#and it was meant to be much longer but i had to split that for next chapter

[sunsetcougar]

The more I think about Murder Drones the more I think about what a messed up concept the disassembly drones are. They’re predators meant to hunt themselves to extinction, and if they had completed that task, the gradual death they were condemned to.

Cause imagine that. Slowly worker drones start becoming more and more scarce, and the disassembly drones stop being as careless with their kills as a result. The oil is precious, they can’t waste so much splashing it around when the time between meals is stretching longer and longer with every successful hunt.

They become more dangerous in the way that starving predators are dangerous, because that’s what they are. They chase and chase desperately and drink oil from still living drones because kill shots spill too much.

Satisfaction is a sensation only in their memory now. They haven’t felt the warmth and vaguely drowsy comfort of an oil filled tank in a long time. But they have to keep hunting, need to find the next lone drone to split between them because they can feel themselves overheating.

Bugs are plentiful, they catch as many as they can, but bugs cannot sustain predators like them, not with how much energy is required for so little reward. Bugs only serve to stave off the hunger a little at best.

N collapses first. He gave and gave what little they had to J and V, because that’s just who he is. J and V can do nothing but sit with him while he overheats and suffers a fatal error even their regeneration can’t fix.

They drink his oil. They hate it. They’re starving.

They don’t last much longer even with that meal. They don’t realize that the last worker drone they killed was the endling.

Their last thoughts before they overheat and go cold is the mix of emotions that comes with realizing they were designed to die.

[oldmanffucker]

*hands you this* chapter 9 of kissing windows

[sexbot300]

telling them they have a small dick!

pairing: toji x reader, gojo x reader (separate)

⤷ 18+, MDNI

tw: man-handling, p in v, unprotected sex, power play, cunnilingus, falsetto, huge dick (come on now), mentions of creampie, orgasms, degrading/dirty talk, slight size kink if you squint, text format for gojoe.

a/n: this was so funny to write i cant stop laughing. this was longer than i expected, i will be making a part two with choso, geto, and nanami if asked for. originally it was meant to include them but this is a bit tew long. I actually like this more than anything i’ve ever written before :’) comments r more than welcome thank uuuuu. luv u all xoxo (felt things while writing this, it’s funny that I think it’s my best work)

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Toji ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Reading your diary

Toji Fushiguro pissed you off. There were no ifs and buts or any way around it. As much as you adored being friends with Megumi and spending time near the stoic guy, coming by his house felt entirely dreadful. Mutual friends frequently visited his abode, leaving and visiting often without a sliver of complaint leaving their diction. ‘Maybe I was truly the problem.’ A thought had snuck up in the crevices of your brain until the mental image of why you didn’t come over as often decided to grace you with his presence. A shiver traveled up north of your spine, straightening yourself out mentally and physically. ‘Nah. That doesn’t sound right. I am NOT the problem.’ 

Toji was everything Megumi was not; cocky, arrogant, and trying to start anything with anyone if they remotely looked in his direction the wrong way. Was he hot? Of course. Would you ever admit it to the bastard? Of course, you wouldn’t. This is why what unfolds before you felt as if some cruel divine punishment, curated by the highest demon in the belly that cradled hell, deciding today would be the day to toy with you.

Closing your phone with a little, ‘Ding!’ Megumi had sent a text earlier entailing that something of your belonging had been left behind. Strangely enough, even he didn’t know what it was, which left a question of perplexity. All he knew was that his dad found it and to alert you about it. 

A sigh that had built up in the depths of your chest left, as you stood behind the mahogany-colored door. Praying that Megumi would just give the item so a beeline can be made as far as legs can sprint. Bringing a hand to the door, tapping with a fist, “Megumi? It’s me.”

With a shuffling heard from inside the house, the sound of the door unlocked and a slow swing revealed no one behind it. Stepping inside carefully and scooping out the area, an eyebrow raised as the familiar setting had no one in eyesight. Closing and locking the door behind, your voice even more confused, “Megumi? Hello? I thought you’d be here.” 

In plain eye view, coming around a corner stood the looming presence of a man that was hard to ignore. Leaning up against the counter behind, a protein shake in hand as his body seems depleted from a workout session. Glistening in sweat, he stood there devastatingly handsome. A simple white tank top clung onto his pectorals, highlighting the ridges of his stone-hard abs while the pump of his presumed workout caused his already massive biceps to look the size of planets. His gray sweats hung low off his slim core. He eyed you up and down as if inspecting every single thing about you.

“Oh yeah. My son's little friend was expecting you here.” He spoke in a casual tone, eyes met yours for a split second before eyeing you down in a carnal way.

Standing in place, mentally making note of killing Megumi for not being the one to give you what was missing from his home. Only leaving you to deal with his father.

He gripped something behind him his fingers grazing what seemed to be a bit lightweight. A light thud of a journal hit the island counter that stood between the pair. Eyes glancing down on what was thrown carelessly, the journal looked all too familiar.

My diary– fuck. All forms of color had drained from the hue of your face, replaced with a crimson flush. Frantically blinking up at the journal, your thoughts blared. ‘There’s no way he could’ve read it right?’ Almost sprinting at the piece of media, fingertips yanked it off the island forcibly gluing it to your chest almost to shield it from eyes it doesn’t belong to. 

Eyes darting back and forth frantically searching for relief in such a predicament, in a measly voice, “T-Thank you Mr. Fushiguro, it was very kind of you to give it back. I-I’ll be leaving now.”

He had only watched amused, but it wasn’t stated within his facial expression. If anything his demeanor was calm– his body leaned back at the counter behind him, legs crossed over one another while he wore what seemed to be a completely uninterested face.

“Smart girl. Probably read a lot, huh?” 

Clutching the diary tighter to your chest, almost impossibly close, furrowed eyebrows and a snap of a neck towards his direction. A low, barely audible, “H-huh?” 

“My favorite passage is where the narrator states that, ‘Toji is probably compensating his small dick for huge muscles.’” He chuckled deeply, taking a swing of his protein shake before setting it to the side.

Frozen in place, eyes widened, simply just going quiet. I mean– what could be said? For a moment so intense, all that ran through your mind was complete blankness.

“Kinda find it endearing how the narrator only uses vibrators on her clit because the idea of penetration ‘arouses’ yet ‘scares’ her.”

“Mr. Fushiguro did you r-rea-“ stated in an incredibly shaky voice. Embarrassed, wishing that the ground would do you good bidding and swallow you whole with no hesitation. He still looked calm, ridiculing every aspect of you, his eyes had darkened a bit due to pupil dilation.

Everything felt tense, hot, incredibly warm, a moment of heat transpiring between the two of you as eyes met one another. Except both eyes said a different story. His; was full of something that could only be described that an animal gets knowing that they had successfully captured their prey right where they were needed. Yours; full of complete self-pity, begging to be freed under the gaze of something that will eat you alive and leave no bones.

“Do you think that Toji's character might appreciate the narrator calling him ‘hot but probably hotter with his mouth shut?’” His large arms bulged, and crossed over his chest, enjoying every minute that left you squirming under his condescending gaze. You looked like something had caught your throat and any form of attitude seemed to exist on the lines written in the diary. 

Tilting his head, on cue his hair moved as well, his expression seeming bleak. “Aw, wish I could meet this narrator, express to her how far off she is from the truth. Seems the type to talk a lot but get quiet when confronted.”

With a croak of your throat you managed to speak in a weak voice, “Mr. Fushiguro I am so sor-”

A silky voice met your ears, “Megumi taught me a bit about books. You know what’s funny about narrators sometimes?”

“W-what?” Your voice croaked.

“They’re unreliable.”

“Want to know something else funny?”

Body shifting off the ledge of the counter his bulky body slowly walked, emerald eyes glancing down while you stared up with the most innocent expression. ‘Cute,’ he thought. Staring down, a waft of his natural musky scent hit your nasal passages. He towered right in front of you. His long finger gripped a loose strand of your hair, twirling it mockingly.

He juxtaposed the flustered expression drawn on your face, a grin that stretched from ear to ear, a sly expression painting a look of hunger. “Yeah,” his tongue swiped at his bottom lip, voice dropping a few octaves, “it’s tiny even.”

-

On the checklist of things you hated about Toji, you mentally jotted down that he was a liar. He was a complete liar. 

Knees blown out, nose buried deep into his neatly trimmed pubic hair, lips trying to adhere to a girth that wasn’t friendly to take down, saliva coating your chin and seeping through the cracks of the side of your lips, and mascara smeared down the sides of your cheek. 

Toji was anything but tiny. A huge hand gripped the back of your skull, yanking at the follicles of your hair bouncing your head back and forth on his dick. He had to be 8 inches at least.

Gagging and whimpers filled the air, as you pathetically took down all the length he forced down. Your eyes beaming with tears, while he looked down at yours mockingly. Eyebrows slightly furrowed at the feeling of your tight throat clinging onto his cock like a vice. He smirked staring you down as you struggle to take him in, light pants escaped from his throat as spit slowly exited his mouth, meeting the exposed part of his dick and a part of your face.

“Slow down sweetheart, shit,” a condescending laugh, “I’m not going anywhere.” He hissed in a bit feeling your tongue desperately lap up and down his cock as you took the initiative to get completely lost in the feeling. 

It was all too lewd– he had stopped guiding you by bobbing your head, but kept a firm hold; all you did was suck him as if your life depended on it. His hefty cock felt divine to the tastebuds, weighing heavy down your throat and around your tongue. Frantically allowing your tongue to brush over the large veins running throughout his shaft, your hands jerking off what you could, letting the room fill up with the wet squelches. Moaning onto his cock the vibrations cued a grunt from Toji, sucking his massive tip with a ‘pop!’ He pulled you away, noticing the whine in your face when separated from his dick. He laid it on your face, grin sprawled out. 

“You suck dick good for a girl who only gets off to filthy fantasies about a man who she hates.” 

Panting, studying him while feeling incredibly small under his stare, catching your breath. So perfect, you looked so perfect to him.

“Fuck- I could just cum looking at your face like this,” gripping your hair earning a mewl from your throat, he held onto his dick tapping the tip of your tongue repeatedly, he grinned wider noticing how you desperately leaned into every tap. “Heh, want more huh? Coulda came from your throat, rather fuck it in your little pussy instead. I could tell you were a cock-deprived whore from the start.”

All you could do was blink up at him, gulping at everything he was saying, a new wave of arousal crashing down in your panties. Eyebrows furrowed, keeping steady eye contact with him, he noticed your fucked out expression. 

“Aw? No back-talk? Seem to have a lot to run your mouth about in that little diary, girl. Do you even remember your name? Already trained you well without stretching you out? Or does it make you feel ashamed to be this wet in the house of a man you hate so much? Do you have no shame?”

“I-I’m,” you cleared your hoarse voice swallowing any bit of saliva that didn’t engulf his cock, “not wet.”

He blankly stared down at your face before a loud chuckle eroded from his body, shaking him slightly, “Darling, you’re practically dripping on my kitchen floors. You think I can’t see you clenching your thighs f’me?”

“I-it’s not for y-you, Mr. Fushiguro-“

“Cut the shit, it’s Toji. Stand up.”

Pushing your knees off the position they were in for the longest time, you whined and stumbled while Toji watched amused. Standing on your feet, wobbling, he did the honors of throwing you over his shoulder eliciting a loud gasp as your torso made contact and leaned into his broad shoulders. His fingers lightly grazed your wet folds that leaked through your leggings, causing a slight gasp.

He only chuckled again, walking to his master bedroom. “Not wet, my ass.”

-

You’re not sure what round this was, but being thrown like a rag-doll by a man who easily overpowered every aspect of you was not how you expected this visit to go. He did the honors of prepping you for hours long– edging you and making sure you were on the brink of insanity so taking his cock in would feel much more manageable. At first, you winced taking him in, but the pain subsided once the overwhelming bliss of pleasure overtook all feelings of discomfort.

Toji started by fucking his tip in, rocking back and forth to let you become accustomed slightly. He quickly learned that you were nothing more than a cock-deprived whore.

“T-toji, y-you’re, ah! Breakin’ me!”

“Good.” His face had a wild expression, grinning ear to ear, his long onyx hair clinging to parts of his forehead from sweat while the rest dangled in your face. This man just found his new favorite plaything, he’d be damned to stop this. 

Toji had you mangled in a mating press, feet planted firmly into his mattress, feeling every last bit of dick he could give. Holding your thighs back with large hands, he drilled into your poor cunt, legs hanging off his broad shoulders, the sounds of skin-on-skin vibrating in the room alongside his pants, and your loud moans.

“T-toji, ah! I-I’m sorry, t-too,” a deeper thrust sent a harsh quiver from your lips while his lips dropped low to your ear, “Too! Big! Cant!”

Grunting into your ear, the same smirk plastered on his face. He angled himself even deeper, never stopping the rhythm, slamming his inches into you. All you could do was take it and moan desperately. Head thrown back while eyes rolled back into your skull. 

“Don’t” thrust, “care.” He stated casually in your ear while his voice grew huskier, “Gonna fuck my cum into this lil’ ah, fuck, pussy. Make sure it only learns how to take me in.” He chuckled while he never stopped drilling, he pulled all the way out, leaving only the tip in. Causing you to pant rapidly at the loss of dick, hating how empty yet incredibly full you felt just from his tip alone.

“P-Please, please Toji, please,” fingers dug into his biceps in a fucked out voice, “don’t stop.”

“Aw,” he placed his forehead atop yours, mockingly cooing at the mess you’ve become. “Why should I let you cum?” He whispered now, lips ghosting over your own, “Had a lot to say about me being tiny but your greedy little cunt is both clinging onto me and stretching out. Disgusting girl” 

“I’m so so so so sorry, Toji I promise I’ll be good, I’ll be so good.” Frantically scanning over his face, your body still throbbing from the positions he put you in. Meanwhile, he felt just as warm to the touch, the feeling of sex coated him entirely his composure not faltering.

Wrapping a strong hand around your throat he tightened his grip as he pummeled right into you at once, body jerking forward at the sudden stretch. A loud gasp and moan abruptly left your mouth. Before he could continue pumping into you, his lips still hovering over yours, he had a cocky smile still etched onto his face.

“Sent Megumi off with his little friends, they’re having a sleepover.” His smirk deepened, “Oh don’t worry, you’ll be proving to me how good of a whore you’ll be for me all night.” He scoffed, “Maybe then in your little diary you can write about how good I fuck you.” He pulled out yet again, suddenly feeling his body weight push off your body entirely, making you whine at the loss of sensation in your cunt and body. In an instant, he flipped you over.

Back arched completely, chest pressed down into the sprawled-out duvet, legs spread out ready for him to obliterate all self-dignity you had left, his knee pushed into the bed behind you. Placing his socked foot in the back of your head, he gripped his cockhead dragging it along your puffy folds. Moaning slightly at the feeling of contact as he circled his massive tip around your clit, your eyes fluttered shut again. Drool seeped through the sides of your mouth not caring that this man had stolen all sense of respect you once held for yourself.

“Now,” his voice husky again grunting as his cock slowly teased at your entrance before shoving it in at a tantalizing pace. Staring in awe at your hole as it glistened, hearing your cunt squelch around his thick width, “Hear her for me?” Physically tightening at the words he just said, he let out a slight grunt.

“Mhm,” you let out a mangled noise which caused him to chuckle, feeling his foot press deeper onto the back of your head while your fingers desperately gripped at the sheets below. 

“Maybe,” he pushed himself in, a wild smile on his face while he heard you whimper below, thrashing around still not used to a length this immense. “You should listen to her more often than that dumb little brain of yours princess.” 

Swiftly gripping your wrist, he firmly pinned it back at the small of your back, while rapidly thrusting in and out all at once. “Ah! Ah! T-Toji… So! Hnghhh, G-Good,” moans incredibly muffled as they were pushed into the sheets, cunt gripping onto him every time he moved in and out.

Grunting at the view of your ass clapping back at his pelvic region every time he drilled inside, your walls trying their hardest to take him. He only cackled before whistling, harshly slamming a hand down on your ass letting it recoil with a red mark left behind.

“Should’ve told you I read that stupid diary ages ago…”

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Gojo ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Failed date

“Ding! New message from ‘toruu.’” The robotic voice announced in your headphones, breaking you from wallowing in your sorrowful haze.

Shuffling in your bed, trying to forget the events that unfolded earlier today, your hand reached out to your nightstand fidgeting around to find your phone. You thought maybe lying down with sad music blaring in your ears would help, but spoiler; it did not. Groaning slightly while your eyes try to adjust to the phone's brightness. A failed date equated to a failed day, lo and behold, your eccentric friend was at your side ready to wipe away any discomfort. 

Shifting your body upwards, a smile couldn’t help but be formed at his words. At the end of the day, the guy was just that, a guy. There was nothing to stress over. Was there a slight skip in a heartbeat hearing Satoru speak fondly upon you? Yes. But that’s all that there was. Risking a friendship with him wasn’t worth it in the grand scheme. He was appealing in all senses, there was no surprise that girls and boys alike flocked to him like candy. Getting laid wasn’t exactly the objective, but hanging onto things that weren’t feasible was. 

Joking with Satoru came second nature, but having him become defensive over a harmless joke startled you a bit. ‘There’s no way he’s acting like this.’ Nibbling at your bottom lip staring at him laughing in all caps. Is he being defensive? Eyes moving back and forth on the screen questioning what to say next, the conversation continued.

Snickering to yourself, ‘Oh, so he IS being defensive.’ The thought danced around in your head, rolling eyes at every other thing he texted. “There is no way he is serious,” mumbling to yourself like a madman in the dead of night alone while speaking to nothing but the screen at hand. 

A light ping indicated that your message was sent, as you glanced at the dots that appeared from his end. Breath slightly hitching at what he stated next.

Eyes widening, breath caught in throat quickly throwing the phone down face first as your face burnt. Breathing shallow breaths to catch up, time felt a bit still before shaking hands gripped the phone, and slowly brought it into your line of sight. 

My God was Satoru Gojo, huge.

His tip was a light dusty pink, almost made to be kissed, forming a beautiful head that had a bead of translucent precum decorating the slit. The shaft was thick, matching his milky pale tone and fading into an ombre ending right where the tip started. His veins were many, mapped out all around his shaft, up and down, a prominent one stood at the center. It looked heavy, he appeared to be standing up in the picture. A white-happy trail formed alongside the end of his abs and faded around into his neatly groomed bush. You blinked slowly, taking in the image of your best friend’s fat cock. He wasn’t lying. At all. He had to be pushing 8 inches and more. This was the image alone, thumb hovering slightly over the video attachment. Feeling your cunt pulsate slightly and clit growing a bit hard, shuffling some more. 

‘I can't be getting wet over my friend. This is so wrong, he’s probably joking too right? Guys do this all the time with their guy friends. Except, I’m not a guy…’

Biting the bullet and taking the initiative, clicking the video attachment was a wrong, wrong idea. Still, in the same position, his gray sweat pushed down his mid-thigh, the flash was strong in the video. In your ears, everything was heard. Still standing erect, you could hear him lightly chuckle, almost as if he was taunting you in the same room. For some reason, the slick heat flooded more, He brought his large veiny hand, placing it side by side with his cock, holy shit, it was larger than his hand. He spoke your name in a sultry voice one that sent waves crashing down your pussy, a voice that you’ve never heard before. 

“You already know how big my hand is, I mean you’ve held it before. Do with that information what you will.” You could hear the smirk in his voice before plopping on the bed before him, a soft grunt echoed in your ears. So his dick was heavy, it flopped straight on his abs which elicited a laugh on his end. 

“Sorry, I couldn't send you it while lying down. It’s a bit too heavy.” With that, the video ended. Gulping and staring dumbfounded, your fingers anxiously wrote whatever they could, trying to keep any semblance of a friendly demeanor. 

Sighing while rolling your eyes at his behavior, mentally sighing that he's back acting like the immature soul he’s always been. Guess, it’s time to rely on the good ol’ vibrator to solve this problem. Knowing him he’d probably hang this compliment over your head for eternity and that was that with this conversation, which is why what he stated startled you a bit.

Staring at the screen once more, feeling a bit anxious about his response. All that could be thought of is if the wrong thing was said to him. He’d be over the moon hearing that his cock is big as fuck, right? Sighing while dropping your shoulders and clicking the side button to shut the phone off, eyes closing once more while the back of your head met the soft headboard. 

“Ding! New message from: ‘toruu.’”

Eyes widening, the heat still pooling in your lace panties, thanking yourself for another failed date. Within ten minutes the phone was chucked out of hand, racing to get ready for his arrival even though it wasn’t the typical hangout.

Slipping on a lacy, cerulean bra and throwing it on, keeping the same undies on having a feeling that the slick wetness would be favored for you both, fixing your hair, spritzing a gourmand perfume, applying a bubble-gum colored lip gloss, and pulling on a light blue hoodie, tight black spandex shorts, with black house sandals. It wasn’t long before a certain man rang the doorbell.

Rushing to the door while maintaining some form of composure and unlocking it to be met with piercing eyes and a shit-eating grin towering over you. He wore the same sweats in the video and a black hoodie that did very little to hide his massive frame.

“Hi,” he stated in his typical voice, eyes looking over his glasses down at your face, as he put one strong arm over the doorframe. “Hello, ‘Toru…” audibly speaking so only he heard, while a light blush scattered across your face.

“Heard your date got canceled or whatever, what a bummerrrrrrr.” He rolled his eyes exaggerating his disdain due to unexpected plans. “Gonna let me in?” His voice stated in a whisper while studying the curves of your body. 

Slightly nodding, shifting to the side to let the tall figure in, a waft of his cologne hit all senses and shot straight to your core. 

While he walked in, your hand pressed against the doorframe closing it and locking it before a large hand turned you around. Gasping at the sudden feel of his hand around your waist, while the rest of your body was pushed against the door. Staring up at his face, not recognizing the look displayed on his usual happy-go-lucky face, painted a darkened expression of desire. Satoru pressed your chest against the front of his body, pushing you closer by the hand on the back of your waist. Caging you in his embrace, the other hand laid flat behind the door.

Smelling his sweet breath from the various candies he indulged in, the air hit the tip of your nose while his lips were merely inches away from your own. 

“No offense,” his voice silky, smooth, and deeper than usual, “Kinda glad this asshole bailed on you. Wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you anyways.” His smile deepened while you responded by cupping his soft face in both hands. 

Breath a bit higher than a whisper, lips almost touching his while his grip on your waist felt stronger, “Oh, yeah ‘Toru, and you know what to do?” 

Feeling a vibration from his chest against your frame, as a laugh erupted from him, he stared into your eyes intensely. “Let me kiss your lips and show you. I think you know by now my words match up with my actions.”

Almost on command, both of you smashed your lips into one another savoring the feeling of tasting what you wanted for so long. Mutually moaning slightly upon the impact, Satoru quickly moved his large hands to caress all over your tinier frame. Ass, waist, thighs, hair, neck, his long slender fingers were everywhere, anywhere, every chance he could get to press you impossibly close to him.

Mouth agape, he took it as an opportunity to slip his tongue in, slithering it around your mouth while your tongue circled his own. Hands entangled in his hair, tilting your head, and on cue, he did the same. Tongues squelching and roaming each other's mouths as if you’ve been thirsty and the only cure was one another. His hands finally stop at your ass, giving a light squeeze before carrying you up, wrapping your legs around his torso.

Breaking away faces mimicking a blush on both faces, a string of saliva connecting your lips. Slightly panting as your forehead meets his, he stares deeply into your eyes. “Cute and all,” he says still in a haze, “but those weren’t the lips I was talking about.”

-

Hovering over his torso, while your mouth was stuffed with his huge cock. Hungrily lapping up his dick with your tongue, your hand wrapped around his base in a circular motion going up and down while your mouth struggled slightly to take the entirety of him in. Moans sent vibrations across his huge shaft, he was so big, so so so big. You loved every minute of it, it was evident with the sticky residue of cum that formed on his thighs and pubic hair from the previous rounds you’d gone. Saliva pooled on his dick, to rest on his balls and underneath his thighs. 

It was a mess, “Mhm!” You panted, separating yourself from having his cock buried down your throat but quickly attaching your lips at the head, smearing precum on like a lip product. Lapping the precum up and down the slit, before indulging his length back in. “Sa-Satoru- Ah! S-Stop!” Lips making a ‘pop!’ noise after pulling his dick from your throat, hands still echoing a wet sound as they both rapidly jerked him off.

Gojo laid on his back his face stuffed in your cunt, “Cant, ahhhh, too good,” His voice sounding hoarse. Bringing his head up even further into your slick heat, he licked long strips with his tongue from clit, hole, and ass. Both of his large hands spread your cheeks apart, your discharge soaking the bottom half of his face. He dove in head first, nose pressed directly in your pussy while his mouth harshly sucked at your clit, twirling it around his tongue effortlessly. Years of sucking on candy couldn’t compare to this. Pulling away both hands from your ass, he placed them on the front of your thighs, forcing you to sit on his face with a welp that broke away the string of moans.

Continuing to jerk him off, your eyes crossed while spitting down his length, feeling him twitch slightly under your motion. You mewled, “Mhpmh! Satoruuuuuuu!”

Harshly sucking on it before pulling away, he kissed your clit before dragging his head around in a circular motion licking all around like a madman. He closed his eyes and buried his tongue deep in your walls that tightened and contracted around him. Bobbing his head back and forth, tongue fucking your tiny hole, thumb diligently working in circles on your swollen clit. Slowly feeling your high soon approaching in waves and feeling him twitch even more violently underneath you. 

He moaned deep into your cunt while high-pitched yells escaped your throat, “Oh! Oh! Oooooh! Oh, Satoru! I’m c-cumm- ah!” Soon enough, Satoru’s face was full of liquid when your orgasm arrived. Sticking a tongue out noticing him jerk in your hands, closing your eyes, while cum painting your tongue and face. Swallowing him all while quivering from the impact of cumming all over his face.

For once in your life, this was the most quiet Satoru has ever been. 

Breaking away from your cunt, Satoru took a deep breath, laughing to himself shakily.

“Fuck, I should pay men more often not to date you.”

[tetragonia]

Please Don't be Afraid of Me

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader

Arguing with Rafe is your daily meal, but this time he almost did something that could break you for life.

warning: mentions of (Y/N)'s father being abusive, toxic relationship, Rafe almost going a bit aggressive, trauma, no mention of (Y/N)

note: I really need a good angst and why not write one myself? I hope this one hurts you as bad as it hurts me :')

words: 800+

The air between you and Rafe crackled with tension, the argument escalating faster than either of you had intended. You both were standing near the docks, voices rising, cutting through the quiet night. Your frustration had been simmering for days, ever since you caught wind of some of Rafe’s shady behavior again—money missing, deals going wrong. You had confronted him, and it spiraled from there.

“You think you can just keep pulling this crap, Rafe? You think nobody notices what you're doing?” your voice was sharp, each word laced with anger. What you two have was toxic, you knew deep down. But somehow it was very rewarding, all those kisses and makeups you two would do after an argument.

But this one was different.

“Don’t act like you know me,” Rafe shot back, his jaw clenched. “You don’t know half the things I’m dealing with.”

“Then tell me!” you snapped, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “But no, you’d rather lie, cheat, and then act like the world owes you something!”

Rafe's temper flared, his hand instinctively raising mid-argument, more out of frustration than intent. But the movement—sudden, aggressive—made you freeze.

You body reacted before your mind could catch up. You flinched, taking an instinctive step back, your eyes widening in a flicker of fear. In that split second, Rafe’s hand hovered mid-air, his anger dissolving as guilt crashed into him.

He hadn’t meant to do it. He hadn’t even realized how much his action mirrored something... darker, something that triggered a deep-seated fear in you. But seeing you flinch, seeing you step back from him, it hit him like a wave of cold reality.

“Baby, wait—” Rafe dropped his hand instantly, his voice softer, filled with an unfamiliar urgency. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were suddenly wide with regret.

He took a cautious step forward, but you moved back again, your breath shallow, still caught in the reflex of fear.

“I’m not him,” Rafe said, his voice low, almost pleading. “I’m not your father.”

Your chest tightened, the comparison too raw, too close to home. You blinked, fighting back the tears that were threatening to surface. Your heart pounded in her ears, but Rafe didn’t move again. He stood there, watching you, a rare vulnerability in his expression.

“I wasn’t going to—” he stammered, rubbing his hand through his hair. “I’d never... hurt you.”

You didn���t say anything, still processing the way your body had reacted, how automatic the fear was, how much he reminded you of the volatile moments with your dad—moments you spent years trying to forget.

Rafe took another step forward, more cautiously this time, his movements slower, gentler. “You...” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

You couldn’t look at him directly, your mind torn between the image of Rafe you knew and the shadows of the past that haunted you. The tension in the air had shifted, no longer angry but filled with a raw, uncomfortable truth.

He reached out again, but this time there was no threat in his gesture. His hand hovered near you, waiting, offering. “Please don’t be afraid of me.”

You’s heart thudded painfully in your chest, your breathing still uneven. You swallowed, glancing at his hand. You hated yourself for flinching earlier, for letting him see that side of you, but you couldn’t deny that he had triggered something deep. Something you weren’t ready to confront.

Still, there was something in his voice, in the way he had softened so suddenly, that made you hesitate. Rafe wasn’t the man you had grown up fearing, wasn’t the man who left you with scars both seen and unseen. He was a mess, yes, but this... this was different.

Slowly, tentatively, you took a small step toward him, meeting his gaze. You saw the guilt there, the sincerity. The storm in your head started to calm, just slightly.

Rafe didn’t move again, letting you come to him at your own pace. His hand was still there, waiting. And when you finally closed the gap between them, you let out a shaky breath. You didn’t flinch this time as his hand gently touched your arm, his grip soft, reassuring.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice breaking through the quiet.

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to steady yourself. “Just... don’t ever do that again,” you murmured, your voice barely audible, but firm.

“I won’t,” Rafe promised, his thumb brushing against your skin lightly. His touch was tender, so unlike the rough edges of his usual self.

For a moment, neither of them moved. They stood there in the quiet, the intensity of the argument fading into something neither of them had words for. You’s heart was still racing, but not out of fear now. It was something else. Something unfamiliar, something you weren’t sure you could handle.

But as Rafe stood close, his touch warm and steady, you realized that you didn’t want to step back anymore.

[dwaekkicidal]

𝖪𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝖻𝖾𝗋: 'Intense Desire' ༄࿔ L.F.

⤷ Sex Pills | Overstimulation | Squirting

♱ word count: 2.9k

♱ warnings: fem!reader, sex pills usage (felix accidentally taking them), mention of a handjob in a car, he gets “mean” for like a split second, unprotected p in v, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampies, squirting, if u quint theres 1 sentence of angst at the end, i might be forgetting something

♱ notes: sorry this was delayed! I made it a little longer than the others in hopes that it would make up for the tardiness <3 also 1 the beginning might feel rushed (it was) and 2 sex pills dont completely work like this?? But its fiction so.. pls bare with me im so stressed out LMFAO

Kinktober Schedule

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

The pounding in Felix’s head was just enough to distract him from the colorful clothes around the two of you. The initially exciting shopping trip to the mall with your boyfriend had quickly slowed down thanks to the headache he developed out of the blue. Your comforting words and warm hands on his face only helped so much, and he felt horrible for his body refusing to let him enjoy your date.

It wasn’t until you reminded him of the medicines he had packed away in his bag that he let up on his pouting Then, with the familiar feeling of the plastic of a pill bottle on his fingers and a gentle reminder from you that this should be fun for the both of you, Felix finds himself leading you to the food court. He quickly buys a bottle of water and chugs down 3 pills. It’s over the dosage of 2 he normally would take, but he’s desperate to have a good time with you.

Not long after, he’s back to his normal self and the thumping pain in his head is long gone. Wide smiles and crescent eyes watch you pick out interesting clothes, some even meant to match with him. Everything is back to normal!

That is until 30 minutes after the fact when he’s patiently sitting outside of your changing room waiting for you to try on the next outfit. He starts to feel a new, less painful ache. One between his legs that he’s all too familiar with.

Literal lines of sweat are dripping down his forehead and his neck when you open the curtain to present the outfit you picked out. He forces a smile and has to tear his eyes away from the tight pants to give his opinion. A curt, breathy, “Beautiful.”

The sweat immediately catches your attention and obviously raises concerns from the way your eyebrows furrow. He notices right away and tries not to let it worry you, shooing you away and encouraging you to try on the last pieces of fabric that await you in the changing room.

The second the curtains close behind you he racks his brain for possible reasons as to why a sudden, strong feeling of horniness took over his body. It’s even to the point where his whole body tingles from the ceiling fans above him. The slow gusts of wind make his cock ache in his jeans and goosebumps litter his arms.

He doesn’t think he’s ever gotten this horny in his life. Even the time when you managed to rile him up to the point where he almost came in his jeans when you brushed past him he had never felt this way. He swore he could feel his veins burning as he looked through his bag for his phone, praying that Google would explain everything.

But he doesn’t get far enough to grab his phone, because the realization hits him like a tsunami wave. The pills. He realizes too late that he never checked which medicine he took. And sure enough, when he checked his bag, the tiny plastic bottle he had a hold on earlier wasn’t his Ibuprofen.

Instead, it was a blue pill bottle that he kept for special medicines that he would occasionally get prescribed. This time around, it was the brand new, not prescribed pills he had put to the side for… intimacy reasons.

It was embarrassing at first for him. A young, attractive man in his 20s struggling with his sex life. All thanks to the wear and tear from work stress: the unforgiving cycle of working too much and being overwhelmed, then taking a break and working too little just to fall behind.

You understood! It’s understandable to not be able to get hard when there’s a never ending dread that has made home in the back of your mind. And it was clearly obvious that he is attracted to you, every other time the two of you were intimate is enough evidence for that.

So you offered him an idea that might help! That idea being “horny” pills. It took some convincing and consistent reassurance for him to cave and agree. Which led to that little blue bottle of little red pills that made his not-so-little friend crave your attention.

“Lixie?” Your voice snaps him out of his daydreaming and his head snaps up to see your head poking out of the curtain. Your giggle goes straight to his dick and he has to force a smile to get through the ache. “I need your help with this dress. I can’t get the zipper up.”

You don’t need to ask twice, especially when the promise of getting to see your bare skin is on the table. He’s joining you in the blink of an eye, using his clammy, shaky hands to zip up the dress the rest of the way. Your body flushes at the way he licks his lips as he looks you up and down multiple times.

“Do you like it?” His eyes snap up to yours in the mirror and he nods. It’s pretty obvious to you what’s going on in his head at this point, minus the reason for it, so you rip the dress off and rush to the cashier as fast as you can.

Felix is on your tail the whole time. A hand on your hip and his chest pressed to your back as he shoves his credit card into the card reader. Then again when the two of you get to the car, this time both of his hands on your hips and his face shoved into your neck.

“Need you so fucking bad.” His hard-on is even more obvious now as he grinds it against your thigh, groaning and whining into your neck about how good it feels. You struggle to get the car keys out of his pocket when his hands are all over you, making you feel good when they aren’t even doing much.

“Felix… Not here.” The two of you drabbled in public sex before so it wasn’t a new experience for either of you. But it had been a while since the two of you were intimate so you really didn’t want it to be in the dirty car garage of a mall. In the middle of the day, mind you.

“I need something. Baby, please. I-I can’t do this.” The desperation in his voice is enough to make your neck whip around, almost knocking into his as you look back at him with confusion. He knows you all too well and the answer to your unspoken question is already on the tip of his tongue.

“I accidentally took those sex pills instead of pain meds.” He doesn’t bother explaining further; he doesn’t care anymore. The only thing that’s on his mind is getting you into the car so he can get some sort of stimulation on his poor, achy cock.

You're lucky to even have gotten his hands off of you after that, let alone getting him in the passenger seat and buckled in without him launching at you. However you’re even less lucky as you drive him home, one hand on the wheel and the other- well, on his dick.

You could hear the wetness of him jerking himself off before you saw it. He was keen to get your help though. His eyes were teary and his voice came out a distressed whine as he pleaded for you to help, complaining that his hand wasn’t comparable to how good your hand would feel.

The windows on your shared car are as tinted as legally possible, so you quickly cave and slide your hand toward him. Now 5 minutes away from the house, you quicken your hands in hopes that he’ll cum this soon. But luck isn’t on either of your sides today and the car’s already in park before he’s even close to cumming.

You don’t make it past the entryway before Felix is shoving you forward, pinning you to the wall, and pulling your bottoms to your knees. The sight of your panties all messy and your pussy lips equally as messy from your excitement is enough to make him feral.

“You’re so good to me, Honey. Always so obedient and keeping my pussy ready for me when I most need it. I’m going to give you the world and more.” He doesn’t wait for you to make a comment before he’s pushing your underwear to join your bottoms.

One hand rests on the wall by your face and the other pushes against your lower back, arching your back at the same time that he pushes his cock in. Your walls are warm and wet as they take every last inch of him in, almost as if two puzzle pieces were finally placed together.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and he sucks on your neck, whispering incoherent mumbles until he’s bottomed out. He only stops then to take deep breaths and calm his own body down. Now that he’s finally inside of you, the effects of the pills feel a million times stronger.

He genuinely feels like a dog in heat, hips still rutting into yours even as his mind tells his body to relax. It doesn’t listen in the slightest and after a short pause his hips are finding a rigorous rhythm. 

Felix is a man possessed behind you; nails digging into your skin leaving bruises to come and hips moving with more force than you thought he could give. It’s hard to think he’s not possessed with his filthy mouth, something he’s always been good at but it hits differently when he’s rock hard inside of you and eager to feel every inch of your body all at once.

You start to feel like the pills are affecting you. Your own body reacts to his fervent movements with warm clenches and moans that spur him on. You feel so sensitive and your orgasm sneaks up on you, causing you to wiggle in his hold. The shuffle of your limbs makes him lose his angle and you both whine.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. Stop. You gotta stay arched, baby. Yeah, just like that. Ffuck…” The hand on your back pushes you forward, completely squishing you against the wall as he tries to arch you back to how you previously were. He knows that he did it right when you start to flutter around him again and your moans ascend a few pitches.

With the other hand using all of his fingers to rub your clit back and forth, he pushes you over the edge. You clench around him as you moan into the wall, your arms shaking as you try to hold yourself up against it. He growls against your ear and bites down on it as he continues fucking you through your high.

He doesn’t stop after you’re done. If anything it only encourages him, the ache in his veins telling him that he needs to keep going and make you feel even better. And so he does, with one hand still furiously rubbing your clit back and forth while the other now moves to your waist and holds up your slouching form.

It just squeezes you appreciatively, almost even possessively as he holds you in place when you start to flail. It doesn’t become mean until in the midst of your thrashing, you move yourself just slightly to the point where he loses his angle again. He pushes his hand roughly against you and arches your back himself again, this time with a disgruntled snap. 

“Stop fucking doing that.” He’s huffing into your ear as his hips pick up pace, going even faster than he was before. “Be good or else I’ll bend you over with nothing to lean on.” But it’s hard to control your body when painful pleasure is swimming through your body. Even more so when you feel another orgasm lurking.

“B-Baby, fuck! Give me a sec, you’re-” You cut yourself off with a shriek as the hand on your waist moves to tangle itself in your hair. It uses the grip to pull you back up to rest your back flat against his chest. His other hand finally falters at this point, instead of rubbing your clit it sinks into your thigh.

“I’m what, Honey. Tearing up your guts?” He laughs out a sound of agreement that turns into a guttural groan as his blinding thrusts finally let up. A few sharp thrusts and a series of moans fall from his lips as he empties himself out inside of you. It feels like gallons of his seed are filling your stomach, and the feeling of it leaking out onto your inner thighs is enough to make you believe that’s the case.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He just stands there with his forehead against your shoulder and his arms wrapped around your torso, mind reeling as he comes down from such an intense high.

“Baby. You didn’t cum with me at the end, did you?” He’s more upset that he faltered that badly, but the twitch of his cock lets you both know that he’s not close to being done regardless. The question is a real testament to your faith. Lie to him and maybe bribe him to let you take a break, or tell the truth and deal with the consequences. Though, it doesn’t seem like he was asking.

He pulls out and moves his hand to the small of your back. Neither of you even spared a glance at your bottoms as you’re dragged to the living room and shoved into the couch. It knocks the breath from your lungs momentarily, and it’s all the time he needs to bend you to his will. Your shoulders sink into the bottom cushions and your legs are hovering just above you as he shoves his cock inside of you again. 

The breath is almost knocked from you again as he finds a new, rougher pace to follow. This one isn’t nearly as fast but the new angle, thanks to your ankles being by his ears, sends him right where he wants to be. His previous load froths along his length as he fucks into you like your lives are on the line. 

Your hands find home on his biceps and your nails leave deep crescent shapes along his skin as you desperately try to find something to ground yourself with. The new vigor he fucks you with makes it so that your next orgasm builds up within a minute or two. The feral stare from his lidded eyes only makes your stomach squeeze as you realize that he really has no plans to stop, even if he really wants to. 

“Felix, baby, s-slow down. It feels w-weird.” You push against his stomach in hopes that it will slow him down, but it doesn’t. He stays quiet and only responds by grabbing your wrist and shoving it into the cushion by your head; a wordless command for ‘Hands off.’ You look up just in time to see his gaze grow more intense.

He even leans forward, both of his hands moving to your thighs to fold them into your chest. His hips pick up speed once he has you folded to his liking and you find that strange feeling growing stronger. You get a glimpse of him licking his pink lips that then perk up into a menacing smile and then the feeling grows too strong, forcing your eyes closed and your legs to combat his hold.

Your body can only shake as you gush around him and he curses under his breath at the sight. Your cunt spams around him and you squirt through his merciless fucking. The wet, squelching noises combat the volume of your cries to the point where he periodically goes out of his way to thrust into you even rougher just to hear it more.

“You hear her talking to me? Fucking shit- She really liked that, huh baby?” He laughs in disbelief and slams into you repeatedly, chasing his own sudden orgasm from watching you cum so intensely.

“That was so fucking hot, Baby.” The whine in his voice doesn’t match the cocky look on his face, but you can’t be bothered to comment about it as he finishes inside of you all of a sudden. Your sensitive walls constrict around him yet again and he cums deep inside, riding his own orgasm out to the sound of your overwhelmed sobs.

His chest heaves as he catches his breath and he takes the moment to glance at a clock on the wall. It’s been a few hours since he took the pills so they should be going down soon. He can already feel his brain going back to normal, and his thoughts are clearing up as the two of you sit there unmoving.

“You… Are you ok, Honey?” Your sniffles are enough to make his heart drop into his ass, but when you look up at him the anxiety leaves his body. You smile at him through the tears and laugh as best as you can while still breathless.

“Holy shit, Felix.” He matches your chuckle and leans forward, slotting your legs on either side of his waist as he repeatedly pushes his lips against your cheek. “I’m… great. But you owe me for fucking me within an inch of my life like that with no warning.”

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@felixsangelicfreckles

[rodeorun]

love in the dark.

yandere pretty boyfriend x fem!reader.

cw: drugging, black-mail, non-con blowjob, degradation. Featuring @meo-eiru 's OC, Elias ❤️

MDNI.

“You better work,” Elias threatened the baby pink candle he was holding between pretty, manicured fingers.

One might even compare it to the young man himself. Long and more thin than thick, the pink wax at the tip molded into a heart shape, white wick sticking through the middle. Elias always had love on the brain, at least when it came to you. Pity he didn't have a fine white wick of logic to split his head in two, or rather, his heart. But, when you love the way he did, weren't those two practically the same thing?

He doesn't know how many hours he spent on the dark web to find this, some sort of ‘love candle.’ Whatever that bullshit meant. The description the seller left behind was short and to the point.

‘Ignite this candle in the presence of your desired person and watch them fall in love with you.’

Even Elias in all his lovesickness found it hard to believe, but it was that sickness itself that led him to purchasing the item. He hadn't gotten a gig lately so he prayed for the payment to go through, giving himself a headache for purchasing a mere candle that was six hundred and fifty dollars. God, the things he would do for you (or to you, but that's a completely different matter.)

You, the object of his affections. His sweet, sweet, sweet best friend who has saved him more times than he could count. You were entirely too good for him and he knew it.

A special knock on his door alerted him to your presence, and he knew it was you because you two had created that very knock in sophomore year of university. Long after he changed his name, you still had the heart to played with him like a child. Where others laughed at his girlish tears and overgrown sobs, you healed his inner child with every hug, every whisper, every time you'd look into his eyes and tell him, ‘it's okay, Elias. I'm here for you.’

And you always were.

No matter how bad his tantrums got, you never got sick of him. You were the only one who stayed. You practically conditioned him. How could he ever want anyone else after tasting a drop of your sweetness?

“Hi, darling!” Elias opened the door and pulled you in for a hug, kicking the door shut behind you. “Someone's mighty dressed up for a movie night in, hehe. Oooh, is this wine? Gimme gimmie!”

Taking the bag from your hands, Elias turned to put it on the table, laying a sweaty palm against his flushed cheek. Heaven, he couldn't do this much longer! Just a hug from you and a whiff of that perfume had him hardening in his yoga pants. He stayed faced away from you as he rocked side to side, subtly rubbing himself against the bottle you brought just for him. All for him.

“So, I was thinking we could start with a rom-com and then maybe a western, for variety, and after that there's a three hour long horror movie I found that-”

“Sorry, Elias.”

Glittering eyelids opened themselves.

“See, my boyfriend injured his arm in a game yesterday, so I need to go help cook for him,” you explained. Your sorry eyes seared into his back.

Ah, yes. That boyfriend of yours. Taller than Elias, bigger than Elias, handsome enough to be called a heartthrob and an athlete by profession. A real winner, that boyfriend of yours!

Elias wanted to spit on his corpse.

“Oh, your boyfriend!” He clasped his hands together and turned to face you. “The one who forgot to pick you up at the mall last week because he slept through his alarm, right? I remember him.” Elias fiddled with one of the bottles of wine now, snarling. So much for a ‘gift,’ you were just trying to buy his forgiveness.

“Yes, Eli, that boyfriend,” you chuckled. “But I forgave him for that, you know? Nobody's perfect.”

The illusion of bliss he was swept up in from hearing that sweet nickname quickly shattered.

‘Nobody's perfect.’ Elias knew that better than anyone else. Afterall, he was the last thing but, and yet you still treated him so preciously.

So, why? Why was it the very same thing he fell in love with you for, you were flaunting to just anyone? Don't you know that love isn't free? Especially not yours! How many bottles of hair dye, micro-needling appointments, collagen fillers, and waxing appointments did he go to for your love? By God he knows his deadname didn't deserve you, but didn't Elias at least earn a little bit of your attention?

How dare you, honestly. How dare you show someone else the kindness you won him over with? How dare you waltz in here just to stand him up for another man! How dare you fucking-

“Eli?”

“Yes, my beloved?”

You looked upon him tentatively, a testament to what a ticking time bomb he is. “Oh, alright, I forgive you.” He waved you off playfully and walked over to hold both of your hands in his. “But next time, I'll tie you up and keep you here forever, munchkin~”

Your laugh mingled with his. As if you thought he was joking.

“Ah, but, darling! At least have a drink with me before you go. It would be lonely to pop open a bottle by myself, hm?”

A single drink.

That's what you and Elias agreed on. One glass and you'd be on your way to that wretch. You didn't drive to get here and assured Elias that your boyfriend would drive you back home. As if.

“Oh, before we cheers,” Elias put his glass down and went to rummage for a box of matches, shaking his hips this way and that while humming in his search.

“Someone's in a good mood,” you grinned, watching him groove to imaginary music.

“Yes, with you around I always am,” he teased and returned to the table. He put the candle in the stand and lit it.

It was only a little unsettling that he watched you instead of the matches while he did so.

“That's a really cute candle, Elias. Where'd you get it?” you asked him as he sat down across from you, drink in hand.

“Oh, this old thing? It's just something I had laying around- Oh my god!”

Elias flinched as the candle suddenly exploded, letting out a small puff of wind that blew his hair back and left behind a plume of pink smog.

“Darling?! Are you- ack! You okay?” Elias wafted the air between hacking coughs until he could see your face again.

You looked shocked, as one would when a candle explodes in their face, but then you started laughing. Small titters that rang like a bell until it turned into gasps that made you grab your stomach.

“You're, hahahaha, so, so silly, Eli! Haha, where do you get these things?!”

Oh, honey. He couldn't stop loving you even if he tried.

“Oh, stop that, you! How was I supposed to know it would do that,” Elias played along, ears still tinged pink at his little blunder. You two looked at each other and then fell into joined laughter.

This light, airy feeling was a drug to him. No matter how boring he was, how flat his personality, you could always find something more in him. Something to talk about, to laugh about, to entertain him with. Something he couldn't find by himself.

It's like the universe sent you to him as if to say, ‘hey! This is the person who will make life worth living! The one who will take that mind numbing emptiness away!’

And who was he to deny the wishes of the universe?

“Worthless piece of junk,” Elias muttered when things settled down. The candle really was a sham then. “At least it smells nice,” he lit the candle again and waved the match to out it. “Anyways, I got a manicure today and the lady was way too rough with my cuticles. She should quit if that's the service she's going to give.”

He brought his nails up, inspecting the blood red polish.

He was met with silence.

“Darling?”

Your head was down, lip trapped between your teeth.

“R-Right. Well, it's pretty,” you shot him a sad kind of smile. “It's just, well, no. Hm, uh, no…I forgot, I guess?” Elias watched you scramble around until small tears dripped from your eyes. “I guess I just forgot that you see other women every day.”

His heart froze in his chest.

“And, I, I know she was just doing her job, but holding your hand while she did your nails- she did hold your hand, right? That's a little…”

You trailed off and wiped your tears, willing yourself to gather such thoughts while Elias looked on in shock.

His eyes flicked to the candle, to you, the candle, you. Always you.

“She did,” he said simply, cautiously, “hold my hand. Yes, she did.” Your face cumbled, making Elias shoot up. “But I hated it! I wished it was you! I want you to be the one holding my hand!”

“Really?” Those big, wet eyes pleaded with him. “Because, I get jealous, you know.”

Something below his belt started stirring.

“Is that so?” He hummed and pulled his chair over next to you, thumbing the tears under your eyes like you had done for him so many times before.

The light of the candle reflected in your eyes and when Elias glanced over, it had melted remarkably quickly. The leftover wax dripped onto the table but he couldn't care less.

First things first, he needed to make sure what he hypothesized was real. That this wasn't a ploy.

“You know, dear, I was very hurt when you started going out with that bastard. You hurt me, a lot. How do you think I felt?” He cooed like you were a child, soft and gentle in his palm.

“I'm so sorry, Eli. I'll break up with him, okay? I only want you! I'm really- mmph!”

Not the romantic first kiss he was dreaming of, but perfect nonetheless.

All this groveling and begging, over little ol’ him? It was too cute. He could just eat you up! But before that, it seems Elias was going to be devoured first.

“Darling? Ngh!” You were tangling your tongue with his, sucking his lips, his cheeks, his tongue, leaving little nibbles on his blushing skin. “Hold on, I need to-”

“Need to what, Eli? I need you right now,” you swallowed, “I feel like my body is on fire.”

Oh, god, the candle really did work. You were squirming on your chair, rubbing your legs together and giving him the absolute cutest puppy eyed stare. You wanted him. You wanted him.

“Yeah?” Elias said breathlessly, trying to keep pace with you, “well I think I need an apology for you cheating on me first.”

He stood up and pulled his oversized sweater up, letting you peek at the bulge growing underneath tight grey cotton.

“Oh, Eli! It's so pretty!” You weren't shy about rubbing him over his pants. “All of you is so, so pretty, baby. Can I…suck you?”

“Darling, I'm yours!” He said eagerly, the sudden onslaught of praise leaving him dizzy. “Anything you want to do, I'm yours!”

By the time you peeled down his pants and had his leaking dick positioned at your mouth, he was ready to burst. He was entirely ready to finally get his reward, but you hesitated.

“Wait, Eli. I think we should wait, um…my boyfriend. I should break up with him first.”

That goddamn candle should have come with a special feature to make you forget anyone but him all together.

Elias probably looked terrifying right now, fine features underlit by the glow of the candle, staring down at you harshly. For once, he didn't find your babbling cute. Not when every other word was your boyfriend's name. So, Elias kindly shut you up.

“There we go~” Elias cooed, thrusting his hips a little. “Ah, ah, darling. Don't run from it,” he giggled, “or I'll shove it down your fucking throat~”

You were choking on his cock, unable to pull away with how he had his fingers locked behind your head. More than you moving, it was Elias who was pumping himself in and out of your mouth, not stopping until his balls slapped against your chin every time.

“What a good little thing you are, angel. I love you so much! Hey, do you love me too? I asked if you loved me too!”

Even under the effects of the candle, you looked scared. Elias was frantic now, not only his balls hitting your chin, but his toned abdomen smashing into your face as he fucked your entire head roughly. “Dirty fucking bitch! I trusted you! I love you and you left me for dead to go date that idiot! Do you know how much that hurt me?! How much I need you?! You were supposed to me mine, all mine, just like I'm yours! You dirty, dirty f-fucking whore!” Elias let out a wet sob, spilling down your throat with his eyes screwed shut.

Heavy pants left his mouth as he stumbled back to sit on his chair, chest heaving up and down. Even through your coughing, you couldn't help but worry about him.

“Eli? A-Are you okay?”

What a wreck your voice was, no doubt you'd be feeling him in your throat for days.

“It's not all out.”

“Huh? I don't understand-”

“Lift your shirt up.” He wasn't asking.

The smooth expanse of your chest was revealed and Elias used it as extra motivation to get the last few drops of cum out, fisting his tip roughly to pull out those last thick strings. It pearled on your skin beautifully and you didn't hesitate to stick your tongue out, cleaning him off properly with soft sucks that made him tremble.

“Good girl,” he sighed and eventually sat. It was like the devil was released from him. He was just Elias again, your Eli. “That was my first blowjob, you know,” he giggled cutely, like you two were mischievous kids sharing secrets in a treehouse.

Elias sighed and leaned in to hug you after lifting his pants back over his soft length. “Oh, my baby. I can't believe this worked. Had I known, I wouldn't have done this sooner. I can't believe you're finally mine,” he mumbled into your hair. “I love you, darling. And you love me too, right?”

Silence.

“Darling?”

Elias held you at shoulder length away, not wanting to let go of you completely yet. “Hey, why the tears, darling? Hehe, do you love me that much? Aw, well-”

“I'm sorry, Elias.” Your dark pupils met his.

There was no reflection from the candlelight anymore. In fact, the flame had blown out completely by now, leaving behind a sad little puddle of wax.

Your arms pushed his off as you stood up. “Shit…I- oh god, my boyfriend. What's wrong with me?! I'm sorry, Eli- I mean, Elias, um, I think the wine was a bit too strong for me. I really didn't mean to…”

What the hell was this?! Was this- did your love only last while the candle was lit?!

“What the fuck!” Elias cursed loudly, fingers gripping his silky tresses. The situation was beckoning a meltdown.

“I know, Elias, I'm so sorry, but I don't know what came over me!”

You were scared, he could see it. And he's sure part of that fear was from the ache in your throat, the names he had called you when he was at the peak of bliss. How he carried on when he was so sure you were his completely. Over what, a stupid candle? He was an idiot! He had to do damage control.

“It's…alright, darling. It's okay. Hm,” Elias hummed as he thought, standing up to pace. “It's okay. Your boyfriend is waiting for you after all, run along now. It's getting late.”

“Elias?” You weren't sure what was going on.

“Don't worry, dear,” Elias looked at you with warm eyes. “I can keep a secret. We just got a little overwhelmed, didn't we?”

He was giving you a way out, obviously. But why?

“Right,” you said, unsure.

“That's okay, we all have our moments,” Elias giggled and walked over, wrapping his arms around you, letting one sneak down to cup your ass. “Some more than others.”

“I don't think we should be-”

“Be what? You already swallowed my load, pumpkin. Let it dribble all down your chin and everything,” he mused, rubbing a finger against your lower lip. “Or did you want to come clean to your boyfriend?”

“No! I really don't know what happened!”

“Then it's a secret,” Elias whispered, pulling you in for a kiss. You were helpless to him, unable to pull away under the looming threat of him snitching on you. His tongue traced your lips before he pulled away.

“I won't tell if you won't, darling.”

Elias sent you off with a few more kisses and a slap on your ass, already hard again and humping you like a dog all the way to the door where you left with tears in your eyes. You were just too cute!

It wasn't much, but it was something. The only excitement Elias could offer you. Now, he had a personality.

He was your secret lover.

“Aha! How wonderful!” Elias twirled around in excitement. What an adventure!

Soon, he'd guilt your sweet soul into breaking up with that idiot and you'd be all his. He already had a foot in the door after all.

Bringing a hand to his lips, he recalled the way yours felt against his. Marvelous, absolutely marvelous!

Hmm..

Elias took his phone out and sent you a quick text.

‘I think I left some lipstick on you, darling. Clean that up before you see you know who ;)’

Not even moment later, his phone rang.

“Hey, Elias?”

“Eli,” he corrected.

“Yeah, can you not-”

“Eli.”

“…Eli. Uh, can you not send texts like that, please? Just in case he sees.”

A shiver ran up Elias’ spine at the secrecy of it all. You two were bound by sin.

“Of course, darling. I'll call you tonight then.”

“I'm spending the night with him,” you said nervously. “I can't.”

“Alright then, I'll just text you,” Elias inspected his nails casually.

“But-! Ugh, fine. I'll call you later.”

“Perfect. We'll talk soon then. Make sure your camera is on, I'm still throbbing over here,” he giggled.

“I have to go now,” you whispered.

“I love you, darling.”

“Yes, he's coming so-”

“I said I love you!”

“…I love you too, Eli. Bye.”

Elias waited for you to hang up with a smile. You were already cracking under the pressure of your unwanted affair. Sure it would hurt you now, but if this didn't last long then it would be him hurting later. Surely, you wouldn't be able to deal with that, not your kind heart. After all, his beauty is something that shouldn't be marred, you said so yourself.

It was only a matter of time now.

a/n: I actually finished this over a week ago but the Elias lore kept pouring in and I was scrambling to edit to make this as canon as possible but I gave up sooooo, yeah 😃 just imagine this as eli if he actually acted on half the shit he wants to do ig lmfaooo

Also can't believe I wrote unwilling reader because Elias is literally my baby muffin snuggly pie googlie bear and i love him, but i love men suffering more ig 💗

Divider: /animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Please do not ask for part 2. Thank you!

[phantomrose96]

Prometheus

content warnings: horror. body horror. ghost show can have a little existential horror, as a treat! :)

...

Tucker and Danny sat as silhouettes in the Foley attic rec-room.

The ghoulish light of the television pinned their shadows against the back wall, pulsing in and out like fireflies at each flash of the screen. It left their backs drenched in darkness, and it made monoliths of the old furniture and piled-high boxes that wrapped the perimeter of the attic. Drafty air whistled through the gaps in the insulation. Plicks and flicks of moths beat in tone against the light of the television where the seal of the attic window failed to keep them out. Danny hounded the controller in his hands, clackering with each frenetic beat of his thumb while he mashed his buttons and leaned his full bodyweight into the assault he wrought, virtually until--

“BOOM!! Headshot!” Danny yelled with a pump of his fist. From his nonexistent peripheral vision, he could not see the way Tucker would not look at him.

“Come on, man,” Tucker said.

“Get it?” Danny asked.

“Dude, come on, like… Maybe don’t.”

Danny let out a disappointed huff of air from his nostril, spirits dampened. The wayward glow of his eye settled back on the screen: Victory blazoned across his split of the screen. You Died pulsed on Tucker’s. Danny mashed the rematch option. “Maybe get good then,” Danny said, “and then you get to make the bad puns.”

“Sorry man look I’m just—tired okay?”

“Yeah I know—”

“You can be goofy about it tomorrow—”

“I know—”

“I promise it’ll be hilarious then just—”

“Okay okay, I get it. I’ll save the jokes—”

“How much longer?”

“Hmm?”

Danny looked, and Tucker was looking now too, and it was taking all concentrated will on Tucker’s face to keep looking.

“How much longer until you’re like… You know.”

4am chimed from the grandfather clock stowed in the Foley attic. The ghostly sheen of the television splashed bright and pallid across the right side of Tucker’s face, as he stared at Danny. And it splashed bright across the left side of Danny’s face, which was the only side of Danny’s face remaining.

“I don’t know like… maybe 3 more hours, I think?” A lisp whistled from the absent flesh of his jawbone.

Tucker watched his lips. And his eyes drifted to the shadow carved dark and empty in the socket that could no longer see him, a merciful concealment of where skin turned to raw exposed flesh turned to bone.

Tucker looked forward again, and he mashed his thumbs into his own controller. Danny’s character’s skull exploded into a cloud of meat-rain before Danny had the chance to notice the match resume.

“Fine. I can do 3 more hours,” Tucker said. “And start watching your head.”

…

It wasn’t until the camping trip 4 months ago that Danny knew anything was strange.

It was a yearly Fenton tradition, which Danny tolerated and Jazz dreaded, to haul the four of them and the RV out into some swampy campground 3 hours from home. They’d roll in roaring, RV stuffed to the brim with wilderness equipment and enough mechanical monstrosities to scare away all actual wildlife. All except for the fish, who had the disadvantage of not seeing the mechanical affront to God parked with questionable legality on the campgrounds.

This year, Danny had decided he was embracing it. Because for the first time, sitting grubby and wet in the mud for 3 days sounded much nicer than his typical weekend plans, which was mainly getting his ass kicked by ghosts. He’d flagged down Valerie a week ahead of time to tell her, between gunshots, that he’d be absent for those 3 days. Valerie had taken equal offence at the request that she pick up Phantom’s slack, and the implication that she wasn’t already doing that.

But it meant the ghosts were covered for the weekend, and it meant Danny was free to do nothing more exciting than sit in the mud, which was all well and good enough for Danny. Although his hopes of leaving the weekend with the same number of scars he started with were dashed by hour 5. It was his own fault too. Jack had insisted Danny gut the fish Jack caught via a blast of the Fenton Disintegrator to the lake (unconventional, not even a fishing device, a ghost weapon he and Maddie were fine-tuning. A ranger came and yelled at them about it.) And while distracted by his parents getting told off for being menaces, Danny miscalculated the slipperiness of both fish and knife.

Luckily the RV was, among many many things, a hospital on wheels, and Jazz had quit sulking long enough to take a morbid fascination in cleaning Danny’s palm out with antiseptic that burned like acid and bandaging up his palm. For dinner that night, Danny ate his open-flame grilled fish with a little more prejudice than usual.

By Saturday, his hand hadn’t healed. Nor by Sunday. And on Sunday evening while Maddie and Jack busied themselves with packing up the tent they’d both invented and yet struggled to collapse back into its box, Danny flagged Jazz with quiet urgency.

“I think there’s something wrong with my hand.”

“Wrong how?”

“Infected, maybe.”

Jazz knit her brow in concern. “It looked fine this morning,” she muttered as she pulled Danny down onto the stump beside her and flipped open the First Aid kit latch. She unraveled Danny’s bandage layer by layer, and the concerned knit to her brow loosened to confusion.

“It looks fine. It’s barely even red.”

Danny snatched his hand back. “Yeah, and it’s barely healed at all.”

“I mean, it’s healed a little bit.”

“Yeah but. Barely.”

“It looks pretty normal.”

“Jazz my day-job is getting whacked with ghost machetes,” Danny said, tone growing a little tense at Jazz’s lack of concern. “I know how quickly cuts are supposed to heal.”

“And how quickly is that?”

“I mean. It depends. But like a day.”

“A day?”

“Or maybe 25 hours, I guess.”

“Danny, you cut yourself pretty deep.”

“26 hours max, literally.”

Jazz was staring. Danny felt awkwardly judged.

“Hey um, as a question Danny, do you remember the last injury you got before your ghost powers?”

Danny hesitated. He racked his brain and some part of him felt a little embarrassed how hard he had to search, as if it were shameful to have been so delicately uninjured before this whole thing.

“…Dash, maybe. But Dash it good at the kind of quick jabby punches that hit your nerve but don’t bruise.”

“Anything else?”

Danny fell quiet. Then brightened. “I fell off my bike last year. Racing Tucker. Scraped up my shin and knee.”

“And how long did that take to heal?”

The delight faded a bit. Danny thinned his lips thinking. “…Maybe a while.”

“Probably a few weeks.”

“Jeez, really? No.” Danny said. And he so deeply wanted to be offended, because he’d become the biggest expert in the family on getting his skin used as a ghost shrapnel canvas, which should make him the authority on injury healing. And Jazz was doubting all of that. “No. That’d heal in like. A day.”

“Maybe with ghost powers,” Jazz answered. “Maybe in ghost form. Which, currently and for the last 3 days, you have not been in.”

Danny fell quiet. He considered this information that deeply annoyed him until, with grudgingness edging to acceptance, he looked at his hand, and then his sister, and then his hand.

“….Oh.”

That night, home and showered and with the clock creeping toward 1am, Danny sat on his bed. He pooled his hands in his lap, lit by the moonlight pouring through his bedroom window. He sat an inch above his bed, in fact, hair shimmery white and his right glove removed. In the wash of moonlight he watched his palm. And there was something haunting, almost, in the way he could see the edges of the cut stitch themselves back together bit by tiniest bit. He lost himself in a grainy infomercial on his television, and when it ended, his cut was gone.

…

Phantom returned to the ghost fighting scene with an unwarranted new confidence. In truth nothing had changed. But Danny operated now with the knowledge that he was a particular kind of resilient that he’d not actually realized before. And while he did not like getting fileted by Skulker’s ghost gut-hook knife, or seared by Ember’s flame guitar, or bonked in the head by Fenton Bolas (Dad why), there was a certain delight in the “This will all not be a problem by tomorrow”-ness of it all.

Even better, he now knew that just idling in ghost mode for an extra hour or two was all it took to be right as rain again. (“This is making your Gameboy addiction worse than Tucker’s,” Sam had commented. “Well how else am I supposed to pass the time?” Danny asked while mashing buttons with one less finger than usual. “You could read a book.”)

On the flipside, it did make Danny grouchier about mid-school-day attacks, which didn’t afford him the luxury of floating around to bake in ghost mode for an hour or two watching bad tv. And unless Mr. Lancer got real chill real fast with Danny Phantom taking Danny Fenton’s English tests, it meant that any school-time fight injury had to be dealt with conventional human-style, and super-healed after school.

And Danny carried this knowledge with more bitterness than usual one fall afternoon when a fight with Technus had already gouged into the first 15 minutes of his math test, and now Danny was going to have to suck it up for the last 45 minutes if he wanted to pass geometry this quarter. Which was bullshit because that last blast Technus got on him had really fucking hurt.

Danny landed, and in his math-induced funk, he missed the particular wide-eyed way Sam and Tucker stared at him. “Here,” Danny said, handing off the thermos to Tucker, and Danny let his human transformation slip through in rings around his sternum.

“Danny stop,” Sam said, and with an urgent breathlessness that froze Danny in place. “Do not turn back.”

Confusion seeped into Danny’s blood. He let the transformation rings fade away, and he felt the thermos heavy in his outstretched hand that Tucker would not take. Heavy and wet. Heavy, and very very wet.

He looked at his hand, and his white glove was unrecognizable beneath the saturation of red. The thermos dropped from his hand, and suddenly Danny wasn’t so sure which direction was up.

“Sit,” Sam maybe said, or said something like it. Her hands were on his shoulders. He was easing in a direction that was probably down. His butt hit cold pavement. And suddenly he raked in a shuddering breath which was wet as mud.

Sam was pulling away the top of his suit, which was the worst possible place for her to do that considering how much it hurt. She was pulling right where Technus had blasted him, and Danny had half a mind to tell her off until he saw what was underneath the fabric.

“That’s not good,” he bubbled out through a lot of blood in his mouth and throat.

Baseball-sized. Like someone had taken a very large hole-puncher right to his sternum. A very good hole-puncher because it had in fact punched him straight through and run off with the little cut-out it stole. Globby flesh spilled to fill in some of the empty space. But a solid chunk of sternum, and heart, and lung, and spine, were rudely elsewhere.

Danny was in a very slippery wet dream, and his fluttering eyes agreed.

“No,” Sam said with an unnecessarily aggressive pinch of his skin. “Absolutely do not fall asleep.”

“Ow,” Danny said, maybe about the pinch but also his missing organs.

This wasn’t good enough for Sam who was a little bit ghost-shaded herself while she grabbed both Danny’s ears tight and angled Danny’s eyes to hers. “If you turn human now that’s going to be very very bad. You’re fine, Danny. You’re just in shock, I think. Focus on me. Come on, count with me Danny. 1. 2.”

“Isn’t counting sheep supposed to put you to sleep?” Danny quipped, but all the blood gurgling maybe ruined his delivery a little.

…

His heart sewed itself back together in 20 minutes. His esophagus and trachea kindly followed at the 27-minute mark, the last of the tubage knitting itself together and forming the correct kind of air-seal against anything else in his chest cavity. That was a blessing, because passing the time was easier when he could talk without re-enacting the elevator from The Shining – a joke Danny had tried to deliver several times and which refused to land.

And while he still did not have his new spine vertebrae nor sternum by the 30-minute mark, Danny could see the way the last of the white fear had left Sam’s face and the way Tucker could now face him directly. And that told him that however he looked, he no longer looked like someone who was going to die.

By the 1-hour mark, Danny sat drenched in his own blood from a fatal wound that no longer existed. And he’d missed his math test.

…

Super healing was cool. Very cool. What other kind of power lets you just walk away from fatal injuries?

At the close of a ghost fight, thermos capped, swimming in the eerie silence of a street cleared of screams, Danny stood. And he shivered. He ran his hands up and down his stomach, his chest, his back his face, pressing any pain-point to discover if his fingers would sink in wet and deep. Was it safe to transform back? If he made a mistake, would he notice fast enough? Would he be able to turn back again in time?

Alone in the snow of the Amity golf course. The roof of the mall. The back archives of the library. Danny lingered. Many places were good for lingering, and so Danny would linger, wherever and whenever he could. It made that held-breath feeling of transforming back easier, to know no part of him was at risk of undoing him.

And sometimes his hand did come away sticky. And in the black of night Danny went home, mindful to step only on the kitchen tile from which blood could be wiped up cleanly. And he was tired from too many nights of this when he pulled cereal from the cupboard and splashed milk into a bowl and cleared away the nuts and bolts from the half-undressed Fenton Disintegrator (undergoing v2 upgrades) and flickered the noxious glow of the muted television to life while his liver stitched itself back together. The tremble would not quite leave his cereal spoon hand but he’d manage.

One night Walker had blasted off half of Danny’s skull. And he lay shaking hunched on the pavement willing himself to overcome the pangs of shock radiating through his body until he had enough composure to call Tucker on the phone and ask if he could come over, if they could play Man vs. Zombie maybe, and stay awake through the night while his brain matter remade itself.

One night he had to grab Valerie by the ankle before she flew off, and she probably only heeded him because the break in Phantom’s superhero bravado unnerved her so much. “Please just stay and talk to me. Something bad will happen if I fall asleep,” he said, while holding the parts that used to be his stomach. “Define ‘bad.’” “I’ll die.” “Sounds like a human.” She shouldn’t have taken pity on him. But she did. Maybe because she was a human who would die like Danny if left on the pavement with her stomach open. Valerie stayed until the sun rose.

And he was lucky, because as a human he should have died. And Danny didn’t. He just came close, more and more and more. Until the sight of a raised ghost weapon forced a very human flinch from him.

…

“…losing an edge, you’d say, Craig?” “Not exactly. As a psychiatrist who’s worked with many veterans and active-duty soldiers, it’s common to—”

“Morning,” Jack said, flipping up his welding mask just long enough to nod to Danny before re-busying himself in his soldering.

“Dad, do you think maybe you could do that in the lab?” Jazz asked over a bowl of cornflakes, with a tone one might use when asking a 10-year-old to move his basketball game outside.

“Hmm, why? The table won’t catch fire.”

“Which is what you said last time,” Jazz said, carefully plucking up a cooled bit of metal scrap from beside her cereal bowl.

“…ffered many fatal injuries on camera, who knows how many weren’t capt—”

The television drowned beneath the screech of Jack’s welding, let up to breathe for moments at a time before Jack resumed the drowning. Danny’s eyes followed. The refurbished Fenton Disintegrator had nearly reformed, bigger than its original body, with a gaping fish-mouth twice the radius of the thing which had blasted up the fish in the campground lake.

“I just think, Dad, that you and Mom have a whooooole laboratory basement to yourselves, and I have just this one dining table to eat cereal at, so—”

“But then you kids would miss out on what I’m making. See, Danny’s interested. Danny, watch this—”

Jack hoisted the monster up. He hitched it atop his shoulder, and set his eye behind its sight, and twisted at the hip to point its open maw directly at Danny.

Danny froze.

“Dad, Jesus, at least show some trigger-discipline if you’re—Danny?”

Danny could not move. He could not move or really see. The shockwave rippled through him, and he believed for the moment that surely he’d been shot until Jazz shook him. “Danny, are you okay?”

Danny’s heart was intact but still it squeezed like it had been ripped. His legs were whole but they were numb beneath him. And he was useless too. Over what? Over nothing. Over a gun pointed at him, the sort which had been pointed at him 4,000 times before.

“…Danny?” Jazz asked, more worried than before. Jack had put down the gun, and he was staring at Danny in the same way.

And it was stupid. So very stupid. Because Danny had super-healing, and a hit from something like that would heal. It could rip him apart, and he’d be completely fine.

So it was all actually incredibly incredibly stupid that he was somehow, without even meaning to, crying.

…

The fight had ended three hours ago. And three hours was longer than only the worst of his injuries took to heal. Tonight had not been bad at all, just a bit of ripping and tearing at his leg from a bear-trap Skulker had laid (despite Skulker insisting he did not know what a bear was). And that had healed up in 20 minutes flat.

Danny lingered anyway, sitting soaking cold in the snow on the golf course. He liked that it was high-up here. He liked that the lights fanned far and wide. He liked that the razed-flat golf turf allowed nothing to hide. He wiled away the hours he ought to be sleeping, because there was a security in consciousness, in his ghost form. If he slept, he could be killed. And if he sat resting in ghost form on the crest of the golf course hill, he could not.

But he could nod off. Catching his head at each dip. But his mind fizzled and faded, rubbing against the staticky edge of sleep, enough to perhaps not notice steps in the snowfall that tracked him to where he sat.

The whir of the charging gun kicked him to high alert.

All alert, all at once, so suddenly adrenaline soaked that Danny had no sense of orientation when he spun on spot and his eyes drank in the sight of the barrel-mouth breathing to life in his direction.

“Told you I fixed the calibration on this, Honey.”

“Well at least it’s not a fish.”

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he was paralyzed. He was dread. He was stone.

It screeched. And it roared. And with a connection of a car crash, it took greedily for itself a gibbous moon of Danny’s torso.

He collapsed. Eyes spinning. Ears ringing. Sensation like fire and like ice and like buzzing static and nothing, feeling, at all to connect to his legs.

Stop, Danny wanted to say. But he needed a mouth for that. So the second blast connected.

…

It had been an amount of time. Jack and Maddie Fenton may have stooped in the snow and collected samples to study. Danny could not know, because he’d need eyes to know. They may have crunched with their boots and mused about the resilience of ecto-flesh, more resilient than fish-flesh. Danny could not know, because he’d need ears to know. They may have picked him up piece-meal and carried him in their pockets. Danny could not know. Not without touch.

He may have been on the golf course. He may not have been. There was no ‘where’ Danny could know. He needed his proprioception for that.

There was was. There was something Danny hoped was be. This was, Danny hoped, awake. This was the only awake he could be without a brain. And if this was awake, how long could he last? And if this was awake, was it enough to heal again?

Super healing was cool. It saved you from death. But maybe not always.

Was time passing…? Was the snow cold. Was the wind blowing. Was the hilltop white under pooling lights. Was it. And did it. And was he and did he.

Was time passing?

Surely, it had been just an eternity, by now. An eternity at least.

Or had it been only one second.

Or Danny wasn’t here.

He was, though. He had to exist to feel what he felt in the moment. He had to exist even if he was deprived of the mouth needed to scream the agony that was, in its entirety, him.

…

Sun glazed the snow on the east bank of the golf course down to a slushy sheen by 10am the next morning. Mitted, in snow boots, three trespassers combed the 18 holes of Amity Park Golf Course.

“Are you sure it’s this one?” Sam asked, voice hoarse with a question that had been repeated once an hour for the last three hours between heaving breaths of clearing snow.

“It has to be this one. They said golf course there’s only one golf course,” Jazz answered, and her hands trembled against the heel of the shovel she dug into her nearest snowbank.

“Do you see any foot prints?”

“They’re melted.”

“Well check the melted sides then!”

“We checked the melted sides.”

“Maybe we missed—”

“Guys shut up,” Tucker said, and he said it low, and he said it with lips the color of ash. He stood rooted. And his eyes shifted to the crown of the hill 30 feet to their right.

Jazz and Sam shut up. Because they heard it too.

Jazz abandoned her shovel in the snow. She ran. But Sam was faster.

And it was a noise. Long and piercing and deflating. Quiet. Then starting fresh from the top. Long and singular, like the note of a bagpipe. Sam rounded the crest of the hill. And she found the noise first.

And this close, she realized what it was. The noise was relief. Because the thing lying in the melted snow was finally enough of a mouth, and enough of a throat, and enough of a lung, to scream.

[lovelivision]

CLOTHED?!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: 【𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞】 fushiguro toji/reader, geto suguru/reader, gojo satoru/reader, kamo choso/reader

𝐖𝐂: 4.8k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: they all have their own reasons for not undressing completely, just how crazy will they drive you in their pursuit to have you cumming in your clothes?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, swearing, dirty talk, teasing, dry humping, thigh riding, cunnilingus, afab!reader, no pronouns or y/n used, pet names used: doll, baby, sweetheart, i think that's all !! <3

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 ★

This all started because he believed something and you didn’t, now you’re sat on him, fully clothed, struggling to comprehend just how your few words worked him up so much to the point that it feels like he’s torturing you over them. A punishment, that you feel, you do not deserve.

All you had said was that you don’t think it’s possible for you to finish fully clothed and he took that as a personal challenge and a slight against his ability to please you, which, you never meant it as.

What you meant doesn’t change the facts of your situation though, he’s got you teary eyed and shaking on his lap. Clothed erection rutting up against your core, hands digging into your hips to drag you back and forth over him. So determined in how he’s devotedly humping up into you.

So badly you want for him to forget about the thing you said, you just want him to fuck you but he’s not going to, and you can tell that just by the look on his face alone. “Toji, please just – hah – forget what I said,” your voice shakes slightly.

Almost baring his teeth when he snaps back, “Trying to prove you wrong, doll.”

“But it would feel so much better if you – hnn – would just–”

He grunts at you, hips jerking up, “I’ll make you feel so much better once you cum in your pants.”

“I don’t think I–”

Predicting what you were going to say, “–You can, I’ll make sure of it,” his hands gripping you so firm you think he might leave bruises behind.

Toji’s so hard, straining against his pants, desperate to fuck you, to feel some kind of release but you said something that he disagrees with, and now he’s going to show you that you can cum for him no matter how clothed you are.

Panties so slick and sticky, stuck to your cunt, leaking into your pants, you’re going insane. Right on the edge of cumming but not feeling like it’s enough, wanting for him to just stuff you full at this point. Foggy brain not understanding why he’s so bent out of shape over this, it would feel so much better if he would just fuck you.

The friction against your core not enough, his cock splits your folds, grinding you down into him. The pleasure better, hands grabbing at his shoulders, fisting his shirt, gasping at how the head of his clothed cock hits your clit.

“Toji,” you whine at him.

“Right there, huh?” He huffs, doubling his efforts.

Dripping into your panties and shorts embarrassingly, soaking them, so incredibly damp. Something that he doesn’t miss, not if his smirk and visibly inflating ego are anything to go by.

Your eyes are large as you plead with him, “Please, just fuck me.”

His smile is dark, evil, taunting, “I will…after you’ve cum for me.”

Your hips stutter on him, grinding down harder, your own determination to cum like this growing, if it means finally getting fucked full then you will finish for him, fully clothed.

“Suddenly feeling motivated, doll?” His chuckle feels demeaning.

“Shuddup,” you mean for it to have more bite when you say it, but you sound pathetic and needy.

He bites his lower lip at the way you circle your hips, “Pretty cute how desperate you’ve gotten.”

“Be nicer,” trying to chastise him while humping his clothed cock isn’t all that effective.

Laughing heartily at your poor excuse of admonishment, “You should be nicer to me, you know I could always be meaner.” As if to illustrate his point, he lets go of your hips, no longer assisting you.

A sad noise leaves you at the loss of his hands, struggling to get the same kind of pleasure from this without his help. Your fingers digging into his shirt, brows scrunching as you try to make up for the loss of him. Wet cunt grinding down, not quite getting the same kind of pleasure, back to desperately wanting for him to fuck you open.

“I’m sorry,” you rush out, hoping he’ll show mercy.

“What was that, doll?” He asks, feigning like he couldn’t hear you perfectly well.

Shooting him a teary-eyed glare, you repeat, “I’m sorry, just please– help.”

His smile is self-satisfied at your pleading, cooing at you, “You sure you want the help of this mean man?”

“Mhm,” nodding your head vehemently at him, wanting nothing more than that.

Huffing a breath of amusement at your eagerness, “Should’ve said I wasn’t mean there.”

“Toji!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he dismisses, pulling you down with a strong hand on the back of your neck. Lips colliding with his, sloppy and messy, all teeth and tongues.

Once he has his lips on yours, he moves his hand back to your hips, stroking them lower to your thighs just to pull them apart further on top of him. His clothed cock splitting your folds more like this, your pussy twitching and drooling into your panties.

He groans against your mouth, “I bet you’re so fuckin wet,” he pants against you, growing just as frustrated as you, if not more, “Gotta cum soon, doll. Can’t handle much more of this.”

He could always just stop this and fuck you but he’s stubborn and you know better than to try and convince him of this, especially now, when you’re getting so close to finishing.

“Promise to fuck me after?” Feeling worried he might go back on his word and torture you some more.

“Hah– I’m not depriving myself of your creamy little cunt, doll. Stuffing you full right after you’ve cum is one of my favourite pastimes,” he licks at your lower lip before nipping it.

Your arms wrap around him completely, face nuzzling into his neck, focusing on how you’re moving against him. Starting to stutter against your will, his large hands helping you along, supplying you with the friction he had robbed you of only a few moments ago.

His huffed breaths tickling your ear, having turned his head towards you, to continue talking to you, keep spouting filth at you. Too aware of how much his voice gets you off, “C’mon, doll, know you’re so close, cum in your panties for me, hmm?”

Only able to whimper against him in response, no words forming as you continue to rut into him. Pussy hole clenching pathetically around nothing, begging to be filled, getting closer to your end. It’s almost embarrassing that he’s able to have you falling apart despite the fact you’re both fully clothed.

“Be good and cum for me, wanna fuck you into next week,” he groans out when you press down into him with more pressure, his words getting to you more than you’d ever admit.

“Toji –hnn– I’m soo–”

His voice is lilted, excited, “Yeahh that’s it, doing so good for me– fuck.”

You shake on top of him, clit hitting his cock just right, whimpered whines leaving you as you huff against the skin of his neck. Tears welling in your eyes, nails digging into him slightly. The groan he lets out swiftly followed by your name has you cumming for him, in your clothes, fully dressed.

He talks you through it, hands stroking at your back, amused by how you twitch from your aftershocks. After a beat of silence, and your breathing evens out, he speaks lowly into your ear, “Told ya so.”

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 ★

Your panties are soaked through, almost completely wet as you slide back and forth on Geto’s jean clad thigh. He’s not even touching you, refusing to help, only sitting back and enjoying the view of you humping down into him like a bitch in heat.

Enjoying the frustrated pout settling on your features, playing dumb when he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Not enough,” you huff back.

“Sure it is,” he hums, hand moving only to tickle up the length of your inner thigh, “Look at the mess you’re leaving behind, ruining my pants.”

Your skin flares at his comment, all too aware of the dark and damp spot you’re leaking into his jeans. Not appreciating his comment, only serving to embarrass you, feeling self-conscious with how you’re rubbing your pussy into his thigh.

He must notice, smile kind when he says, “Don’t be embarrassed, it’s cute how worked up you are just for my thigh, think you could cum like this?”

Shaking your head at him, “No –hng–” moaning when he bounces his leg up, jostling you on his thigh suddenly.

“I think you can,” his lips curling into a deceivingly innocent grin, “Go on, keep going,” nodding downwards at his leg, encouraging you to continue your movements.

Sticky folds splitting obscenely to rut down into him, panties moulding to your pussy lips, leaving nothing to the imagination. Slick beading through the material of your underwear, repeated back and forth of your hips spreading it all over him.

A completely lewd display, one that Geto is appreciating deeply, his cock painfully erect at how your eyes are all bleary and unfocused. Simultaneously embarrassed about how you’re humping his leg and so desperate to cum that you’re not stopping your movements.

Small whines and whimpers leaving you, despite the fact that you’re biting your lower lip in an attempt to stop them. Geto’s fingers twitch with the need to touch you, feeling an itch to help you, get you off faster but stopping himself, enjoying the struggle you’re facing a bit too much.

“Sugu, I just want you,” sounding pathetic even to yourself, begging him for help? For his cock? Either? Both?

Tutting at you with faux sympathy, “I’m right here, baby,” smirking at how your brows upturn and you huff at him.

“I want – hah – want you to touch me, please,” eyes big and pitifully wet.

“Always so pretty when you beg,” his hand reaches for your face and wipes away the tears you hadn’t realised you’d shed.

Spreading your legs slightly, continuing to grind down onto his thigh, wishing he would at least take off his pants so you can feel every ridge and dip of his muscles. Slippery in how you rock back and forth, clit catching with your grinding, gasped moans leaving you with it.

He observes, “Getting desperate?”

“Please just touch me, I don’t care where, just touch me please, Sugu,” practically sobbing at him, feeling so completely deprived of him by now.

His outside demeanour stays unchanged, forever amused by how desperate you are for him to touch you but his cock twitches in his pants and is leaking profusely. So fucking hard and ready to fuck you, loving how you plead and beg for him.

Wanting nothing more than to fuck inside you, feel the way your tight cunt sucks him in, drooling all over him but he’s gonna have you finishing like this first. Thinking to himself that you’ll probably make a great face when you cum in your panties for him.

He obliges you slightly though, hands moving to your hips, forcing you down on his thigh harder. Giving you a more consistent pace to get off to, relief flooding you at how much better it feels to have him set the rhythm, you could almost cry at how good it feels.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” it’s repeated over and over, so grateful for his help.

“So polite when you get what you want,” he muses, eyes fixated on the way you’re seemingly growing slicker. God, by the time he’s inside you, you’re going to be beyond dripping, the realisation thrilling him.

Panties borderline see through with how you’re coating them, his large hands gripping your thighs harshly, spreading them open even more. He wants to see how you rub your pretty little cunt down into him, needs to see.

Aching in his pants for you, close to giving up and bullying his thick cock inside you, voice strained when he asks, “Getting close?”

“Mhm,” you mumble back, hole fluttering on nothing at the sound of his wrecked voice.

His leg starts bouncing again, adding more stimulation for you to get off to. Almost screaming at the abrupt change, hands digging into his shoulders, mouth gaping open as moans and whines push their way out of you.

Tears streaming down your face again as you twitch down into him, “Sugu– it feels – ah –” Not able to properly verbalise just how good he’s making you feel.

“If it feels so good,” his hands forcing you down and circling your hips, feeling the way he almost starts salivating at the wet sounds your slutty pussy makes for him, “Cum for me,” almost spitting out the rest of his sentence.

His eyes glazing over, mirroring your own, so fucking horny he’s going to go insane. Poor cock feeling neglected, getting consumed in his own thoughts, thoughts about your cunt and how divinely you take him.

“I– I’m gonna–” panting with the effort it takes to talk when your brain is so foggy.

Extremities thrumming with the build up of your orgasm, head feeling heavy as you struggle to hold it up straight. Letting it loll to the front, chin on your chest as you cum all over Geto’s leg. Gushing inside your panties and soaking his thigh, cum seeping into the material, matching the small wet spot on his pants by the tip of his dick.

“Ffffuck– that’s it, so fucking perfect for me,” praise falling from his lips easily as he watches your body twitch and jerk on top of him.

Once you’ve come down some, he has you standing between his spread legs, your hands resting on his shoulders still to keep yourself on your feet. His hands tug your panties down, watching the way your cum connects to your cunt with sticky strings, low growl stuck in his throat at how creamy your pussy is.

“That’s what I like to see,” he hums, smile evil as he continues to pull them down and off you.

“Sugu.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ll fuck me now, right?” You ask, hoping desperately that he will, not realising that it might just kill him if he doesn’t stuff you full.

“Ah, on one condition,” smile growing as he says, “Open your mouth.” His hand holding your panties shoving them into your mouth, “Since you wanna get stuffed full so bad,” he hums.

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 ★

What’s gotten Gojo so worked up, you couldn’t say, all you know is that it’s hard to think. Feeling breathless at the way he’s lapping at your clothed cunt, hands pulling at the material on your hips to have them melding to you.

Your legs thrown haphazardly over his shoulders, his faze nuzzling into your pussy, licking and sucking at the material of your panties. His saliva soaking them just as much as your slick is, lolling his tongue out and letting it rest against your cunt. His dazed eyes and small sounds of pleasure having you twitch down onto him, pussy gliding along his tongue.

Using him to get yourself off, he’s letting you use him to get yourself off, head nodding slightly with your movements, tongue sliding through your folds. His eyes sparkling as he watches you grow desperate for him, thumbs parting your pussy lips. Tongue fucking deeper, almost dipping into your hole, stopped by the resistance of your panties.

Your voice calls out for him, “‘Toru, please just take them off–”

“No.” His mouth parting from you only to spit out that singular answer, not interested in taking off your underwear in the slightest. Apparently too pleased with himself and this situation.

Huffing out at him, frustrated by his answer, “Please, need more.”

“I need you to let me lick at your pussy like this, I like the way you’re coating them,” he hums, licking at the length of your pussy, hands now holding you still by your thighs, taking back the small amount of control he allowed you, “Want you to cream them.”

“Why?” Eyes wet when you ask him why he’s suddenly so desperate to have you cumming in your panties for him.

“Wanna see what will happen,” he shrugs easily.

Feeling yourself bristle at his answer, basically torturing you just because he wants to see what will happen.

“That – and I’m enjoying this,” he smiles, tongue hanging from his mouth, letting his saliva drip down onto your covered pussy, you’ve got him salivating for you and he’s not even put his tongue on you properly, “Aren’t you?”

His eyes on you are intent and bordering on desperate, so hazy, consumed by lust as he stares at you, letting his tongue continue to drool down onto your panties. Panties that are completely soaked by now, you can’t even tell who more from at this point, only really aware of how wet they are, to the point they feel like a second skin.

He chuckles when you don’t answer, too dazed in how you watch him, his tongue licking his lower lip, mouth down turning into a mocking pout, “You not enjoying yourself, sweetheart?”

“No,” your frown must feel meaner than it really is because Gojo’s eyes only sparkle with delight.

Smirking before lowering his head, “I guess I’ll just have to fix that then.”

Mouth back on you in full force, making out with your clothed cunt with so much vigour he’s making wet sloppy sounds, the noises make you grow hot, feeling embarrassed at just how messy it all sounds. It’s even messier than it sounds, your pussy leaking into his mouth and down your inner thighs.

Shamelessly, he presses his face right into your cunt, inhaling deeply, the action has your skin flaring. Hands instinctually moving to his head, attempting to push him away but he’s immovable, steadfast in how he’s sniffing the panties you’re still wearing.

“Gojo!”

“Don’t be embarrassed, love everything about your pussy,” he’s nuzzling into your cunt more, opening his mouth to press his tongue against your hole, letting your slick bead through the fabric onto it.

Groaning when he swallows, “Smell so good, taste so good,” his eyes lazily look up to you, “Feel so good, so soft, sweetheart… you know that?”

Teary eyed when you shake your head no at him, feeling so embarrassingly overwhelmed. It’s like he’s drunk but nothing has happened for him to lose it to this point, “Are you okay?” Your hand runs softly through his hair.

“I’m perfect,” he assures, smile intoxicated as he goes back to mumbling about your cunt, “So soft, so wet, you gonna let me suck at your pussy over your panties?”

“Are you sure you’re–”

“–If you’re so worried about me, jus let me have my way with you,” his words slurring slightly.

He realises that he must seem different from usual but really, he’s just having trouble holding back right now. You were wearing such a cute pair of panties, wandering around his apartment in them and his shirt. Who can blame him for how he’s acting? When you looked like that? He’s just a little drunk on your pussy and he doesn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed about it, not when you’re this wet for him.

Your hand tugs at his hair, pulling his gaze back to yours, it had dipped to stare greedily at your cunt, “Then take off–”

He singsongs at you, “Nope.” Blowing cool air against your core to tease you, it causes you to involuntarily twitch for him, “So needy, lemme play with you like this a little more, hmm?”

“Wouldn’t it be better if–”

“Nooo,” he drags it out, as if it were obvious, “After, I promise after you cum in your panties, I will tongue fuck you so good you’ll see stars but for now, be good and let me do this for you.” He presses wet kisses into your thighs, voice pleading as he repeats over and over, “Please, please, please please please.”

“Just, make me cum, please,” you’re starting to feel neglected.

“Of course I will, what do you take me for?” His brows scrunch at you, considering arguing with you about when he’s not had you finishing for him but too keen to put his mouth back on you to talk anymore.

The only time he’s content to be silent is when his tongue is busy lapping at you like a starved man and even then, he’s far from silent, tongue making obscene noises as he licks at you, moans and whines leaving him against his will. Enjoying himself too much to register or even really care that he sounds so pathetically wrecked just from this much.

Hips grinding down into the bed, too needy to hold himself back, cock so hard and ignored. Leaking profusely into his pants, needing the small relief badly, happy he’s too consumed in your cunt to think about his dick too much, otherwise he’d be stuffing you full before he gets what he wants.

Grip lessening on you, hanging his tongue to let you grind into it again, loving the way you get so eager to cum, chasing your own high and using him to get there. Smiling lazily at how your hips rise and fall, rubbing your pussy down onto him, head tipped back, struggling to keep your whines at bay.

Excitement running through his body down to his stiff cock when you twitch and moan for him in a way that tells him you’re getting so close to cumming. His hands hold your thighs tightly as he assists your movements, encouraging you to be rougher, to use him more.

“‘Toru – hah – I’m gonna – hnn –”

“Mhm,” he hums his acknowledgement, all too ready for you to cum.

Eyes shutting tight against the force of your orgasm, toes curling, thighs attempting to close around his head, but Gojo holds you so embarrassingly open. When your movements twitch and stutter, losing their pace, he pins you down into the bed and keeps licking at you. Depraved in how he’s lapping at you, losing his fucking mind at how you’ve creamed your panties for him.

Tingling felt throughout all your limbs, feeling overstimulated as he doesn’t stop his movements, jerking away from him and pushing at his head, whining, “It’s too much, ‘Toru.”

“Sorry, ‘m sorry,” his hand rips your panties from you, tongue fucking into your pussy hole suddenly, drinking down your cum, desperate for more. It doesn’t seem like he’ll be done anytime soon.

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 ★

Choso has you on your back for him, legs spread wide, his clothed dick grinding down into your panty clad core. What had started as an innocent kiss, turned into a heated make out session and then into shedding of pants while he humped into your cunt.

So desperate in his movements, cock rubbing through your folds, spreading your pussy lips obscenely. Slick pooling into your panties, he’s much the same, his cock head weeping into his underwear, dark spot at the tip.

His mouth is still firmly planted against yours, kissing you so dizzyingly, sucking your tongue into his mouth. Only ever parting from you long enough to huff out and catch his breath, pressing out compliments through clenched teeth.

“Feels so good, so pretty,” his words murmured, mouth brushing against yours, lips back on yours before you can even think to reply.

He’s holding back for you, you had wanted to take the relationship slower than your previous ones, which included waiting for sex but as the tip of his cock presses at your clothed hole, your resolve cracks and you want to tell him it’s okay.

You don’t get a chance to say anything though, his mouth needily kissing you into submission, almost tearing up at how it feels to have his lips on yours. Hands gripping at his shirt, his own on your thigh, on your hips, your stomach, boobs, anywhere he can reach, he’s touching and groping.

So overwhelming in how he’s touching you, your cunt so slick and ready to take him, legs tightening around his waist and pulling him down into you more. Grinding up into him, so fucking horny and ready to beg for more, Choso whines into your mouth at how you rut up into him.

Breaking the kiss to moan into the delicate skin of your neck, huffing as his hips fuck frantically down into you, meeting your need tenfold. Borderline whimpering at how damp you feel through all the layers.

He’s dizzied, from the thought of how your tight, wet heat will envelop his cock, sucking him in greedily. Losing his sanity as he humps at you, feeling juvenile but wanting nothing more than to respect your wishes and also get you off, he can do both, he can make you cum for him like this without fucking you full.

“Choso – hnn –”

Ah, your wrecked voice has him twitching pathetically against you, hips coming down more forcefully into yours. His breaths panting against your skin, struggling to focus on anything but how good this feels, how much better it could feel.

“– Mmph – Choso,” you call for him again, needing his attention.

His movements don’t stop, not even for a moment, too fucking lost in the pleasure to even think of stopping, “Hmm, you okay?” His hand gently holds your face, his own moving back to look you in the eyes, to check on you.

Nodding your head at him, “I’m fine, want more.”

“No,” he shakes his head at you.

“But–”

“Only saying that now – hah –” his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head at the thought of actually fucking you, “Only saying that because you’re horny – hnn –”

“Nooo – mmph – ‘m saying it because I mean it.”

“Ask me again after you’ve cum,” he noses at the side of your face.

His voice and steadfastness regarding this topic has your pussy clenching pathetically around nothing, eager to be stuffed full of him. Hoping to change his mind, “Cho, please,” eyes big and wet when you plead with him.

“No,” he huffs out, finding it harder and harder to resist you.

“Wanna be stuffed full, Cho – hnn – wanna feel you inside me, so bad,” babbling to him in your want.

Moaning at your words, “I want that too.”

“Then–”

“Nope,” his mouth back on yours to shut you up for a moment, tongue sliding into the kiss. He can’t have you keep begging him like that, he’ll give you what you want but you made the decision to wait for sex before you were so fucking desperate for him to fuck you, so you’ll have to wait.

You’re clawing at him frantically, hips messy in their movements, only seeking pleasure, offering no rhyme or reason to how you achieve it. Drooling into your panties for him, to have him shoving you down his fat cock, taking it all, the idea of it all has you drunk. You’d be embarrassed by how needy you are for his dick if you weren’t so aroused, so preoccupied with how good he’s making you feel.

When he parts the kiss, your mouths are connected by a string of saliva, kiss so messy and fuelled purely by lust. His eyes so dazed as they look down at you, almost unseeing, brows scrunched as his cock jerks against your cunt.

You go to speak, to beg him again, but his hand reaches up to cover your mouth, clamping down, “Can’t keep begging me, I’ll give in, I’ll give you anything you want – fuck – feels so fucking good and I’m not even – hah – not even inside you, can’t even feel how soft you are, how tight, wet – fuck.”

He bites his lip to stop his mouth, dick releasing thick globs of precum at the way you’re almost crying for him, eyes pathetic as you look up at him from underneath his large hand.

“Look so pretty right now,” he compliments, eyes adoring as he does.

You moan back at him, pleading with him through your eyes, his hips stutter and he groans out. His hand leaves you, only so he can use both of them to tug your panties up, spreading your folds open in a lewd display, his cock rubbing against you insistently. Shocked whimpers leaving you at the sudden change in friction, feeling it so much more.

“Cho!”

“I know – fuck – I know,” his head looks down to how your pussy lips bulge around your panties, losing his fucking mind at the sight of it. If he just gave into your begging, your lips could be bulging around his dick.

Shiver running down his spine, eyes flicking back to yours, “You need to cum.”

“What–”

“Right now.”

It feels like he doubles his efforts, grinding down into you with a new kind of need. Your eyes glazing over, fucked out over his clothed cock, body shaking as your high approaches so much faster. The work up having gotten to you, so fucking close to cumming from this.

His mouth back on you, kissing you breathless, hips moving against you almost like he’s fucking you. Hands everywhere, groping, pulling, his whimpers filling your ears, you wonder how he’d sound while actually fucking you.

Cumming suddenly for him, clawing at his back, legs kicking where they’re wrapped around him, cunt pulsing around nothing. Tears slipping from your waterline, mind hazy and foggy, orgasm wracking through you so deliciously.

Choso’s hips stutter against you, nipping at your lower lip before pulling away, whines leaving him as he continues to overstimulate the both of you, refusing to stop until you whimper and push at him.

Looking down to where his pelvis rests against yours, you can see the dark patch at the front of his boxers. His cum leaking into his underwear, the sight has your tummy doing flips and Choso’s skin tinting a deeper pink.

“Can you fuck me now?” You ask simply, still desperate for him.

𝐀/𝐍: i got a bit carried away with this... i think if i hadn't stopped myself gojo's would have been obscenely long 😳 thank you for reading !! ‧₊˚✩彡

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of unheavenlyvision

[grabby-smitten]

Mean kitty

Subjects: Cat Hybird!Rafayel x F!Reader

Word count: 451

Content: Hybrid AU, PiV, blurb, messy, no plot, pure smut, male heat/rut, desperate/mean Rafayel, painful sex, no prep, owner reader, biting, slight mention of penis with spikes and breeding, use of word kitty/pussy/tail. Lmk if I missed anything.

The ceiling, your half-lidded eyes could only watch the ceiling. Laying on your back, neck exposed to your kitty— Rafayel kept a tight hold with his teeth on the tender skin of your neck while he pounded into you. Erratic moves created friction on your bed, making a mess of your sheets as fluffy ears caressed your jaw and heavy purrs vibrated over you.

You were in and out of it, no longer being able to keep up with your kitty’s stamina. His tail lightly thumping in frustration. Heats hit Rafayel hard, and he denied assistance from anyone else.

“Only you,” he whined once upon a time. Throwing tantrum after tantrum, pawing at you, and even scratching the furniture until you relented.

He hurled you at the bed without saying anything more than a growl of frustration and you knew what that meant. He nestled his hips in between your thighs and began humping, he had no previous experience with humans and you never thought of teaching him or correcting him before. Too tired to remember insignificant details. So as he entered you— it burned. You winced in pain, the raw heat of his swollen cock splitting you open. The desperate kitty didn’t even know you weren’t prepared as your hybrid female counterparts who produced more fluids for these types of occasions.

Rafayel loudly mewled once he felt how strained he felt inside you. Yes, your warmth enveloped him but there was not much space to move, and as much as he wanted to wait and figure out what to do. His instinct kicked in and kept pushing, thrusting until his cock made way for himself.

“Better… better…” he kept groaning as your inner muscles finally adjusted. Your creamy insides felt like heaven as he kept plummeting in you.

Your little squeaks and puffs of hair bounced off his sensitive ears and made them wiggle in annoyance, but he didn’t care. Too busy trying to breed his human to care.

Unconsciously, his tail wrapped around your leg in a possessive manner, even his arms tightened around you, teeth sunk deeper into your skin. Rafayel was pressing you against the mattress, aggressively plunging into you as his cock kept growing and stretching your opening in the process.

You howled in a mix of pain and ecstasy, legs trashing as ropes of heated white heaviness were pushed inside you.

“Stay put,” Rafayel mumbled, teeth still nailed on your neck.

Both of you whined as the little thorns on his cock locked the two of you in place. That meant not moving for a while… or until Rafayel felt the urge again. It was his heat after all, and you knew how he gets.

[stsgluver]

synopsis. your husband still ignores the side effects of his cursed technique just so he can get a glimpse of you.

wc. 1.2k

gojo satoru was born with six eyes — a special cursed technique that allowed for an extremely precise manipulation of cursed energy, down to an atomic level. it also blessed him with a beautiful pair of ocean blue eyes that were practically glowing. you’d never seen eyes so pretty.

the drawback to this gift? the skull-splitting migraines that came with the excessive information constantly being processed by his darting eyes.

as a child, the pain was manageable. gojo didn’t have much of a hold on the technique so his weaker state meant that the migraines were subdued as less information was being absorbed. however, as he grew older and more powerful, he would find himself bed ridden for at least twenty four hours if he did not take some sort of measure to protect his eyes.

his go to method was the sunglasses, almost 100% tinted — no other person would be able to clearly see out of them, if they could see anything at all. his sight, on the other hand, so impressive that he could distinguish people and the objects around them through the levels of cursed energy radiated.

still, accidents happened. whether it be him breaking his glasses, or forgetting them as young children do, he quickly learned the drawbacks to his technique. no normal medicine could relieve the pain and no sorcerer was strong enough to either.

gojo satoru met you at fifteen years old on his first day at tokyo jujutsu high. you wore a uniform similar to shoko's but your skirt was closer to the floor than it was to your thigh. your hair was longer than most female sorcerers and tied into a plait that hung against your back. in all honesty, you appeared quite plain to him. nothing particularly stood out. not even your cursed energy was particularly strong.

but you were gorgeous. completely and utterly gorgeous. his glasses slipped slightly down his nose as he analysed you from afar and it wasn't till a slap on the shoulder from geto that he snapped out of it.

within six months of knowing one another, the two of you were dating. you picked up on his habit to forgo his glasses around you pretty quickly and you definitely didn't miss the increasing amount of discomfort that would cause him.

"why do you do that?" you asked him one time.

the two of you were on a date in the park. a picnic blanket had been laid out and satoru had bought basically every single pastry and sweet at the bakery next to the park. you'd barely managed to make it through half till the both of you had given up and opted for cloud watching, giggling as he joked that one cloud in particularly looked very similar to nanami's 'emo' haircut.

satoru turned to his side to look at you questioningly, his head resting on his hand, "do what?"

"take off your glasses," you gestured to the folded pair of black glasses by his head. "i don't have to be a doctor to realise that you're in a lot of pain right now." the longer you lay there, the less satoru was actually looking up at the sky, instead just listening to you as you pointed out shapes and animals.

you knew the toll six eyes could take on his body.

he kept his eyes screwed shut when he wasn't looking at you to ease the the pain from the intense light that was too overpowering for his splitting headache. he winced when a kid screamed too loudly or ran too close and his fingers would push against the sides of his head frustratedly. as if he thought hard enough, the pain would just go away.

his lips tilted up into a lopsided grin, "but i see you."

you twisted so that your body was parallel to his. there was a faint blush on your cheeks now but you didn't look away from his eyes. how could you? "you always see me."

"not with those stupid glasses," satoru frowned, and you think it was the most serious you had seen him since you met. "seeing you and seeing your energy are two very different things."

"you're hurting yourself," you pointed out, placing one of your hands onto his cheek to gently stroke your thumb against his skin. his shoulders relaxed slightly and he leant into your touch like it was magic. like you were some drug that numbed the pain, replacing it with a special serotonin only you could give him.

"worth it." satoru kissed your palm.

that was his only response. worth it. and he stuck to it even a decade later.

"old habits die hard, i guess," satoru tried to laugh at his poorly made joke, but only a few shakey breaths came out. you'd been home thirty minutes and he'd already been sick twice. he'd curled himself up in your shared bed not long after the second time and that was where he was when you began scolding him for his carelessness.

"you are twenty eight," you rant exasperatedly, juxtaposing your voice that is no louder than a gentle whisper, "you have three first years to be looking after right now, but no, someone wanted to go out for dinner and someone didn't want to wear their glasses, and someone-"

satoru's much larger hand squeezed yours, "don't be cruel. i do this for you, my love." his blindfold was now on (you had made him put it on as soon as you had gotten home) but you know him well enough to know he was staring up at you with those lovesick eyes that made you weak at the knees.

"i just worry," your tone eased. you had no issue looking after your husband, you never had. it wasn't his fault that he got the migraines per se. yes, he could definitely be doing more to mitigate the severity, but he was stubborn. that had never changed. "i've seen you fight special grades. i hate seeing a stupid headache hurt you so much."

"lay with me."

"you're sweaty and sick." you scrunched up your nose, eyes flicking to the en suite you'd just cleaned and back to the cold flannel on his forehead as his body temperature fluctuated.

he shook his head, placing his index finger over his lips. "shhh, i'm passed that stage. pretty please? i need you."

gojo satoru was irresponsible at the best of times. he'd been raised to believe he was invincible and had been spoiled to always get what he had wanted. there was no telling him what to do when he'd already decided an hour ago exactly what he wanted to do.

but there was something about being needed by gojo satoru. you could never say no to him. so whether it be due to his own decision to stare into the eyes of his wife during a romantic night out, or an extensive fight against a cursed spirit, you would always be there to clean up and make sure he was wrapped up in bed all cosy.

and you would always lift up the covers and climb in once there was no more that you could do but simply act as a pillow for your husband as he tried to sleep off the throbbing pain.

a/n. um so my previous post on this topic blew up and i’m so so grateful so i thought i’d expand a little on this hc for anyone that was interested. rambled a bit towards the end but i hope you still like it!! love you lots xxx

[punkshort]

i know who you are | 2. the journal

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Your memories still remain out of reach, so you ask Joel to tell you a bit about yourself, and with the help of a journal you kept, you begin to learn more about the person you became in the past ten years, leaving you with more questions than answers.

Chapter Warnings: language, eating, alcohol use, angst, pining, sad!Joel, amnesia

WC: 6.3K

Series Masterlist

"Did'ya get any sleep?"

You glanced up at Joel as you walked side by side towards the dining hall.

"No," you admitted, looking straight ahead again.

After Joel left you in his - your - bedroom, instructing you to rest on his way out, you found you could do anything but. Your mind was spinning with all of the information you had just learned, and you weren't sure which topic consumed you more: the end of the world or the supposed love of your life.

The longer his words set in, the more you were finding it difficult to look at him. It was such a strange feeling, having this large, burly, gruff man proclaim his love for you, to say he would stop at nothing to make you feel the same way, to insist you were meant for each other. It seemed so out of character, though you hardly felt like you knew him. But even now as you walked down the street, you noticed how some of the people in town glanced at him. Moving quickly out of his way.

It wasn't just you who found him intimidating.

You were distracted as you walked, curiously peering into storefronts and repurposed buildings when a group of children playing a game of tag nearly ran into you. At the last moment, Joel tugged your arm, pulling you into his side just in time. The children seemed to realize their mistake because their laughter quickly stopped and the smiles fell from their faces as they looked up at him.

"We're sorry, Mr. Miller," a young boy no more than eight years old said.

Miller. You never even bothered to ask his last name.

Joel just grunted and they scurried away, no doubt eager to escape his glare. You chanced a look at him, studying his stern expression when you realized he was still holding you against him. He was warm. Warmer than you expected. And solid. You cleared your throat and stepped away from his grasp, muttering your thanks and glancing around the busy street to avoid the disappointed look in his eye when it became clear you weren't comfortable with him touching you.

You shoved your hands in the pockets of your jeans and continued to walk in silence down the main road. A few people shot you curious looks or did double takes as they walked by, and you had to assume if Ellie heard the news about your accident, then others had, as well.

The Tipsy Bison came into view at the corner of the street, made obvious by the large crowds of people gathered outside.

"Does everyone have to eat here or are you allowed to have food in your homes?" you asked him, and he looked down at you, surprised by the question.

"We got food. It's not like a prison or somethin'," he said with a chuckle. "Most folks like to come here to socialize, but sometimes we cook dinner at home," he stopped short when he realized he never asked you what you preferred. "Did'ya wanna stay home instead?"

"No, this is fine," you told him over your shoulder.

"You sure? Maybe it's too much right now," he replied, jogging a bit to keep up.

"I'm sure. You won't leave me, right?" you asked, looking at him nervously.

"'Course not," he said, trying to hide his grin. He liked that you wanted him around, even if it was only because you didn't know anybody else. It was a start.

When Joel swung the door open, holding it wide so you could enter first, it might have been your imagination but you thought the loud chatter simultaneously died down for a split second. Then Joel stepped in beside you and the volume rose once again.

You wanted to look around and take in the rustic atmosphere but you could feel the eyes on you as Joel led you through the crowd, the scrutiny making you feel extremely out of place, so you kept your gaze pinned straight ahead. Following dutifully behind, you watched as people automatically moved out of his way, like he was Moses parting the Red Sea, until he reached a table in a somewhat quiet corner of the dining hall. He pulled out a chair and stood behind it, his hand still resting on the back, and it took you a second to realize he was waiting for you to sit so he could push it in. You quietly thanked him then finally looked around the room.

The dining room had tables scattered around, and as far as you could see, they all appeared to be taken. People were standing in groups, drinking and laughing and eating and you wondered how in the world your table wasn't taken. You were about to turn and ask when an older man approached your table.

"Hey guys," he said, pulling out a pad of paper from his pocket. "What'll it be?"

You went wide eyed for a moment, looking around trying to figure out what your choices were when, much to your relief, Joel spoke for you both.

"Still got any of that stew left?"

"Sure do. Few guys got lucky earlier today, too. Got two deer, so we'll be havin' more soon," he replied, jotting something down on his paper. "Two whiskies?"

Joel was about to nod when you spoke up for the first time.

"Just water for me, thanks," you said, and the man nodded his head.

"Thanks, Seth," Joel said as he walked away.

You glanced at Joel quickly, awkwardly catching his eye. It felt too much like a date. Dropping your gaze to the table, you tried to think of something to say.

"Probably a good idea, skippin' alcohol," he said. "Didn't even think about it, what with your head and all."

"Yeah," you said, your hand coming up to gently touch the stitches. "Besides, I don't like whiskey, anyway," you added. Joel laughed softly as he watched you shift nervously in your chair.

"What?" you asked with a frown.

"Nothin'," he replied, still staring at you in disbelief. "Just ever since you got here you've been tossin' back whiskey better than most of the men. You must've gotten a taste for it at some point."

"There's no way," you said, scrunching your nose when Seth put down Joel's glass in front of him. He stared down at it wistfully, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, lost in thought.

"Whiskey's how we first met," he said softly, still staring at the glass. You tilted your head towards him, waiting for him to continue. "When you first arrived, you were like a caged animal. You came here lookin' to blow off steam," he said with a distant smile. "It was a slow night. Just you and me and a handful of others. You were tossin' that shit back like it was nothin'."

You watched him as he reminisced. His eyes shone brightly and a small smile played on his lips, it almost felt like you were intruding on something special.

"When me and Ellie first arrived, no one really went outta their way to talk to me. I preferred it that way. Was used to bein' on my own," he continued, looking up at you now. "But that night, you sat down next to me at the bar like you had been waitin' for me or somethin'. You asked me if I was drinkin' for fun or drinkin' to forget. Those were the very first words you said to me."

You were completely silent as he spoke. The way he told it, it felt like you could see the scene playing out right before you, the way he remembered every detail left you in awe.

"What did you say?" you asked a little breathlessly.

The corner of his mouth twitched and he looked down at the table.

"Drinkin' to forget."

You waited for him to elaborate, but when it became apparent he wasn't going to, you asked him another question.

"Then what happened?"

He raised his eyebrows and hummed, a slow smile stretching across his face before he answered.

"You told me you could help me have fun and help me forget," he said, and you could feel the heat instantly flush your cheeks.

"Oh, my god," you murmured, covering your mouth, utterly mortified. "Please tell me you're joking."

He shook his head, still smiling at the memory. You glanced around the room, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"So then, did we...?" you trailed off, gaze still fixed on a spot on the wall.

"Oh, yeah. 'Course we did. I'm no saint," he chuckled.

"Jesus Christ," you said, burying your face in your hands. "That doesn't sound like me at all."

"It's not. Well, not anymore. You had an edge to you when you first arrived. Most do. Survivin' out there does that to you," he said, taking his first sip of whiskey.

You sat in silence for another minute, contemplating asking him what he knew about your life before you met him, but ultimately deciding against it. Maybe another time.

"Where's the bathroom?" you asked him, and he pointed down a small hallway near the bar. You thanked him, his eyes trailing after you as you made your way through the crowds, only dropping his gaze once you were no longer in view. It was a strange thing, recounting stories for you like that. At first, the memories made him smile, but once he saw the lost look on your face he felt the sadness creep back up, settling deep in his chest, and he wondered if he would ever get you back.

You knew you were in the bathroom too long. You knew he would likely be worried, but you just couldn't stop staring at your reflection in the mirror after you washed your hands. Who was this person staring back at you? She looked older and weathered and tired. Your fingertip gently prodded at the bags under your eyes and then a small scar on your chin. What happened to you out there to make you the person Joel was describing? What did you have to do to survive? And did you really want to know the answer?

The door swung open, startling you as three girls around your age entered the bathroom. Their giggles stopped when they saw you and you watched them exchange glances in the mirror before a pretty girl with long, blonde hair greeted you by name. Turning around, you gave her a smile, hoping they would go about their business so you could slip out of there, but of course the pretty girl wanted to talk.

"We heard you had an accident, are you okay?" she asked, and she sounded sincere, but something about her smile made you think twice.

"Yeah, got a few stitches but it should be fine," you said, your eyes flicking to the other two girls, giving them each a smile. They looked at each other and smirked before heading towards the bathroom stalls, leaving you with just the blonde.

"So, is it true? Did you really lose your memory?" she asked, her voice low as if it were a secret, and finally you were able to pick up the vibe. You had been to high school before the outbreak. You had encounters with these types of girls before. Friendly to your face, vicious behind your back.

"Uh, yeah," you admitted, and she gasped as if she felt bad, but you saw the way her eyes lit up.

"So you don't remember, like, anything?"

"Well, I remember before everything went to hell," you told her, "but I don't remember this place, no."

"Oh, wow," she said, and you heard the toilets flush before the other two girls exited the stalls, grinning conspiratorially at the blonde. "So you don't know anybody here?"

You shook your head, feeling uncomfortable with the line of questioning at this point. What was she really getting at?

"That must mean you don't remember Joel, right?" one of the girls at the sink piped up. You looked at her briefly over your shoulder and shook your head, turning back to the blonde but not before you caught the look in her eye.

"Oh, that's too bad," she said, giving you a pout. "Does that mean you aren't together anymore, or-"

Suddenly, the door swung open and Ellie stormed in. Her hard gaze drifted around to the three girls and she gave them a look of disgust.

"Scram, vultures," she told them, and the blonde made a face at her before flipping her hair over her shoulder and heading to one of the stalls. Ellie called your name and you scurried over, allowing her to lead you back out into the dining room but not before she gave the other two girls a few choice words.

"Don't talk to them, they're nasty," she told you as you weaved your way through the crowd. Joel's eyes instantly found you once you were in view and you saw him straighten up in his chair.

"You okay?" he asked, and you could see the genuine concern in his face as you sat down. You were about to answer when Ellie plopped down on the other side of him and spoke first.

"Angie and her little sidekicks cornered her in there," she explained, rolling her eyes. "Already sniffing around for scraps."

"What do you mean?" you asked her, but just then Seth arrived with your meals and you never got an answer.

"Stew again?" Ellie asked, scrunching up her nose.

"It's good," Joel told her before taking a bite. You looked down at the bowl and you were inclined to agree with Ellie, but you swallowed the food down anyway, just grateful for something to eat after such a long day.

"Aren't you going to eat?" you asked her, noticing she hadn't ordered anything and instead was busy sketching in a journal.

"Nah, I'm going to Dina's later, I'll eat there," she explained without looking up.

"Who's Dina?"

"Oh, my girlfriend," Ellie explained, glancing up at you briefly. "Sorry. I still can't get used to this. It's so weird you don't remember."

"Don't be out too late. You got school tomorrow," Joel reminded her. Even though he wasn't Ellie's father, he seemed to have quite the knack for being a dad.

"Yes, sir," she said sarcastically, giving him a weak, two-fingered salute before hunching back over her journal. You heard some familiar giggles coming from somewhere behind you, and when you turned to look, you locked eyes with the blonde girl from the bathroom - Angie - who was holding some drink in her hand, her two friends flanking her sides as she strolled past your table. Her eyes drifted briefly to Joel before she passed by, then turned her attention to her friends, disappearing into the crowd.

"Who is that?" you asked, realizing you never really got much of an explanation. Joel and Ellie responded at the same time.

"Nobody."

"Joel's ex."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise as Joel glared at Ellie.

"What? She woulda found out eventually," Ellie protested.

"She ain't even an ex," he said, turning to you now. "Just a mistake I made one time before you even got here," he insisted. The tone in his voice made it sound like he was trying to reassure you there was nothing to worry about, but of course, the information didn't phase you.

"Okay," you replied with a shrug. He examined your blank stare for a moment, searching for a glimmer of recognition. The disappointment in his expression every time something like this happened was becoming too much to bear, so you dragged your eyes off him to glance around the crowded room once again. You found Tommy leaning against the bar and you stood up.

"Where are you goin'?"

"I need to ask Tommy something," you said. "I'll be right back."

His eyes followed you as you pushed your way towards the bar, his heart feeling like it was going to break. He wasn't exactly looking for you to have an overly jealous reaction to hearing about another woman from his past, but your casual indifference hurt more than he expected. When you first found out about Angie, you insisted you weren't jealous but the way you sneered at her going forward, combined with giving him the best sex of his life later that night told him a different story.

"You think she'll ever get her memory back?" Ellie asked, still focusing on her drawing. Joel sighed and dragged his hands down his face.

"I don't know, kid."

"What'd you need to talk to Tommy for?" Joel asked once you both arrived back to his - your - home. You had wandered into the kitchen, Joel hot on your trail.

"Oh, I just had a question about something I saw when we were out there today," you explained, and he raised an eyebrow for you to continue. "There were dead bodies when I came to. They looked all decayed and... subhuman. Now that you told me about the infection, I wanted to ask."

Joel watched you open and close cupboards until you found the glasses, then picked one out to fill with water.

"So you ran into some runners," he said, and you nodded. "Did he happen to mention how you hit your head?"

Your hand froze, your glass halfway to your lips as you considered his question.

"Actually, no, he didn't," you said, setting down the glass and looking up at him.

"Yeah, he didn't really tell me, either," he replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "When he told me you hit your head and you were havin' trouble remeberin' things, I just came runnin'."

Guilt washed over you yet again as you thought about Joel being told the news and how panicked he must have been. He practically ripped all the exam room doors off their hinges to find you, only to be met with a stranger when he finally did.

"Well, I can ask him tomorrow," you finally said, putting your glass in the sink to avoid looking at him.

"Yeah," he replied, trailing off a bit. He was still lost in thought, trying to remember Tommy's exact words when you walked past him towards the stairs.

"You're tired?"

"Well, it's been a long day," you told him, pausing on a stair to look back down at him.

"Right, 'course," he said, shaking his head and following you up. When you got to the doorway of his bedroom you paused, looking up at him. It seemed like he was struggling to say something, his mind working hard to find the words, but instead he just gazed down at you, brown eyes all wide and soft.

"Don't suppose anythin's comin' back to you yet?" he finally asked, and you hated seeing that look. That same hopeful look you kept seeing right before you opened your mouth and crushed him. This was hard for him, you knew that, but the way he kept looking at you was making things so much worse. The pressure you felt to become this person he was expecting you to be was overwhelming. You opted to drop your gaze to the floor and slowly shake your head.

"That's okay," he said, and you dragged your eyes back up to him. "Maybe tomorrow."

You gave him a small smile. "Yeah, maybe."

He sighed and glanced at the door to the spare room.

"You need anythin', I'm right next door," he said, hitching his thumb to the side and giving you a lopsided grin, but you could still see it in his eyes. The disappointment. The sadness. The yearning. And it was making you feel sick.

Just as he turned to head towards the spare room, you spoke. "Joel?"

And he eagerly swiveled back around.

"I'm gonna try really hard to remember," you said earnestly, looking deep into his eyes.

"I know," he replied with a sad smile. He gave you one more look before heading into the spare room and softly closing the door behind him.

Joel slept like shit.

No surprise there, really. He hadn't slept without you in years. He had hoped the whiskey would have helped, but he was wrong. His mind was racing as he tossed and turned, and by morning he had foolishly convinced himself that you would be back to normal after a good night's rest. He got up early and made coffee for the two of you, like he always did, then tended to the fire in the living room. The nights and early mornings were frigid, but the days were warm. The first sign that fall was approaching fast. He was just putting the poker back when he heard the bedroom door creak open upstairs and his heart jumped into his throat excitedly, but when you descended the stairs and locked eyes with him, he knew nothing had changed. He didn't even bother to ask. You didn't look at him the same way you used to. You used to smile and gravitate towards him, your hands always seeking out his, your eyes playful and loving, but now you looked at him like he was a complete stranger. Devoid of all affection, the only thing that remained was a forced politeness.

You said good morning and headed into the kitchen and Joel wondered how long it would take for you to come around. Less than a day ago, you looked at him in fear, but now you seemed at least comfortable in his presence. That had to count for something.

He must have looked like shit because when he joined you in the kitchen, you eyed him up and down curiously.

"Have you been up for a while?"

He shook his head and picked up his mug, taking a sip and hoping the caffeine would bring him back to life.

"How's your head?" he asked.

"Not great," you admitted, pouring your own cup of coffee. "It really hurts. I think whatever meds the doctor gave me yesterday wore off."

Without even thinking, Joel quickly closed the distance between you to examine your injury. You startled a bit when he came up behind you and lifted your hair, but for his benefit, you tamped down your reaction. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he gripped the nape of your neck to angle your head downwards in order to get a better look. You closed your eyes and held your breath as you focused on his fingertips pressing tenderly into your skin. You heard him murmur to himself, the sound coming from deep within his chest, and you realized just how close he really was. Aside from pulling you out of the way so the kids playing tag wouldn't knock you down, it was the first time he had really touched you, and he was so much softer than you expected.

"Don't think it's infected but let's go see the doc, just to be sure," he said, his hand still on your neck, his other hand pushing your hair away.

"Okay," you said quietly, finally allowing yourself to take in a shaky breath as you waited for him to release you.

As if he realized what he was doing, he let your hair fall back into place and let go of your neck, his fingertips lightly trailing down your spine before falling to his side, making you shiver and step away.

"Sorry," he said. "Should've asked to look first."

"It's fine," you told him, absentmindedly rubbing the spot on your neck his fingers just touched.

As you walked side by side to the infirmary, his stony expression slid back into place. Gone was the softness you witnessed in his home. His hardened gaze drifted around the street, then to the watch towers, taking everything in. Studying. Calculating. And that was when you realized there were two Joel Millers: the one who the rest of the town viewed as gruff and callous, and the one you saw in the kitchen that morning, soft and gentle.

You wondered how many people got to see the latter version.

Nick examined you again in the same room as before, but this time, Joel was there watching his every move like a hawk. You could practically see the tension radiating off Nick's shoulders as he moved around the room. He examined your cut carefully, Joel's eyes never once leaving his hands, confirming that it was not infected before parceling out ten little white tablets of extra strength Tylenol into a small baggie and advising you to use them sparingly as inventory was low.

"That's it?" Joel asked incredulously.

"You know how it is, Joel," Nick said, but you heard his voice waver when Joel stood up from his chair. "Meds are hard to come by, we gotta be smart-"

"She hit her goddamn head so fuckin' hard she's lucky she remembers her own name and you're givin' her Tylenol?" he seethed, and you could see his neck growing flush with anger again.

"Joel, calm down, it's fine," you said, sliding off the table. Turning to Nick, you were about to voice your thanks when Joel cut you off.

"It ain't fine. What's it gotta take to get somethin' that actually works?" he huffed, taking a step forward and making Nick shift his weight nervously. "She gotta be missin' an arm? Maybe if she hit her head hard enough to forget what fuckin' planet she's on?"

"Joel, that's enough!" you snapped with a frown, and much to Nick's relief, Joel instantly backed off. He turned and paced around the small room, his hand rubbing over his mouth as he tried to calm down.

"What about my memory? Is it a bad sign I haven't remembered anything yet?" you asked Nick, and Joel paused somewhere behind you to listen to his answer.

"Well, the brain is a tricky thing," he began, his eyes darting over your shoulder briefly. "It could be weeks, could be months. Without any imaging, I wouldn't be able to tell you much more than that." You nodded and swallowed nervously before asking your next question.

"Or never, right?"

Nick took a deep breath and looked at Joel over your shoulder again before responding.

"It's possible."

You heard Joel's boots squeak against the linoleum floor and without even looking, you knew he was anxiously pacing around again.

"Alright, thank you. We'll get out of your hair now," you said, turning to corral Joel towards the door.

"Regardless, I'd like to see you again in a few days so I can take a look at those stitches," Nick said, and you agreed while pushing a muttering Joel back out into the hallway.

"I'll get you better meds," he said as you both walked out of the infirmary. "I got patrol tomorrow mornin', but I can go out after. There's a small cluster of houses we never did a full sweep on. Maybe-"

"The Tylenol is fine, don't go through the trouble. You could get hurt," you said, shoving the baggie of pills into your pocket.

"Tylenol ain't gonna do shit. I don't want you bein' in pain if there's somethin' we can do about it."

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, trying to temporarily relieve the ache in your head until you could get home and take one of the pills. You gave Joel a sideways glance, studying him as you walked together. He was brash and rude and aggressive, but you were learning that side of him came out when he was being protective over the ones he loved.

Or when he was trying to hide who he really was.

"So, everyone pitches in around here, right?" you asked, trying to change the subject. "You do patrol. What do I do?"

You paused at a crossroads, trying to remember which way to go, when Joel's hand on your elbow guided you in the right direction.

"You work patrol, too, but you ain't doin' that anymore," he said, letting go of your elbow after holding on for a moment too long.

"Well, obviously. I don't even know how to ride a horse," you said with a snort. "So I guess I need to find a new job, right? Who do I talk to?"

"Why don't you slow down a minute?" Joel said with a chuckle. "Let that pretty little head of yours heal up before you go lookin' for work."

You weren't going to say anything about his comment. Although it took you off guard, you realized he had habits that were going to be hard to ignore and you didn't expect that to happen overnight, but he seemed to realize what he said on his own and awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Sorry," he said softly.

"It's okay. I know this is difficult for you," you said, shooting him a sympathetic glance as you climbed his porch steps. He swung open the door and followed you inside, where you made a beeline for a glass of water so you could take one of the pills.

"We got a lotta history, you and me. It's hard to start over," he said as he watched you toss back the Tylenol with a wince. You examined his face closely and pulled out one of the stools to sit down. You leaned forward, forearms resting on the cool countertop before replying.

"Tell me a story."

He raised an eyebrow at you but couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from turning up a bit.

"What kinda story?"

"A story about us. You just said we have a lot of history together. Let's hear some of it," you replied with an encouraging smile.

"You sure? Thought you'd wanna go lay down," he said, but he eagerly pulled up a stool across from you.

"I think I can handle one little story," you told him, then watched as he stared down at his hands on top of the counter, deep in thought. When he thought of one, a slow smile spread across his face and his dark brown eyes flicked up to meet yours and you saw that softer side of him again.

"Alright," he said, settling back a bit. "So I told'ya last night how we met."

You cringed, remembering the story of a much bolder and seductive version of yourself, and nodded.

"Well, after that night we started seein' each other for a few weeks. It was just casual, nothin' serious," he said, looking down at his hands again. "I convinced you to sneak around so no one would catch on, and you grew tired of that. Rightfully so. I was bein' an asshole."

You watched him pull at a loose thread on the cuff of his flannel shirt, his eyes still cast down and you were beginning to realize it was due to shame.

"So anyway. One day you came over to, y'know..." he said, and you felt the heat in your cheeks again. "And you confronted me about it head on. Demanded to know why I wanted to keep you a secret. Thought I was ashamed of you - which I wasn't," he said quickly, his eyes finally meeting yours again. "But I had been through a lot of shit and I just didn't think I could give myself to someone like that again."

"What kind of shit?" you asked quietly, but he just lightly shook his head.

"One story at a time," he told you with a sad smile. You chewed on your lower lip as you waited for him to continue, his focus back on the loose string while he collected his thoughts.

"So I explained I had a hard time lettin' people in, that I wasn't capable of carin' 'bout anyone like that anymore, and you said to me, 'I know who you are, Joel Miller. Don't give me that bullshit, you're just scared.'"

He stared into your eyes, letting what he said land and hoping to see a flicker of the woman who spoke those words, but you just continued to look at him, waiting for him to finish the story like it was about somebody else entirely.

"Well, you were right, obviously. You always are," he continued with a smirk. "It knocked me on my ass. And I didn't know what was more difficult to believe: that you knew me better than I knew myself, or someone like you wanted anythin' to do with me in the first place."

You smiled and dropped your gaze to the counter, suddenly feeling shy.

"I'm not saying I don't believe you, but so far, these stories don't sound like me at all," you admitted.

He took a deep breath and finally stopped fidgeting with his sleeve.

"A lot's happened in ten years. Stuff that changes people. But I don't care what version of you's here, I love all of you."

You kept your eyes glued to his hands. You wished you could say it back. You knew he wanted to hear it. Maybe one day.

He tapped his finger on the counter, pulling your attention up so you were forced to look him in the eye.

"You fought for me that night, now I'm gonna fight for you, okay?" he said, eyebrows raised as he waited for you to acknowledge him. When you nodded sheepishly, his shoulders relaxed.

"So you're saying I fell in love with you because you were an asshole?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood, and it worked. Joel laughed heartily and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Nah, you didn't love me then," he said, still smiling.

"So how did I fall in love with you?" you asked, and his tongue clicked against his teeth.

"You're gonna have to wait to find out," he replied with a wink.

It wasn't his fault, but the rest of the day you could feel Joel looking at you. He was examining you, waiting to see the woman he fell in love with, and the pressure was beginning to be too much, so you made up an excuse to go lay down in his bedroom. He had mentioned he had patrol in the morning. Maybe some time away from him would help you relax.

You stared up at the white ceiling. The distant sound of children laughing outside through the closed window and then the door to the garage swinging open and shut acted as a soundtrack to your overactive thoughts. You almost had to laugh. It felt like your mind was constantly working, churning up information and digesting it only to always come up empty.

Absolutely nothing seemed familiar. Nothing about this place or these people felt like home.

You wished so badly you could remember something. Anything to make you feel like you belonged there. One little shred of hope was all you were looking for.

And then you remembered the journal.

Sitting up in bed, you tucked your legs underneath you and reached over for the black book. You fingers hesitated for a moment on the cover. It felt like an invasion of privacy, but how could that be when it was your own?

Taking a deep breath, you flipped open the journal and began at the beginning.

Right away, you could tell you wrote the entries. There was no doubt in your mind. Aside from your handwriting, your typical disorganization shone through like a beacon on every page. You occasionally remembered to notate in the margin the date, or your best guess at the date, but more often than not you were left with very little context for each small paragraph you read.

You were disappointed to realize the journal seemed to begin after you had met Joel. A big part of you was very eager to learn more about the person you were before finding Jackson, but it seemed as though you would have to depend on others to tell you stories you hopefully had relayed to them in the past.

The first page looked to be a list of items you had jotted down that didn't make much sense, but maybe when you first found the notebook, you hadn't intended to use it as a journal.

Socks, colored pencils, sunflower seeds, cards.

Flipping the page, you skimmed a short paragraph about a cabin you stumbled upon when on patrol. Again, it was more notes than anything of any substance. A description of approximately where it was in relation to Jackson along with a note to 'mention it at the next town hall meeting'.

Finally something interesting on the next page, you read a short paragraph about someone named Maria having a baby girl, and you frowned when you read the line Joel handled it better than I expected.

Continuing on, you read an entry about Christmas: Joel found me the softest sweater, it almost felt brand new. I really don't know how he managed to find it and I described the house I grew up in to Ellie and she drew it perfectly, I can't believe how talented she is.

One paragraph in particular grabbed your attention. It was about two people, and based on the context, it sounded like you were close friends. For the first time since we got here, I had the same day off as Ben and Lisa. We went fishing together and brought a lunch. It felt just like old times. As weird as it sounds, sometimes I miss being out there with them. We made a good team.

Maybe this Ben and Lisa would be able to answer some questions you had about yourself. Based on what you just read, it sounded like they knew you before Jackson.

There was a lot more to read, but the next page stopped you dead in your tracks. Your heart began to beat faster as you stared at the four words. Just one sentence, no explanation. A shiver slowly trickled down your spine as you sat there, unmoving, as your vision narrowed on the page: Joel lied to me.

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[kyra-cooneyx]

one last time — a.putellas x putellas!reader

summary: unlike your older sister, you are not barça through and through. after signing your first senior contract with arsenal, you move to london and embrace your new life, leaving alexia behind and desperate to bridge the gap she created between you

i had a vision for this but unfortunately, i only speak english so let’s just pretend that everyone speaks perfect catalan and every bit of speech written in italics is catalan for the sake of my sanity

“good game pequeña!” mapi grinned, playfully tugging on your ponytail.

you rolled your eyes, feeling your face heat up as more of the senior squad congratulated you on yet another impressive performance.

even though you were only seventeen, it wasn’t your first time playing with your sister and her teammates. in fact, you played your first senior game when you had freshly turned sixteen.

initially you had received bad press since most people assumed your last name was the only reason you received the opportunity, but your talent and quickness on the pitch quickly proved them wrong.

“all we need now is for a pen to touch paper.” alexia smiled, wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

and for a split second, your face faltered. you smiled straight away in hopes that nobody saw it and with the lack of reaction, you assumed that nobody did.

you were the last one to enter the tunnel after the celebrations and you found ingrid waiting in there. you moved to slip passed her, assuming that somehow mapi was still on the pitch somewhere, but she gently grabbed your arm to pull you back.

“ingrid?” you tilted your head, looking at up in confusion.

“i saw that look on your face,” she said quietly and your heart dropped. “when alexia brought up the contract.”

“it—i—“

ingrid could see the panic and the tears filling your wide eyes so she quickly pulled you into a more secluded area, where placing both of her hands gently on your shoulders. “are you okay?”

you nibbled on your trembling lip. you liked ingrid. ingrid was good. but if you told her what was happening, she might’ve told mapi, and then alexia would most definitely find out.

but keeping the secret was eating you up inside. even though your mami and alba knew, it still weighed heavily on your chest.

“you can’t tell anyone ingrid,” you whispered, eyes darting from left to right, right to left only settling back onto the norwegian when you were satisfied that nobody else was around. “not mapi, not frido, and definitely not ale.”

“i won’t, i promise.”

you took a deep breath. “another club is interested in me and i—i’m signing with them. not barça.”

ingrid hated how terrified you looked but she understood why. alexia’s legacy and the way she solidified the putellas name in barcelona was remarkable, something to be proud of.

and you were. the name you wore on the back of your shirt meant absolutely everything to you. but you no longer wanted it to be blaugrana.

“where?” ingrid asked and you were almost confused at the curiosity lacing her voice.

“um, london.” you answered.

her eyebrows shot up in surprise. you sucked in a breath waiting for something, anything. but nothing ever came. ingrid just smiled at you. “that’s good nena.”

“thank you.” you smiled shyly.

there was a glimmer of hope in your heart that everyone else would have the same reaction to your news. it wouldn’t be a secret for very much longer anyway since you were due to fly out to london and make everything official.

that was a few weeks away though so you were determined to keep it to yourself for a little while longer.

footsteps echoed around the corner and you turned just in time to see mapi. the spaniard looked between you and ingrid with a huff. “i have been looking for you two everywhere.”

“sorry mapi.”

“just girl talk,” ingrid nodded, sending mapi a look. “let’s go see the others now, yes?”

you were sandwiched between the couple, walking silently as they chattered over your head until you’d reached the dressing room. mapi gave you a gently shove inside when she noticed your hesitation and you immediately headed to the showers, not taking too long but just long enough that alexia was forced to remind you what happened you took a little too long to shower.

so with a roll of your eyes, you stepped away from the warm water and got dressed before re-emerging, making sure to shake your wet hair by mapi, cackling as she whined.

alexia quickly collected your things before dragging you away from the growing-in-rage spaniard and her hiding-her-laugh-behind-her-hand girlfriend. your sister’s face was stony but you could see the smile tugging at her lips.

later that evening, you found yourself sitting on the sofa in jenni and alexia’s house, nala dozing on your lap as you frowned down at your phone.

jenni watched from the doorway as the furrow in your brow deepened and your lips moved slightly as you read.

the brunette cleared her throat and you jumped out of your skin, locking your phone at a speed that had jenni’s eyebrow raising.

“what were you looking at?” she’d asked, approaching you slowly.

“n-nothing.” you shook your head, cheeks flushing a furious red, a panicked look on your face like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

as jenni sat next to you, you inadvertently flinched back. she frowned, thoughts running away from her as she assumed from the way your leg bounced that you’d stumbled across some hate comments.

“let me see.”

“what?” you looked at her with wide eyes, shaking your head. “jenni, you don’t need to—“

“pequeña,” jenni said, the tone in her voice stern enough that you knew she’d get your phone one way or another. “let me look please.”

hesitantly you unlocked your phone and gently placed it in her outstretched hand, bowing your head. her eyebrows furrowed again as she stared down at the device.

“why are you learning english?” her voice was a lot softer that time around, as if she was addressing a baby deer.

“i can’t tell you,” you said quietly, still not looking at her. “too many people already know. and you’ll tell ale.”

“i won’t tell ale anything you don’t want me to,” she told you and you glimpsed up at her. “you can tell me chiqui.”

jenni kind of knew what you were going to say. as far as she was aware, there were no upcoming trips or really any reason for you to be actively learning any language but english especially.

she nudged you and you sucked in a deep breath, tangling your fingers in nala’s soft fur. “i’m moving to england, jen. not signing with barça.”

“does anyone else know?”

“mami and alba, told ingrid earlier too.”

jenni nodded, glancing at the empty doorway behind her. “when?”

“i’m flying out in a few weeks with alba to sign the contract and only she’s coming back,” your body had turned a little towards her now, that uneasy feeling in your body disappearing slowly. “i’m staying with one of the senior girls, her name’s leah, and if i don’t get a call up for spain, i’ll be staying with her family.”

“you need to tell her.”

“i know but—“

“no. no buts. you need to tell her before she finds out herself.”

you nodded, no longer trusting your voice. jenni leaned over and pulled you into a hug, sliding the phone back into your hand.

-

after a lovely family dinner a few days later, you were happy and content with the people around you, knowing that it was going to be one of the last times before you left.

and it wasn’t very often you were lost for words when jenni was around, the brunette always bringing out the boisterous side of you.

but seeing alexia walk into the dining room, pieces of paper gripped between her fingers, the rebuttal you had for whatever jenni had said first died in your mouth, an unmistakable look on horror taking home on your face.

“what is this?” alexia’s voice was nothing more than a whisper but to you, it sounded like a scream. her eyes bore into yours. “what. is. this?”

tears filled your eyes. “ale—“

her eyes darted frantically along the words in front of her before you really registered what it was she was doing and a strangled sob escaped your lips. “this isn’t barça.”

“ale, ale, please don’t be mad—“

“too late.”

another sob left your shaking frame and alba stood up from her chair, rounding the table to wrap her arms around you. she whispered soft reassurances in your ear.

“i’m moving to london.” you said, voice shaky at you stared at your older sister.

“why? did barça not give you a contract?” alexia reached for her phone, obviously ready to give jona a piece of her mind until you spoke up again.

“they did but i—i didn’t sign it.”

you watched through tears as alexia’s face changed, confusion turned to anger and then back to confusion again. “why?”

“this is not my home. this is yours ale. barça is yours,” you could feel alba’s fingers drawing soothing patterns along your skin and you could feel the horrible lump in your throat, the way your breathing hitched every now and again. “maybe—maybe arsenal can be mine.”

“it was supposed to be ours.” alexia whispered, turning away from you.

“i know,” you wiped furiously at your eyes, sniffling quietly. alexia had spoken time and time again about how excited she was to share the pitch with you and to, in jenni’s words, bestow the putellas greatness upon you. “and maybe one day it will be but not right now.”

a deafening silence fell over the room, the only sounds being your shaky breaths and quiet cries.

the last thing you ever wanted to do was hurt alexia but even you knew it was inevitable. you were leaving and she was never going to be okay with it.

“none of you look surprised,” alexia noted, eyes darting around. “did you all know?”

the silence received was answer enough and she nodded, not bothering to be discreet with wiping a tear away.

“alexia—“ alba spoke up, not liking the way you were shaking in her arms.

“when were you going to tell me? tomorrow? the day before you leave? on the plane? were you going to tell me at all?”

“of course she was!” alba snapped on your behalf. “but she was scared! and with you reacting like this can you really blame her?”

“she wasn’t scared to tell everyone else!”

“yes i was,” you cut in, glaring up at alexia. “but unlike you, they were supportive and they wished me good luck, they didn’t react like this!”

“i’m reacting like this because i care—“

“no you don’t! if you cared you’d be happy for me, you wouldn’t be shouting at me and making me feel guilty about leaving! you’d talk to me and let me explain like everyone else did! but you haven’t because you don’t care! you only care about barcelona, it’s all you’ve ever cared about! not mami, not alba, and especially not me!”

you shot out of alba’s arms, running out into the hallway and messily tugging on some trainers, sobbing wildly as you threw the front door open and ran until your legs burned just as much as your lungs.

in hindsight, not grabbing your phone was a terrible idea. you wandered the streets of barcelona, wrapped in your own arms as you tried to think of a place to go, somewhere where they’d know to find you.

mapi’s favourite coffee shop came to mind and you found your way there, sitting down at one of the tables outside. it felt like hours had passed before someone finally did.

the tears had long dried on your cheeks and your eyes were heavy as you glanced up at ingrid. “come on, pequeña.”

“don’t wanna go home.” you mumbled, standing up and leaning into her side.

“you’re not going home, mapi’s talking to alba right now,” ingrid tucked a piece of hair behind your ear as you peeked over her shoulder to see that she was telling the truth. “you’re going to stay with us, okay?”

you nodded, letting the norwegian lead you to the car. mapi frowned as she spotted you, quickly saying goodbye to alba before taking you from ingrid. “oh, pequeña, i’m so sorry.”

“don’t want to see her ever again.”

“you don’t mean that—“

“i do.”

mapi took your words with a pinch of salt. you had fallen out with your sisters many times before and each time you’d all forgive and forget. you looked up at her. “need to go back to mami’s and get some things.”

“alba’s bringing everything,” she whispered to you. “so let’s get you home.”

you were flat out in the car almost instantly and didn’t wake up when mapi carried you in or when alba arrived with your things. which means you missed the brief conversions between the pair where they agreed that after a few days, you’d cave, alexia would apologise, and everything would be back to normal.

so when those few days did pass and you were still adamant that you no longer wanted anything to do with your oldest sister, they were very shocked. even more so when they found out that you’d ignored every text and call from her, going as far as blocking her number and blocking every single social media you could think of.

of course they tried to talk you out of it. no one wanted you to go to england without patching things up with alexia but you were stubborn. what teenager wasn’t?

then you refused to attend the next family dinner, no matter how much alba and eli pestered, you did not relent. instead you insisted that you needed to practice your english. if you were to do well in england and prove to alexia that leaving was the best decision for you, mastering the home language seemed like the best place to start until you were actually there.

you went home after a week, barricading yourself in your room when you knew alexia was around. you only played one more senior game a couple of days before you were flying and much to your surprise, alexia left you alone, only addressing you professionally when needed.

rumours about your move started spreading so you told the rest of the girls that day, feeling giddy as they all congratulated you and hugged you as they wished you good luck. you peaked over leila’s shoulder at alexia, who looked very sheepish as she spoke to mario and lieke.

you tried to listen into what they were saying but jenni had scooped you up into her arms, parading you around as you writhed and begged for her to put you down.

she eventually did and you shoved at her, huffing at the fact that she barely moved. “oh, i’m gonna miss you pequeña.”

“yeah, well, i won’t miss you,” jenni faked a gasp, placing her hand over her heart as you laughed and rushed to hug her. “only messing jen. i’ll miss you the most, just don’t tell alba.”

jenni was at the airport with alba and eli when it was time for you to go to london. you were huddled up in her arms as your mami gave the strictest instructions to alba. then she turned to you.

you walked out of jenni’s arms and went straight into eli’s, relishing in the warmth she provided since you had no idea when you were going to feel it next. “stay safe and have lots of fun. don’t let your sister be a bad influence whilst she’s with you.”

“okay mami,” you laughed slightly, feeling the tears building in your eyes. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” eli said, pressing a few kisses to the side of your head. “now go make london your own.”

you made sure to hug jenni again before taking alba’s outstretched hand. she pulled you closer, glancing behind you. her lips flickered a little but your flight was announced and she was tugging you along behind her. “ready pequeña?”

“ready.”

-

alexia stood in the tunnel, desperate to look over her shoulder because she could hear your voice. but it was time to walk out. she lead her team out onto the pitch to the roar of the fans, both home and away. and you walked out with yours.

the champions league song played in the background as your eyes flickered around, eventually landing on your mami and alba. and someone else. another girl was sitting by alba, a barcelona jersey covering her top half. but it wasn’t jenni.

your attention was quickly diverted by the barcelona girls shaking hands with the arsenal lineup. you found it weird to see all the new faces in the team and then the familiar ones came. including your sister.

it had been four years since you’d seen any of them in person. you didn’t go back to spain very often and when you did, you only ever spent time with eli and alba.

the game began and progressed very quickly, both teams putting up a good fight. you’d had a few shots on target but came up a little short every time. and when the halftime whistle went, the deadlock was yet to be broken.

and after a stern, yet passionate speech from leah, the arsenal dressing room was fired up and ready to go.

the start of the second half was slow, with both teams creating chances but the uphill battle came to a halt when you spotted a space between the barcelona defenders, running as fast as you could ready for steph’s cross.

you booted the ball with as much force as you could muster, shouting in delight when it slipped passed cata’s fingers and soared into the back of the net.

the girls jumped on you, the arsenal crowd roaring as the goal was announced and everyone celebrated. as the game restarted, you could see the fire you’d set within your girls.

you were sure that you could do the one thing very few could actually do. 

and that was beat barcelona.

they quickly equalised in convincing fashion and as they celebrated, leah huddled as many of you as she could.

“we can do this girls,” she’d said, squeezing your shoulder tightly. “we can and we will beat them.”

she gave you a wink and gently shoved back to where you were supposed to be. you took a deep breath as the ref blew the whistle, running into position with alessia and stina quickly following.

for the rest of the second half there was chance after chance after chance and with the threat of an extra half an hour and penalties looming, you knew arsenal would have to really pull themselves together.

with the ball at your feet, you ran down the wing before kicking it towards the goal, shouting in glee when alessia headed it in. you glanced up at the clock and raced to collect the ball, knowing that one goal was all that was needed to guarantee arsenal the win.

and you were going to be the one to score it. you had to be.

with a minute left on the clock and steph setting up the ball for the last corner of the game, you took another breath.

it all seemed to happen in slow motion, the ball was in the air and the next it was in the back of the net. and your name was the one being announced as the goal scorer.

the stadium erupted, somehow getting even louder when the final whistle was blown. leah was quick to find you, picking you up and planting a big kiss to the top of your head. “told you you could do it.”

“we are in the semi final leah.”

“i know and you’re the reason we’re heading to spain.” she poked your nose and you swatted at her hand, feeling someone wrap their arms around your waist.

“superestrella!” beth cheered, moving around your body but still keeping one arm around you.

your face flushed and you pushed your way out of the forming bubble to start greeting the barcelona players.

you saved mapi and ingrid for last, approaching them with a shy grin. “hello.”

“hello.” ingrid replied, a smile on her own face.

“oh so you do remember us.” mapi said and for a minute, you thought she was serious until she broke out into a grin of her own.

you hugged them both and made small talk until mapi looked over your shoulder. you furrowed your eyebrows. “what?”

“she misses you.” was all she said before walking away and standing near pina and patri.

you didn’t need to turn around to know who she was talking about.

alexia was gazing over at you, eyebrows lifting slightly as one of the girls ran over to you, wrapping their arms around your waist and resting their head on your shoulder. alexia knew how affectionate you could be but then you turned to look at the other girl and alexia had never seen your face so soft.

she’d never seen someone look so in love.

for a minute alexia considered asking eli or alba about it but you were walking over before she could give it a second thought.

“hello.” you said quietly, briefly glancing up at alexia.

“hi,” alexia smiled slightly. “you played very well.”

“you speak english now?” your head titled a little as you finally stared up into your sisters eyes.

“i am learning, yes.” alexia nodded.

“oh, um, you played good too.”

“thank you.”

the two of you stood in an awkward silence and you fidgeted uncomfortably, glancing to your side to see leah and kyra both giving you a thumbs up. “ale—“

“i’m very sorry pequeña. for everything,” alexia cut you off and your heart pounded as you finally heard the words you wanted to hear all those years ago. “you were right. i shouldn’t have reacted the way i did. and if you don’t mind me saying, i have kept up with you all these years and i’m really proud of you for everything you’ve done. you did what you said and made arsenal yours.”

you cleared your throat and blinked back your tears. “i—i’m sorry to ale for shouting and ignoring you for all these years—“

“it’s the least i deserved, you had every right to be mad.”

“not for this long,” you shook your head. “i stopped being mad at you years ago but i didn’t think you’d want anything to do with me, that’s why i never tried contacting you.”

“i would’ve answered.”

“that’s—that’s good to know.”

“who’s the girl?” alexia’s eyes sparkled as you flushed pink.

“her name is kyra.”

“is she good to you?”

“yes. very,” you nodded quickly. “i think you’d like her although she’s australian so you probably wouldn’t be able to understand her.”

the two of you shared a giggle and for a moment, it felt like old times. alexia spoke up again. “you’ll have to introduce me.”

“maybe i will.”

“we can have dinner,” alexia suggested. “you can meet olga too.”

“sounds good.”

you started making your way towards kyra when you turned back around to look at alexia again.

“i know we don’t usually do the emotional stuff but i love you and i want you to know that i’ll always look up to you, no matter where either of us end up.”

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 03. BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

a/n: we are getting down to the nitty and gritty of this man's pain. and he's finally starting to the accept the fact that he has to talk about what happened to him. honestly out of all the chapters this one might be my favorite. solely for the soft vibes i tried to shove into what is already a very angsty story. also somehow wade weaseled his way further into this chapter than i intended him to. so enjoy the humor i've tried to add throughout. (i am reposting this since it didn't show up in the tags yesterday.)

summary: to open up was like taking a knife to a steel door. he never saw the use in letting someone in. but dinner spent in your company and conversations over wine and whiskey is where things begin to take a turn.

word count: 8.3k+ (i don't even know how tf that happened.)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: partially explicit scene, angst by the bucket load, vulnerable and emotional logan, grief, trauma, heartache, fluff, domestic vibes, alcohol consumption, wade breaking the fourth wall, wade being a shit wingman, the beginnings of something more.

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Blood poured over his hands and soaked into the ground below. The warmth of it coated his senses, dug into the grooves and lines of his palms. He swore he felt it down to his bones. Now permanently mixed with a version of him long forgotten—the man who used to smile.

Their shouts of pain rendered him immobile. Useless to help them, useless to save their lives. Useless. Useless. Useless. He fought against the restraints, the invisible shackles put there by his own hands. Whether to stop him from going or to keep him from harm—he'd never know—but he battled regardless. With a snarl, he felt them snap, his claws sliding free in all their familiarity. A weapon of destruction unable to be used for salvation.

When he began to run he felt it. The piercing echo of her. The power she emanated as they took her life, brought her to the brink of death. He felt her voice punch through his chest—puncturing him in his heart. She screamed his name with her final breath. Called out for his help; for him to save them all.

He could almost see her in his mind, the horror that befell a school of such powerful people. And he loathed himself for breathing. For living after they were taken so quickly from him.

His family. His home.

What once existed would no longer return. That alone broke him further than their deaths. The knowledge that his world—his universe—would be without their heroes. So much of their worth had been given to humanity. Only to be stripped of their lives within the blink of an eye.

And he couldn't save them. He could barely stand on his own two feet without stumbling.

"Logan!" The scream split along his skull, rupturing veins that healed far too quickly for his liking.

What the fuck was the point of his abilities if he couldn't put them to use? If he couldn't do the one thing they counted on him for.

Their blood stuck to him, burrowing into skin that would never scar. He'd never have proof of the wounds that rested along his heart. Forever damned to carry the weight of his own failure—the guilt that ate him alive. For what? To tell the story he could barely stomach himself? What was his life to the lives of those who meant so much more?

Why did he have to fucking live?

He stood on the doorstep. Death stained the walls, pierced the air with its pungent copper tang. He keeled over at the bushes, all the alcohol he'd consumed expelling itself from his body at the sight. His family was dead. His family was dead and he couldn't join them. He couldn't fucking die.

What once felt like a gift—eternity to find these people who loved him—now rang true with the only word that could make sense. Curse. His curse.

"No," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted through the broken down door.

His claws came free, expecting a fight. Only to be met with silence. An eerie echo of nothing.

No laughter, no life, no chatter of students.

Nothing.

The breath ripped from his lungs as a blaring horn spilled in through the apartment's open window. In an attempt to get some cool air, he pushed the couch closer to what airflow there was. The only downside was hearing everything as he slept. Each little noise and loud mouthed fucker as they wandered the rather empty street. He wanted to leave—move to a better spot where humanity was sparse—but the pull of you across the street kept him there.

"Fuck," he grunted, eyes blinking away the nightmare that tore at his psyche.

The bottle of whiskey underneath the kitchen cabinet called his name. Offering a respite against the horrors he couldn't run from. And with a pained groan, he stumbled towards it—grabbing his coffee mug from the counter. The amber liquid felt bitter against the back of his throat. A familiar burn he welcomed.

He may not be able to stay injured, but this he could have. The darkness at the end of the bottle. The silence he found in collapsing drunk against the couch.

The streetlight outside lit the area filled with trash and the few people sleeping in darkened alleys. If he listened hard enough he could hear their heartbeats. Smell the pungent scent of the city as it seeped through the window. He could feel the thrum of New York beneath his feet—unfamiliar in its nature but home nonetheless.

The sight of a light flicking on grasped his attention—a glimpse of you staggering to the kitchen for a glass of water clear through your window. You should really get curtains, or blinds. He'd help install them for you. But then he'd never get this again. A small insight into your life, a peek into what he left behind a day ago.

Your lips against his still seared through his body—your moans and want for more left him breathless. And he had to go and fuck it up. Just as he did with everything in his life. He ruined the good. Corrupted the innocent.

Doing the same to you felt unfathomable—painful.

But how could he stop?

When you were catching his gaze in the window. Your glass of water was forgotten and the blanket dropped to the leather chair behind you. He left the bottle on the floor by the couch, his empty mug beside it as you grabbed for something. Logan yearned to hear your voice. To apologize for how he left things. But saying sorry never came easy and he found that keeping you at a distance was much safer than what he actually wanted.

The ringing on his phone broke his penetrating gaze. He reached for it quickly, pressing it to his ear as you brought your phone to yours. A breath was all that echoed through the small speaker—soft and warm. He swore he could feel it against his cheek. Hear the echo of your heart pounding beneath his.

"Can't sleep?" you uttered, finally putting his mind at ease. He exhaled a deep breath—hearing it fill your ears as warmth trailed down your spine.

"Nightmares."

You watched him stand still as stone. His fingers gripped the phone for assurance. A sense of stability from a past that had already cracked him in half. The sorrow in his eyes practically bled through the streets. Lapping at your feet like the waves on a shore. And in an act so unlike yourself, you took a step forward. You stood in his grief and offered to drag him to the sand—gave him hope that this world might treat him differently.

Logan wouldn't save himself because he believed he deserved it.

He'd save himself because he knew you deserved a better man.

"Do they happen often?"

The soft echo of your voice tinged with sleep set his mind at ease. For the first time that night he felt himself breathe properly. He could taste the sweetness in the air, the heat that clung to his skin held traces of you when you started to open your window.

Leaving you at your door suddenly felt like the stupidest decision he'd ever made. But the fear is what kept him at a safe distance. He couldn't hurt you here in this shitty apartment. He couldn't destroy what good you held in your heart standing here at an open window.

"Every night," he rasped. His hand clenched, the bones of his knuckles shifting as silver began to peek through the pierced skin.

He knew you could see it. He heard your heart speed up through the phone. And with a ragged sigh, he retracted them forcefully—hiding the beast within to present you with the man beyond.

"You don't have to hide them from me." If you turned, you'd see the punctures in your door you tried to hide with duct tape. The claws that came free because of your touch—your kiss.

They should have scared you.

Logan almost wished they had.

"You don't want to see that part of me honey," he muttered, watching as you stood closer to the ledge—your hand pressed to the chipped wood. "It's not all sunshine and rainbows."

You laughed and he felt it down his spine. "No. I think that's only in Wade's mind."

"Don't say that fucker's name please," he groaned. "Not while I have you here."

"Did I touch a nerve? Wolverine?"

Your smile deepened, mischief practically dripping from your words. Yet Logan couldn't help fixating on the way his title sounded off your tongue. The hero name he loathed for so long suddenly made his heart flip. He gripped the phone tight enough until he heard a faint crackling sound—his body going taut at the thought of you saying it under different circumstances.

Moving past the subject was all he could do. All he wanted to do.

"Why are you up bub?"

You sighed, leaning against the window frame. "Restless. Too much energy from the day."

"Not too much moving in the archives huh?"

"I'll have you know I walk constantly. It's a very demanding job."

He snorted. "Down to the end of the bookshelves and back?"

"Shut up." Your laughter echoed across the street and it nearly startled him how normal he felt. How human. "I can guarantee my job is a lot more work than yours."

"You're right. Saving the universe is nothin' when it comes to books."

"I'm going to hang up."

"Don't. I'll stop." Despite his serious tone, he didn't try to stop the chuckle you felt strike against your heart. The husk of its deep nature.

The memory of his touch still rang clear in your mind. How his lips molded against yours, his body firm and hot beneath your touch. You weren't restless because of work. In fact you felt the pain in your feet begin to spread up your calves the longer you stood there. You couldn't sleep because of him. Too busy replaying that moment to find time in your schedule to sleep.

"Logan." His gaze fell serious at the soft murmur of his name. "Tell me about your dream."

He bit back the urge to push you away, to claim he was fine. That nothing happened and acknowledging it wouldn't save him from himself. But that's not what you were trying to accomplish, and he knew that. He could see it clearly in front of his face. But he was a man hardened by the nature of silence—of ignoring his pain until it eventually withered and died inside him.

Changing that wasn't a battle he'd win tonight. Nor tomorrow.

He sighed, seeing how you fought back a yawn. "Not tonight honey."

"Why–"

"I will." Your breath echoed loudly in his head. He wished he could feel it. "I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

Your finger traced the silhouette of him against the glass. "When?"

"I don't know." He imagined your touch was against his skin, pictured how you'd trace the lines of his muscles. How you'd lick along his veins for a taste of him on your tongue. "Tell me about your day."

"That's boring," you groaned.

"Not to me bub. I like history." He smiled. "I used to teach it."

"Fuck off. Did you really?" You perked up within seconds, eyes alight as they were the other night. And Logan felt himself get dragged in a bit deeper. He knew he was fucked the second he saw you, but now...there was no stopping the inevitability of you. "I guess I learn something new every day. James."

He growled, low and hungry—pleasure filling his stomach. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish honey."

Silence filled the air and Logan felt the doubt pull at his nerves. He watched you lean into the glass, your scent filtering through the warm air. Sharp and heady. Darker than your usual honeyed sweetness; the taste of it spread along his tongue—shivers rolling down his back. You wanted him. No fuck that.

You needed him.

"And if I want to," you breathed, trepidation and hope overlapping in your words. "Finish this."

He bared his teeth in a grin that felt feral—as if he could taste your flesh. "We will," he stated with such severity. A promise lined in truth for once. "Now go on. Tell me about your day."

He awoke to the sounds of clashing pots and pans being tossed on the stove—the incessant beep of the coffee machine blaring off every thin wall. And Wade singing loudly—and horribly—to some fucking pop song from the eighties Logan would learn the name of against his will. He groaned, slamming his head back against the couch in the hopes that this was all a dream.

If he wished hard enough maybe he'd wake up to silence.

Or to you.

"Good morning peanut!" Wade's voice shouted, another bang sounding off behind him. "I've got coffee, Canadian bacon, and the final answer for what came first—the chicken or the egg."

Logan longed to stab himself in the skull. This quick healing factor became a fucking pain in the ass at the worst of times. He staggered into the kitchen, immediately wishing he'd drank the entire bottle of whiskey last night at the sight of Wade in a pair of white underwear and nothing else.

"What the fuck." He shut his eyes, reaching blindly for a mug and the coffee pot.

"Yeah..." Wade slammed the pan on the stove, a now broken yolk spilling over the edge. "Laundry day and Al called dibs on the top load. Just call me Risky Business."

Logan's sigh was ragged, beyond exhausted as he gulped down the first dose of searing coffee. "He wore a shirt in that fucking movie."

"Lookie here! Someone is up to date on their Tom Cruise movies. Don't tell me you're a Top Gun fan honey badger because I have some fucking news for you. We topped them for highest grossing movie of all time." Wade smiled as the destroyed egg slid onto a chipped plate. "Financially topped. Personally, I don't think scientology allows Tom Cruise to fuck anymore."

"I'm not listenin' to your fuckin' bullshit," he grunted, pouring another cup.

The charred egg was slid his way. "Aren't you gonna ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

Talking this early in the morning made the veins in his throat strain—his grip on the mug nearly cracking the porcelain. In times like this Logan felt the overwhelming need to throw his roommate out the fucking window.

If only to get thirty seconds of hearing him scream on the way down.

"What came first."

He moved to make another pot of coffee, ignoring the chatter that fell from Wade's mouth. In order to even feel coherent enough to make sense of it, he'd need four more cups. Or enough to bathe in if the morning didn't calm down. The sun blinded him as he turned to glance out the window; the air stale and hot choked his senses. He'd never felt this overstimulated before—this out of place.

"You look like you've seen better days in a horror movie. Up having late night phone sex?" Wade grinned and leaned across the counter—his head in his hand and love in his eyes. "Tell me about it, stud? Tell me more, tell me more. Did you get very far?"

"Oh god," Logan groaned, slamming the coffee pot back into place. "Can you shut the fuck up for once? I'm begging you."

"Did you beg her?"

His claws pressed to Wade's smug face—blood spilling against his cheek. "I will cut your fuckin' mouth off."

"I just wanna know why you're waiting so long to give her the Hugh Jackman."

"The what?" he growled, heat blistering against his face.

"Ya know." The crude gesture to his groin had him digging his claws directly into Wade's cheek. But even then he mumbled around the metal piercing his skin. "The package. The full shebang. Rock her like a hurricane—or whatever the fuck that German band was talking about. Cause I sure know she's aching for it."

"Don't fucking talk about her like that."

Wade smiled until his cheek sliced down to his mouth. The sight was disgusting enough for Logan to forgo wanting breakfast. And lunch. And dinner at that.

"You don't believe me! HA! Let me tell you, you're pretty but there's nothing going on up there." A tap on Logan's forehead forced the claws to sink just a bit deeper. "That sweet angel across the street is ready to save that horse and ride you instead cowboy. All. Night. Long."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Yet even as he said the words he felt the lie stick to the back of his throat.

Last night's conversation was proof enough that Wade was telling the truth. Even Logan could fucking see what was right in front of him. Someone beautiful, someone smart. Someone...he wasn't worthy of. If he combined all those factors he only came up with one conclusion. The longer he stayed away from you, the better you'd wind up being.

The safer you'd stay if he wasn't constantly shoving his way into your life.

The loud sigh from Wade's healing mouth shoved another wave of guilt into Logan's stomach. "Look. Ignore it all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna wind up with only your hand for some company and she'll find someone who actually wants to be with her."

Wade was right. For once.

What Logan didn't expect was the anger he felt at the visual of you finding someone else. The rage that nearly overwhelmed him. That's how it should be. You with someone better, a man who actually gave you a chance at a relationship. One that wasn't doomed from the very start. He let the thought simmer, chewed on it for as long as he could.

And not a minute later came to the answer he'd been looking for.

Logan would rip apart any other man without hesitation if they came into your life.

This wasn't a fling. He'd known that on his Earth and knew it now. He clawed his way out of a grave once to get back to you. And he would do it again and again and again. As many times as it took to make sure he got a glimpse of your smile, felt the love in your touch.

"Grab your shit we've got somewhere to be," he grumbled, shoving the burned egg in his mouth and washing it down with fresh black coffee to kill the taste.

"Yes! Now there's the Wolverine I know." Wade shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Logan couldn't tell if he was being vulgar or not. 

"Let's go bang your girl!" A snarl ripped through his throat, blood splattering on his bare chest as he pinned Wade to the wall—his claws embedded in the man's heart. "Or you bang her and I quietly stay at home with the window open to serenade you two with the sensual sounds of Marvin Gaye."

He grinned, eyes flashing over Logan's shoulder. "Directly from Sam Wilson's playlist if you know what I'm getting at Marvel fuckers."

On days where people were stuck at work and students infiltrated the library above, you found the solace of the archives to be everything you needed. For an hour you'd been placing books in their correct spots, labeling boxes to be housed somewhere new, and theorizing where you went wrong the other night when Logan left.

You didn't want to let the disappointment get to you. Nor should you. The phone conversation last night clarified enough for you to know him leaving wasn't your fault. It wasn't due to your kiss or even because he didn't want to be there. He simply hadn't healed from what his world did to him. Whatever Wade mentioned to you in a ramble of semi-seriousness gave you enough of a picture to know what that might have been.

No matter how much you wanted to help him; to make him see that you weren't scared of what he had to give. This wasn't your war.

Logan made sure you understood that.

That still didn't stop the swell of dismay at his actions. The belief that you weren't good enough to hear his story began to eat you alive the longer he pushed it off. Each comment came tinged with pain you'd never be privy to. Agony he wanted to endure alone.

You would give him the space he needed—the time that was required in order to heal from wounds you couldn't see. They were there. Dug into the shape of his heart—carved into the metal of his bones—but Logan wouldn't allow you to bear witness to that. To a broken side of a man who wanted to be better. If only he knew he didn't have to be for you to ache for him.

The thought of him alone left your heart twisting in your chest and stomach fluttering.

You slid another book into the correct spot, silence echoing like a void that went on for miles. Only for the ring of your phone to shatter it like glass. You scrambled for the device in your purse, breath filling your lungs at the sight of his name as it flashed across your screen. 

Maybe this made you seem desperate—a type of clingy that would make any other man run. You couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit.

"Logan," you said—his name leaving your mouth in a breathy manner you regret within moments.

"Oh shit girl you've got it bad."

The pounding of your heart jumped at the loud echo of Wade's voice blasting through the small speaker. "Wade?"

"The one and holy." To say you were perplexed felt like an understatement. But before you could spill the millions of questions on your tongue, Wade kept going. "Hey! What kind of wood do you prefer?"

A loud rumble of an engine blared in the background—killing your ears. "What?"

"Oh right fuck me. Silly question. There's twelve thousand words already written about what type of wood you prefer." He laughed as the sound came again. "I'm talking the tree kind. Got a preference for scents?"

"She's not gonna be able to smell it you dumb fuck!" Logan shouted. You heard an audible screech before a loud rustle had you pulling the phone from your ear with a groan. "Honey?"

You smiled, walking towards the part of the room that didn't echo with your voice. "I'm scared to ask what you guys are doing today."

"Oh," he chuckled. You wished he'd bought a better phone, longing to see each expression that crossed his face. "I owe you a door."

That kiss reemerged in your memory once more. Burning through your body in quick rapid strokes. As if Logan was fanning the flames of something stronger—a fire that you wouldn't be able to control. You imagined what he looked like at this moment, if he still wore the exhausted look of grief from last night. Or if he'd covered it with a mask of annoyance due to Wade.

"I can just call the building manager to fix it." You put it on your list of things to do today already, but the idea of seeing Logan again was too tempting to pass up.

He huffed, falling silent. Wade's voice shouting about the Lorax became all you heard for a brief moment—Logan no doubt figuring out what he could say to fix this. The glimpse of him last night had set your teeth on edge in a way you'd never experienced before. You felt you could sink your canines into the tension and rip it to shreds with ease.

"Where I come from it's only right to fix what I broke."

What he broke.

This wasn't about the door. You could see it clearly in the pained way he spoke his words—each one more clear than the last. Leaving you in a rush with no fucking explanation left him worried that you weren't going to be around if he kept pushing you away. You were something good—a light he sought in the darkness he found himself in—and messing up this chance wasn't going to happen twice.

He'd done this before. He pushed those he loved away.

Doing the same with you only made his chest echo with the hollow emptiness that he'd grown tired of feeling.

"You can fix my door under one condition," you said, effectively breaking the silence.

"Anythin'."

The flutter in your chest felt lethal when he spoke to you like this; open and willing to bend where you wanted him to go. A man had never given you this before. The attention, the knowledge that he wanted all of you. Not just sex, or meaningless conversations. He wanted every piece you were open to sharing—every dark crevice and thought you felt embarrassed about.

You only wished he'd understand you wanted the exact same thing from him.

"Dinner. My place. Seven p.m."

Fuck what you wouldn't give to see his smile as he let out a sigh of relief. "I won't be late."

You smiled, worrying your lip between your teeth—that familiar gooey warmth now back in your chest. "You better not be."

"I've got great timing honey. Got nothin' to worry about."

Bullshit. You nearly said it, but a loud shuffle and a few bitten off curse words—mainly growled on Logan's end—cut your conversation short. A triumphant laugh you could only figure to be Wade's pierced your eardrum as the phone was unwillingly handed off once again.

"I just want to let you know I've got money on whether or not he nails you tonight. So don't let me down cupcake."

"You're betting on this?" you exclaimed, loud enough to hear your voice bounce off the walls and echo back to where your supervisor was no doubt sitting.

"Of course. I'm not one to turn down the sleazy art of gambling." He sighed wistfully. You'd never wanted to punch someone more in this moment; suddenly aware that this is how Logan must feel every day of his life. "Besides if you heard the sounds that came out of our shower this afternoon. Oh ho ho. Something tells me that he was letting off some Steam Boat Willy to the thought of his late night phone buddy."

Disgust at Wade's words was rapidly overshadowed by the thought of Logan in the shower. Naked and desperate to find some release after your conversation last night. To say you hadn't pictured what he'd look like hard and aching from your touch would be a lie. But actually knowing that's what happened left you winded.

Your chest heaved as your body grew warm—the image of him with his hand around his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure, almost made your knees give out.

"Your thinkin' about it huh?" The overconfidence in Wade's voice snapped you back to reality within seconds.

"Shut up."

"Got ya red handed angel."

With a roll of your eyes, you made to head back to your work—Wade's words only served to fluster you more than you wanted. "Don't piss him off too much okay Wilson?"

His laughter nearly appeased you as the piercing sound of a saw went off again. The both of them must have ventured to a warehouse to find materials. You wanted to confirm your thoughts when Wade did it for you. As if he could hear you loud and clear.

"Who knew our man had lumberjack experience?" He sighed dreamily, a shout of what you guessed was Logan saying fuck off filtering through. "God it's like watching X-Men Origins Wolverine. Back when his hair screamed Staying Alive and I went by the name Billy Butcherson."

A cough from behind you gave enough notice that you had in fact been caught by your boss—her glare burning through the back of your skull. The short break you were allotted passed five minutes ago. Normally you'd be fighting your way to the end of the day. Today though...you felt that delicious bite of excitement at knowing you'd be spending tonight with Logan.

"I've got to go. But Wade..."

"Yeah?"

"Take a picture for me will you?"

"Already done. Got my phone set to burst. Which is what Logan's gonna do tonight instead of tainting our shower walls–" Logan's roar of I'll fuckin' kill you came seconds before you heard a thwack overlapped with Wade's high shriek. 

The line went dead instantly.

The elevator wasn't moving fast enough for your liking—each flash of a floor passed sent another wave of nerves through your body. Work dragged on longer than you expected. And the groceries you picked up on the way didn't feel like enough to make a meal grand enough for a night like tonight. You tried to destress by saying he wasn't expecting much. This wasn't even a date.

That is until you realized...that's exactly what this was.

A date that felt long overdue.

You hadn't known Logan long enough to pursue a relationship as deep as this, but that's where things got fuzzy. He knew you. Or a version of you that felt entirely different to the person you were now. And maybe that's where the security that this would last came through. The knowledge that no matter what happened, Logan was in this for the long haul.

This wasn't temporary.

A creak of the doors opening didn't deter you from digging through your mountain of thoughts. Each one more worrisome than the last. You should be terrified that this was it. The future had already been written and Logan was at the end of the road. That alone would be reason enough to turn tail and run.

Then you turned the corner leading directly down your hallway.

Logan stood leaning against the wall, a lit cigar in his mouth, smoke trailing past his lips, and a heavy wooden door placed directly beside him. A toolbox that looked to have seen better days sat by his feet. A bouquet of honeysuckle and peonies placed directly on top—wrapped in brown paper with a yellow and blue bow.

Whatever fear might have lingered in your body dissipated when his gaze found yours and his lips pulled into a smile.

"You're early," you said—desperate to catch your breath. The scent of his cigar lingered on your senses, mixing with the leather of his jacket.

Suddenly Wade's words from earlier felt a lot more real than you expected. He showed up dressed casually. Jeans, flannel, the familiar dog tags strung around his neck. Yet whatever transpired the night before came rushing back with the promise of more.

This was a date. But whether it would lead to something else you'd leave entirely up to him.

"I told ya I had great timing honey."

Heat trailed down your body where his eyes followed. "I didn't believe you."

"I know."

The claw marks on your door brought a flustered smile to your face. As if to say you were okay with them staying. You wanted them to stay. Logan's eyes darkened at the sight, a flash of something worse taking hold of his mind as you pushed it open.

You longed for him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't either way. But the hope still remained—lingering on the edges of your heart.

"Easy enough to fix," he muttered, reaching for his tools—the bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in his large palm.

"I didn't know what exactly to get." He stood in your living room, eyes trained on the window. Finally he was on the other side—in your home—and yet he found he didn't belong here. "Do you have a preference?"

He sucked in another drag from the cigar before pulling it free—stamping it out on his palm as you watched. A heady wanton look crossed your features. You doused it quickly in favor of unpacking the groceries. He made sure to store it away for a later time. One that didn't feel dragged by the weight of his own thoughts.

"I'm not picky."

You nodded. "Feel free to use whatever's useful. I don't have tools though."

"I came prepared bub." He lifted the box with a smile and suddenly recalled that he bought you flowers. Much to Wade's annoying comments about this being a first date. Logan wouldn't push you in any direction you felt uncomfortable going towards. But in an irritating turn of events, Wade was right. Twice. "These are for you."

The smile on your face was worth every dollar and excruciating minute spent picking out what went with what. He reminded himself to thank Wade. Even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"They're beautiful." The delicate white lay atop pink flowers that filled your senses. An aroma you'd never known could work so well together. "Why these?"

A touch of crimson began to tint the tops of his ears as he let out a breath. "They're uh..." He coughed. "The day we met I said somethin' kinda awkward."

"I smelled different."

"Yeah." Logan wanted to bury himself six feet under at the teasing glint in your eyes. "That's how you smell. To me. Like honey and flowers."

There had to be an explanation for the way your heart split down the center—as if to offer him one half. To give him a part of yourself that once didn't belong to him. But that's where you were wrong. Even in a different universe, he would find you. You were once everything to him; the person he'd go through hell for. That fact never changed. Even if you did.

You wanted to spill every emotion, every truth about how your heart already longed for him in ways that left you reeling. But Logan wasn't a man to speak longer than he had to. And before you finally gained the courage to open your mouth, he was stepping back into the hallway. His hands busy with a project and mind eons away.

Dinner was simple to cook knowing he'd eat whatever you made. Pasta, some wine, and an old bottle of whiskey a friend of yours bought sat on the table as he put the final touches on the door. You'd spent the time at the stove combing over every word spoken. Every minute touch and fleeting look. As he worked effortlessly on setting your new door in place.

A dark honeyed wood with grooves throughout that almost resembled the small panes of a window. The quality was stunning. Beyond anything you'd seen before.

You wanted to prod and ask where he learned to do this. But the sight of him slightly sweaty, flannel tossed into his toolbox, and arms on display when he carried the door to its spot, left you dazed. Each movement caused the muscles beneath his skin to ripple—face screwed in a look of concentration while the sound of the drill echoed off the hallway walls.

For a moment you forgot dinner was cooking as you practically ogled his form. That familiar flame burned through your body when his gaze met yours and a smile crossed his lips.

Logan could feel your eyes on him—the aching burn of your gaze now seared into the bare skin of his arms and shoulders. And he fought himself to keep going. To ignore your now heady scent—the way your heart sped up with each shift of his body—and finish what he started. If he was being honest, which he rarely was with himself, he put on a show for you.

You liked him.

He just wanted to reaffirm that fact once in a while.

The smell of slightly burnt garlic had him biting back a smile as you rushed to fix what his distraction caused. His ego swelled. Heart pumping with a sense of pride the second he caught you flustered with your head bowed in the kitchen.

"Smells delicious honey," he said, testing the lock on the door a few times until he felt satisfied with his work.

"It's not much." You popped open the two types of alcohol, pouring a generous helping of wine in your glass. He fixed himself his own whiskey. "Something my sister taught me when I was in college. She believed if there was nothing else to cook, pasta was always the correct answer."

"Smart woman."

You pushed the plate his way and caught the grin he hid at the small act of domesticity. What began as a nerve-wracking date became an insight into what your future with him might look like. Dinner at a tiny kitchen table, his jacket draped over one chair, the scent of flowers twining together with the faint traces of his cigar.

A life that felt perfect enough to keep forever.

"I hope you know Wade's betting on tonight," you said, pouring another glass of wine.

You were settled next to him on the couch, dinner resting full and warm in your stomachs. The alcohol tasted sweeter on your tongue compared to an hour ago. He lounged with his legs spread, glass balanced in one hand. A lazy look of satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

Logan had never felt this comfortable. Soothed by the scent of you beside him, the whiskey on his tongue, and the sight of you with your legs curled beneath you. The red wine made you smile more, laugh easier. He noticed how you bloomed before him, light shimmering between small jokes and half assed teases.

All his life he wondered what home would truly feel like. What would having a place be? And this...you beside him with an endless night stretched before you, gave him the answer.

Home felt like you.

He groaned, head falling against the back of your couch. "He's a lucky fucker with that can't die bullshit. What's the bet?"

Your eyes dragged to the door—tracing the carved marks as his hand hesitated to settle on your thigh. "That you'd and I quote nail me."

"What?" he spit.

The laugh that bubbled to the surface echoed with the heady effects of too much wine. "I hate to break it to Wade. But I don't have sex on the first date."

Logan's lips turned up, hand finally against the bare skin of your leg. Your skirt fanned around your lap, covering your soft skin that lay beneath. "So this is a date huh?"

"Yeah." He tugged you closer. "At least I think it is."

"I think so too."

Unconsciously, you toyed with the chain of his dog tags, catching a glimpse of the worn letters of his name. Any other time you'd push the questions away. You would claim that tonight wasn't the right time. After all this felt good, right in ways nothing had before. But the wine made you loose lipped. Braver than the other times you pushed past the line he drew deep in the sand.

Except this time...he started the conversation.

"You asked about my nightmares last night."

Your eyes caught his, fingers stilling against his chest. "I know you don't want to talk about it."

He shook his head with a deep exhale he felt down to his stomach. "If this is what I think it is. What we're startin' here. Then you should know what you're getting into honey."

"I know what I'm getting into–"

"No. You don't." He sat up straighter, tugging you close until your legs lay over his lap. "You don't know what happened to me. What I did..." He sucked in air as his heart began to twist. The cold wash of anxiety suddenly brighter than a few minutes earlier. "What I couldn't do."

The pain in his eyes chipped off a piece of your heart. Oh how you longed to give it to him.

Cupping his cheek, you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin. "Logan. You're not a bad man."

"Yeah bub. I am," he barked in a half laugh meant to discourage you from seeing his grief.

That's what this was. The full spectrum of his emotions scared the shit out of him more than any villain he fought. More than the thought of dying alone one day. The moment you saw them for yourself, he knew you'd run. He almost expected it. Which is why he'd taken so long—put it off each time the curiosity lingered in your gaze longer than he liked.

He told himself you didn't need to know.

It was better this way.

Tonight proved that all those reasons—all those excuses—stood no chance when it came to you.

"I don't believe that," you whispered, your other hand curling around his dog tags.

"Gotta remember I'm not him. I'm not the hero and never have been." When you looked at him like that—eyes wide and lips turned down—he felt the full weight of the words he was about to say out loud. Words he hadn't spoken since Laura met him by the fire way back in the Void.

Somehow saying it to the other Logan's daughter felt easier. As if he couldn't disappoint her anymore than he had. She'd been there at his death, watched him struggle to protect her, and loved him in spite of all that. She called him Dad and spoke over his grave with a smile. Knowing full well he'd never come back to life, he'd never find his way back to her.

Laura wasn't his kid and yet...he knew she'd understand.

But saying it all to you…

He wasn't sure he'd survive it if you never understood.

"The X-Men in my world weren't as respected as the ones in yours. We were heroes, but the humans. God they fuckin' hated us." His eyes burned with each memory that came rushing back. A river that threatened to drown him. "And I always had to be an asshole. I didn't know what home felt like—what...family felt like. So when I got it, I pushed it away."

"Oh, Logan–"

"No, let me...let me finish honey." He gripped the glass until he heard a crack—his eyes dazed and mind lost to a different time. The night that would later become his ghost. "So I left and did the only thing I was fuckin' good at. I drank until I couldn't feel anythin' anymore. And the humans decided they'd had enough of the X-Men."

Grief struck your heart straight down the center. Tears spilled down your cheeks at the sight of him so broken—so raw from a time that would never leave him. You finally knew why Wade never explained it to you.

This wasn't his story to tell. Not his past to share.

"I came home and they were–" His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh in an attempt to ground himself. Claws slipping free as he struggled to get the final words out—the truth of why he pushed you away. Why he should keep pushing you away. "They were dead."

You pressed yourself against his side, lips against his temple as he silently bit back the emotions he refused to set free. What would become of him once they were finally out? He couldn't risk hurting you because of it.

"They called for me." His breath was ragged, voice thick with tears that never fell. "Jean. Charles. I heard them die in my head. But I was too fuckin' drunk to save them. I got home and all of them were...Jesus. The humans called us mutants vicious, but I'd never seen anythin' like this."

The worst part crawled up his spine with a chill that had his claws coming free. "And you. You survived due to your gifts. Apparently you hid in the future—snapped there without even realizing it. But by the time you returned they were dead and no matter how many times you tried to go back, you couldn't." He raised his head, eyes red and glassy. "You tried to kill me that night. I couldn't blame you for it cause I wanted to die."

"That's not me."

He shook his head. "I know, but you have to know why it happened. I couldn't protect you honey. I couldn't protect any of them."

"The humans did this. Not you." You dragged his face to yours, forcing him to see the sincerity in your eyes—the fire that burned no matter the variant. "You did not kill your family Logan. Don't take their shame."

"It's easy for you to say that bub. You weren't there." He felt your touch mark against his skin and fuck how he wished it would leave a scar. "I'm not the fuckin' hero. I'm the man who fucked it all up because he was too proud for his own good. I need you to see that."

Your gaze hardened. "Why?"

"So you know what you're gettin–"

"Bullshit," you demanded. "I know exactly what I'm getting into Logan. I knew the second I met you. So don't do that. Don't push me away." The press of his forehead to yours leveled the pain and allowed him to breathe. "I'm here to stay. Whether you want me or not."

He grinned, tears finally falling as your lips found his. You breathed life back into his chest, made his heart worth beating again. For all that time he damned himself, loathed the reflection in the mirror, he never thought he'd get this. The soft press of your kiss, the bitter tang of wine on your tongue as his hand gripped your hip—his claws retreating back into his body.

"Trust me. I want you," he mumbled against salt stained lips and broken smiles. "I'll always want you."

"Then it's a good thing I want you too."

That familiar flicker of sparks still existed in the air, begging for more. But you were content to stay here. Kissing him over and over again in order to embed the sensation in your mind.

"Thank you for telling me," you sighed, fingers curling into his hair to drag his lips back to yours.

The thud of his heart ran through his whole body. "Can I show you somethin'?"

You nodded, pulling away as he dug into his pocket. As much as he longed to keep kissing you, to spend all night right there on that couch. He knew there'd be time for that. A night where you were both unburdened by the weight of a past that defined who you were. Tonight was not that night.

The picture was old, burned slightly at the edges and crinkled, but he handed it over with a grin. A group photo like the one stored in the archives at your job. Only this time you recognized two faces among the small team of people in yellow suits. You were smiling with an arm around Logan's waist, your face pressed against his chest.

The sight of his smile—wide and unfiltered—made your heart leap. But the blue aura that seemed to wrap around your body is what gave you pause.

"The blue..."

"Your powers." He pointed to the way it ended at your hands, seeming to stem directly from your chest. "Turning them off wasn't really a thing you could do. Somethin' about time being a constant flow of energy. Charles always explained it better."

Thousands of questions came to mind. All of them pertaining to the powers and the team and more specifically him. He sunk into the couch with a sigh, his eyes hazy with a different kind of need. An ache that no doubt begged him each night. Sleep. Rest without any nightmares, free of the shackles he'd placed on himself.

So you stood, nearly startling him when you did. Nothing had to be said about your intentions, or why you held out your hand for him to take. He simply followed. Each step heavier than the last. The kitchen could be cleaned tomorrow, the bottles put away later. You couldn't find it in yourself to care when his hand was in yours and he smiled at you as if you'd hung the moon in the sky.

"Thought you said Wade was losin' tonight honey?"

You laughed, pushing the flannel from his shoulders as you led him to your bed. "He is. We're just sleeping."

There was no mistaking the doubt in his eyes, the trepidation of his nightmares. "I might hurt you."

"No you won't." Drawing his hand up to your mouth, you lay a kiss along his knuckles. "I trust you Logan."

"You shouldn't." His breath was a shuddered exhale at the sight of you pulling your dress up and over your body.

"Well too bad," you replied, tugging the covers back while he pulled off his shirt—leaving his boots by the door. "You don't scare me Wolverine."

"Wolverine huh?" Crawling into bed with you was easy. Though the mattress sunk under the weight of his bones, you still let him tug you closer—his arms wrapped around your bare waist. "It was James the other night."

"Careful," you said. "Or I'll start calling you Howlett."

A growl rumbled in his chest, his teeth nipping at the bare skin of your shoulder as you laughed. And suddenly he remembered what it was like to live. To want more than just the bottom of a bottle and a peaceful night's sleep. He could recall nights like this in the past. A different you curled up against his body—the love resonating in how you clung to him.

It all slammed into him at once.

Although tonight he didn't push it away. He kept you close, his nose burrowed in your hair, and welcomed the gentle tug of a few hours rest.

Tonight—for the first time—he slept.

Without nightmares.

[howcouldmuffin]

First Choice I

[ Chapter 1 : The Unchangeable Past ]

You’ve always known you weren’t his first choice. You’ve accepted being his second option, but you won’t wait in the wings forever.

PAIRING : Jacaerys Velaryon x Fem!Reader

WARNING : SFW, Targaryen Incest, Non-canon

CONTENTS : Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

AN : Hello, this is a mini-series I’ve been wanting to write. At first, I intended to write it as a single chapter, but the plot in my head is too extensive, so I thought it might be better to split it up. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this piece of writing.

please be kind to me English is not my first language.

Being the second child isn’t easy, and if you’re a daughter, your importance within the family starts to diminish. You have to hide behind your older siblings, always being compared to them, whether it’s your older sister, brother, or even younger brother.

You know that you are often overlooked. No matter how hard you try to please your grandparents or parents, you can never measure up to your siblings. You have nothing to compete with them. All you have is your appearance, which your mother often describes as “beautiful but mindless.”

Hearing those words only deepens your hurt. You can never be the child or grandchild they want, and even your beauty becomes a sharp weapon slowly aimed at you. Every time you enter the hall at social gatherings, you sense their expectations. The unwanted attention and harassment you faced as a child made you reluctant to participate in social events and made you want to leave.

Once, you heard that Rhaenyra, your eldest sister, wanted to betroth her son Jacaerys to your sister Helaena. Your mother refused and instead betrothed Helaena to your eldest brother Aegon. Now, your father Viserys has offered a new arrangement: you will be betrothed instead. You are not the eldest daughter who needs to marry the eldest son like Helaena. You are not a son like Aemond or Daeron. You are being forced into this marriage, and you know that your nephew is also dissatisfied with it.

You don’t hate him, but rather it's him who seems to feel that way. Being close to Aemond in your childhood, though it made you a target of teasing, helped you understand him. Aegon was always skilled and clever in these matters, often taking your nephew on mischievous adventures. You tried to comfort your brother when he was being picked on, but he seemed indifferent to your words.

Yet, your own tragic feelings only pushed you further into despair. At every gathering, you watched your nephew intently. During every training session, your eyes were fixed on him. At every meal where jokes were shared, you always looked to see his reaction. You did this because no one ever paid attention to you while your relatives were nearby—like the moon waiting for the sun’s light.

And then, it reached its end. The event that caused both families to avoid each other. Aemond lost an eye and received a dragon. You knew your brother was the one who started the conflict, harming the children first, and he was no longer someone who tolerated much. You told him that now that he had a dragon, the largest one at that, he should stop nursing his grudges and focus on other things instead. Aemond didn’t respond; he merely gave a scornful smile and turned away from you.

This meant you never saw him again. Not even a single letter was exchanged. You could only listen to the servants in the castle recount stories about them. You dreamt of and wondered what he would be like. How would he react if he knew and realized that you were his betrothed? You eagerly awaited the chance to stand by his side, training yourself in every way for him, hoping that it might finally make a difference.

After waiting for many years, you are finally going to meet him, though not under the most pleasant of circumstances. At least you will meet the man who is meant to shape you into someone you have never been. You chose to wear a golden V-neck dress with sleeveless straps, with a few thin bands around your arms serving as sleeves. Your hair was simply braided and pinned back. You are filled with hope, though it could easily shatter.

As soon as you step into the grand hall, all eyes are on you. It is known that the youngest daughter prefers seclusion over socializing, and you hope this will make a good impression on the prince. Your eyes quickly search for him and you spot him talking with your cousin. You head in his direction, eagerly anticipating his approach. You can barely contain your excitement, and your smile is one of astonishment. Yet, you can sense that the look he gives you is far from friendly—it is the last thing you hoped for.

“Why are you so late?” your mother’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. “And where is your sister?” Alicent grips your arm, causing you pain, but you are used to it.

“I was just helping Helaena get the children dressed. She should be here soon.” you reply, and her grip loosens as her stern expression softens.

“It’s good you didn’t leave your sister in trouble.”

The judgment clearly favors your sister over Vaemon, but what makes your heart race is Rhaenys's announcement of a betrothal between her granddaughter and Rhaenyra's son. Your concern grows as you notice Jacaerys and Baela exchanging smiles that are unfamiliar and perhaps never meant for you.

After the verdict was delivered, you withdrew from the hall and retreated to your room immediately. It became clear that, despite the passage of time, he might never see you in a favorable light. You have no one to blame but yourself—although you never mocked him directly, you never stopped those who did. Perhaps it is only fitting that you face this now.

After lying awake for what felt like an eternity, your trusted maid entered your room to prepare you for dinner with the family. You had shed a few tears after leaving the hall, and your eyes were now slightly swollen.

“Your Highness.” the maid, Vidah, said as she entered, “Shall we get ready? The prince will appreciate you even more.”

“No need, Vidah.” you replied. “There’s no point in doing that. Let things unfold as they will.” You smiled at her and slowly rose from the bed. She must understand you by now. Vidah is the only one you can confide in—like a mother, a friend, and an older sister all in one. She is another family to you.

“It’s alright, Your Highness.” she said, guiding you to the vanity and helping you sit in front of it. “You have more beauty and grace than any woman in Westeros. One day, the prince will see this.”

You nodded, and she gently began to undo your braid, combing your hair slowly as if it were silk.

“I’ll make you the most desirable princess in the Seven Kingdoms.” she whispered. “Even in this dress, you remain beautiful. Don’t undervalue yourself.”

“Thank you, Vidah.” you said, finally managing a genuine smile.

You walked into the dining hall slowly, relieved to not be late but anxious that not all your siblings had arrived yet. You feared another reprimand, but Aegon’s presence helped ease your nerves. He told you amusing stories, and even though you knew they were embellished, they were still entertaining.

As more people entered the dining room, you found yourself constantly scanning for Jacaerys. When he did arrive, you saw him walking in with Baela, just as before. The feeling in your heart was as if it had dropped from the top of the castle. When Viserys entered, everyone showed respect to your father, and the meal began.

You noticed the prince’s gaze occasionally fixed on you—sometimes with surprise, sometimes with scrutiny, and sometimes just passing over you. You hadn’t spoken a word since the meal started. Aemond seemed indifferent, merely eating to finish, while Helaena was lost in her thoughts.

Aegon seemed to be trying to engage Jacaerys, but was unsuccessful. Jacaerys then stood and invited Helaena to dance, not you. You could only think that if your mother were less biased, they might have made a wonderful pair and ruled the realm superbly.

Though it was still early, it was late enough to use as an excuse to escape your relatives. Walking alone through the Red Keep at night was not unusual for you, as you were rarely noticed unless there was a festive event or a tournament.

You wandered for an indeterminate amount of time, wanting to continue aimlessly until you overheard a conversation.

“You cannot refuse to speak with her.”

“Do you think she wants to speak with me? Last time, she cried because her beloved brother lost an eye, and even though she saw the whole event, she ran away.”

“She went to get help.”

“And what happened? My brother is now targeted by my uncle.”

You didn’t listen further. You knew it would be as they said—if only you had stopped your brother back then, perhaps this wouldn’t have happened. You might truly be a walking disaster. Maybe you aren’t as valuable as everyone says.

Upon returning to your room, you found Vidah waiting for you. She would try to soothe you to sleep before going to bed herself or at least ensure you didn’t return to your room in tears as you did tonight. You hugged her and rested on her lap as you used to. She gently stroked your head and comforted you.

“If only I… if only I had told him to stop.” you sobbed. “Maybe it wouldn’t have happened.”

“If I had intervened, they… they might not be like this.” tears flowed down both sides of your face, staining Vidah's clothes and hair, making them damp.

“Oh, my princess.” she gently stroked your back. “Whatever is meant to happen will happen. If you had intervened, you might have been the one to lose an eye. You did well to get others to help.”

“I don’t know what Aemond thinks of his nephew now.” you sobbed. “I tried, Vidah, but is my effort still not enough?”

“My princess, you have tried enough. We cannot make things turn out as we wish. You know that.” she replied, then helped you lie down comfortably and stroked your head gently. “Sleep now. We have tomorrow to wake up to. You have done your best, my princess.”

You said nothing further and nodded to your trusted maid. You slowly closed your eyes, trying to stop your thoughts and rest as Vidah advised.

Once again, the family gathering has arrived, but this time it's just the children, staring at each other. Everyone is sitting in a large reception room. You occasionally glance at him; he seems very familiar with Baela.

“They surely didn’t call us just to stare at each other, did they?” Aegon asks.

“We're waiting here, and after they finish their discussion, we'll have dinner together.” Jacaerys replies. You can tell your older brother must have some plan he's about to execute.

“Well, they might be mistaken about our patience.” he says with a broad smile. “Come on, nephew. Let’s find something fun to do.”

It’s bound to be neither fun nor trouble-free. Aegon turns to invite Jace again, but he doesn’t react. He shrugs and walks out of the room, glancing back at you in confusion. Aemond, seeing this, turns to you and also exits the room.

“Jaehaerys, don’t be a nuisance.” your sister warns her son as she sees your father and uncle leaving. The boy approaches you, likely wanting you to play with him instead, and you don’t refuse.

“Who’s been a good boy today?” You pick him up and chat as you usually do. He’s much livelier than his sister, but Jaehaera causes less trouble.

“I am, and Haera.”

“What a lovely brother you are.” you touch his tiny nose, and he touches it back, laughing. It warms the atmosphere in the room. Children often heal your spirit on tired days; their smiles make you ready to protect them unconditionally.

“He has grown up well.” Baela comments. “He’ll grow into a fine young man.” She stands up and approaches you. You’re unsure how to react.

“He likes being held.” you respond. “Would you like to try holding him?” Baela looks at your sister, who nods in agreement, and she slowly takes the boy from you. You gently pat the child’s back and tell him it’s okay.

As expected, Jaehaerys makes Baela smile, and the boy tells her stories he thinks are amazing. You catch the eye of your fiancé, who is focused on her. Luke and Rhaena are chatting with your sister. Soon, you notice Jacaerys looking at you. You meet his gaze, and it’s a stare after many years of not seeing each other. He’s still the same as when you first met. He moves closer, and you feel a glimmer of hope that he might want to talk to you, but why would he?

He walks over to Baela, engaging in a conversation you feel hesitant to interrupt. It flows smoothly, and they seem quite familiar with each other. You smile at Helaena and slowly leave the room. When will you be brave enough? You walk to the grand corridor and stop at a large column, facing it, not crying but trying to gather your composure.

“Try if you can, sister.” a familiar voice says.

“Just leave me alone, Aemond.”

“You don’t seem like yourself.”

“I am myself.” you face him. “And what if that’s the case?”

“Don’t show your feelings so openly that you appear weak.”

“Isn’t that how you all see me anyway?”

“Who, then? Mother or Grandfather?”

“All of you.”

“Being able to do everything but excel at nothing isn’t so terrible, sister.” Aemond extends his arm toward you.

“Let’s go. We’ve probably been important enough already to be late.” You grasp his arm and walk with him to the dining room. Even though your brother seems tough, it’s strange how he understands your feelings the best.

Walking alone down the corridors of the Red Keep at night is probably not a new experience for you. Exploring every corner in a different light, spending as much time as possible with yourself, not wanting to hear complaints, scolding, or comparisons from your mother, and avoiding the condescending gazes of your siblings—especially his.

But tonight, you encounter him at the other end of the corridor. You pause and consider whether to continue walking or not. But your thoughts are far behind his movements. He notices you and remains as indifferent as ever, seeming to make you invisible in his eyes, which is impossible. You have to do something about this relationship.

“Your Highness.” you begin, and he nods in acknowledgment without a word.

“Is the prince unable to sleep?”

“I just wanted to take a walk.” he says, about to move away.

“I apologize, Your Highness.” you interrupt him. “I know it’s probably too late for this, but I truly feel that I was wrong. I’m sorry for not asking Aemond to stop, for not helping, for not fully explaining the situation to everyone, and for other actions. I never harbored any dislike or aversion towards you. I know it might be hard to believe, but I speak sincerely.”

He listens but doesn’t turn to look at you. He pauses briefly to make sure you have nothing more to say, then walks away, leaving you drowning in confusion. It seems that one word cannot mend what has already been hurt. It might be a scar that can never be healed.

You return to your room to find Vidah absent. You collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling of your room—the ceiling you often gaze at while dreaming of various things. It’s like a canvas for your personal musings and expressions.

You don’t cry, but you feel a release from the feelings that have been suppressed within. You have said everything you needed to him. From now on, you must prove that your thoughts are sincere, not merely words of deceit, and hope that God will assist you in this matter.

If you’re not mistaken, your relationship with Jacaerys might only be one of good friends, as he may already have someone in his heart—Baela. You don’t deny that she is more suitable for him. She is the eldest daughter, with a stronger Targaryen bloodline, and is closer to him. You hold no anger or dislike towards her, but you do not want to be part of a romantic entanglement that would only cause you pain. You don’t want to because you have already endured enough suffering.

[angelpregdreams]

long-awaited delivery

content: monster birth, fpreg birth, long labor

Syrell released a long breath, a tightness wrapping around her distended abdomen that made her grunt after a moment. Behind her, Dyr - her Minotaur mate - paused and reached out for her back, huffing a silent question. 

“Labor started this morning,” Syrell breathed, her hands rubbing over her large middle to hold up her belly from the underside. The weight of it had been wearing on her hips in the past few months. She hummed under her breath and rubbed the underside of her belly softly, “I know there’s plenty of time, my body is just ready to be done with this.” 

Dyr thudded behind her, his hand still on her back as he guided her back towards their home. He made a noise of concern, one that he had made clear many, many times over her years long pregnancy. Especially as the last year had passed, and her stomach distended far over her hips. It jutted out awkwardly now, causing her to lose some of her carefully honed grace. Her mate made another noise, prompting her to answer as the pain receded.

“I’ll be fine,” Syrell waved his worry away before quickly returning her hand under her belly. Dyr caught the action and swooped a giant arm under her belly and lifted the weight off of her hips. Instantly she sighed in relief and leaned into his hold. “...but that certainly helps, love.”

He chuffed knowingly, and she fought the urge to nudge him playfully. She was determined to not ask for help up until now, but as the last few months had passed, she was happy to have the assistance now. 

“Let’s get home, I want to labor in peace.” Syrell said, leaning fully into her mate’s chest and letting him lift her off her feet. Dyr was gentle as he carried her back to their small cottage. It was comfortable here and Syrell was able to relax as soon as they stepped foot on their property. Quietly, he asked her to take her to her garden and he obliged, placing her on her feet but still supporting the weight of his young in her belly.

The couple remained attached at the hip over the next day, Dyr never straying far from his mate as she moved carefully around their home. Her body labored, mostly ignorable, but the pains did come quicker and quicker as the hours, then days, went on. Finally, three days after returning to their home, the pains hardly receded for longer than a few minutes. They had also gotten stronger, making it harder for Syrell to labor quietly. 

Currently, the elven woman was bent over the edge of their bed, her body nude and glistened slightly with sweat as she breathed through her nose as a strong pain overtook her. Dyr ran both of his large hands over the expanse of her back, pausing to rub the muscles around her hips. Syrell continued to groan, rocking her body in a way that made her swollen breasts and huge belly swing slightly under her. 

“...the pressure is awful…” Syrell whimpered as she released her breath and attempted to straighten herself. Her mate was at her side and holding her belly for her as she threw her head back and closed her eyes, a grimace upon her face. The pains had been wearing her down slowly and it was getting harder to retain her strength. “It has to come soon…I can hardly close my legs…” 

As if to emphasize her point, the elf began to waddle away from the bed, slipping away from Dyr. She wanted to be outside and reconnect with nature, her body needed to be grounded as the birth approached. A split second as she began to waddle off, Dyr watched her gravid nude form with pride, before chasing after her to help support his mate. She knew how much helping her meant to him and she relented more now than ever before, for a very good cause. 

Syrell had to pause in the doorframe of their cottage, holding onto the wood as a contraction came and tightened her core. “Ah!” A gasp ripped from her as the tightness gripped her harder than before suddenly and without warning. “...wha-? Oh,” Syrell exclaimed, the sudden gush of her waters spilling out of her womanhood and between her thighs. 

She spread her thighs slightly and looked down, blushing slightly in shame as she realized what happened. Next to her, Dyr appeared just as surprised but looked at her with lingering concern. 

“It's all…it's alright.” She moaned, still holding onto him tightly. “I need to get comfortable…please.” Her moans got louder and she doubled over her massive belly, her arm wrapping around herself as she felt the tightness shift into a hard pressure that sat directly in between her hips. Her grimace returned and she released a loud groan. The pain shifted, planting as low as she could imagine the ache to be able to go. Her pussy was slick now and she reached the hand over her belly down between her thighs, her fingers probing the swollen skin of her folds with a gasp. No baby yet but she was bulging out into her hand which was surprising. The shift into her birth canal seemingly happened as soon as her waters broke. 

“We need…to….hurry.” She breathed through her groaning, hand remaining over her pussy as she began to waddle the rest of the way outside. Before she could even protest, Dyr swept her off her feet and carried her the remainder of the way, gently but quickly. 

“Ahh!” Syrell cried out as the next contraction overtook her, the pressure transforming into something she struggled to ignore. After days of laboring, it finally felt like it was time. Dyr took her to the middle of the garden, placing her down in the grass and stayed nearby to help move even as she tenderly rubbed her pussy as a way to distract herself from the pressure, the movements awkward and distracted. 

Sensing the shift in her, Dyr curled around her and guided the elven woman onto her knees. She panted in pain, holding and fingering her womanhood gently to ignore the pressure but it was hard. 

Her eyes snapped open and she spread her thighs, leaning heavily into her mate's embrace as she rocked her hips back and forth. “Touch me, n-need…to distract…”

Without a sound or objection, her mate brought one of his huge hands over her bulging pussy and found her clit with familiarity. It was puffy too, swollen from all of the blood in the area, and it made Syrell buck her hips into his hand, whining in need as she rocked her hips against him. “Yes, oh, yes, just like that.” She cooed, rubbing both of her hands over her massive belly and humming softly as she rode through the pain on his palm. “O-oh. Oh, that…ow.” Her body curled inward, her lower abdomen remaining tight and the pressure in her hips not dissipating when the pain subsided. It returned faster than before, causing her to groan as she pushed instinctively, her folds pushing into her mate’s hand. Dyr paused as soon as she made a noise, but lingered at her side, not daring to pull away from her laboring form.

“That…is…uncomfortable.” Syrell panted, her chest heaving with every breath. Her eyes closed and she began to shift her hips slightly to counteract the pressure but it only made her grunt and tense. “Oh, this is uncomfortable.” 

Behind her, Dyr made a humming noise, a comforting sound, as he held her folds. His thick fingers slid over the warm skin gently, before his index finger ran over her very swollen and sensitive clit. 

Syrell was unable to stop the lurid moan that came from her when he did so, her body bucking down to meet his hand in an instinct she had not expected. It made the pressure far more bearable and she grasped his arm, silently begging him to continue.

He did so, still gentle and letting her control the pressure, but remaining steadfast behind her. For a little while she rode his hand through her contractions, the afternoon changing into evening, then later night. Finally after a long while, chasing an orgasm but unsuccessful, Syrell whined pathetically and lowered herself carefully onto her hands and knees and finally pushed, the pressure building so much so she couldn't ignore it any longer. 

Over the hours, her bulging pussy rounded out, the head sitting low in her birth canal, behind her Dyr had to adjust where he sat to keep in contact with her weeping cunt. He pulled away as she shifted, now nearly face to face with her pussy.

Syrell let out a sharp cry as she bore down, the pressure remaining and hardly moving even with her pushes. She threw her head back and whimpered as she released the push. Tears fell from her eyes and Dyr huffed comfortingly, rubbing her thigh with one hand. 

Her body trembled, her pussy bulging out impressively as she began to push again. Dyr was able to feel her folds spreading open, the fleshy head of their babe finally coming from her body. He made a noise of excitement, but Syrell ignored him - fully focused on her body and the intense burn of her womanhood. Her skin was already pulled tight with the slightest bit of the baby crowning. 

That small amount of progress was the most she continued to make for the next while, everything after going at a snail’s pace. Syrell’s stamina failing her as the evening rolled around. The darkening of the skies made her feel a small amount of fear. Finally, she had to settle on her ass, leaning back on her hands and simply panted. Dyr sat behind her, letting her rest her full weight on him and caressed her arms and shoulders gently. 

Once again she felt tears prick her eyes, the pressure urging her to push again, even as her body struggled to make any progress. Whimpering weakly, Syrell leaned back against her mate, parting and lifting her legs to grasp the back of them, finally urged far enough to strain even harder. Spread now wide apart, the elf groaned loudly and pushed down, her hips burning - but not nearly as bad as her pussy. The skin was taut around the head, now nearly sitting at its widest. 

As she released the push, Syrell winced, sensing a shift. She didn’t dare drop her legs down, instead keeping them tucked up as far as they would go. Burning between her legs, she felt her body experience a contraction, urging her to push along with it. Grunting and screwing her eyes shut, Syrell ignored Dyr and his gentle urges to continue, and released a harsh cry, “nuugh! Mm-nhaaaaaah!”

The head of the babe lurched forward, coming to a full crown finally. Syrell didn’t stop screaming, the pain in her spread hole increased now, fully pulled apart as far as her body would let her before tearing. Her body didn’t stop pushing either, the head being lodged at its widest for several long minutes before her womanhood finally squeezed the head out. It was accompanied by a large gush of fluid spilling around the head, now free from the previously blocked entrance. It spilled into the grass beneath her, and painfully, she shifted her ass as a way to ease the heavy weight in her core, holding her body spread open, but whined when it didn’t help.

Dyr cradled her as she wept silently, taking a few moments to finally rest before her contractions urged her on again. Her job was only half finished. 

Pushing the rest of the babe out was far easier in comparison, the shoulders slipping out with the help of her remaining fluid. The wide body slowed slightly as she pushed, the babe hanging out of her for a few pushes, the weight of it hanging there made her beg for it to just get out of her, before finally the babe slid out into the grass beneath her. When Dyr brought the child up to her chest, Syrell continued to cry, admiring the large half-minotaur calf in her arms. She looked up at her mate with teary eyes, a soft smile on her lips, “the horns…should not have surprised me, no wonder…you took…so long, little one.”

[nicksbestie]

Migraines - M. Sturniolo

Summary : Matt struggles with chronic migraines, and some days there isn't much that you can do, but that never means you don't try,

Warnings : mentions of vomiting and nausea, a small bit of crying

Word Count : 1313

Pairing : Matt Sturniolo/Reader (romantic)

A/N : i got inspo from this photo of matt <3

Living an entire two decades of life with chronic migraines was an absolutely miserable thing.

Matt was nearing his twenty-first birthday, and he was desperate to find something in his life that would help with these migraines. He had gone through prescription after prescription, doctor appointment after doctor appointment, specialist after specialist, and nothing had helped the splitting pain. He had a migraine tracker on his phone so that he could tell the percentage of how often he had migraines, and it was well over sixty percent of every month. It was quite depressing to look at, and even more depressing to live. It really affected Matt’s happiness and day to day life. 

All of their YouTube videos were filmed on Matt’s good days. They would change outfits so that they could film five to six videos in one day, gathering a lot of topics so that they would have tons to post when it came time to put them all up. Both of his brothers were incredibly caring and didn’t mind the way that they had to do things, and both wanted to do everything possible to make it easier for their middle sibling. They rode with Matt in an Uber every time his migraine was too bad for him to drive, so that he wouldn’t have to be alone, especially at a doctor’s office, a place he was already generally hesitant to be at. They truly were always by his side, arguing with doctors that told him it was anxiety based, or that he was exaggerating, when he didn’t have the energy to argue for himself.

Today was a bad day for him. Chris and Nick had left before Matt had woken up, so they had no idea that he was struggling, because the light from his phone, even at the lowest setting, wasn’t low enough to not send stabbing pains through his head, so he hadn’t texted. He hadn’t had the energy to call and speak to them either. All he had done was gotten up and shut the blinds, covering them up with blackout screens that he had bought a couple years back, because he needed all of the light out. They worked incredibly well, and he had cut off the dim lighting in his room that he’d slept with, needing complete darkness.

He had no idea how long he had laid there, he just knew he was in pain. Unbeknownst to him, when you noticed that he didn’t reply to your text, you were immediately concerned, and already on your way over. You’d seen that he’d read it, so you knew he was awake, and he hadn’t replied. He never left you on read, unless he couldn’t bear to look at his phone screen any longer, which meant he had a terrible migraine. You’d wasted no time getting ready, and due to the fact that Matt didn’t wake up until almost two in the afternoon, you didn’t get over there until almost four. You had your own key, both because of instances like these, and because of the fact that you had been together for almost two years now. Letting yourself in, you texted Chris and Nick, telling them that you were there as well.

You wasted no time in going upstairs, gently opening Matt’s door, and immediately closing it behind you, because while the light in the hallway wasn’t on, the daylight would filter in, and you knew it would aggravate his head. Seeing him face down on the bed, under covers and pillows, you gently whispered your greeting, telling him so he wouldn’t freak out, though you doubted he had the energy to freak out on you. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, rubbing his back and laying down next to him. He curled into your chest, and you could see the remnants of tear tracks on his face. You laid a kiss to his forehead, gently running your hand over it and through his hair. Your hands were a cooler temperature, and you could tell that it felt good and soothed his pain for a few seconds. You laid a palm on his forehead, wanting to help him feel better any way that you could. 

You laid with him for about an hour, helping hold the trash can at the side of his bed when the pain got to be so bad that it caused him to throw up, helping wipe his face off and get him laid back down, before realizing he hadn’t eaten anything all day, so it probably wouldn’t get much better. You laid there for a little while longer, thinking about what to do to help him, when you remembered a trick that had helped you when you had a terrible migraine one day. You softly untangled yourself from him, whispering that he could stay right there and you would be right back.

You went into the bathroom, turning a small, very dim, light on in the corner so you could see what was going on around you. You began running a warm bath, letting it run while you went to get Matt a small snack. You set it down on the edge of the bathtub, on the side touching the wall, and went to go get your boyfriend. You picked out some clean clothes for him, grabbed him the water bottle from his nightstand as well, and led him to the bathroom. He knew where it was, of course, but the thought of opening his eyes for the chance of any light just made the pain intensify, so he trusted you to guide him.

By this point, the tub was about three quarters of the way full, and you helped him get in. You knew he hadn’t showered that day, and the warm water on your legs and feet helped with your migraines, so you hoped it would help him as well. Judging by the way his face began to relax once he was in the tub, his back against your chest, you were glad it took away a little bit of his pain. You kept the temperature of the bathroom cooler so that he wouldn’t overheat, but not enough for him to get cold. His eyes stayed closed, but they were a calm closed, not a scrunched, wincing in pain, closed. He didn’t speak much, but he took the water and food that he was offered, and a gentle smile crossed his face the longer he sat in the tub.

The longer you stayed there with him, gently running your hands through his hair, the more his breathing evened out, and the deeper it got, and eventually, you realized he had fallen asleep. He had been so tired from being in pain, even though he had only been up for about four hours, that when the pain had lessened dramatically, his body was so exhausted that he just fell asleep in comfortable arms. You stayed there with him until the water went cold, and even longer after that, because you couldn’t bear to disturb him. After about half an hour, you softly shook him awake, gently helping him stand. By this point, you had both basically air dried, and Matt only pulled on boxers and loose shorts to sleep in. You tugged on one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers as well, going back to bed with him. 

As soon as he hit the bed, he was about to fall asleep again, and you pulled him back into your arms. You never minded taking care of him, knowing that he loved you more than words could say, and as he whispered a soft “I love you” into your chest, you knew you could do this for him for the rest of your life, and you could die happy.

“I love you more.”

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