more diligently than this Sebastion" You pouted. "A holy nun is giving you her untouched pussy, the least you could do is look at her~"

"Y-Yes!" He moaned. Tears flowed down the sides of Sebastion's face as he kept his eyes on you, the sounds of his balls slapping against your cunt echoing throughout the room as a familiar knot steadily started to appear in the pit of his stomach. His cock twitching inside your warm pussy as the feeling of your walls nearly drove him to insanity.

Your moans, your face contorting in pleasure as your hands roamed up and down his chest underneath his hoodie. Everything about you made him want to exclaim just how much he had developed a crush on you, something that he wanted to take farther rather than just simply have sex with you. Yet, as the heat in his belly turned white-hot, his moans sounded closer to wails as he begged to cum.

He had to remind himself that this wasn't real.

You weren't even here.

Something that was slapped into him the second he felt his cum pool over the top of the hole he made with his hand rather than feeling it fill you up.

"Y/N..." He moaned as if you'd magically appear before him.

Tomorrow, he would definitely confess his feelings. Religion be damned, he knew that he wanted something with you.

[sexlapis]

*

A thud jolts Toji out of his sleep.

It was a quiet noise, barely audible to the average person.

But he heard it loud and clear.

He sits up immediately, blood already bubbling hot and pumping through his body. He reaches behind his pillow and pulls out his gun, then proceeds to slowly climb out of his cheap bed, wincing internally at every creak and squeak it makes.

Toji curses his past self for being so stingy.

This must be the day then. The day when somebody finally put a hit out on him and now some rando is out to finish the job and get their prize.

Toji wouldn’t make it that easy for them.

He didn’t make it this far, survive the brutalities of the Zenin’s, the loss of the love of his life and then, essentially, his child too, to be killed by some sucker who doesn’t even have the balls to face him properly.

Not a fucking chance.

Toji creeps out of his bedroom, inching towards the kitchen where the sound came from. It isn’t a long journey - it’s a small, shitty apartment he lives in and the rooms are barely even separated from one another.

As he gets closer, he hears it; shuffling sounds, like someone is looking through his things, through his cupboards and cabinets along with the occasional clank of a tin.

Is this just a thief? Maybe a homeless person? A cat?

He wasn’t going to wait and find out.

Quelling down the small itch of fear, he flings the door open. Gun raises, hairs standing up right. Ready to fight. Ready to kill.

There, rummaging through the cupboard is…you.

Definitely not a thief. Definitely not a hit man. Certainly not a curse user or a bounty hunter.

You stand there, frozen. Your eyes bulge out of your skull at the sight of the gun a few feet away from you. And at the tall, domineering man who holds it as easily as holding cutlery.

“Who the fuck are you?” Toji spits.

Your mouth falls open and no words come out.

You seem to be frozen in fear. For good reason.

The man in front of you is a tank - big, no doubt physically strong and could easily put you down without having to use the gun in his hand. And judging by the scar on his lips, you’d guess he is well versed in the world of fighting and brawling.

You’re screwed.

The guns clicks.

“I said, who the fuck are you?”

“I-I, I’m-“” You cut yourself off with quick, uneven breaths, “-please-“”

Toji looks you up and down, gun still raised and pointed right at you.

Then he realises he knows who you are.

You’re that person he sees everytime he goes out. He wishes he could be more specific, but it’s impossible because he really has no idea who on earth you are.

Sometimes you’re walking hurriedly down the street, eyes on the ground. Other times he catches sight of you in the alleyway, sitting on the grimey ground, asleep. One time, he even noticed you shoplifting from the shop of the nice old lady who gives him free hard candy, which he thought was a shitty thing to do, but it’s not like he can talk. He’s not the police.

Still. Toji knows you. Well, knows of you.

Other than your survivalist behaviours he knows not a damn thing about you, not even your name. Not your age. Nothing.

You’re elusive, hidden in plain sight, in the flashes of his peripheral vision, and right now, Toji has never been more confused in his whole life.

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?”

Still, you stare at him like a deer.

It’s getting harder for him to believe you’re a threat.

You gulp, hands raised in surrender. Your body trembles.

“I…I was…I was hungry.” You croak out. Your eyes quiver, going glassy. “I’m sorry.”

Toji blinks at you. He observes your old, worn clothes, your unwashed hair, the dark rings that paint your eyes, the tears that now streak down your face. The lines and dents in your face that are only carved by a life of hardship and pain. Then he sighs. He lowers his gun.

You’re no killer. You’re not a threat. You’re just hungry.

Whatever anger, fear, apprehension or hostility Toji felt towards you fades away with each slow breath of relief he exhales.

Now, as he looks at you in your ragged clothes and your wide, scared eyes all he feels for you is pity.

It wasn’t uncommon to see people like you in Toji’s line of work - the outcasts of society, the people who exist along the edges of civilisation, the ones who need just one more pill, the girls selling their bodies on the street to so-called upstanding men, the former soldiers who are payed for their service with a missing leg and a seat on the side of the street - people like you who walk along the cliff of society just waiting to be pushed off.

He sighs.

Toji could just tell you to fuck off, to get out and never come bask, to threaten you for real so you don’t do anything this stupid again.

Instead, he walks to his fridge.

You yelp at the movement, heart drumming in your chest. Your eyes squeeze shut. You wait for the impact of a smack, a punch, a bullet, a kick, anything, preparing for how you will get yourself out of this situation you walked right into.

You hear the fridge open and close. You can hear him walk towards you. Then he’s in front of you. His body heats wavers over you.

“Here.”

Your eyes flutter open.

He holds a package of tinfoil to you. It smells nice. Really nice. Saliva pools on your tongue.

You blink up at him, eyes wet and vision blurry.

Toji peers down at you. He looks bored.

Toji tuts. “Are you gonna take it or what?”

You alternate between glancing at the foil-wrapped food and at him, blinking wildly. It seems like you’re sizing him up a little. Trying to see whether this is some kind of trick, if he wants something from you in return.

Finally, which twitching hands, you clasp the food in your hands.

For a moment you both hold onto it. Toji’s big hands look almost comical next to yours.

He lets go. Toji almost thinks you’re going to drop it considering your weak grip, but you don’t.

You look at the foil-covered food for a second. You can’t believe this stranger who you only see in passing just…gave you food after breaking into his house. Now that you think of it, you should’ve been more careful, you aren’t usually so reckless. But you were so damn hungry, and you got caught shoplifting (though, you were let off with just a warning - they felt bad). So, you were desperate. And considering how things turned out, you got lucky. It could’ve turned out much worse for you if it was some other guy who wasn’t…whoever this guy is.

Toji goes back to looking through his fridge like you’re not even there. He’s probably looking to see if you took anything. You didn’t.

“Thank…Thank you.” You stammer out. Your teeth chatter.

Toji cuts his eye at you.

“Don’t break into people’s apartments. You’ll get shot one day.”

Your breath hitches. You give him a static nod.

Walking backwards, you look at the package in your hands again. The smile you give him is a genuine one, softening your tired eyes. You turn your back on him, running towards the open window in the kitchen and jumping out.

Then you’re gone.

“Fuck.” Tojj curses. “This neighbourhood is fucking crazy.”

*

masterlist

[moriwood]

Flower Puff Boy — p.js

park jongseong x male reader fluff with very lil angst 2.3k words

Over the past year, people have come to know you as the guy who always gives flowers. You’ve used every occasion as an excuse to purchase flowers from Jay, your neighborhood florist, and each time you walked in, you always ended up with a free flower from him. As Valentine’s Day nears, you realize what flowers truly mean to him and you.

includes: flower language! (might be wrong, i’m not good with flowers myself); a call back to my other xo era-inspired fic (pls read it too if u haven’t yet :’3) warning: n/a

You were never well-versed in the language of flowers. No special fascination, no favorite blooms nor scents growing up. But over the past year, you have come to be known as the guy who gives flowers. For friends who started new jobs, relatives who celebrated their birthdays, and even your coworker who merely complained about the blandness of her beige desk, flowers had become your go-to gift.

You first stepped into Flower Puffs on a whim, a small shop tucked into a side road with little traffic. Despite its humble appearance, its color always stood out against the dull low-rise apartments beside it. The chalkboard outside boasted seasonal arrangements and flower meanings scribbled in neat, cursive letters. It started simple: a gift for your mother on Mother’s Day.

—

Behind the counter, a young man arranges a bouquet. His sleeves were rolled up, and the veins along his arms were like vines growing on a trellis. He glances up at the sound of the bell jingling above the door. His eyes lock onto yours, lips stretching into a smile as charming as the flowers that surrounded him.

“Hey there. Mother’s Day?”

You hesitate by the entrance. His directness catches you off guard, though it makes sense—most of his clients for the day were probably here for the same reason.

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Good call,” he replies, his smile reaching to his eyes. He wipes his hands on his apron and steps around the counter. “Something classic or something unique?”

You shift on your feet, glancing at the rows of flowers neatly arranged on wooden displays. “Uh… I don’t really know flowers.”

He chuckles softly, approaching the nearest display to you. “Well, that’s what I’m here for.”

He hums as he gestures at his different floral arrangements, voice filled to the brim with enthusiasm. It’s quite captivating—the way he spoke about flowers—detailing their scientific properties, from colors to scents, then unraveling the messages they somehow conveyed without words.

He picks up some delicate stems, their green, fuzzy leaves adorned with tiny yellow flowers that spiral upward along its length. Oddly, they remind you of the herbs you use to season food. “Agrimonias mean gratitude and protection. Old legends say that if you sleep with agrimonias under your pillow, they ward off evil.”

He then picks up another few bright yellow flowers, bigger than but as slender as the agrimonias. “These hawksbeards here mean something similar—protection and contentment.”

“And some Peruvian lilies,” he says, picking up some flowers in a darker shade of yellow, with lines of purple decorating its petals. “They mean a lot of things: wealth, fortune, and devotion. If it’s for your mom, you probably want the most for her, right?”

You nod. There’s a strange intimacy in the interaction, listening to someone speak about something they’re clearly passionate about in such a quiet environment. You reach out to take the bouquet he’s begun assembling, and for a split second, your fingers brush. 

He doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, his eyes flicker to your face in amusement then he steps back with a grin. He plucks a white flower from one of the nearby displays and twirls it between his fingers.

“Here,” he says, holding it out to you. “A calla lily. Consider it a welcome gift.”

“What does it mean?”

“Magnificent beauty,” he replies smoothly, “like you.”

You freeze, caught between surprise and amusement. The confidence in his delivery makes you think that this is a regular schtick he does with his customers; however, for a beat too long, you consider if he could be as genuine as the flowers that he sells. 

A laugh bubbles up in your throat as you notice the board on the counter that reads Flower Puffs in colorful chalk.

“Well, thank you… Flower Puff Boy,” you finally reply.

“I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” he cackles, slapping a hand over his eyes. “But Jay would probably be better,” he corrects. “And you?”

—

It all began there, and you kept on coming back. Every occasion has become a perfect time to come visit Jay’s shop.

And each time, he gives you a flower. Even on days where you decide not to purchase anything and just pass the time at his shop, you always leave with a single flower in your hand. You keep them all, pressed in between pages of your books, tucked into vases by your windowsill, like tokens of each visit. In your mind, you’ve authored a tiny dictionary of all their meanings.

Wood sorrels for joy, when a childhood friend came to visit you in the city.

Mayflowers for perseverance, when your boss just recovered from a major surgery.

Lemon geraniums for unexpected meetings, when you welcomed a new guy in the workplace.

Then he gave you a lily of the valley for the return of happiness, because he hadn’t expected you to come back so soon.

Then milkvetches, because, as he put it, your presence softened his pains—something he didn’t explain further.

Then French marigolds for jealousy, after you mentioned to him how attractive the new guy at work was.

He didn’t seem to lie about what his flowers meant, yet you never took the time to question if the flowers really meant anything to him—to you. After all, he’s just a merchant, and you’re just a customer. Assuming otherwise would be foolish, especially when, after nearly a year of frequenting his shop, you knew nothing much other than his name and his line of work.

What do you do outside the shop? What else do you like other than flowers?

Were those even questions you could ask?

And yet, you still return. Not exactly for him, but for the giddy feeling you get when you learn something new about a flower—or so you tell yourself.

The bell rings as you step inside, and as always, the familiar florist stands behind the counter, carefully arranging a bouquet. He’s leaning over the counter, speaking with a customer—a guy around your age, donning an oversized sweater and smiling brightly. Jay notices you, glancing at you, but his attention is swiftly drawn back to the man he was talking to.

You really didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the shop is too small not to overhear everything. Turning to the wooden displays, you pretend to browse through the flowers, testing yourself on the meanings you’ve learned.

“With a love letter and everything,” the guy says.

Jay chuckles. “Sounds… romantic… Who’s the lucky guy?”

Mustards. Greenish-yellow, as in the plant with the seeds that are used to make the condiment with the same name. It meant indifference, Jay said, when you wanted to buy something for a leaving coworker who you really didn’t care about.

“No idea. The flowers had me thinking they got it from you.”

Jay hums. “Sunoo got one. Then I think Heeseung?”

Cobaeas. Large, bell-shaped, and violet. Gossip, like you tuning in more to their conversation. Who are these people that they’re mentioning?

“Heeseung?” the guy repeats.

“Said he’s getting ‘em to cheer someone up. Maybe it’s him?”

The guy laughs. “I don’t think he swings my way. If it’s Sunoo or Heeseung, then this person probably bought it elsewhere.”

Goldenrods. So small, Jay just uses them to fill up his flower arrangements. He said they could mean precaution, but for what exactly?

“I hope you find out soon, or maybe not. Then I’ll make you a better bouquet. No secret messages though, just a delicate arrangement of flowers from your favorite florist.”

French marigolds. Jealousy. Huh.

You turn back to the couple by the counter, finding the guy chuckling and shaking his head. “I’ll take that offer when the mystery turns exhausting. But I’m pretty invested right now.”

Jay smiles at him, all easygoing and warm as usual. “Let me know how it turns out then.”

The guy waves goodbye, taking one last look at the bouquet in his hands before heading out. Jay then exhales, fingers tapping against the wood. He notices you again, now with his full attention, and grins.

“What’re you doing over there? Come tell me your excuse for visiting today. Don’t tell me it’s Lunar New Year.”

You force a chuckle, stepping closer. “Birthday of a friend. Was just testing if I remember the botanical stuff you’ve taught me.”

Jay tilts his head. He points to some oxeye daisies, petals white with a yellow center. “What do those mean?”

“Patience. Purity. The he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not flower.”

“Correct,” he replies, picking one and twirling it between his fingers. “Is this friend you’re talking about a friend-friend or…”

“Or?”

“Friends with ulterior motives,” Jay laughs. “Friends from a different dimension.”

You shake your head, chuckling. “No. A real, very existing friend.”

Jay studies you for a moment, an embarrassing warmth creeping into your face. You might make every occasion an excuse to visit Jay, but you won’t stoop so low as to invent stories about imaginary people. 

“You have to stop giving out flowers on a whim like that, your friend might misinterpret,” he says.

You hesitate briefly, then you roll your eyes in realization. “I could say the same thing about you giving free flowers to all your customers.”

Jay furrows his brows. “I don’t?”

“Huh?”

A beat passes.

“I don’t give free flowers to all my customers,” Jay repeats.

“Just me then?”

If not all customers, then maybe just the ones who buy a lot. That makes sense. Definitely not just you, don’t be delusional.

“Just you, yeah.”

“Oh.”

The guy from earlier left with his bouquet and nothing else. Another beat passes. Then Jay claps his hands together.

“So! A birthday bouquet. Got flowers in mind or you want my floral magic again?”

You blankly nod, mind still reeling from what Jay has just told you. “You do your magic, I’ll watch.”

Jay begins to work, slow as he selects the first few flowers, then fingers moving more efficiently as the flower arrangement grows into something more colorful and “meaningful.” You shift your weight from foot to foot as you watch him, letting the faint snip of scissors and rustling of wrapping paper fill in the silence.

After a moment, you find yourself asking: “Do you really believe in it?”

Jay glances up, pausing from cutting a length of pink ribbon. “In what?”

“Flowers and their meanings,” you clarify.

“Well, they mean something if you want them to,” he replies, before resuming what he was doing with the ribbon, gently tying it around the bouquet. “I mean,” Jay hesitates. “Flowers are just like any other gift or gesture. They only matter as much as you let them.”

He pushes the finished bouquet towards you, giving you a warm smile. “Or maybe you just like giving beautiful people something beautiful, and that’s as valid as any other reason,” he adds. “I’ve never been good with words anyway, so I’d appreciate flowers even if they really meant nothing other than pretty, colorful things.”

You nod, smiling back in understanding. Then the words tumble out before you can think too hard about them, a joke too sincere, a humorous statement that’s been stripped of its humor. Because you’re just that good with words unlike this Flower Puff Boy.

“Would it be fraternization with the enemy if I brought you flowers for Valentine’s?”

Jay stills, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Then he catches on. “I guess I’ll give you white catchflies then. Betrayal!”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, prodding at the bouquet on the counter. “Have to check out the competition.”

Jay gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “After all the free flowers!?”

Your lips twitch. “Wasn’t exactly a fan of such a manipulative business tactic,” you joke.

He clicks his tongue in mock offence. “Guess I’ll have to stop the freebies then.”

The playful banter comes easily, but your heart stutters, thumping in your chest and wavering your voice in the process. For almost a year, you thought that Jay’s easy charm was just part of customer service. Maybe it was, but now, it definitely doesn’t feel like it.

“Valentine’s, huh?” Jay grins. “Receiving flowers on that day instead of selling them would be a change.”

You glance at the long-forgotten bouquet for your friend, your fingers idly brushing over the brown paper wrapped around the flowers.

“Actually,” you start, voice a little quieter, “could you make another bouquet for me? To pick up on a different day? Forgot something.”

Jay lifts an eyebrow. “Oh? What occasion?”

You smile, keeping it light. “Secret.”

Jay playfully narrows his eyes. “Am I gonna be jealous of another ‘friend’ of yours?”

“Should you?” you laugh, making Jay grumble in fake frustration. “I’ve got specific flowers in mind.”

“Okay, tell me what flowers you want,” he sighs. “I’ll prepare them by the date you need them.”

White chrysanthemums. Moss rosebuds. Peach blossoms. And lastly, yellow jonquils.

“Do you know what these flowers mean?” Jay slowly asks, as if he’s still processing the list of flowers you just gave him.

You nod, heat once again rushing to your face. “Do you?”

Jay shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We might have different dictionaries. Spell it out for me, please?”

You take a moment, the words spilling as if it came from a script, though your voice shakes. “I’m not lying when I say that this is a confession. You have captivated me and I desire a return of this affection.”

“That’s quite a specific message,” Jay replies, exhaling. “Who’s it for then?”

You meet his gaze, feeling the weight of what this scene means. “You.”

Jay shakes his head, but you see the fondness in his expression. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters. “When will you be picking it up?”

“On Valentine’s, of course.”

He laughs. “I’m a florist. Wait for my reply in flowers by then.”

A sense of ease washes over you. “I’ll see you by then, Flower Puff Boy.”

Jay watches you with a smile as you turn toward the door, the familiar chime ringing once again.

For the first time, you leave the shop with no free flower to take home. And for the first time, you’re comfortable admitting that it wasn’t just the flowers that you were always looking forward to.

author's note: it’s over 2 weeks too late for valentine’s but hey i made it! would y’all believe me if i said i broke my arm a few months ago and it stalled everything for a while 😭 i hav a lot of drafts ongoing so let’s hope i don’t disappear for another few months ADF:gpzicvbpzpvo sorry for always slacking y'allllls

references: Flower language taken from the 1867 book “The illustrated language of flowers” by Mrs. L. Burke: https://archive.org/details/illustratedlang00burka

— moriwood.

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

Can you make some HC for Keyes 🎹 who is with a Reader who have a surprise skills in playing a piano but hid it after some dealing with harsh treatment in learning how to play it when they were younger resulting in trauma and being afraid to play the piano until Keyes helps them with it

keyes my underrated queen i love her SO much

---

Keyes/Ex-Pianist!Reader

= You were hesitant to Awaken the piano, remembering all the harsh words said to you when you were younger from "friends" and parents. But you did anyway, curious to see what your piano had to say to you after all this time of not playing her.

= Keyes lights up when she sees you, smiling happily as if seeing an old friend. She tells you that she missed you deeply, reminiscing about the times you played your favorite songs on her. Sure, it had been a while since you've played her, and yes, she was a little lonely and upset that the other new objects couldn't hear your shared song, but she's happy nonetheless. She brushes herself off despite having no dust on her, and gestures toward the piano, offering you to play once more.

= You hesitate, staring at the familiar black and white keys, remembering how each one sounded in your head from a distant past. You still remember the distant notes of a favorite song, a past filled with harsh words and demeaning language. You stare at her expectant face before saying that you couldn't.

= Keyes stares at you for a moment before placing her hands on her hips. She blames the temperature, saying that it was too cold to play. She orders you to go tell Hector to turn up the heat so you are comfortable enough to play. You try to tell her that it's not the temperature, but Keyes is gone before you can.

= The next day, you come back without talking to Hector since it's not his fault. Keyes smiles when she sees you, asking if you have spoken to Hector about the temperature. You say no and quickly say that it isn't the problem before she could say anything else. She asks if it's the lights, the sound of the TV, or something else? You were so good when you were younger, remembering how you played her almost professionally.

= Instead of telling her outright, you ask her if she remembers the last few times you played. Keyes pauses, taking a moment to think it over. A frown slowly grows on her face as she remembers the words said to you as you played, your hands lowering as you looked away from the piano and got up, never to return.

= "I wasn't able to say it then, so I'll say it now: those people didn't know what they were talking about! They didn't know true music like you do! Nobody is here to judge you or tell you those things now, not on my watch! So please, at least try to play something."

= Keyes' words are aggressive, but encouraging. You sit on the stool and stare down at the keys on the piano, Keyes' words talking over the harsher ones permanently scarred in your brain. And you play. You make a few mistakes here and there, but it has been a long time since you've touched the piano. You play a thirty-second snippet of one of your favorites, halting just before the second verse, and looking up at Keyes.

= You expected angry words of disgust and criticism, instead, Keyes smiles warmly, almost proudly.

= "That sounded lovely, my darling. Just as beautiful as I remembered it, please, continue."

= It feels like a small weight has been lifted from your chest, those harsh words from past friends seemingly not so harmful anymore as you rest your fingers on the keys, and continue the song.

-----

locked in for this one since keyes is one of my favorite dateables yippee wahoo

thanks for reading mwah

[too-deviant]

jackie and wilson.

previous | next masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

summary: you haven’t exactly been given a quest, but you’ve made it your personal mission to get luke castellan to smile even just a little bit. 

content: its the fourth of july weekend, and everyone else seems to have a date to the fireworks show but you.

notes:  i am back hos. i actually cant believe its been over a year since my last sunny!verse update that is on me yall i am Sorry! but were so back and better than ever i fear. heres some cutesy fluff for you to make up for it!!! also revived the old taglist so some of the users could be wrong etc, just comment to be added/removed/readded <3

IV.II — THE FOURTH OF JULY INTERLUDE

Just under a month ago, you were picking strawberries with Henry Furstatt and muttering ironically into the opeN air, “Being a demigod is easy work.” 

Oh how wrong you were. 

Because as you would later learn, being a demigod is everything but easy. Being a demigod who’s father was the King of Olympus — and who had vowed to never have kids again? Even harder. 

You’d been claimed only three weeks ago and already was Chiron making you do extra training — Just in case, he says, even though the prophecy explicitly states that the kid would destroy Olympus when they turn sixteen. You were well past that point, but he still made you do it. 

Luke was more than happy to force you out of bed at the crack of dawn; you having moved cabins not holding him back even a little bit. You didn’t have any siblings to bunk with, so more often than not did he use his expertise in picking locks to his advantage. You hated it, but you were also getting very good at the whole demigod thing, so really you should thank him. 

(You aren’t going to).

But after weeks of questioning, gruelling training days, nonstop workouts and practice, it was finally time to wind down. Because it was the fourth of July weekend!

Evie had proudly informed you earlier in the week that every year on the fourth, the Hephaestus kids create this amazing firework show that they put on over the beach. There were snacks, drinks (non alcoholic, but only if Chiron asked), and games. It was the one night a year they were allowed to stay up past curfew, and it was a pretty big deal. 

“Still ignoring him, I see.” Evie’s face was full of blank amusement as she watched you wipe embers off of your front door. 

You huffed. It was a daily thing, your dad striking the door to your cabin in the hopes that you’d give him a call, or a visit. It was getting annoying, “Yeah. You’d think the King of the Gods would be more busy nowadays.”

The Ares girl snorted, shaking her head and linking your arms. It was a nice day — early July was always nice, apparently. Apollo’s favourite time of the year — and you had agreed to a girly day with Evie, Clarisse, Lana and Nini the water Nymph who had caught you and Luke wading through her pond. It hadn’t taken a lot of convincing to get Luke to let you have the day off, since the boy had seemed a bit preoccupied himself this week. You hadn’t questioned his odd behaviour, because he was always odd. 

The girls were gathered in the forest, set up nicely on a picnic blanket beside Nini’s pond. Clarisse was munching on a strawberry and Lana was washing the freshly cut grass (Hades knows who did that, because it wasn’t on the activity sheet) from her bare feet in the water. Nini didn’t seem to mind, smiling dreamily at the scenery. It was ripe in the summer, the rays shooting off the edge of her pond and cascading all around them — truly, a gorgeous sight. 

When you and Evie caught their eyes, there was an echo of heys and sit downs that prompted you to join the three of them on the ground. Immediately Clarrise was complaining about one of her siblings and Evie was joining in with a roll of her eyes – apparently, they thought it would be very Ares Kid of them to train one of the pegasi to attack the Apollo kids. Obviously that did not work, and now the very Apollo kids they swore to prank were refusing to treat their pegasus-inflicted wounds. 

“Yeah, Dean is all kinds of asshole.” 

Lana frowned at the newfound information, “It was Dean?” Clarisse nodded in confirmation, “Dammit. He was gonna be my date to the fireworks show.”

“Why?” Evie snorted, “Dude’s a loser.”

But Lana just shrugged, “He asked me a couple days ago and nobody else was gonna…can’t go alone, can I?” 

You leaned in, brows pulled together, “I’m sorry, we’re supposed to have dates for this thing?” The girls nodded, even Nini was looking at you like it was obvious. You were lost, “But it’s a…fireworks show.”

“And it’s the only event that gives us the opportunity to actually go on a date.” Evie clarified, pursing her lips, “It’s not like we have a camp prom.”

You straightened, “Oh.” 

“You look worried.” Lana observed. 

“It’s okay.” Clarisse tried to comfort you, hand on your shoulder, “You’ll find someone.” 

You weren’t worried, not really. You had just imagined relaxing back on a blanket with your friends and watching some fireworks. Maybe Luke could socialise for once – at least, that was the plan. Maybe not anymore, if everyone had dates. “Who are you guys going with?”

“Chris.”

“Well, I was supposed to be going with Dean but…”

“Sabine.”

That last one got you, and you snapped your head in Evie’s direction, “Sabine? Daughter of Nike, Sabine?”

“Yeah.” She smiled sort of whimsically, and it freaked you all out, “She asked me yesterday and well…she is hella beautiful, so.” A shrug. 

“And violent.” Lana deadpanned. 

“Angry at the world.” You offered, but Evie just shook her head. 

“She’s amazing, isn’t she?”

You weren’t nervous before. In fact, you were more carefree than you had been since before you got claimed — no pressure to train, just a nice weekend of relaxing. But now you were stressed all over again, because you needed a date? By tomorrow? At school you always had a plan for those sorts of things – ask the nice guy who sits next to you in Chem, or the girl on the basketball team who you let use your parking spot whenever you weren’t in. At a camp with significantly less people to choose from and therefore more chance for people to notice when you go alone? A whole new ballpark. The last minute of it all didn’t help very much.  Everyone else already had one, who was there for you to even ask?

“I don’t see the problem.” Nini said, all confused, “Don’t you have a boyfriend?” 

An awful thing to say, really, because the girls erupted. 

They didn’t think, they just went straight to the teasing. You thought they were being very dramatic about the whole thing – shaking your arms, oooing cheekily at you with smirks and overall behaving like middle school children. You just hid your growing smile at their antics and pushed them away, “Alright, calm down. I do not have a boyfriend.”

“Then who, my dear lightning summoner, is Nini talking about?” You narrowed your eyes at Evie's evil look. She just raised both brows, silently opening the question to the whole group.

“Lee?”

“Travis?”

“Evan?”

“Perchance.”

“You can’t just say perchance.”

“Guys – ” You tried to stop their rambled suspicions with a pair of raised hands. They ignored you, turning their gazes to the girl that started it all.

Nini shrunk back at the attention, looking suddenly sheepish and shrugging, “I just thought when you and Luke were here the other week that –”

Oh gods.

“Oh!”

“Castellan, you say?” Lana smirked, and you fought the urge to slap it right off. 

“Cuddling up with the counsellor, Sparky?” Evie feigned scandalization, hand on chest, “How blasphemous.”

You blanked her, “I was not cuddling up with Luke, we were just looking for my baseball.”

“Nini?” Clarrise asked once more, “Can you confirm?”

The water nymph, poor girl, clearly did not enjoy all the spotlight she suddenly had. If she could blush, you were sure she would, but you didn’t need to see her cheeks tinge red to know that she was a little embarrassed about sharing such information. She just shrugged, “They were laughing and stuff…”

The girls just got giddier at that – Luke Castellan, laughing? Unheard of! 

Well, that part was certainly true. And although your friends were only teasing, upping the dramatics because that’s what friends did, you started to think. Luke wasn’t your boyfriend – just the thought of it sent something new flurrying in your gut, but he was your best friend. He was the person closest to you at camp and the more you thought about spending the fireworks show with anyone else, the more you wanted to just sit and watch them with Luke like you thought you were going to. Was that so wrong?

Well, it would be if Luke had a date of his own. You hadn’t discussed the whole thing with him yet but sue you for thinking he had nobody else – you were the only person he spoke to most days. Although, he had been making some changes lately…maybe he did have a date. But the thought of that – you didn’t feel like exploring the feelings that it conjured up. 

So it was decided – you would just go with Luke.

(If he was free. 

No he is. He has to be.)

Screw the norm, just because these kids didn’t get dates outside of camp didn’t mean you had to get one for a silly firework show. They could do as they pleased, and so could you!

Except when you found Luke later that day, sat up against a tree and fiddling with something in his hands that you couldn’t see, you suddenly felt all nervous about your proposal. Would Luke even want to watch them with you, or would he much prefer to follow what everyone else had been doing the whole time and get a real date? Maybe you shouldn’t ask –

Too late, he was looking at you. Smiling at you with that tiny quirk of his lips that only you could catch, nodding his head and inviting you over. 

You went, grinning like usual at him and sitting just before him, sun beating on your back and casting a glow around you that you couldn’t see. But Luke could, from his spot in the shade. He found it very telling. You softened your grin into a smile, “Hey. Haven’t seen you today, what’ve you been up to?”

He shook his head, “Nothing, really.”

He was lying. You tilted your head, gestured to where his hands were hidden in his lap, “What’s that, then?”

He dropped his gaze, tightened his jaw because you had caught him. To an onlooker, he was irritated, angry like usual. But you saw the crinkles in his cheek, around his eyes – the smile lines that were barely there but there nonetheless. He looked back at you, brown eyes piercing your soul, and lifted his hands. In his grip was a beanie, knitted in soft yarn in your favourite shade. He handed it to you, “Here.”

You took it gently, almost disbelieving, as if it would disappear the moment you held it too tight, “You…did you knit this?”

“Yes.” He squinted, cheeks a light shade of pink.

You glanced at him, mouth parting, “You knit?”

It was his turn to chuckle, a light sound you only heard on good days, shaking his head at himself like he should’ve known that you’d be more interested in the fact that he could knit rather than the gift he’d made for you, “Yeah. Self-taught.”

That last bit was spoken with an air of arrogance you only saw in him whenever he was training you. You dropped your hands, beanie still between them, and focused all your attention on his amused look, “You can knit and you never told me?!”

“I don’t…” He shrugged, careless, and you wanted to punch him for keeping such a thing from you, but you saw his growing grin and decided against it. He was too pretty to punch. 

You ended up just shaking your head in faux-disappointment, tucking the beanie to your chest and squinting at him, “Well, thank you. It’s very soft.” Then, a little quieter, “Maybe I could wear it to the firework show on the beach.”

Luke perked up a little then, but it was so unnoticable that you could’ve been imagining it. He looked at you, thinking, then said, “It won’t be cold enough for that.”

“Oh.” You looked down, then up, then down. Up one more time, “Are you going to that?”

Luke took a deep breath in, eyes drifting everywhere but you, “Well…I wasn’t going to, but now I think I might.”

“Oh.” You said again. You felt stupid. “Apparently we’re supposed to have dates or something.” You followed your attempt at diverting the conversation with a weak chuckle and suddenly the conversation felt like how it was when you first met. It unnerved you, but Luke just nodded.

“Yeah.” He said, “The year-rounders don’t get real dates and everyone else usually skips their proms and stuff…’cause of monsters.”

“That’s fair.” You muttered. Oh, gods, what was wrong with you? Why did you feel all nervous like you were trying to ask him out? Just say it, he’ll understand. “I might just go with you.”

His head snapped up, “What?”

“That is if you – if you aren’t already going with someone else.” You stammered out, twisting the beanie in your hands to distract them, “Because that totally makes sense, obviously –”

“No, I’ll go with you,” He interrupted, sort of smiling, “Better than being all awkward with a date you don’t know.”

“Yeah.” You were glad he agreed. The relief was immediate, and any loud beatings of your heart were silenced when he leant back against the bark and started talking about the shitshow that was Travis and Conor trying to ask some Demeter girls out earlier that day. 

Everything was fine, you thought as you said your goodbyes so he could go teach a beginners sword lesson. Everything was fine, you exuded through your easy smile at Evan when he made himself known just as Luke was walking away. 

“Secured a date with Castellan.” He nodded, impressed, “I was gonna ask you, but…fair play. No hard feelings.”

“What?” You laughed, shaking your head a little too hard, “No, we’re just going as friends. We’re not even really going together like that, y’know? We just…will happen to be hanging out there. That's all.”

“Uh,” He too seemed to chuckle, although it felt like he was laughing at you, rather than with, “Not what it sounded like.”

“What?”

“I’m just..I mean, I could be reading it wrong.” He shrugged, looking down at you, “But to me that sounded like you were asking him to be your date.”

Did it? You didn’t feel like it did, but the more you thought back on it, the less sure you became. 

Ok. This was fine, you were fine. Who cared what Evan thought? You knew what you were trying to say, Luke knew too.

Right? 

Right. 

Right?

“Ok, don’t hate on it just yet because it needs the jacket but…” Evie did a spin, “What do we think? No? Yes?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” Lana grinned, leaning back on Zeus’ pedestal without a care in the world. As an unclaimed kid, she was one of the first of your friends to really accept that you didn’t care who your dad was — she didn’t either. 

The other girls were more than ready to accept your cabin as the getting ready spot for the fireworks show, since it was pretty much empty all of the time. You had been more than accepting; the more teenage girl stuff strewn around the place, the less it reminded you of the fact that you’d been forgotten and abandoned. 

“Chris asked me to incorporate yellow into my outfit.” Clarisse twisted her expression, “I hate yellow.”

“Says the girl currently putting yellow laces into her shoes.” 

“Shut up.” 

And the girls. They also helped you forget about your deadbeat father. And Luke, he did too. 

Luke, who was not your date to the show. Just a companion. Someone to sit with when the girls were off with their dates. Alone. But as friends. 

“Hey, guys?” Your gaze was firmly on the hem of your white dress when you spoke, sitting up on the pedestal of that stupid statue you wished you could get rid of. Maybe you’d ask a couple of Hephaestus kids to help haul it into the trash.

“What’s up?” Evie responded gently, Lana and Clarisse giving you their undivided attention when they caught your words. 

“Say hypothetically, I asked Luke to hang out with me at the fireworks show.” You looked up at them then — them and their sick grins and evil eyes, “And hypothetically, he’d said yes. Would that mean that he’s my date…or that we’re just going as friends?”

The three girls shared a look. Then Lana took a breath in, “Hypothetically, did you ask him as a friend or as a date?”

“Hypothetically, I never specified.” You winced, “But my intention was to ask him as a friend! Hypothetically.”

“Well…hypothetically, you’re going on a date with Luke Castellan.” 

“What? Clarisse!” 

She shrugged, “I don’t know what to tell you. Everyone knows you get a date to the fireworks show. Intention or not, you’ve got a date.” 

“But…” You stammered, rubbing your arms to relieve yourself of the goosebumps. 

“Do you not want to go on a date with Luke?” Evie asked, “I mean, I know we tease you but…you guys are pretty close.”

“And hella cute.” Lana finished, looking up from where she was doing her mascara, “Plus, you’re the first person he really spoke to after his whole funk, so there’s gotta be a connection there.”

You didn’t reply, unsure of what to say, so Evie clicked her tongue, “If you’re that worried about it, ask him. He’ll be understanding, this is Luke we’re talking about here.” 

She was right. Who were you to be scared to talk to Luke? It was only a few months ago that he was too scared to talk to anybody, until of course you swooped in to save the day. If anything, he should be the one scared. Not you. You could talk to him. Easy peasy. 

“You haven’t talked to him, have you?” 

Okay. Evie was right — in your defence, when the four of you had reached the beach and scattered off to find your respective dates (or not dates. That was still to be confirmed), it took you a minute to actually find Luke. And when you did, he was standing with Conor and Travis on one side of the beach, and you didn’t exactly want an audience when you popped your question. 

So you waited until you were alone, sat comfortably against an old overturned boat a little ways away from the crowd of campers but close enough that you guys didn’t look like you were having some alone time. But then Luke started talking about what he’d done since you’d last seen each other before you could get a word in,  and then he told you there was a snack table somewhere and you couldn’t say no to that. 

“And now I’m here. So no, I haven’t asked him.” You explained before promptly stuffing your mouth with a mini sausage roll. Your eyes deceived you, however, the panic in them was evident even when you were chewing. 

“You don’t have to ask him.” She said then, looking at you in slight concern, “Obviously. If you’re cool with never knowing whether this was a date or not. And I know that you’re not, so…”

You swallowed your roll, “I have to ask him.” 

“So why haven’t you?” She said, “I mean when you first met Luke, you straight up told him to quit his emo act, so I know you’re not shy. You’re a badass, you're the daughter of Zeus. You’re not afraid to ask Luke a silly little question. Are you?”

“No. You’re right, I’m not.” As if suddenly remembering who the Hades you were, you gave Evie a firm nod and turned swiftly back to where you were sitting. Storming over as effectively as you could — meaning not at all, since it’s almost impossible to get a good stomp going when you’re walking on sand, but the intention was there — and levelling Luke with a stare. 

He looked up at you, “Hey. Sit down, the fireworks are gonna start.”

“Is this a date?” You said then. 

Luke froze slightly, brows furrowing. His cheeks tinged slightly red, “Uh. What?” 

“Don’t play with me, Castellan. You know this camp better than I do. Everyone brings a date to this thing.” You cocked your hip, “So when I asked you earlier, did you assume we were going as dates?”

“That’s a…” He pushed himself up to stand, “Complicated question.”

“Is it?”

“Well, did you ask me as a date?” 

You huffed, “Not originally, no.”

“Originally?” He squinted. You hated that his ego was coming back. Why couldn’t he go back to the quiet emo kid he was when you met? Then you’d have some form of power over him. Curse your bubbly personality bringing him out of his shell! 

“Well, yeah.” You dropped your crossed arms with a sigh, “But then Evan told me that it sounded different and the girls said I basically did ask you out so I got confused. Now I’m asking you.”

“You’re asking me…” He started, “…to tell you what you meant when you asked me to go to this with you?”

“I….Yes.” You nodded firmly. 

Luke chuckled, and you fought back a smile with your tongue. You always liked hearing him laugh, even when you were trying to be tough. It was just so pretty to look at, even when he was laughing at you. 

He stepped closer to you, “You’re stressing yourself out over nothing, Sunny. I mean, does it matter if we’re on a date or not?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because dates mean something.” You said quietly, “Don’t they?”

“Not with these guys.” He nodded to the rest of the campers, all of them sitting with their own dates. As you looked at them, you realised that none of them were having those first-date-awkward-conversations that most people had at dances and proms. None of them were fumbling to throw an arm around each other, or red in the face trying to move closer. Now that you were really looking, they just seemed…comfortable. Relaxed. Chilling with a friend, if anything. It started to make a little bit of sense to you then. “These people just date so they can say they’ve dated. It doesn’t really mean anything unless they make it mean something.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” You looked back at him.. “Still. It’s a little different with us, right?”

“How d’you mean?” He asked. He knew what you meant, but he guessed he wanted to hear you say it. Get that confirmation that you thought it too. 

“I guess…I mean, it’s me and you. It’s us. I don’t wanna sound conceited but, we’re a lot different than, say, Travis and Laura.” You laughed then, gesturing to him. “I think that if we went on a date, no matter what, that would mean something. Don’t you?” 

“I do.” He nodded firmly, eyes set on you with a look that was too serious for Luke.

You swallowed, “So…are we on a date?” 

He took a breath in, thinking, “Well, do you wanna be?” 

You laughed, “Do you wanna be?” 

“Yes.” 

You stopped laughing, “Oh.”

“But if you don’t then, we won’t.” He shrugged, sitting back down on the sand, “Whatever you say.”

“W—Well…” You put your hands on your hips, attempting to regain your composure, “Uh, I do too.”

“Cool.” He smiled up at you, “So we’re on a date.”

“I guess we are.” 

He kept smiling, “You gonna sit down?” 

“I am.” You nodded firmly and seriously, but your attempts at a tough composure melted away the second your eyes were level with his once more. He chuckled a little bit before turning back to the shoreline, just in time for the fireworks to start. 

The show was gorgeous. You were in awe at the beauty of it all — the combined efforts of the Apollo and Hephaestus kids really was an underrated force. You watched the explosion of colours, leaned into Luke and wondered how you had ever been stressed about speaking to him. 

All in all, it was a good night. You just hoped it could be this way all the time.

🏷️ @katherines-imagines @lovingjasontoddmakemewanttocry @jennapancake @cobaltskiez @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @m00ng4z3r @mischiefmoons @woodlandwrites @ma1dita @tsireyasgf @theo-notts-doll @iammightsadyall @svnny-days @fennecswife @csifandom @evilwrongdoer @blueberryjune @dancing-inasnowglobe @acidaciruela @solshaven @rosieandthethorns @sofiacblair @obxstiles @lukecastellanirl (this tag list is over a year old so pls comment if you need re-adding or removing!! love u)

[mysteria157]

Title: What We Leave Behind

A contribution for the Nanami Week prompt 'Papamin'.

Rating/CW: Post-Shibuya Nanami, Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Papamin, Mentions of Character Death, References to Past Violence.

WC: ~6.2K

Summary: When a mission goes wrong, old grief surfaces alongside new understanding, and a single word spoken in vulnerability reshapes a bond forever.

A/n: Maybe it's the fact that we have an entire week dedicated to my pookie that my fingers have allowed me to create once more. Here is a little oneshot dedicated to Day 1 of Nanami Week: Papamin! I am not well-versed in the intricacies of cursed techniques and cursed energy. Please go easy on me.

JJK Masterlist | Ao3 | Divider: @strangergraphics

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate my work to other accounts and platforms. Thank you for understanding!

“Do you believe in reincarnation, Nanami?”

Unwanted and uninvited, the whisper of the memory hits Nanami like a physical blow, pain so sharp in his stomach that he almost bows over. His hand grips his cane harshly, scarred fingers white at the knuckle, and frustration rising up his chest like a tidal wave. In the depths of his mind, he chastises his psyche because how dare that memory sift through the dirt in his mind, brimming to the surface unapologetically. 

Despite his best efforts, the dull hallway lighting does nothing to help his vision as he blinks quickly, willing the memories to fade just for today. Just for right now.

In this vast school haunted by too many ghosts, this hallway carries an uneasy intimacy—dark and silent, holding the voices of the dead who fought until there was nothing left in them. Only one set of doors line the corridor, steel and tall, and the last time he was here and held any semblance of joy in his budding life of misfortune, he was a teenager with fringe. 

“Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I want to know! Don’t tell me you’re boring even in philosophical discussion?”

Nanami sighs, tucking a stray lock of blonde behind his ear as he throws the black paneling of the basement walls a pensive look. 

“It’s a comforting thought, but there is no evidence for it. When we die, we die. That’s it.”

Looking back through that foggy lens, Nanami remembers just how fiercely he believed that at the time. In their world, when they sacrifice every ounce of their being for the people who know nothing about them, there is no comforting notion of the afterlife. Their world is too grim to believe that something is brighter on the other side. The same cycle of rinse and repeat, generation after generation, only reaffirmed this belief he held. 

In the cruel grand scheme of things, he wishes more than anything that the memory could be mundane, irrelevant in the face of now. Perhaps it’s what followed that is responsible for why Nanami is forced to feel things with an unrelenting ferocity. Perhaps it was the look of mild disappointment on Haibara’s face, a sight so very rare, those large brown eyes shadowed with apprehension rather than enthusiasm. 

Perhaps it was the feeling that flooded Nanami right after, a sense of shame for upsetting his friend, a fear of a conversation he would probably have to have. Or perhaps it was the fact that he promised himself to apologize later that day at their usual friendly dinners.

A dinner that was cancelled because they were called on a mission. A mission that was too intense to warrant a serious conversation because Haibara was trying to focus. A level of focus that resulted in Nanami in this very hallway, angry with burning tears in his eyes that he shrouded beneath a washcloth while his dear friend lay dead on a slab.

After many years of denial that molded into careful management, he’s gotten better, turning his grief into something tangible, taking the bad and creating something good. The frequent nightmare that was that mission that jolts him awake in a cold sweat, converted into an intentionally peaceful day. A lightning strike of sadness during his morning read turned into a decompressing walk to stretch his burned muscles. 

But it’s that last conversation that he never got to fix, that “I could never be mad at you Nanami!” that he never got to hear.

Just as it had years ago, that guilt manifests in the shake of his hands, the precarious gallop of his heart, the trickle of sweat sliding down his neck when he overheard Panda whispering to Nobara about how Yuta’s mission had gone wrong. 

It settled heavy in his gut like he’d indulged too much, that same sensation of dread weighed him down as he walked as fast as his tired left side would allow, pushing through the familiar but still unpleasant ache between his joints as he rushed down the steps to the very corridor that’s wrapped around him like an awful embrace.

So maybe that is why this memory surfaces now, reminding him of that paralyzing fear that held him down as a teenager, now rendering his fingers stiff as they space over the ‘Infirmary’ sign on the steel doors.

His heart hammers, a quiet, almost desperate ‘please’ slipping past his lips as he begs to anyone, anything that will listen before he pushes the doors open.

The smell of antiseptic burns the back of his throat, mixing with something heavier—the metallic tang of blood and exhaustion. The hair on the back of his neck rises, collecting dew drops of cold sweat, his body tense and poised, ready for the inevitable sadness and madness that grief brings. 

Thankfully, the sight brings a rush of relief so overpowering that he almost falls to his knees.

Shoko is hard at work once again, her chestnut hair falling over her shoulders in shining waves, healthier than years before when their lives were nothing but grief and misery, the thought of self-care a distant dream. One of her hands rests against a tanned chest, her fingers glowing a luminescent purple that ebbs and flows over the sweaty skin. Her other hand moves in practiced ease, weaving with two fingers that are pinched around surgical needle and thread.

It’s second nature to her, the ability to heal. A gift weaved into her bones like cursed silk the very moment she took a breath, and harnessed as she grew to only provide for others while her own existence went unnoticed. Like Nanami and his journey with undoing the bad, Shoko is better now. Still weathered in the eyes, still smoking, but better.

Now she teaches other young students how to hone their RCT, mindful to show them they are more than just their power. Now she sleeps. Now she smokes one pack a day instead of three. Now, those tired eyes are filled with determination rather than the resignation that comes with an autopsy on someone she once shared a class with, and for Nanami, that sight kills what remaining dread he had sitting like an anvil on his chest.

“Looks like your cover’s blown,” Shoko mumbles, a hint of amusement coloring her otherwise monotone cadence.

Across the sterile slab table, Yuta stands, looking as uneasy as ever. His posture is stiff, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders drawn up tight to his ears as a means to protect himself from his own criticism.

“Nanami-san,” he croaks in acknowledgement, offering a shaky bow before looking back to the patient on the table.

Against everything Nanami feared, Yuji lies there—equally as quiet, equally as uneasy, but flushed with fever-warm color, albeit sweaty, his chest rising steadily, and Nanami can breathe. Because he’s alive, and that memory can sift back into the recesses of his mind, forgotten until the next time Haibara decides to show his presence.

In the cold, heavy silence that follows, that usual “Nanamin!” is absent, the owner of those words staring up at the ceiling with glossy eyes. A laceration decorates Yuji’s side, deep and flaring an angry red, the skin around it slightly tinted cherry with blood that was hastily wiped away. 

From years of experience, Nanami knows the application of Shoko’s technique allows the wound to heal slowly, and he can see the jagged edges shrinking while she seals the wound shut. 

Despite the inhuman level of strength that he possessed even before Sukuna’s demise, Yuji isn’t resilient. Five years of calculated observation—from that pink-haired fifteen-year-old to the young man sitting before him now—Nanami has always been able to see through that invincible veneer.

The way Yuji would flash a jovial smile even with scratched cheeks and bandaged limbs, trying to convince everyone he was fine when he clearly wasn’t; trying to show his sensei that he valued life transactionally like the rest of the sorcery world, so he could get the job done. 

But in this moment, there’s no curve to his lips now, his jaw set in stone, eyes fixed stubbornly above, shame sitting leaden on his shoulders. 

It’s with this quick assessment that Nanami decides on his next course of action.

With a modest hitch in his step from years of arduous physical therapy, he strides calmly across the room, resting his cane against the mahogany counters before opening the cabinets above. 

“What happened?” He maintains a steady voice even though his heart is thrashing in his chest, the expectation of a deep conversation hanging just beyond the horizon.

A brief silence, long enough to pick up the steady hum of Shoko’s RCT, the drip of a faucet, the thick pierce of Yuji’s skin as she stitches.

“A rogue curse,” Yuta finally squeaks. “W-we…we had already cleared out the entire church, and I was about to break the veil when one snuck up behind me. I’m not sure how I missed it. I’m not…Yuji, of course, pushed me out of the way. I didn’t sense it in time….I’m so sorry Nanami-sensei.”

Internally, Nanami blanches at the formality. Yuta was more of Gojo’s student than Nanami’s and quickly stepped into the role of teacher not long after his death. There’s a weight of respect to the title that Nanami still has not gotten used to, the weight of expectation that those younger than him hold for him. He’s held in such high regard in this big school filled with few people.

He thinks of Ino's unwavering faith in him, the way the younger sorcerer hangs on his every word during training sessions like they're gospel, seeking approval that Nanami isn't sure he deserves to give. It feels odd to be seen as someone to look up to when he feels like he’s barely getting through each day, stumbling through his early thirties, but still learning. 

“There’s no need for an apology,” Nanami supplies simply, pushing aside a few plastic boxes to wrap his hands around a small tin.

It’s no bigger than his palm, rusted along the seam but shining back the fluorescent lights and his blurred reflection. He does not need a smooth surface to know what reflects back at him—the black eyepatch that cuts across the left side of his face, blonde hair that is now shorter on that same side, growing slower, with flecks of grey at his temples, the lattice of now pale scars that trail down his neck and disappear beneath the collar of his navy button up. 

“A sorcerer of your calibre was unable to sense the curse—”

“I know, and that’s why—”

“That only shows there was something we did not anticipate upon our initial assessment before you and Yuji were sent out. There will always be a level of error, no matter how powerful you are.” 

Nanami won’t allow Yuta’s usual self-depreciation to show in this moment. Not when he’s pulled off the impossible in this life they cradle—coming back from a mission alive. Mentally devoured, scratched up, and emotionally drained, but alive.

How quickly Nanami has learned to clutch that term with such care since being given a second chance.

Nanami grips his cane with measured pressure as he makes his way back to the table where Yuji rests, the young man still willfully ambivalent to the atmosphere around him. 

“What did you learn, Yuta-kun? Could you sense something vaguely? Vestiges in cursed energy?”

“A little, right before it…” he trails off, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Then that means you know that feeling. Focus on grasping it during your training. Creating a better awareness of it will allow you to recognize it quickly in battle.”

Yuta’s eyes widen in recognition before he nods incessantly, wrapping his hand around Rika’s ring that rests on his collarbone

“Yes, Nanami-sensei.”

Nanami uses Yuta’s self-reflection to peer down at Yuji. Without his usual cheerful chatter, Yuji looks impossibly young. His eyelashes slightly dewy and dark against tan cheeks, the planes of his face soft and vulnerable. But it’s the look in his eyes that makes Nanami’s heart thump pitifully in his chest.

That same tortured fear he’d probably felt in Shibuya’s wreckage, when Sukuna had relinquished control and left Yuji to stare at the devastation he’d caused. To finally meet Nanami’s eyes in the bowels of that subway, riddled with rotting curses, could he see his past and present so clearly. 

The fear of what he’d done, of so many of his friends wounded and dead. The fear of not knowing how to fix it. The fear of not being in control.

Is this how he truly feels right now? That he should have been in control of every aspect of the mission? That he should know everything all at once, just like Gojo had the unfortunate talent of having?

In the aftermath of Shibuya’s devastation, Yuji has thrown himself into becoming better with a willpower that has both impressed and worried Nanami.

More vigilant in training, refusing to stop until he understands every technique, every counterattack, every strategy. Always asking questions, always pushing himself harder with a jovial disposition that a younger Nanami would have envied. That a younger Nanami had seen so much before in Haibara—that same eager devotion, that same need to protect everyone around him, and still love life at the end of the day.

“Shoko, once you’re done, would you and Yuta mind giving us a moment alone?”

“Yep. Just about done.”

Nanami gives Yuji his space, retreating his gaze to focus on opening the tin in his hands with the limited dexterity he has. It’s a slight struggle, the way his marred fingers grip the seam, the weakened sensation along his fingertips as the lid gives and finally twists open. From his peripheral he notices Shoko straighten, the glow of her hand ebbing away, the clatter of utensils echoing in the room as she finishes up her stitching.

“You know the deal,” she recites, tossing the used utensils into a sharps container that rests on the wall. “Take it easy for the next few days.”

She offers a light hum to Yuji’s mumbled thanks, snapping off her gloves before digging into her white lab coat. She fishes out a pack of cigarettes, throwing one between her lips before catching Nanami’s eye. For a beat, something passes between them—the recognized weight of what they carry, watching the youth hurt themselves for a world that will never notice. The fear that one day, the outcome won’t be so favorable. But that beat passes, and with a familiar nod in his direction, she brushes out of the room, Yuta following close behind.

The double doors drift shut behind them, their pace slowing with each lingering second until they settle together with a muted thud, leaving only the hum of the fluorescent lights, the distant tick of a wall clock, and the evasive roar of Yuji’s thoughts.

Nanami waits, hoping dimly that the silence will be enough of an awkward push for Yuji to begin some sort of conversation. But the seconds drag into a full minute with no result, Yuji’s eyes remain fixed on the ceiling, cheeks slowly taking on a ruddy complexion from rising embarrassment.

Nanami ambles closer, resting his cane against the lip of the table Yuji rests on, throwing the tin lid on the steel side table next to him.

It’s a salve, a greasy concoction of oils and herbs his mother had pressed into his hands the night before he left for Jujutsu Tech, her worried and shaky fingers smoothing over his arm as she instructed him how to use it. 

“For the small injuries,” she had whispered, as if she already knew the larger ones would be well beyond her reach. 

It soothes the smallest of cuts in ways that have nothing to do with cursed ability and everything to do with a mother’s love distilled into something tangible. It’s practically useless, but to Nanami, it’s a step in a routine he’s repeated for years, a bridge between who he was and who he has become. A soothing reminder that care doesn’t have to be specific to be profound. And it's remained untouched in the infirmary cabinets unless it’s his hands reaching for it.

He dips his fingertips into the salve—cool and slightly gritty between his fingers as he rubs them together, smelling faintly of eucalyptus and something medicinal. When he glides a generous amount along the edge of Yuji’s wound, the boy flinches slightly, muscles twitching from the cool temperature, a hiss escaping his lips.

But still he says nothing.

Still, he says nothing as Nanami rubs the salve along the top of his wound, careful to avoid the sutures.

Still, he says nothing as calloused fingers brush along the raised sides, the skin already blooming red with inflammation.

Still, Nanami waits patiently, the silence like pressure on his eardrums, until Yuji’s throat clicks when he opens his mouth.

“It was careless.”

Sharp as Nanami’s dull knife, Yuji’s words slice through the tension in the air, his voice layered with so much admonishment that Nanami can practically taste acidity.

“I was so careless.”

“You made a mistake.”

Yuji doesn’t offer a retort, his gaze narrowing, the whites of his eyes glossing over with unshed tears. The unspoken response is clear: there is no room for mistakes in their job. A mistake is a guarantee of death, no matter how small. For Yuji, that mistake doesn’t threaten his own life—it threatens everyone he’s sworn to protect.

Nanami recognizes it so clearly, and watching Yuji embody the same fatal nobility that once consumed him is nauseating, bile rising, burning, and sour in the back of his throat.

“There are days when I feel helpless because I’m unable to be on missions like you.” Nanami swallows the horrid taste, the desire to mold this trait into something palpable that he has no choice but to continue. “I can…but I have grown to value my life and the things I would leave behind if I held onto that weight as I did before.”

Yuji huffs a watery laugh of disbelief, blinking away the haziness in his vision but still refusing to look in Nanami’s direction.

“That sense of duty. The need to protect the youth at all costs and accepting that my life was expendable as long as I fulfilled that purpose. That came with the understanding that any mistake I made was unforgivable but clouded my real conviction, the real reason I was actually fighting.”

Nanami’s fingers pause in their gentle ministrations as he sighs, resting his hand on the table. “While it is commendable to have the same idealism as I once had, that kind of thinking will not make you a better sorcerer, Yuji. It will make you carry burdens that aren’t yours to carry.”

Yuji finally flickers his gaze to rest on Nanami, a wave of that fear he calculated earlier washing over him with the force of a tsunami. He sits up, wincing through the pain and cupping his stitched side gingerly as he throws his legs over the side of the table.

“But you told me to take it from here,” Yuji’s voice cracks slightly, honeyed emotion sloshing inside of him and seeping through the cracks of formidable walls. “That duty you gave me. I want to carry it. I want to be worthy of it.”

And oh, does Nanami’s chest constrict to a painful degree at the raw honesty in his voice, at the way he’s looking at him like he’s afraid of disappointing him. 

The recollection of that day is as clear as any memory he’s ever had, no matter how much he tries to suppress it. The ache in his bones as he sliced through curse after curse with his dull knife, voice shaking with fury and desperation. The persistent thoughts that threatened to obliterate his focus. 

“Will Ijichi be okay?”

Keep fighting. Keep slicing. Calculate the chances of survival for Shibuya’s innocent if you allow a curse to escape the subway—

“Gojo is sealed, but where is he?”

Push through the pain. Push through the blackened vision on your left side. Push through the despair of your dreams that may never come to fruition.

“Is Megumi-kun okay against his father?” 

Megumi doesn’t know about Toji. He should have known the part Gojo played. But he’s just a boy—

“Please, please let Nobara-kun not act in bravery without thinking it through.”

But loudest of them all, repeating like a broken tape over and over, louder and louder until he could hardly tell his own thoughts from hallucination to compensate for the blinding pain or reality—

“Yuji. Where is Yuji?”

And Nanami remembers all too vividly that look of hopelessness on Yuji’s face when he finally saw him. When he hallucinated Haibara, he accepted the task of saying what he hoped to have a little more time for.

“You take it from here.”

How proud he had been, even in that moment, on the brink of death, to entrust something so important but burdensome to someone he believed in so completely.

Now, slightly incapacitated but alive, watching Yuji carry that weight with honor but the same self-destructive determination Nanami once had, he realizes application of this measure requires more than just responsibility.

“I should have sensed it,” Yuji whispers, shame lacing his words with an intensity that doesn’t shock Nanami. “I should have been faster. Should have been better prepared. I train every day until I have nothing else left to give, and I study every technique because I can’t—I won’t let anyone else get hurt because I was not good enough.”

Nanami can sense the spiral, can practically see its vines wrapping around Yuji’s neck, thorned and digging as he struggles to get out every word in his tirade of untethered emotion. 

“Itadori-kun—”

“You trusted me with something important. This life, these missions, the ideals I have. And I can’t mess it up. I can’t be the reason someone else dies. I can’t be the reason you or Yuta or anyone else gets hurt because I was too slow to see what was coming.”

“Itadori-kun—”

It’s not enough to stop him, because still Yuji persists. 

“You’ve given me so much responsibility…taught me so much and believed in me when no one else did, and I just…I need to be better. I need to be worthy of what you’ve given me.”

His cheeks red from exertion, his eyes welling with tears, his knuckles bleach bone-white as he grips the edge of the table. His shoulders are tense, drawn up to his ears as if a child being scolded, his body shaking with a vibrating anxiety Nanami once had after his very first mission as a first-year. 

The sight of it all kicks some instinct, some dormant feeling in Nanami’s gut that makes him want to reach out, to rest his hand on his shoulder, to tell him everything he needs to hear that he probably never received as a child.

So he does.

Nanami grabs a rough-textured rag from the side table and wipes the remaining salve from his fingers before casting it aside. He wastes no time with his next action, resting his hand on Yuji’s shoulder, warm and sweaty, absorbing the impact of his flinch from the touch. He watches those shoulders relax slightly, feels the shakes in his body subside with every breath he takes. As if the touch is soothing.

“You have taken on this task in ways I never could have imagined. But I want you to do better in ways I lacked. I want you to carry that duty while still thinking about yourself. While still valuing your own life. Because Yuji…” 

The next words curl up his throat, the pressure enough to make the corners of his eyes sting with their severity. When he speaks again, his voice is softer, more vulnerable in ways he hardly allows than outside the privacy of his own home and those he renders important to him. 

“I would rather see you sitting here with stitches, frustrated and alive, than dead on a slab.”

Yuji’s breath hitches, and for one devastating moment, he looks so young, childlike and cherub, but so overwhelmed by the burden he’s been carrying.

“And furthermore...if you have ever carried an ounce of doubt about my pride in you, please know those feelings are false.” 

Yuji furrows his brows, the skin between his eyebrows pinching slightly as he takes in his sensei’s words, disbelief painting his features minutely.

Nanami sighs, the weight of what he wants to say sitting on his chest, gripping him in a fear that once they leave, they’ll turn into another self-imposed curse he carried from keeping Haibara so close.

He pats the side of Yuji’s neck affectionately, the corners of his lips curling just so. 

“I am proud. Of who you were when we first met. Of the strong sorcerer and man that you are now. My pride in you knows no bounds. Please never think otherwise.”

Once the words finally slip past his lips, he feels lighter than he’s ever been. The anxiety of the possibility of that pride taking root into a curse still lingers, resting on his shoulders like a phantom weight, but for the first time in a long time, he takes comfort in knowing he had the strength to still act despite it all.

As for Yuji, the tears that have been budding on his lower lashes finally spill over, rushing like rivulets down his cheeks, and suddenly he’s moving—launching himself forward and into Nanami’s arms with the kind of desperate need that bypasses all thought.

He’s heavier than he looks, and it takes Nanami aback, a grunt of surprise leaving him as he wobbles precariously on his weakened side, his arms flailing as he tries to regain his balance.

“Thanks, Dad.”

Unexpected. That’s the only way he can describe how the words hit him. Their weight substantial enough to force him to the floor if he allowed it. Their connotation equally as devastating. His breath catches in his throat, his arms now freezing mid-air as the words continue to echo in the sterile room. In his ears like a persistent ringing.

Dad.

A myriad of emotions flood through him. 

Surprise, because this is a term of endearment Yuji has never expelled into the air, even if a Freudian slip. Nanami has long ago forgone the insistence to correct Yuji when he calls him ‘Nanamin’, choosing instead to look the other way with a faux air of dismissal, even as something akin to fondness swells within him every time he hears it.

While unpleasant given the moment, dread wiggles like a maggot in his stomach, threatening to devour the good inside of him. Dread from that unspoken role Nanami has taken on with his students. Protector, advisor, confidant in battle, someone to look up to. Someone to strive to be. He’s come a long way in accepting that the sensation he feels will always be present, but never strong enough to overpower him. The unexpectedness of life carries some degree of dread, and he applies that mentality to the sorcery world as well.

But there is something deeper. Something more visceral in magnitude, a fierce protectiveness, a warmth that spreads from his belly up to the cavity in his chest. A warmth that floods him at the thought of knowing there is a sorcerer like Yuji in this world. Someone who, beneath the bloodshed and misery of the life they live, has a heart filled with so much hope and love for the world that there is nothing that could blacken it. Not even the grips of mangled fingers of Sukuna’s soul could deter him.

His mind slows from its frantic pace, thoughts finally finding their rhythm, and his arms settle around Yuji’s shoulders, one hand coming up to rest against the back of peach pink hair. The embrace is tentative at first, almost awkward, then firmer as he allows himself to accept what Yuji has just offered him.

Dad.

Before his second chance at life, Nanami had never given too much thought to having a family. But lately, he’s begun to ponder. To wonder what it feels like to be paternal. To hope that every day is filled with happiness and joy. But perhaps that’s not all it is.

Perhaps it is that festering wrongness that filled him when he first met Yuji, to see someone so young cursed with a strong entity like Sukuna and forced to prove to those older and more ignorant that his life had value. 

Perhaps it is that shock when he first saw Yuji’s conviction, his drive to be better. 

Perhaps it is the fright that rushed through his veins like ice water when Yuji fainted after intruding on Mahito’s domain. 

Or the profuse feeling of desperation of wanting Yuji to just stay away when Mahito placed those puppet-stitched hands on Nanami’s chest in the subway, ready to wipe him from existence.

It is the way Nanami wishes he could have been that person for Yuji growing up, instead of alone, without a mother and father, and left under the care of a grandfather who was still grieving the loss of his son. 

It is the way he brims with barely restrained excitement at the realization that he has someone to teach, to watch grow and smile, to watch laugh and love the world when it only shows its evil underbelly.

If Yuji realizes his own slip of words, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Nanami can feel the pool of moisture on his shoulder, can feel the slight hiccup where his hand rests on Yuji’s trembling back.

He realizes quickly, with a damning sense of clarity, that he would rather experience the pain of being burned again than to correct Yuji.

There’s nothing more to say.

He can feel the trust and appreciation in the air around him that bloomed to life from that single word. He understands something he’d never been able to name.

This boy—this young man—has become precious to him in ways that transcend duty or mentorship. Manifesting instead in the satisfaction that if the word were to slip again, Nanami would never say a thing unless Yuji looked to him for acknowledgement.

But he knows how awkward Yuji is going to feel once this delicate moment ends, so Nanami does it for him. He pulls away softly, patting his shoulder once more to drive the moment home to a gentle conclusion that doesn’t require more conversation.

“Reapply once more.” Nanami presses the sealed tin into Yuji’s open palms, tapping the lid three times. “I prefer applications twice a day, once in the morning and once before bed. An additional application is also best after training.”

Yuji’s hands curl slowly over the tin, trapping it inside his large hands, cradling it as if it were something fragile. He snorts quietly, shaking his head. “You got it. I’ll bring it back once Shoko gives me the all clear.”

Nanami hums in dismissal, already turning his attention to cleaning off the side table with a distracted efficiency. “You need it far more than I. Salve and RCTs will do nothing for my wounds.”

There’s an unspoken agreement in the air, resting on the heaviness of the gravity of Nanami’s wounds. But Nanami peers at him quickly as he tosses the threadbare rag into the trash, taking in the way Yuji’s smile grows slowly, his grip tightening on the can. He’s not sure what he’s thinking, but Nanami feels nothing but pride regardless. Perhaps when Yuji has taken on the role of sensei in the future, there will be that one student who excels in a way he deems worthy to dedicate the care of this salve.

Nanami hopes he’s still around to see who that student may be.

The infirmary doors burst open, steel metal swaying rhythmically as a shorter man with platinum blonde hair walks through. Inumaki, his mouth free of the protection of his high collar, his cursed markings glowing with importance in the bright lights. His purple eyes dart between Nanami and Yuji, taking in the situation in that quiet way he’s had to learn growing up.

“Mustard Leaf?”

Nanami has never been able to discern what Inumaki says in his clipped vernacular. Truthfully, he feels as if the students make up their own dialogue, and Inumaki crafts his words given the situation. It brings a faint sense of fondness to his chest, their behavior echoing many inside jokes he had with Ijichi and Gojo in their youth.

Yuji hops down from the table, eyes dry and slightly red, smile bright as always. “I’m good! Shoko and Nanami cleaned me up.”

“Tuna,” Inumaki parrots in response, flashing his phone in a question that Nanami quickly gives up on trying to decode.

“No way? You got the tickets!” Yuji rushes over to his friend, snatching his discarded shirt from the bottom of the table and slowly sliding it on.

“Salmon Roe.”

“The bad special effects are the best part!” Yuji laughs, a bit watery but still genuine, the sound finally painting the room in something other than discomfort and death. “Nanami, you should come watch Human Earthworm 7 with us.”

Nanami huffs a slightly affronted noise, blinking rapidly at the invitation. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I will pass.” 

He watches as Yuji bustles around the room, wiping down the table with sanitation wipes, closing the cabinets before automatically reaching for Nanami’s cane that rests on the table. He offers it to him with the same unconscious care he always shows in everything he does.

“Here you go.”

Nanami collects it with a simple nod, his throat tight as he finds that groove in the wooden head he’s grown comfortable with.

They make their way out of the infirmary together, Yuji chatting excitedly in between Inumaki’s one-worded responses. There’s pitched laughter and a rush of words about movie monsters and plot holes, their voices echoing down the hallway. Nanami follows silently behind them, refusing to correct the way they automatically adjust their pace to ensure he is not left behind. 

He watches with a newfound fascination and profound grief. These students have managed to form bonds with each other even though their lives are constantly on the brink of death. But Yuji, once a pariah, now flourishes with every relationship he makes, every handshake he creates, every grimace Megumi throws his way that holds no heat, every bag of Nobara’s that he carries with fake complaint.

It’s almost like a flash into the past. No longer Inumaki and Yuji, but now himself and Haibara, and that conversation comes back once more.

“Do you believe in reincarnation, Nanami?”

His previous assessment of the question remains the same.

“It’s a comforting thought, but there is no evidence for it.”

But his sentiments feel shaky as he watches Yuji now—the way he gestures animately with his hands, the bright curiosity in his voice that pulls laughter from Inumaki, the unconscious kindness in everything he does—Nanami feels something knot harshly in his chest. 

It’s not reincarnation, he tries to reaffirm. Souls don’t return in new bodies with the same generous hearts.

And yet.

And yet Yuji carries that same unshakeable optimism, that same fierce determination to protect everyone around him. The same way of finding joy in small things—awful movies, shared meals, quiet moments between battles. The same ability to make those around him want to be better, to hope for something beyond the darkness of their world.

Just like Haibara.

“When we die, we die. That’s it.”

But maybe there are other ways for them to live on. In the lessons they leave behind, in the love they instill, in the way their spirit finds new homes in unexpected places. In this school, constantly floating around a good-natured young man with peach-pink hair and a tenacity for never giving up. 

In a way, Haibara has never left. Nanami simply feels his presence so much more.

It’s not reincarnation. But it is in the way he sees vestiges of Haibara in the glow of Yuji’s smile, in the way that long-ago conversation about hope and second chances has led him to here, to this hallway, following two young men who have become something he never thought he’d have.

A family. Or more specifically, a son who shares no blood with him, but trusts him enough to call him ‘Dad.’ It’s a weight of responsibility—not a burden of mentorship or duty he once held, but a privilege of being someone Yuji looks to for guidance, for comfort, for protection—and that settles in his chest like something warm and permanent, rooting on his veins that lead to the thankful thrum of his heart that has given him life again. 

It’s a challenge Nanami is more than happy to accept, a role he never expected to fill, but he cannot possibly imagine living without. 

Thanks for reading!

[brandileigh2003]

Older wolfstar fic recs: (older in age that is)

let me know what I missed and self recs are welcome (also as always check tags for each one to protect yourself)

~~~please give these authors love, fandom engagement with writers is down and it means more than you know. ~~~

**And I know older is relative term bc most of these wolfstar are in their 30s I do believe. But. They have more life experience than in Hogwarts or uni so I counted it.

--orange juice (i've been ready for you to come home for so long) by raggedypond: @fortunatelyfuzzywombat divorced parents of teddy with one bed at his graduation

-Honey If I'm Not by @brigid-faye divergent post war where remus left, jily lived, and wolfstar only reconnects years later by chance. (Also has a Sirius pov)

---used my best colours for your portrait by @littleoldrachel lie low at Lupin's with flashbacks exploring remus' life

-Looking for Moony by Writer_INFJ_2w1: meet and fall in love birthday party

-Flight of Destiny by @lucigoo lesbian wolfstar meet on plane (Luci also has several others where they're older and lots of beautiful fics

--Aging Gracelessly by orphan_account: texting fic

--the mayors of simpleton by fruity_individual divorced wolfstar get back together, raising teddy

-Second Generation by MsAlexWP single parents, getting back together. The sequel is so perfect too! It's a Nice Day for a Wolfstar Wedding

-the sea is a good place to think of the future by peachyybabe (second in series is mcd but this one is open ending)

-Of Memories and Milk Thievery by moonymoment raising teddy, get back together

--Birthday Blues by YouBlitheringIdiot @blitheringmcgonagall :Sirius is turning sixty and he is appalled...

--Give Quarter to Old Men - @krethes series

--dear your holiness by mollymarymarie

--The Postwar Chronicles by @sliebman10 post canon series

-Vigil Strange I Kept by whitmans_kiss explores effects of lycanthropy

--ten reasons (to go to michigan) by @greyeyedmonster-18 remus headed home, trying to move on from divorce

--Prettiest Star Verse by Raging_queer

-I didn’t sign up for this by Moonystoastandmarsbar divorced wolfstar

-Of Protein Powders and PTAs by @squintclover and @tracingpatternswrites rivals to lovers

-An Infinte Ocean by orphan_account raising teddy strangers to lovers

--The Road Not Taken by @mollymarymarie

-extra credit by MsAlexWP rivals to lovers

-Baby On Board by aqua_myosotis

-Of Memories, Bitter and Sweet by MsAlexWP memory loss

**luci's recs

-my love, take care of yourself by littleoldrachel

-How to romance a guy with (terrible) poetry by BayleyWinchester

-Teddy Plays Matchmaker by grow_as_we_go

-The Front Step Surprise by R33sesPieces

**Recs from others** (I haven't read all these yet but wanted to include)

--Just what the doctor ordered by WrappedUp (be aware there is age gap)

--The Lab by de_sire again an age gap

-Till We Have Arrived Home Again by prouvairing divergent post canon raising harry

-The Patchwork of Us by TracingPatterns

-The Things I Did by Lolo_row

-The Phoenix Agency by LupinsChocolatePraline

-The Fall by EuripidesTrousers

-Pages of You by wolfpants this is drarry main but apparently background wolfstar is really good

-Just Like Heaven by the_prettiest_w0lf_star: mechanic Sirius and librarian Remus

-soloorganaas

-impishtubist

---new additions--

•too busy being yours by peachyybabe ft deaf remus and fluff

----Make sure to check out Moony's Midlife Crisis Fest 2025 it's all about older Remus (there are other ships but def some wolfstar) @moonyfest ----

***Self rec***

--Memories of You: mcd exploring memory loss

--Through the Years: Sirius thinks about the past and how handsome his husband is while holding their granddaughter.

--DN(R): Lie low at Lupin's era where they discuss decisions Remus made in the lost years.

•Silver fox fluffy 1 shot

**also- the wolfstar librarian is always a great resource make sure to give some likes on posts: 30yo and Up part 2 Bring Black Back Back from the Veil Lie Low at Lupin’s Post Azkaban Grimmauld Place

--Feel free to check my other rec lists, as well as the rest of my fics

--also ... This is list of canon divergent fic recs: post-azkaban, bring back black, lie low at lupins. Lots of same fics but I might not have all in both places.