#and he knows no one is coming for him but he’s still sort of like.

[gojover]

the subtleties of being in love

summary: kuroo tetsurou is the spider-man. he’s also your best friend. he’s also hopelessly in love with you. between fighting crime and juggling college, kuroo barely has the time to confess his feelings to you. lucky for him, you’ve got him covered. or, five times kuroo tetsurou tries to ask you out, and one time you ask him out instead.

⇢ pairing: spider-man!kuroo tetsurou x fem!reader ⇢ contains: fluff, mild angst, best friends to lovers au, spider-man au, college au, debatable attempts at comedy, idiots to idiots in love, 5+1 things, profanity, mentions of violence but nothing graphic—please let me know if i’ve missed anything! ⇢ word count: 5.0k

ONE — THE SUBTLE ART OF SWINGING INTO A WALL

Kuroo Tetsurou swears he isn’t trying to be stupid. 

It’s just that when he sees you, his mouth dries up, the words he want to say get stuck on the tip of his tongue and he can’t force them out no matter what, he feels his brain turn to mush and his legs turn to jelly, and—

You’re laughing. At him.

All because he swung face-first into a goddamn brick wall.

You don’t even know it’s him—he has a mask made out of spandex covering his face, thankfully—but he saw you on the street, talking to the old lady who sells churros next to the sandwich place both of you love. He may have lost all directional sense after that, because one minute he’s watching you gesture animatedly while you converse with the shopkeeper, and the next he slams solidly into the brick-red compound of the building he was supposed to swing over.

At least his webbing is still intact.

Kuroo’s pride, on the other hand? Completely, utterly shattered.

For a minute, there’s silence—a sort of muffled, hazy silence that blankets everyone, the kind that’s impossibly rare to come by in a city which never sleeps—and then every single person whips out their phones and takes pictures, giggling to themselves throughout. It’s not every day Spider-Man accidentally swings into a wall, after all.

Kuroo can already picture the headlines: City’s Masked Superhero Can Fight Aliens But Is Apparently Blind When Confronted By A Gigantic Barricade. Or worse. He can hear J. Jonah Jameson’s voice in his head, bellowing into the cameras, “Breaking news everyone, this just in: Spidey has been caught lackin’! Is he truly good at his job or is he just a farce? We may never know.”

He peels his head off hard brick, contorting his neck to relieve all the cricks, and that’s when he makes direct eye contact with you.

He swears his heart stops beating—but it starts again in less than a second, starts rabbiting around like it always does when he sees you, before settling back down into its regular rhythm. It’s only then that he remembers his feet and fingers are still glued to the wall.

He pries them off, wincing at the hoots and hollers from the crowd, and glances at you again. 

You have a few churros in your hand, wrapped neatly in butter paper—no doubt a gift from the old lady—and you have your phone in your hand. He watches your fingers fly rapidly over the screen, notices the slight tilt to your head, the way your tongue pokes out of your lips slightly, the amusement at his mishap still running through your veins.

He hears the ping of the notification through his mask before you even put your phone down. 

The letters swim in front of his eyes, on the screen in front of him.

(11:36) You: KUROO!!!! u wont BELIEVE what i just saw!!!! I SAW SPIDERMAN CRASH INTO A WALL LMFAOOOO

Kuroo winces. He should probably tell you that there’s a hyphen separating the words ‘spider’ and ‘man’, but he doesn’t want to burst your obvious elation at the city’s most prominent superhero’s accident. (Despite the fact that you’re the cause for him losing all common sense, in the first place.)

He doesn’t get the chance to form another coherent thought before a yell from below gets his attention. Specifically because it’s your voice.

“Hey!” You have your hands placed on your waist, your bundle of churros tucked into the corner of your arm as you squint up at him. “Need some help getting down?”

Unlike the jeers of the onlookers with their phones still out, you don’t sound malicious at all. You sound genuinely concerned, as though he isn’t Spider-Man, who’s fought off a hundred different villains and rescued the earth from alien infestations. You talk to him like he’s just a regular guy who accidentally swung onto a building and now finds himself in this precarious position.

His chest warms at the thought. “No thanks!” he hollers back. “I’m good.”

He lets his feet loosen up, feels his muscles relax and then he pushes himself off the wall, letting the momentum pull him through a graceful somersault before he lands softly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” You ignore the passersby.

“I’m fine,” Kuroo replies. “Are you okay?”

You look at him strangely, and Kuroo can feel his cheeks heat up. “I’m not the one who almost broke my nose because I wasn’t looking at where I was going.”

Kuroo shifts from one foot to the other, chewing on the inside of his cheek. You have a point, he supposes. He clears his throat. “Right, um. Thanks for offering to help me out.”

“No problem,” you reply easily, the corners of your lips rising upwards. “I’m glad you’re okay. Can’t have our city’s best line of defence get obliterated because of a wall.”

Kuroo’s not sure whether he’s supposed to feel happy about the fact that you’re worried about him despite not knowing who he is or if he’s supposed to be embarrassed at you pointing out his lapse of attention.

“Listen,” he begins, feeling a rush of adrenaline surge through his veins, run its course throughout his body, and settle at his heart, “do you… maybe want to get some coffee with me? As a thank you. For offering to help.”

You raise an eyebrow sceptically. “I’m not sure that warrants a coffee date.”

“It’s not,” Kuroo hurriedly says, heart thumping erratically, “I swear. I just want to thank you.”

You purse your lips, drawing out a sigh that’s in between contemplation and refusal. Kuroo’s heart sinks—he knows that expression of yours all too well. “I’m sorry, Spider-Man. You’re a great superhero and I’m sure you’re a really nice person behind the mask, but… I’m actually running late for a meet-up with my best friend. I’m sorry.” You shrug apologetically. “Maybe next time.”

“Okay, uh—” Kuroo licks his lips— “n-no worries. I’ll see you around.”

“Break a leg, Spider-Man.” You salute him with two fingers. “Not literally, but you know what I mean.”

He manages a smile, then realises you can’t see it through his mask—and then realises that the friend who’s meet-up you’re running late to is with him, so he’s going to see you again, anyway. The thought makes him smile again, this time wider, and he can feel his cheeks crinkle at the corners.

He stretches an arm out, presses his web shooter and swings onto the top of the building. Maybe he’ll have to deal with you retelling the story of how he crashed into a wall with extreme detail and lots of exaggeration, and Kuroo should probably feel extremely embarrassed about it. Instead, he finds himself looking forward to it.

Maybe he should crash into walls more often.

TWO — THE SUBTLE ART OF ACCIDENTALLY ASKING YOUR PROFESSOR OUT

Kuroo Tetsurou is decidedly fucked.

He’s late—unbearably so—but what else is he supposed to do if a platoon of aliens show up in the middle of his Introduction to Organic Chemistry class and he has to stop them from blowing up the president’s summer retreat? Once the situation is wrapped up and the foreign visitors agree to sign a peace treaty with earth, he’s effectively missed three classes, skipped lunch, and is currently running late to a study session you planned out after classes.

He supposes he can make up for it—he’s not sure how, but… something is better than nothing, right? He swings down in front of a flower shop, hurriedly asks for a bouquet and a box of chocolates, places a wad of money bills on the counter and swings away. The whole interaction takes place in less than fifteen minutes, but Kuroo is in a hurry. He has a slew of texts from you, all detailing the same thing: That if he doesn’t magically appear in the next ten minutes, you’re leaving, and you better make it up to him somehow.

Kuroo touches down on the rooftop of your university’s library and quickly removes his Spider-Man suit, stuffing it into his backpack and shouldering it. He heads down the fire escape, taking two steps at a time, and comes to a standstill in front of the Biology section of the library. It’s the least crowded part of the library, which is why you and Kuroo have chosen it as your designated spot.

He sees you immediately and braces himself for the telltale quickening of his heart. You smile at him as soon as you spot him, raising a hand in greeting. Books and sheets of paper are scattered around the table in front of you, and your hair is messy, swept up hastily. You’re wearing your favourite sweater with the coffee stain down the front, because even though it’s not something you would wear in public, it’s still the most comfortable piece of clothing you own.

Kuroo’s lips curl upwards on their own accord. The words form on the tip of his tongue, as they always do. He wants to tell you—he’s been in love with you since he first laid eyes on you—and it would be so easy to confess right then and there. He walks towards you.

Fate is never kind to him, it seems.

Kuroo keeps his eyes fixed on you, which is why he doesn’t notice his Organic Chemistry professor walk right across him.

In his defence, Professor Suzuki is short, with a head full of bountiful grey curls and a pink flower-patterned umbrella always tucked underneath her arm. She barely comes up to Kuroo’s shoulders, so she’s never in Kuroo’s line of vision unless he’s sitting down.

It’s no wonder he collides into her. 

Professor Suzuki lets out a startled “Ooh!”, the stack of papers in her hand flying out of her grip and falling around him and his teacher like snowflakes on a winter morning. She twists her lips at him, mouth downturned like she just sucked a lemon raw, and tuts disapprovingly at him.

Kuroo feels his cheeks blaze as he bends down and gathers all the loose sheets of paper and stacks them. He doesn’t need to look at you to know you’re gleefully watching the whole encounter. He tucks the bouquet and chocolates into the crook of his arm and hands the stack of papers to Professor Suzuki, mumbling an apology.

“Well, you better be sorry,” she says, looking up and down at him—except she has to crane her neck at him to meet his eyes, and the sight is so hilarious, Kuroo needs to stifle his laughter. Then her eyes narrow in recognition, and Kuroo stiffens, dread pooling in his stomach. 

She pauses for a minute. “Aren’t you the young man who ran out halfway through my class? Is your stomach feeling better now?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you snort and then cover it up as a cough. 

Kuroo wants to melt into the floor, pretend like he’s one of the tiles on the ground. “Yes ma’am,” he answers politely instead, hoping his voice doesn’t betray him.

“Hmm.” She scrutinises him carefully, reaching out with her free hand and pinching his stomach. “Indigestion is a serious issue, young man. Make sure you have enough ginger in your diet—it helps with your toilet problems.”

“I will, ma’am.”

“Now, how do you plan to make up for your lost lesson?” 

Kuroo licks his lips. “I’m… not sure. I could come over for a remedial class—”

“Oh, please. You insult me.” Professor Suzuki lets out a giggle. “Remedial classes are such mediaeval methods. These days teachers will let anything go for a small price. Young, handsome men like you especially…”

Kuroo nearly chokes on his own spit. “I—”

“Just some flowers and chocolates will be fine,” his teacher waves him off good-naturedly, as though this is a conversation she has all the time. Her eyes land pointedly on the flowers and the chocolate box still tucked safely in his arms. 

“Oh. Um.” Kuroo curses his luck. He’s Spider-Man, after all—shouldn’t he get some slack? All he wants is to ask you out, and if not that, at least spend some time with you without getting caught up in outworldly situations all the time. 

Professor Suzuki’s expression turns serious upon noticing his hesitation. “Of course, not every teacher is as lenient as I’m being. Some would—and I’m really just throwing it out here—assign compensatory essays, or—”

He hurriedly shoves the bouquet and the chocolates into Professor Suzuki’s waiting arms. 

“No, ma’am. Thank you very much for being so kind to me.”

“Not a bother, not a bother,” she waves him off again, smiling thinly at him. “Anything for my students.”

Kuroo bows and waits patiently for her to skitter away from him, finally letting out a loose breath that has his shoulders slumping forward and his head hanging dejectedly. He drags himself to your table, places his bag on the desk, and buries his head into his arms in such a way that half his upper body is spread-eagled across the wooden desk. A tired, muffled groan escapes his lips.

“Rough day?” Your voice is soft, and you tentatively reach out and gently run a hand through his hair.

Kuroo lets out another groan in response, closing his eyes when he feels your touch. He lifts up his head and props his chin on the desk, glancing at you. You have a soft smile playing on your lips, eyes twinkling.

“You recorded all of that, didn’t you?” It’s more a statement than a question; Kuroo has all your tendencies mapped out in his head, and you would never pass up on an opportunity to record his humiliation.

“Yup.” You grin at him, patting your pocket where your phone is stowed away. “I won’t show it to anyone, don’t worry.”

It’s a small consolation. He decides to let it slide. “By the way, the flowers and the chocolates were for you. To apologise for being late.”

“Oh.” To Kuroo’s surprise, you sound… bashful, almost. His heart skitters at the revelation. “That’s alright. I’m not a big fan of flowers anyway. Are you hungry? You skipped lunch, too, didn’t you? We could go get some ramen.”

“That sounds good.” Kuroo smiles wearily at you. He just hopes there isn’t another national emergency to divert his attention from you and the time he gets to spend with you.

THREE — THE SUBTLE ART OF ALMOST DATING YOUR HOMIE

If Kuroo Tetsurou has been Tokyo’s one and only Spider-Man for the past two years, then Bokuto Koutarou, his roommate, is his designated Guy-in-the-Chair.

He’s the only one who knows about Kuroo’s secret identity, and Kuroo relies on him to make up some believable reason for his often and sudden disappearances. The last time, when he had to escape in the middle of his Organic Chemistry class and that whole debacle with Professor Suzuki took place, Bokuto had said Kuroo had indigestion. He assumes his roommate has fun coming up with excuses. As long as his secret remains safe, Kuroo’s not too concerned.

Despite all the help Bokuto has provided him with, he wants nothing more than to toss him over their shared apartment’s balcony.

For the past half an hour, he’s been consistently badgering him. Specifically about you.

“Have you told her you like her yet?”

The question drags a tired sigh out of Kuroo’s lips. He’s hunched over his Physics textbook, scribbling down notes, and he could really appreciate some peace—but that’s not something he should expect when he lives with the human equivalent of a hamster on a wheel.

“No, Bokuto,” he reiterates, “I haven’t had the time.”

Bokuto flops dramatically across the couch. “Dude. You need serious help.”

“Do I?” Kuroo murmurs absent-mindedly, wondering how to calculate the coefficient of friction with the variables he’s been given.

“Yes.” When he notices his roommate not paying attention to him, Bokuto rolls his eyes. “Stop doing homework, you have more important matters to attend to.”

Kuroo finally tears his tired gaze away from the numericals printed out on the page. He locks eyes with Bokuto, barely aware of the tic in his left eye. “Like what?”

His roommate throws his hands up in the air exasperatedly. “Like your best friend! And the fact that you’re in love with her!”

“Okay.”

“This isn’t going to work. C’mere.” He gestures to Kuroo to come sit next to him on the couch. Once he makes his way to the couch and sits next to him, Bokuto takes both his hands in his. “Consider this an intervention.”

Kuroo leans back and lets his head fall against the couch cushions. This is going to be good.

“Okay, so,” Bokuto begins, “she doesn’t know you’re Spider-Man—no one knows that except me—but you love her, don’t you? Just walk up to her, tell her you can show her something she’s never seen before, swing her up to a rooftop somewhere, and watch the sunset with her. Tell her you love her and that you can’t live without her, and your heart beats only for her—trust me, girls love romantic stuff like that—and then tell her you’re also Spider-Man. Easy.”

All Kuroo can do is laugh. There’s no way Bokuto is serious about this.

“I’m being serious,” Bokuto says. “How long are you going to keep hiding this from her? She’s your best friend, don’t you think you should tell her that you’re basically in mortal peril every other day?”

“That’s exactly why I’m not telling her,” Kuroo says. “What if some villain finds out she’s special to me and does something to her to get back at me?”

His friend looks dubious. “You really think that could happen?”

“Yes.” Kuroo turns his head to look at Bokuto. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you either.”

Bokuto chews his lip thoughtfully. “I kind of see what you mean. But…” He squeezes Kuroo’s hand once, gently. “I think she would want to know.”

Kuroo considers it—for a brief half-minute, he actually thinks about it—and then shakes his head. “It’s better to keep her safe.”

You have the worst possible timing. (Perhaps it’s Kuroo’s fault for having given you a spare key to his apartment.)

The door swings open and you walk into the living room, two bags of takeaway in your hand. “Guess who’s got food!”

Then you pause, survey the situation in front of you, and your jaw drops.

Kuroo and Bokuto, both on the couch, sitting so close to each other, their knees are brushing. Kuroo’s hands are still being held by Bokuto, the latter rubbing circles on his palm. Belatedly, Kuroo realises what this must look like to you.

He shoots up to his feet. “It’s not what you think—”

“Oh my God.” You raise your arms. “Am I interrupting something? I’m so sorry, I had no idea! I’ll just—”

“No, wait! Bokuto and I, we’re not—”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Your repeated reassurances don’t do anything to assure him. “You guys look good together! Congratulations on graduating from cherry boy university, Kuroo!”

Kuroo lowers his head, crimson creeping up his cheeks. He turns around and faces Bokuto, who’s busy snickering on the couch. “This is all your fault.”

You look between them curiously. “Are you both dating?”

“No,” Kuroo says at the same time Bokuto says, “Possibly.”

He glares at his friend. “No, we are not together. Bokuto knows I like someone else.”

“You like someone else?”

There’s the barest hint of hurt in your tone, a slight hitch in your voice that Kuroo picks up on easily. “I—yes.”

“You never told me.” 

Your voice is carefully calm and you fiddle with the handle of the takeaway bags. Kuroo winces; he takes a step forward and grabs your elbow, gently forcing you to look up at him. “I was going to tell you. I just… forgot.”

It's the worst possible excuse he could come up with. Your eyes harden. Thankfully, Bokuto swoops in. “He’ll tell you soon. He just never has good timing.”

You poke your tongue in the inside of your cheek. “It… doesn’t matter. I brought Chinese,” you say, lips pursed into a threadbare smile, “so all that’s left is to pick the movie.”

You move into the living room and playfully poke Bokuto’s legs to make space. Kuroo closes the door behind you, a heavy feeling in his gut.

He’s fucked up. Big time. No matter what, he can’t get the look of dejectedness on your face out of his mind.

Kuroo decides he’s going to tell you. Somehow. Even if you don’t return his feelings, at least he’ll be free of the burden of keeping them hidden. 

With new conviction in his head, he strides over to where you are.

FOUR — THE SUBTLE ART OF GETTING HIT ON

Kuroo loves you—he really does—but despite his obvious affection towards you, he still thinks you’re acting slightly (read: extremely) delusional.

“A… Spider-Man love blog?” he asks weakly, sitting opposite you.

“Yeah!” You nod your head vigorously, obviously excited. “J. Jonah Jameson started a Spider-Man conspiracy theory blog, so I figured I need to start a blog to support Spider-Man and all his endeavours. Too much hate is a bad thing, and… well, he is kind of hot. Objectively speaking.”

Kuroo doesn’t know whether to grimace at the fact that J. Jonah Jameson started a page on conspiracy theories about him, laugh at the fact that you want to start a blog to support him, or melt like an ice cream on a hot summer afternoon at the fact that you just called him objectively hot.

He tries to do a mixture of all three. You glance at him, concerned. “Did you just have a stroke or something?”

Kuroo purses his lips together. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” you say dismissively. “Well, what do you think of the blog idea?”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Kuroo agrees. “It’s like a little Spider-Man support group.”

“Exactly!” you agree, perking up even more. “That’s actually a really cool slogan, thanks Kuroo.”

“No problem.” Kuroo feels his mouth dry, but before he can second guess himself, he says, “Hey, you said Spider-Man is hot?”

“Hm? Yeah, what about it?”

“You know who else is hot?”

“Tom Holland?” Your eyes widen excitedly. “Oh, I know! Andrew Garfield!”

“No—I mean, yes but—” Kuroo heaves out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t talking about them.”

You cock your head to the side. “Who do you mean, then?”

He takes in a deep breath, forcing his heart to calm down. “I was talking about—”

He’s about to say you when the fire alarm rings. You stand up, eyes widening—not with excitement, but with panic flaring up inside you. Kuroo stands up too; how did he not notice something was off? The hair at the back of his neck tingles. He needs to get you out of here—now.

“Hey,” he says hurriedly, “you need to leave. Go out the fire escape.” He shoves you none too gently towards the fire escape, but you stumble forward and then stop.

“Kuroo,” you say, and he can hear the mounting fear in your voice, “what about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you,” he assures. A series of bangs follows his statement, and he narrows his eyes at the direction of the sound. “But you need to leave. Now.”

You open your mouth to say something, but when you hear a loud clang echo down the stairwell, you close your mouth and run towards the staircase. Kuroo waits for you to disappear from his sight, before turning on his heel and grabbing his suit from his bag.

God, supervillains really have the worst timing. All Kuroo wanted to do was tell you he thought you were hot, too, but that he found you more beautiful than anything else.

FIVE — THE SUBTLE ART OF EXPOSING YOUR CRUSH

Kuroo is so, so tired.

He lands in front of a small, quiet lake in a park you used to come to with him. The ambience is perfect for when you want to spend time alone, in solitude. A family of ducks paddles gently over the water; it’s peaceful and serene—completely unlike the destruction he just had to deal with, and the turbulence currently running through his mind.

He pulls his mask off his head and runs a tired hand through his hair. Wearily, he sinks down onto the grass, feeling the cool breeze caress his skin and the rustle of the leaves of the giant tree under whose shade he’s sitting.

He blinks once, slowly, and then again, and when a duck lets out a quack, he opens his mouth and lets everything spill out, like sand pouring through an overturned hourglass.

(He’s aware he’s talking to ducks. He doesn’t care.)

“Screw this shit. I never wanted to be a hero, you hear me? I never wanted to be bitten by a stupid spider, I didn’t ask for all this—I didn’t ask for all this! God, what does a guy need to do to have some time to tell his best friend he’s in love with her?!”

His rant falls on silent ears—but then, he hears the crunch of dried leaves, and he whips around.

Your head pokes out from behind the tree trunk. “Kuroo?”

“Oh,” he breathes out, scrambling to his feet. “What are you—”

“You said you’d be right behind me!” Despite the false bravado in your voice, he can hear how wobbly you actually sound.

“I-I was. Technically.” He takes a tentative step towards you, one arm stretched out placatingly.

“You never told me you were Spider-Man!” Your voice increases in pitch steadily with each word.

“I didn’t tell you to protect you—”

“Oh my God, you were in mortal peril every day and I didn’t even know!”

“Bokuto said the same thing, but—”

“Bokuto knew all along, of course he did!”

“I only told him because—”

“And—and now you’re telling me you’re in love with me!”

“Okay, I wasn’t telling you, I was telling the ducks, but—”

“Kuroo!” You throw your hands up in the air wildly, gaze roaming rapidly across his face. “You’re in love with me!”

He sucks in a breath sharply. “I feel like that’s not the most important thing here.”

Of all the ways he thought he would confess to you, this is decidedly not something that crossed his mind even once. He’d always pictured flowers, holding your hand, maybe even a romantic stroll down this very park. He’d certainly never imagined you’d find out about both his secrets on the same day—all while he was busy ranting about his hero complex to a bunch of birds who didn’t pay him any attention.

“Please,” he tries again, “please let me explain.”

You shake your head. “No. There’s nothing there to explain.”

With that, you turn away and walk past him. Kuroo’s heart sinks. He crumples the material of the mask in his hand, feeling the cloth twist underneath his fingertips just like his heart twists into knots with every step you take away from him.

PLUS ONE — THE SUBTLE ART OF KISSING YOUR BEST FRIEND

You have Kuroo cornered, your arms crossed across your chest and your expression stern. “You need to listen to me.”

Kuroo gulps. It’s been a week since he accidentally let both his secrets slip, and this is the first time he’s talking to you in person since then. You’d sent him a text with a simple message. Library, first thing after lunch. Kuroo had complied, and here he is now.

“So. Bokuto explained everything to me,” you say. 

“He—he did?”

You glance at him shortly. “Yeah, he did. I… I understand why you didn’t tell me about—about your condition, Kuroo. I’m sorry I didn’t give you a chance to explain yourself.”

“It’s okay,” he replies immediately. “If I found out my best friend was a secret vigilante risking his life every day, I think I’d react the same way.”

You smile at him then, and his heart jumps inside his chest. He smiles back. “But that’s not the main reason I called you here,” you continue. “What I really called you here for was…”

You trail off, looking down, and Kuroo is hit with a sudden sense of nostalgia. Why are you being so bashful around him all of a sudden? “Was…” he gently prompts.

You swallow, lifting up your chin and looking him in the eye. “I wanted to tell you that I’m in love with you too.”

Kuroo Tetsurou swears time stops, and the whole world comes to a standstill. The words ring in his ears, echoing inside his head. His lips part, and he stares at you, flabbergasted.

“I— Say that again.” His voice is barely more than a whisper.

He sees the flicker in your eyes, notices how you’re ready to compete with him for this. “I love you, Kuroo Tetsurou. I don’t care about the fact that you’re Spider-Man.”

Kuroo takes a step towards you, holding your shoulders gently, like you’re made of glass. “I love you too.”

You grin at him, your own arms encircling his waist and coming to rest on his back. “I know that.”

And then you tip your head forward and capture his lips with your own. He gasps at first, before kissing you back with equal force, one hand tugging you closer to him and the other curving around your torso.

You giggle into the kiss, and Kuroo’s lips twitch upwards. He’s giddy, weightless, floating through the air like a feather being carried by the wind. The feeling he gets when he’s swooping through the rooftops of the city is nothing compared to the feeling of your lips slotted against his and his arms wrapped around you.

Kuroo Tetsurou swears he doesn’t try to act stupid normally. But if it makes you smile, he’s willing to do anything.

[kiwisa]

Romcom Worthy ✪ LN04

━━━━ PAIRING ! Lando Norris x Fan! Fem! Reader

IN WHICH... A face reveal turns your life upside down.

Liked by lando and others

yourusername Lando wins the Australian Grand Prix !!! He's now leading the championship. Mark my words, it's coming home this year 🧡✴️

1 hour ago

user1 23min FUCK YESSSS

user2 1h a great day to be a papaya stan 🥭🧡✴️ ♥︎ liked by author

user3 47min OMG GIRL HE LIKED

user4 19min he notices Y/N like three times a week yourusername 10min and yet it never gets old user4 8min tell me about it girl omg i wish i knew how it feels yourusername 3min manifesting this for you girlie 🧎🤲🏼

user5 37min if we don't win this year i'll kms

yourusername 17min noooo don't kill yourself your so sexy aha (same.)

user6 1h the way you posted before McLaren... DEDICATION.

user7 1h McLaren's CM works hard but Y/N works harder ♥︎ liked by author

user8 3min Meanwhile Oscar is still mowing the Australian grass as we speak

Liked by lando and others

yourusername Still can't believe this happened. Thank you McLaren for the invitation and congratulations to Lando for P2 !!! We're leading the championship, baby !!! 🧡✴️

2 hours ago

user1 2h CONGRAAAAAATS YOU DESERVE IT SO MUCH 😭 (i've never been so jealous in my entire life)

user2 2h omgggg is that lando in the last pic??? girl you're living the life

yourusername 2h my hands were shaking so bad

user3 1h beauty privilege is wild frr

user4 49min pls let's not erase the fact that she is the biggest Lando update account on this platform. it was bound to happen either way.

mclaren 34min It was a pleasure to show you around the paddock, Y/N! ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername 31min Thank you so much guys!! You made my dreams come true 🧡

user5 1h you already got the wag look down

user5 1h GUYS LANDO LIKED MY COMMENT?????!!!! OMMGGGGG

lando 2h Too bad we couldn't talk more ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername 2h Perhaps next time!! lando 2h I'll hold you to that ♥︎ liked by author user6 2h look at her being all composed and shit but we all know she's dying inside user7 1h he commented so fast omgggggg chill lando frr the post is not going anywhere user8 1h why are they flirting??? chat am i the only one seeing this? user9 42min no no you're not @/user8 i feel like i'm intruding

user10 21min How does it feel to live my dreams?

user11 17min guys smile we are witnessing history

Conversation 218 Comments

Sort by Best ↓

Marylin 27 March, 2025

For fuck's sake. Let people live in peace. They don't need you to comment every aspect of their life.

Johann 27 March, 2025 You do that OP. Meanwhile, the rest of us will enjoy life and bask together in this drama straight out of a fanfic.

Paul 27 March, 2025

It's so hard seeing other people live my dream.

Liked by lando and others

yourusername Getting the news directly from the source now !! 🧡✴️

1 hour ago

user1 1h just woke up and oomf is dating my fav driver might just go back to sleep and pray to never wake up

user2 1h the hardest launch that ever launched

yourusername 1h what's a soft launch? never heard of her.

lando 1h Love you 🧡✴️ ♥︎ liked by author

yourusername 1h Love you too 🧡 user3 1h omg he used her emoji combos 🥹🥹 user4 47min god we're so chronically online it's embarrassing user3 38min y/n was chronically online and looks where that got her. so excuse me but i'll continue. ♥︎ liked by author

user5 21min Y/N doing god's work and giving every fangirl hope they can date their fav

user6 1h What in the fanfic is this???

mclaren 10min Cannot wait to see you back in our garage! ♥︎ liked by author

user7 19min imagine if she hadnt posted her face reveal??? the way her life would be so different rn

user8 1h she better not distract him from winning the season

user9 1h Y/N would literally breakup with Lando if it meant securing his and McLaren's wins ♥︎ liked by author

user10 5min They better adapt this story into a romcom. The material is right there.

[wroetolando]

𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where netflix interviews you about your relationship with lando

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: you are in love - taylor swift

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: none!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The room hums with quiet anticipation as the Netflix production team makes their final adjustments. The bright white walls and minimalist décor give the space an almost clinical feel, but the warmth of the overhead lights makes it slightly more inviting. A few feet away, the interviewer shuffles through her notes, her well-rehearsed smile never faltering.

You sit in the plush white chair, Lando’s hoodie draped over your frame like a protective shield. You hadn’t meant to wear it—well, maybe you had. It had been an early morning, and in the rush to get ready, you grabbed the first thing that felt comfortable. Now, as the cameras adjust focus, you wonder if people will notice, if fans will recognize it from the countless Twitch streams and Instagram stories. They probably will.

The cameraman counts down from three with his fingers.

“And… rolling.”

The interviewer’s smile widens. “Alright, let’s get started.” She flips open her folder, her pen poised between her fingers. “You’ve been around the paddock for quite some time now. Fans have seen glimpses of you, but you’ve managed to stay relatively low-key despite being in a relationship with one of the most talked-about drivers on the grid. How has that been for you?”

You shift slightly in your seat, keeping your hands clasped together in your lap. “I don’t really think about it too much,” you admit. “I mean, I know people are curious, and I understand why, but I’m not here for the attention. I’m here for Lando.”

The interviewer tilts her head slightly. “That’s interesting because, whether you like it or not, you have become a figure in the F1 world. From being spotted in the McLaren garage to celebrating podiums with Lando, the cameras have taken notice.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that too.”

She flips to the next page of her notes. “Let’s go back to the beginning. When did this all start? How did you and Lando first meet?”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. It wasn’t like some dramatic love-at-first-sight thing. We were just… friends for a long time. It was always easy between us, you know?”

“Friends to lovers?”

“Yeah.” You nod, the memory of it still so vivid in your mind. “It just sort of happened over time. I don’t think there was ever a moment where we sat down and said, ‘Okay, we’re in love now.’ It was just us, and at some point, we realized we couldn’t imagine life any other way.”

The interviewer smiles. “That’s really sweet.” She glances at her notes again. “Now, Lando is obviously a very public figure. His fanbase is huge and passionate, and with that comes a lot of attention—not all of it positive. How do you handle being in that world?”

You take a slow breath, choosing your words carefully. “It can be overwhelming sometimes,” you admit. “I try not to let it get to me, but there are days when it’s harder than others. Some people are really supportive, but others…” You pause, debating how honest you want to be. “Let’s just say not everyone is kind.”

There’s a flicker of understanding in her eyes. “Does that ever affect your relationship?”

You shake your head. “No. At the end of the day, I know Lando, and he knows me. That’s all that really matters. It’s easy to get caught up in the noise, but when we’re together, none of that exists.”

The interviewer leans forward slightly. “So, let’s talk about race day. You’ve been in the paddock for some of Lando’s biggest moments, including his first podium and some really close battles. What’s that like for you?”

You let out a small laugh, already feeling your heart rate pick up at the thought of those high-stakes races. “Stressful,” you say with a grin. “Really stressful. I trust him completely, but watching him go wheel-to-wheel at 300 km/h? Yeah, that’s terrifying.”

“I imagine it’s quite an emotional rollercoaster.”

“Oh, absolutely.” You nod. “There are days when he’s on top of the world, and there are days when it’s devastating. And you feel all of it with him.”

The interviewer watches you carefully. “And how do you support him through those tough days?”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his hoodie. “I just remind him that one race doesn’t define him. He’s so hard on himself sometimes, and it’s easy for him to forget how incredible he is. So, I try to be the voice that tells him it’s okay to have bad days.”

She smiles. “That’s beautiful.” There’s a brief pause as she flips to the next question. “Now, fans have picked up on how he looks at you, how protective he is. There was even that one moment on Twitch where chat thought it was adorable how he made sure you were okay. Do you ever notice those things?”

Your cheeks warm slightly. “I mean, yeah, I notice,” you say with a soft laugh. “But that’s just him. He’s always been like that, even before we were together. It’s just who he is.”

The interviewer grins. “Well, fans love it. And speaking of fans, you’ve gained quite a few of your own. Do you ever think about that?”

You blink in surprise. “Not really.”

“Well, you should. People adore you.”

That makes you smile. “That’s nice to hear.”

She sets her notes aside. “Alright, last question—where do you see this going? The future?”

Your gaze flickers toward the door, where you know Lando is probably waiting just outside. Then, you smile, your answer coming easily.

“Wherever he goes, I’ll be right there with him.”

The cameraman signals that the recording is over. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The interviewer offers you a warm smile before thanking you for your time, and as soon as you step out of the interview room, Lando is there, leaning casually against the wall.

“How’d it go?” he asks, pushing off and slipping an arm around your waist.

“Not too bad.” You glance up at him. “They asked a lot about you, obviously.”

He smirks. “Well, of course. I am pretty great.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can retort, he tugs you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thanks for doing it,” he murmurs. “I know it’s not your thing.”

You lean into him. “It’s worth it for you.”

And as the cameras pack up behind you, fading into the background, you realize that no matter how many interviews come your way, no matter how bright the spotlight gets, this—being here with him—is what matters most.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[abigailspinach]

And I’m gonna talk about winged wolf-boys…

M: Bio-engineered! Gotta… gene… gene-mod? Genedit? Whatever-the-fuck that word is.

A: Gene-gineered? I… I don’t know what it is, they didn’t hire a writer! [Laughter] They didn’t have to hire a writer, their glitter budget was substantial.

M: And they had Channing Tatum’s abs.

A: And they had Channing Tatum. So. Like. Whatever. This movie is not for people who... care... about... things? This movie is for people who have an inner 14-year-old girl still living within their hearts. And—

M: This movie is Star Wars for girls.

A: This movie is Star Wars for girls, this movie is, honestly, like, the self-insert fanfiction that you wrote when you were 14, with the beautiful OC with long shining blonde hair in perfect waves and eyes that were violet with golden sparkles swirling in them. And the prettiest character in the book fell madly in love with her, and—this totally didn’t happen to me on Fanfiction.net back in the day [clears throat pointedly]...

…

M: Yes, so the… the great thing with making a movie sans shame... [laughter] You get to do shit like say, we have genetically engineered this character with part wolf—part alien wolf DNA, sorry—and so now he needs a pack. Like, he just genetically needs a pack. And he was cast out because he’s an albino wolf because it’s important to have at least one blond in your movie. And so he’s very sad because he has this gaping loyalty, he has this hole in the center of him that just wants to devote itself to someone. And along comes this little space princess, screaming all the way as he flings her out the top of a hundred-story building, with no way to get down. It’s okay, he catches her.

F: I do like that particular trope of someone who is fighting their desire to be loyal, and fighting the fact that they’re starting to have these feelings of fealty, because it takes most of the movie for him to, sort of grudgingly, come around and admit that yes, she is the perfect princess that he wants to serve.

Here’s the thing about JUPITER ASCENDING, literally the greatest movie ever made. Is it “good,” or is it, more probably, garbage? I really don’t have the capacity to say. I’m not Saint Roger Ebert, olav hasholem, over here. I took one film class and it was about whether real stuff is, like, real, or is there even such a thing as, like, really real, man, you know?? (There isn’t. I got an A.) I’m not here to tell you if it is good. I am only a woman with eyes and ears and joy centers in my brain. Here is what I will tell you. Look at my icon. As daeontherun so rightly pointed out, my icon was both of our faces for the ENTIRE DURATION of this movie.

Do you need to know any more than that? Do you need to know any more than that you will be flooded with pure, innocent delight for two hours? Here is my feeling about this movie: it is your garbage. It is garbage for you. “Is this how straight dudes feel at the movies all the time????” I hissed at daeontherun SEVERAL times during this movie. “Like someone carefully noted down your early pubescent fantasies and then threw 100 MILLION DOLLARS at them?“ 

I would describe this feeling as, like, a combination of arousal, joy, and fond knowing chagrin. “Oh you,” you find yourself thinking at Jupiter Ascending as shirtless Channing Tatum gruffly but torturedly checks his weaponry, while Sean Bean voiceover rumbles in his beautiful Northern growl about how tortured and loyal shirtless Channing Tatum is and how he needs his PACK. Ten seconds before this, Channing Tatum and Sean Bean were sexily punching each other while yelling about their emotions. “You know what I like, you crazy beautiful bastard,” you say to Jupiter Ascending, shaking your head fondly.  Mila Kunis wakes up in a beautiful dress, blinking slowly with her long gorgeous lashes. “Feel my skin,” naked Tuppence Middleton purrs at her [REDACTED 4 SPOILERS]’s clone, Mila Kunis, gently caressing her bare arm. Gugu Mbatha-Raw stands over Channing Tatum and sexily taunts him. There is a 20 minute Terry-Gilliam-evoking sequence about [REDACTED 4 SPOILERS BUT TRUST ME THAT IT’S AMAZING]. Eddie Redmayne flutters an elegant hand around while hoarsely gasping out sociopathic, vaguely incestuous promises in a fucking SEQUIN TITS OUT DRESSING GOWN with ARM WINGS in his EVIL SPACE CATHEDRAL THRONE ROOM!!!! “DO U LIKE DIS?“ Jupiter Ascending asks, glancing shyly at you. "I MAKED IT.” “Of course I like it,” you say, overcome by joy and wonder, kissing Jupiter Ascending on the forehead. “I’ve never liked anything this much, and I love you more than anyone in the whole world.” I don’t want to be controversial, but if I had to choose between Jupiter Ascending and Citizen Kane I would immediately travel back in time, murder Orson Welles, and walk away whistling. I would cheerfully burn the entire Criterion Collection to the ground for this movie. Go see Jupiter Ascending. You’re welcome.

[bullet-prooflove]

Misdemeanour: Jack Abbot x Reader

Tagged: @kmc1989 @dizzybee03 @noxytopy @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis

Companion piece to:

The Asshole King - Jack discovers you have an unusual technique for dealing with patients.

Bob Dylan - You help Jack to relax after an incident at the hospital leaves him temporarily blind.

Because Of You - Jack realises he's starting to heal in more ways than one after you spend the day taking care of him.

Boston - You reflect on the past after your ex-husband makes an appearance on a trying day.

This God Damn Fucking Day - Jack steps into the fray with things get messy between you and you ex-husband.

Jack doesn’t find Myrna, it becomes a Robby problem when the clock ticks over to seven signalling the end of his shift. He’s got much more pressing issues to attend to, like where his fiancée disappeared to. He pops his head up into Psych but there’s no sign of you.

She left half an hour ago, he’s told, which is a kick in the balls considering you carpooled together.

You’re mad at him he supposes. Ordering you out like that.

It’s something that will resolve itself over the next couple of hours because the truth is you’re not really mad at him, you’re mad at the asshole you’ve just discovered was fucking your sister while she was in his care, the same asshole that fucked you under his care.

That revelation, it’s a lot, he doesn’t blame you for taking off to try and get a little headspace.

He’s already crafting his letter to the ethics committee when he gets the call at home. A number he doesn’t recognises flashes up on his screen and it takes him a sec to pause the game in in the background before he picks up the phone.

“Yea?” He says half distracted.

“This is a collect call from Allegheny County, do you accept the charges?” He pauses then because now he realises maybe you didn’t just take a drive out to your sister’s gravesite after all.

“Yea, I’ll take the charges.” He says setting his laptop town on the coffee table and pinching his brow. “Faye honey, you there?”

“Jack.” You say, your voice frighteningly calm compared to the last time he saw you. “I got arrested and I need you to post bail.”

He rubs his palms over his weary features because this day, it just keeps on giving.

“Did he press assault charges?” He asks you as he pushes up from his seat and heads towards the wall safe, where he keeps a healthy portion of cash alongside your personal documents and your sister’s jewellery.

“Vandalism.” You inform him. “Someone carved the word cunt onto his hood of his car and then took a shit in the front seat after smashing the windows.”

Jack freezes, half way through dialling the code.

“Obviously it wasn’t me but that son of a bitch told them he saw me do it, hence why I’m currently in lock up diagnosing all sorts of bullshit for my cellies.”

“Fuck, I think it might have been Myrna.” He tells you as he opens the safe and starts to count out the bundles from his ‘go bag’ stash. “She was still at large when I left the hospital this morning and she hated him on sight.”

“Wow.” You say digesting this new information. “I gotta be honest I’m not even mad about it, he deserves all the bad shit that comes his way. Literally in this case.”

Jack tries to choke back a laugh as he closes the safe and picks up his backpack to stuff the money inside. He’s glad to hear the humour in your voice because this situation it’s fucked up especially after the day you’ve had.

“Faye honey.” He says after a beat. “You doing ok?”

“Yes, no, maybe…” You respond with a sigh. “I don’t fucking know anymore Jack. I was angry, then I was sad and now I’m ambivalent over the whole thing. I just want to come home, get a shower and sleep for the next three days. I don’t want to deal with anymore of this shit.”

This is your breaking point. He feels that acutely as he cradles the phone under this chin. You don’t have the mental capacity to see beyond this moment right now, not when you’re in the thick of it. Jack does, he knows he implications of this, he can see the fall out clear as day and the intention behind it.

A second-degree misdemeanour, it’s enough to get your medical licence revoked.

That’s the punishment for not playing ball with Richard, he can’t take away Jack but he can take away the other thing you love.

“Can you hang in there for me just a little longer?” He asks you softly. “There’s something I’ve got to do and then I promise I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Sure.” You say despondently, the phoneline beeping to tell you your call time is coming to an end. “Because what’s a couple more hours in this hellhole right?”

Love Jack? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[moonstruckme]

hello lovely mae! saw your call for requests and couldn't help but respond - maybe something w wolfstar where it's nearing the full moon and remus only wants sirius for something or other and it hurts reader's feelings? only if it takes your fancy of course, thank you!! <3

Thank you lovely <3

cw: migraine

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 727 words

Remus’ pain is making you nauseous. You can’t hear it or see it, but you know it’s there, just on the other side of the bedroom door. You keep glancing that way against your will, the evening news passing in an unnoticed blur on the telly. 

You love the flat you share with your boyfriends, but it feels suffocating on days like today. Too still, too quiet. Haunted by the approaching full moon. Even when you aren’t wanted, you can’t bring yourself to leave. 

You pretend not to have been watching when Sirius steps out of the bedroom. 

“How is he?” you ask as he settles down next to you on the couch. It’s late enough for shadows to wrap themselves around his features, his mouth solemn. You don’t know why you ask; it’s not like he’s going to say good. 

“He’s sleeping,” Sirius replies, his hand finding yours. He kisses your fingers. “How are you, my love?” 

You smile. “Oh, that’s not very fair.” 

“What’s not?” 

“You shouldn’t have to comfort Remus and then come comfort me.” 

“You make it sound so burdensome.” He keeps your hand tucked in his, bringing it to his lap as his thumb runs over your knuckles. “I’m sorry he upset you.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“He didn’t mean it that way.” 

“I know,” you say, “he didn’t mean it any sort of way. It’s really okay. You’re better at it.” 

Sirius doesn’t deny it. He knows as well as you do that, for whatever reason, the scalp massages he gives Remus to relieve his migraines simply work better. Maybe it’s that he’s been doing it longer, or just that he really does have the magic touch, but whenever you try it seems like the physical contact hurts Remus more than it helps him. Best for you to leave them to it.

“I saw your face when he asked you to go,” Sirius says, very softly. 

You shrink. 

“It’s okay if you’re upset.” 

You are upset. It’s undeniable in the tight, achy feeling sitting right in the center of your sternum, but you don’t want to be upset. You wouldn’t be if you could help it. 

“I’m okay,” you say. Sirius looks unpersuaded. “Remus is the one who’s in pain.” 

He hums. Thumb moving over the bumps of your knuckles one by one. “He is,” he acknowledges. “He’s asked for a cuddle, though.” 

You give him a look. “You don’t think he really means that.” 

“Do you think I’d come relay the message if I thought he didn’t?” Sirius asks. “He knows there’s no way to get rid of the pain entirely. I think he just wants comfort more than he wants to try for that right now.” 

Your heart throbs for your poor boyfriend. “Why didn’t you stay?” 

“He asked for both of us.” Sirius presses another kiss to your hand. “I’m just selfish is all, I wanted to see that you were alright first.” 

You feel your lips curve slightly. “So selfish,” you say, allowing yourself to be tugged up by your hand. 

You kiss him once on your way to the bedroom, his hand sweet on the small of your back, but when you enter you both only have eyes for one man. 

It’s somehow even quieter in here than the rest of the apartment. The sheets barely whisper as Sirius crawls in behind Remus, slipping his arms around your boyfriend’s waist. You try to be just as soundless getting in on the other side. 

Remus doesn’t open his eyes when the mattress dips beneath you, but you know he’s awake. 

“Hi,” you murmur, softer than soft, with a barely-there kiss to his jaw. 

“Hi,” Remus rasps back. His voice is so coarse with pain your throat tightens at the sound of it. For a moment you think this was a bad idea, you’re making things worse, but then his arm comes around you. Curling you closer to him. You hold him back, brushing against Sirius as you do. 

You’re afraid to say anything more, worried the sound will agitate his migraine, but Sirius asks, “What can we do?” 

Remus sighs. “Just this,” he says, and it sounds like relief. “This is perfect. Thank you.” 

You kiss him again. Gently, meeting Sirius’ eyes over his shoulder. Neither of you have to say it aloud: there’s no place else you’d be.

[admiringlove]

part one || part three coming soon! tw: mentions of death, suicide ideation, etc. post shibuya arc au.

[09:47] . . .

nanami kento never imagined he would have to depend on you this much just to move.

but here you are, abandoning everything else in your life, dedicating yourself wholly to the task of getting him home—even if it means wheeling him out of this place, even if his body is still wrapped in bandages, even if he is little more than a shell of the man he used to be. you have not complained once. not about the weight of his body as you help him shift in bed, not about the sleepless nights spent at his side, not even about the way he flinches at every touch, still learning the depth of his own pain. you simply hold his hand and keep going, as if this is the only thing that matters. as if this is the only thing keeping you tethered to the world.

he wants to tell you to stop. he wants to tell you that he isn’t worth this. but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes.

the wheelchair comes to a slow halt on the pathway leading up to the house. the air is thick, heavy, humming with the weight of everything left unsaid. you step around to the front of him, crouching down so that you are at eye level, and he has no choice but to look at you.

“hey,” you murmur, voice soft, careful, as if speaking too loudly will break him apart completely. “ready to go inside?”

his throat tightens.

he should nod. he should say something. it has been a week since he woke up after the incident—long enough that his voice has returned, though it is barely more than a whisper, barely more than a breath. still, he forces himself to use it when he can, because he knows you listen for it. he knows you need it.

but right now, he can’t speak.

he can only look at you, look at the worry in your gaze, the quiet determination, the exhaustion you’ve tried so hard to hide. he can only think of the way you have gotten him this far.

you have not left his side since the moment you found him. you have stayed awake on nights when his pain was unbearable, pressing damp cloths to his forehead, murmuring quiet reassurances into the dark, watching him for the smallest flicker of awareness. you have changed his bandages with a steady, practiced touch, with the kind of tenderness he does not deserve.

he thought you would leave.

he was awake when you asked shoko about his burns, your voice barely above a whisper, standing in the hall as if that would be enough to keep him from hearing.

“will they ever heal?” you had asked. “will his skin ever be the same?”

shoko had hesitated. and then, in that quiet, clinical tone of hers, she had given you the answer.

"no. i'm sorry, but nothing will ever be the same. i can help with the pain, i can help him heal, but i cannot undo what has been done."

nanami had closed his eyes then. he had waited.

waited for you to leave.

because why would you stay, after hearing something like that? why would you burden yourself with someone like him, someone who will never be whole again?

he would have understood. really, he would have. it would have hurt—would have torn him apart—but he would have understood.

but you stayed. you stayed, and he cannot understand why. you stayed, even though he is broken beyond repair. even though the man he was before is gone, reduced to nothing more than the burned, useless body he sits in now.

and that realization—more than anything, more than the pain, more than the knowledge that nothing will ever be the same—feels like a knife straight through his chest.

the trees nearby sway in the wind, their branches bending like outstretched arms. the leaves tremble, rustling like distant echoes of something unspoken. the air is thick with the scent of damp soil, fresh cut grass, the faintest trace of rain that has not yet come.

your hair whips across your face, strands catching in your mouth, stinging your eyes. you push them away absently, blinking up at him with a tired sort of tenderness, before glancing back at the house behind you. the place that has, for the past week, been completely empty. devoid of any love, any emotion.

then, you look at him again. and in his silence, you understand. somehow, you understand everything.

as if it is your purpose now. as if this—him, here, now, in the ruin of himself—is the thing anchoring you to the world, the thing keeping you from unraveling entirely. as if he is your salvation.

and he sees it. god, does he see it. the dark circles beneath your eyes, deep like bruises, staining your skin with the weight of sleepless nights. the paleness of your cheeks, the way your shoulders slump, the way you hold yourself like someone who has been carrying too much for too long.

the exhaustion clings to you.

it is in the way your fingers tremble when they brush against his. in the way you hesitate before you speak, choosing your words carefully, afraid of saying the wrong thing. in the way you look at him like he is something fragile, something worth handling with care.

he hates it.

“kento?” your voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, like the wind might carry it away before it even reaches him. “i understand if you’re not ready, you know. i wouldn’t be either, after… after such a big change.”

he wants to close his eyes. wants to disappear into himself, into the vast, empty space of what used to be his life, into the silence that stretches between the two of you like a wound.

because you mean well. you always do. but your words are a knife, slipping in between his ribs, slicing through everything he has left.

a big change. as if that’s all this is.

as if he will wake up tomorrow and feel something close to normal. as if time will smooth out the jagged edges of what he has become. as if this—his ruined body, his ruined self—is something he can simply learn to live with. and maybe he could.

maybe he would. if not for you.

if not for the sight of you, here, crouched beside him, looking up at him like he is still the man you knew. if not for the way you have given up everything to care for him, to make sure he is fed, medicated, comfortable.

he wishes you hadn’t. wishes you would go inside, take a shower, wash the past week off your skin. wishes you would stop looking at him like he is something precious.

wishes he had simply left you behind. because that would have been easier. because seeing you now—exhausted, worn down, breaking under the weight of him—is worse than any pain he has ever endured.

“it’s okay,” he says softly.

because it is all he can manage. because anything more would shatter whatever is left of him. because if he says anything else, he knows his voice will crack, that the words will taste like rust in his mouth, that the grief sitting heavy in his chest will finally break free.

he doesn’t look at you. he can’t.

not when you are standing there, exhausted, unraveling at the seams, your hands gripping the handles of the wheelchair like they are the only things keeping you upright. not when you are still here, still looking at him like he is something worth saving, like he is something holy, something unbreakable.

as if he holds the world up in his hands. as if he is atlas, and you are his devotee.

but he isn’t.

he is nothing more than a man—less than that, even. a body that barely functions, a life that is no longer his own, a collection of fractured bones and burnt flesh held together only by the sheer force of your will.

and he knows, deep down in the parts of himself he refuses to touch, that it would have been better if he had died. that’s what he had wanted, after all.

when he had said you take it from here, he had meant it. had known you would grieve, that you would break under the weight of loss, that you would carry him with you for the rest of your life. but you would have been okay.

eventually.

it would have taken years, maybe a decade, but you would have found a way to exist without him. you would have been changed, yes, but you would have learned to live with the absence of him.

and that—that—would have been better than this. better than the slow, excruciating unraveling of everything he once was.

better than being rolled into the house you share, his body limp and heavy in the wheelchair, his skin still raw beneath the layers of gauze.

better than hearing the quiet, unwavering determination in your voice as you say, i’ll run you a bath in a few hours, like it is just another ordinary day, like this is something normal, something routine.

better than the way you lean down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, gentle, reverent, as if he is still the man he used to be.

better than you helping him do everything.

because this—this—is unbearable.

because he cannot stand the way you look at him. because he cannot stand the weight of your devotion. because he cannot stand the version of himself reflected in your eyes.

because he cannot stand the fact that you stayed.

a/n. yeah.... i'm sorry. there will be two more parts to this though. © all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Bᴇᴇɴ ⵊɴsɪᴅᴇ

A/N… Rex is shameless, rrrrrgh. Wrote this with an energy drink and a dream fyi, so I’m still sleepy as shit.

the sun was shining and the birds were singing—which is what you’d be thinking if you were still snoring away in your beloved dreamland. but no, reality hits you hard as soon as you awoke. your gaze snaps to the man beside you, almost a little breathless; otherwise—out of it. then what happened last night comes rushing back to you, the memory makes you groan as you stretch, feeling the soreness not just down where it was; but virtually everywhere on your body. while you couldn’t complain about where you woke up, your body was hurting like hell. and it wasn’t even from last night alone. It was the entire goddamn week.

you telepathically curse the world. fuuuck.

however, you decide to check if you were really dreaming. you lift the blanket, your eyes razing over your spottily bruised skin; mainly on your hips. though to gods, you could feel some sort of warmth against the sensation of the bruises. you blinked slowly, a semblance of confusion crawls up your spine.

“holy shit.” you mutter, shifting so that you no longer were just laying down.

so you weren’t dreaming.

whatever you were feeling in your heart, or chest—this was just unreal. you actually fucked Rex.

you snort, holding your head in your hands. leaning against the headboard of the bed. well, atleast you were comfortable. because this was some bullshit.

there’s no way you actually did it, but the evidence was indisputably clear. you couldn’t deny it.

you were used to doing one-night stands, no strings attached. no feelings whatsoever involved, all purely for the moment of pleasure. however this was a different case.

Rex actually stayed. you weren’t sure how you were supposed to feel about that, or the whole thing in general. but he wasn’t awake yet—fortunately, so you could freak out about it in quiet silence. not have to be embarrassed. though that was not to deny you were already reaching that right now.

“you good?”

His hoarse voice snaps you out of your hazy daze, and you blink a few times when you fully register that Rex was—in fact awake. you let out a low squeak when you realize, groaning inwardly at yourself. “m’fine.”

“your lookin’ pretty red though.” he drawls, chuckling as he stretches his arms. this probably was nothing new to him, but this was certainly something new to you.

you did not like it. “guess we both know who to blame for that,” you bite, though there was no venom in your words. even despite the circumstances, you try to be a nice person.

“oh me?” he laughs, “damn. I’m hurt.”

however, even full well knowing he says that. it wasn’t true, he enjoys talking with you. so when he’s seen you with some less then inconspicuous assholes trying to pull shit on you last night at the square downtown. Rex most certainly didn’t take it well, he’s trying to be a better man sure, but that wasn’t stuff he takes lightly. even for a douche like him, and he recognizes it.

“like you’d be hurt by that.” you exhale, letting your shoulders deflate. despite being square as they’ll ever be when your in working form, you didn’t have the energy to muster something more. sometimes being around Rex made that part easier.

as per his cocky demeanor, he replies, “had me there, but damn, I didn’t know someone like you could moan so loud.”

“your a whiner.” you shot back with a grin, brow arched. Rex holds up his hands in mock-surrender.

“hey, I know game when I see it.”

“Oh do you?” you laugh, crossing your arms.

Rex props himself up on his elbows, biceps flexing against the strain of his weight. his tone drops low, “s’not meant to be an insult.”

you sigh, shaking your head. “I know. it’s just—“ you cut yourself off, now rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m just surprised.”

now that had him curious, Rex crawls over. for a moment, he hesitates, but against his usual gut instincts — he lends his hand for yours.

and you don’t stop him, of course you don’t. you should, but you didn’t.

“c’mon…” he questions, brows creased with concern. “you wanna tell me?” Rex will respect it if you decline doing so, but, he just senses like it’s something you need to get off your chest.

you take the moment, this transitionary pin willowed in oddly comforting silence. “it’s not like I haven’t fucked before, but usually… it’s all one-time thing with guys I’ve met just once.”

“Mhm.” he muttered, “but there’s more?”

you nod, “it’s always no strings attached, and they never stay—but you did.”

Rex pauses at that revelation, then chuckles. your prolonged sadness suddenly dissipates, wondering why he found it so funny.

“eh, shit. i get that.” he says, firmly pulling your hand closer, interlacing with his own. a lop-sided grin tugs at his lips, “i used to hop out a lot afterwards, but y’know i realized it just only made me shittier.”

you bark out a laugh at his comment, and honest to god that alone makes his heart swell. “I like getting to wake up to a face like yours anyways.” he adds finally, still grinning.

“oh fuck you.” you insult, but nothing behind it whatsoever draws any bite. usually they do of course, but now it’s just not working at all.

seriously, what the fuck was he doing to you?

“anytime of the day?” he interjects, looking straight at you. you shoot him a glare, but he doesn’t back down, instead inching closer to you.

oh my god, you think to yourself. Rex truly always had a way of subverting the mood, whether subtly, or otherwise in true fashion. it was a uniqueness only he could perform, frankly it had made you question once or twice why or how you even had a crush on Rex.

“have you got any shame?” you smile, watching as he drops himself right on top of you.

Rex hums to himself, as if he truly was taking your question into consideration. then he shakes his head, “nahhh, I lost that awhile ago.”

you had to stifle a laugh, “you know what? that tracks.” you reach for his face, carefully holding it. though, his eyes were really… pretty. oh damn this guy.

“exactly.” Rex inhales, leans right into your touch and lets out a long sigh. “damn sure I’m not the only one though.” at that, you shake your head in disbelief. Rex wasn’t wrong though, but you were sure he outmatches you in that department.

hell—Rex was naked an entire fight, and he felt no embarrassment about it whatsoever. you point your finger right into his temple, “you… Rex are lucky I haven’t kicked you out yet.”

“guess I am.” he responds, its a note of simplicity in he says it that makes you envious. “you know what would happen if you did?”

you only smile, then decide to humor him, “what?”

“I’d be so sad.” he says, laying his head against your chest. relishing in your warmth, and you blush. feeling the heat rise in your cheeks and neck, he was so unfairly beautiful when it looked like he was at peace.

you decide to pat his head, threading your thumb against the sleekness of his hair. “that’d be a first, but i would feel too bad.”

“good,” Rex sighs, almost impossibly nuzzling in closer. he moans, “keep doin’ that, please.”

you almost shiver at the noise, laying your other hand against his back. you fully commit to carding your fingers through his hair. “you really like this huh?”

“feels nice.” he admits, and you roll your eyes in slight disbelief. nonetheless—you continue doing as per his request, taking residence in this little world of yours.

if this had been you and him way earlier, maybe five months back. you would’ve accused Rex of being replaced by someone else entirely, because this was way too domestic. while it was unusual, you didn’t mind it. you definitely wanted going to commit this softness to memory, because you weren’t sure if you ever were going to see this side of him ever again.

a soft buzz interrupts your stream of thoughts, and you realize it was your phone. so you stop your ministrations, you hear a low huff immediately.

he curses breathlessly, motherfuck—he was really enjoying that. “who is it?” Rex mutters.

“dunno, I’m lookin.” you respond, dragging your free hand up and down against his back. continuing on with your other, you check the notification—

“shit.” you cursed, groaning. “it’s my brother.”

he lifts his head up, Rex was surprised, “you got a bro?”

you nod at him, ripping your eyes away from the screen. “he’s just asking if I could come over to his place to help with his shit. dumbass won’t specify.” you roll your eyes, “whatever he means.”

“well that’s stupid.” he replies, raising a brow. Rex leans forward, taking the phone out of your hand. you stutter at his sudden action, but he only just sets it face down on the space of the bed beside you. he then returns his gaze to you, and leans closer, waiting for you to be able to say yes.

you were confused, but then the realization sets in. you couldn’t repress your smile, leaning forward to slot your lips against his.

Rex hums, trying to let his mind get muddled. your the one who pulls back, and he stops. “the dude can wait can’t he?” he asks, and you shrug.

“maybe,” you replied, sighing as you your forehead against his. “but I can’t just stay in here the whole time. I’m gonna get questioned, and damn thoroughly might I add.”

Rex just only groans, rolling his eyes. he leans back a comfortable distance, a light flickering in his gaze, “I could come with you?”

“But then that’d just make things weird.” you refute, squaring your shoulders halfway. at your words, Rex laughs.

“I’ve been inside you.” he grins, resting his hand against your chest as if to emphasize his point.

“pretty sure we’re past that point.”

[kitkatscabinet]

YOU LOOK LIKE YOU'VE SEEN A GHOST

Requested by @/rainbowstar

Summary: You were dead... weren't you?

Pairings: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne x gn! reader.

A/N: Unedited. Can you tell I sort of ran out of steam by Bruce :(

DICK GRAYSON

Blood stained his suit, his hands, drips from his hairline and over his domino mask. His blood sluggishly oozes from the various cuts littering his body, but it’s Slade’s blood that soaks the rooftop.

It’s Slade’s blood that’s splattered across his face and heaving chest like a macabre painting. Yet somehow, the ounces of blood spilled still pales in comparison to the sight that had greeted Dick in your apartment months ago. He still sees it in his nightmares, the blood, your blood saturating what was supposed to be your safe haven.

Slade’s gargled laughter that fills the air as he spits out mouthfuls of red tinged saliva. It’s Slade lying at his feet, at his mercy.

Mercy.

The thought of sparing the madman still smirking wickedly up at him, of granting any form of leniency for his crimes reinvigorates Dick’s fierce anger.

Slade won’t beg for mercy and Dick won’t grant it. Two truths they both know. Slade won’t beg like you wouldn’t have, and Dick won’t give any, the way Slade hadn’t.

Neither of them spoke as Dick pressed Slade’s own blade against the man’s neck, the thin scarlet line of blood that forms trickling down his skin quickly with the increase in pressure.

"Always knew you had it in you, boy wonder." There's an ounce of smug satisfaction in his tone that has him pressing the blade further into his neck.

"You seem awfully relaxed for a man on death's door." Dick sneers.

"I'm not too concerned with your ability to follow through."

Dick sees red, his arm swinging back, ready to dole out his vengeance, when a hand suddenly grabbed his wrist from behind, twisting it behind his back as a foot kicked his knee out.

He lands harshly on a knee, dropping the sword, he braces both hands on the ground, lashing out with his good leg. The assailant grunts but catches his foot forcing Dick to wrench himself free.

Slade doesn't rejoin the fight, which sets off all sorts of warning bells. Yet they all go ignore the second Dick lays eyes on his attacker. The bottom half of their face is covered by a mask, but their eyes, your eyes, are on display. Only there's no recognition there, only a cold and calculating gaze.

"Gorgeous, aren't they? Do you like my new masterpiece, Grayson?" Slade mocks, and Dick lunges, only to be stopped once more, by you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, yet when he opens them you're still there, still staring at him with those cold, dead eyes.

He's still stuck in this nightmare.

JASON TODD

Jason has a lot of regrets in his life. None so big as Ethiopia, than you. He regrets going to say goodbye to you before leaving, and more than anything he regrets letting you convince him to take you with him.

Jason's drowning in regrets but he could never regret loving you, not even if the pain of losing you was a raw wound that would never heal.

He hadn't forgiven Bruce for not killing the Joker for him. He'd begrudgingly come to accept Bruce's reasoning, but he'd never accept it, not after what that psycho had done to you.

He'd promised the Bat he'd stop killing, but as far as Jason was concerned, the next time the Joker busted out of Arkham, it was open season.

Yet annoyingly, every time it happens, one of his nosy family members is suddenly hanging off his arm. It's like they know what he's planning and make it their personal mission to ruin his day.

Not this time.

It's like fate had suddenly decided to smile down on him for once instead of mercilessly fucking him.

He'd been the closest to the asylum when news of the breakout hit the police scanners, and he'd be damned if anyone fucked this up for him.

It's not that hard to hunt down the clown, not when his grating cackles ring out through the air.

"Hoodie!" The madman greeted excitedly, laughing at the sight of the gun raised and aimed at the space between his eyes. "We both know you won't, don't wanna piss off daddy Bat— " A shot rings out, and Jason watches, stunned, as the Joker slumps, his brains splattering across the road.

"Hood!" Nightwing's caught up already, great.

"Wasn't me." He denies, the two vigilantes watching as a figure emerges from the shadows, a booted foot nudging the Joker before they empty a clip into the Joker's body.

Jason's in too much disbelief and more than a little satisfaction to chase after the masked individual but Dick isn't. He lunges with his Escrima raised, yet even Jason can tell there's not too much heat behind his actions.

Their masks slip off in the ensuing tussle, and Jason freezes in his tracks. Your name falls from his lips in disbelief. He watches with his heart in his throat as your face scrunches up in confusion.

"Who the fuck is that?"

TIM DRAKE

He can't remember the last time he slept, nor will he, not until he's found you. His family are worried, he sees the pitying glances they throw his way as they try to get him to rest, to pull him away from his all-consuming quest to find you.

Dick had even resorted to sedating him once, Tim wasn't stupid enough to fall for that one again.

They say that you're dead. That he needs to give up his useless search because you're not coming back. Tim had nearly broken Damian's arm for saying that.

He doesn't care that the amount of blood covering that warehouse, all your blood, would have been impossible to survive losing. He doesn't care that you've been legally pronounced dead because he refused to believe it. As far as Tim is concerned, until he sees your body, you're alive.

He knows he's been more violent than acceptable lately. Tim can't find it in himself to care that he may have permanently disabled a few of Penguin's goons, if anything, he wishes they were dead. One of these lowlives knows what happened to you, where you are.

It's Damian who finds him, kneeling in the warehouse he'd lost you, fingers lightly tracing the old blood stains.

"Drake." The usual scorn Damian reserved solely for him wasn't present for once but the disapproval is still evident.

"Not now, Robin." His tone is cutting, he's too exhausted to fight right now. Not here.

"Father needs you, the Court —"

"Good thing he has you and everyone else then." Tim scowled.

"What's this? Some baby birds far from the nest?" It's all the warning he gets before he has to spin and block an incoming blade. Speak of the devil. Talons.

Damian and Tim do their best to fend off their attackers, but Tim's so exhausted he's practically deadweight and they just keep coming.

He hears a yelp, Damian goes down, and he's too far away to help. Panic flares, he moves, but he's too slow. He's going to lose someone else in this godforsaken building. Except suddenly, one of the Talons is turning on their own.

Beggars can't be choosers. He'll deal with the rogue Talon later, but for now, they just have to survive.

When the dust settles, Tim's got all sorts of questions, none of which he gets the chance to ask when they remove their mask, and it's your face glaring at him.

"Why are you looking for me?"

Tim's not sure whether to laugh or cry. He does both.

BRUCE WAYNE

For years, he'd been afraid to let someone in, let someone get close for fear of them being used against him. But you were persistent and refused to let him push you away.

His children loved you. He loved you and when months passed without incident Bruce finally started to open up to you, to let you into his life and heart.

He promised to keep you safe and he did. For 8 years he'd kept you safe and protected. Nobody ever made the connection between you and Batman, none of his rogues ever even thought to target you.

But he'd let his guard down, he'd forgotten that Gotham was a cesspool of misery seemingly determined to ruin his life.

It's not the Joker that takes you from him. It's not the Joker or Two-Face or the Penguin or Freeze. It's not any of the various villains he's tangled with over the years

It's a stranger with a gun. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. A simple coffee date with one of your friends in a small cafe had ended with you dead, lying in the morgue, with Bruce having to make the identification. Having to tell his children why you're not coming home. Why you'll never come home again.

He moves listlessly through his days, refusing to plan your funeral or let anyone else do it. He knows he needs to put you to rest, but doing so will make it even more real.

Just another regret of his. 9 days after your death, he gets the call, your body is missing.

Bruce Wayne drowns publicly in his grief. Batman ruthlessly rains down his fury on the criminals of Gotham.

He tears through the streets like a hurricane, practically annihilating every gang and every low-life criminal apart on his hunt to find whoever took you.

Talia insists it wasn't the League; Jason rips his way through them anyway. Bruce doesn't dissuade him from the killing.

The JLA try to intervene, but Bruce nearly kills Superman for his concern. The fight is bloody and brutal, with Bruce inflicting weeks of fury and grief on his friend.

His knuckles are bloody, probably broken from Clark's stupid Kryptonian body when a voice, the voice he'd been hearing pleading for him in his nightmares screams at him.

He turns just in time to receive a wooden baseball bat to the jaw.

It would have been easy to dodge, to block or disarm them. But Bruce is so stunned by the appearance of a person with your face that he lets the attack land.

It's Superman who disarms you, attempting to calm you down as he defends Batman. Defends Batman because you, the person resembling you, don't seem to recognise Clark, let alone your own husband.

Bruce doesn't care, he hugs you tightly against him, face buried in your neck, even as you squeak and writhe in offence. To which he can't help but smile.

Memory or not. This is you, and he's never letting you go again.

[serensho]

୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧ ୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧

୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧ ୨୧‿‿‿୨ﾠ୧‿‿‿୨୧

she

in which you and mark have drifted apart...but that doesn't mean he's left your life for good.

warnings: SMUT, coochie eating, angst, surprisingly soft/fluffy, variant!mark, kind of creepy vibes but not too much imo, not canon compliant, fem!reader

wc: 2766

inspired by tyler the creator's she, sycamore tree by kali uchis

a/n: ayy doing something different by having my note at the beginning; thank you sm for the love on my last two posts! i hope you all love this one and reblog, like, reply, request, etc!! this could be imagined with any mark variant imo, but let me know who you think fits this best! also it is pretty light despite its inspo, and i hope you all like it! i had fun writing it and getting out of my comfort zone. enjoy

You and Mark Grayson have lost touch.

 It wasn’t surprising at first. Having grown up with him and watching his transformation from ordinary high schooler to superhero from only a few doors down– it seemed only natural that he would act differently, make new friends and find new hobbies. 

The two of you drifted apart as he began fighting crime, talking to girls, and the friendship that was once so strong between you fizzled out. There wasn’t any animosity– at least you tried not to harbor any– but it was only natural that a sense of bitterness began to fester as he stopped trying. 

He stopped coming over late at night after a fight with a petty villain, stopped walking you home, simply stopped. And you tried to reach out to him, to let him know you would always be there but he found comfort elsewhere. Which was fine. He was following a different path, one that was extraordinary compared to your ordinary experience going to the nearby college sometimes crossing paths with William and Amber. 

Last you heard she and Mark had broken up and he was now with Atom Eve. But a lot had been happening to Mark recently with the arrival of different versions of him wreaking havoc on Earth, and his subsequent fight with some sort of super strong hero from a completely different planet. You couldn’t help but worry for him, worry for Debbie and his little brother, Oliver. 

You still cared despite the loss of contact and that was what prompted you to try to write a text to him, hoping that his number hadn’t changed. However, it sat in your messages, too scared to send it. You stewed over it, reread it probably a hundred times, before giving up on it. Weeks passed by and you hadn’t read or watched anything in the news about Invincible, deeming that that was probably a good thing. 

Which was why when you saw him waiting on the sidewalk in front of your house after dark one night was so weird. At least you were pretty sure it was him. Deciding to investigate further, you padded downstairs from your bedroom to the front door, slipping on a pair of shoes and walking outside, turning on the flashlight of your phone while approaching the pavement. Only to find that Mark– whoever had been waiting outside had left without a trace. You called out into the night, looking around before going inside, but you couldn’t shake the feeling as though something, someone had been watching you. You walked back upstairs and decided to try to relax, pamper yourself for tonight to rid yourself of the sensation.

From far above in the sky, Mark held a hand over his mouth as he chuckled. Your cute chirp and frightened look on your face excited him. Back in his home universe, you hadn’t been so close to him– it was a wonder why this world’s Mark hadn’t taken advantage of your proximity but after days of observation, weeks, Mark realized that you two weren’t together, weren’t even friends. That was something he would be sure to remedy. But he couldn’t rush it no, that would be too suspicious. He tapped his chin in thought as he flew to your bedroom window. Your light was still on, blinds open to let the moonlight in, and he quickly flew to hide behind a nearby tree as you approached the window– only to open it to let the cool night air flow into your room. He could hear your sweet humming and watched as you sat down on your bed to brush your hair. He imagined running his hands through it, brushing it himself, pulling it– but it got so much better when you began undressing right before his very eyes. 

You hummed along to a soft tune as you applied velvety lotion along your body, massaging your thighs, hips, before moving up to your chest. You plopped down on your bed again, putting some on your arms before redressing into a silky pajama set and turning your lights off. 

Mark was hoping for you to do more. To touch yourself, rub and pinch your nipples, play with your clit until he could hear you mewling and crying out in pleasure– but he supposed he would have to be the one to pull those sweet sounds from you instead.

In the days that followed Mark began to slowly insert himself back into your life. He began leaving signs, walking throughout your house leaving doors and windows open so he could watch you later that day. He followed you around as you drove to work, college, to the grocery store–meanwhile you had been noticing these things, realizing that you hadn’t left your bedroom window open all day…Had you? 

Mark continued to stay hidden, biding his time for the perfect moment to approach you but he wanted to learn more about you in this world, and found himself falling for you all over again. As luck would have it, that perfect moment arose the same day this world’s Invincible made headlines after having been in a particularly nasty fight with another villain. 

You paced your room, contemplating sending that text to Mark. It certainly couldn’t hurt, could it? It was simple and to the point–Saw what happened, hope you’re doing alright. I’m always here if you need to talk. You took a deep breath as you collapsed onto your bed afterwards, the night hours becoming later as you tried to distract yourself in anticipation of a response. You were reading a book as your phone suddenly buzzed, the screen lighting. Your heart jumped as you scrambled to grab it, the message reading, I’m alright. Just been dealing with a lot, hope you’re okay, too. 

Well, at least it was something. A sense of relief washed over you–quickly being followed with panic as a knock came from your window. You got up and opened it, only to see–

“Mark!? Holy shit, how are you–what are you doing here right now?” You gasped as he hovered into your room and landed.

Something was up…you had just seen him fighting for his life on television and now he was wearing a new suit and visiting your bedroom after so many years?

“I had to see you,” he said as he looked you up and down. God, you looked even better up close.

“I thought you were hurt? How did you heal so fast?” you shook your head as you grabbed his arm, assessing him for injuries. None. You turned him around, seeing there wasn’t even a rip in this new suit. But he looked different in it, somehow. More muscular, like he filled it out more but maybe it was just the difference seeing him in person and on a screen. Your hands trailed along his body as you grabbed both of his hands in yours. Realizing what you were doing, checking him out and gawking, you dropped them as you turned around and cleared your throat, embarrassed. 

“It’s my powers. I’m good as new, now,” he said as he stretched, missing your soft hands on his body already. 

You frowned as you turned back to face him. “Mark, what are you doing in my room? We haven’t spoken in years. I mean, just because I sent you that text doesn’t mean I was expecting you to visit or–or that we can suddenly go back to what we used to be.”

Mark walked toward you as you backed away from him. Seriously, what was up with him? 

Noticing your apprehension he began taking off the face piece of his suit, grabbing your hands. “I’ve missed you. And that text…” he trailed off. What the fuck could he say that wouldn’t alert you to the fact that he wasn’t your Mark? “I–I realized that I wanna make up for the time we’ve lost together. It’s you I should’ve been giving my time and attention to, not anything else,” he reasoned, looking into your eyes deeply. 

You looked down to your hands, intertwined in his. You shook your head, thoughts running wild. You had harbored a crush on him when you two were friends. But he was with Eve, was he not? This all seemed to be some sort of dream, a fantasy. 

You sighed before meeting his longing gaze. “Mark, you have a girlfriend. I’m not some sort of boyfriend-stealer. I don’t know who you think you’re fooling right now, but you need to stop. It isn’t fair.”

His brows raised as he scowled. “I don’t care about her, we’re done. Her, those other girls, they were just distractions, I thought that I wanted them but my judgment was clouded. Now, I see what’s been in front of me this whole time,” he pulled you closer to him, still holding hands. He rubbed comforting circles as you looked at his face, carefully examining his features. 

His body was definitely more muscular in person– but his face was the same Mark you had been missing, yearning for. He seemed aged somehow, eyes sad but still holding that same depth you remembered. Which was what prompted you to lean into him, breaking your hands apart to rest one on his chest as you looked up at him. 

Everything was falling into place, perfectly.

“Mark, I’ll be honest, I don’t know what to think right now. Maybe this is stupid, but I…I believe you.”

You could feel his heartbeat quicken, from your touch or words you were unsure, as his hand which had been rubbing those comforting circles, stilled, tightening before releasing entirely. 

Mark’s eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back to your eyes. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you,” he murmured, his voice huskier now, lower. There was something dangerous, electric, in the way he spoke, as though he was holding back.

Your chest tightened as you leaned in closer, your lips just inches from his. “I missed you too,” you whispered, barely audible, feeling the weight of everything you hadn’t said in years. It all came crashing down now, in this moment—every longing glance, every unspoken word. 

Without thinking, you rose up on your toes, closing the gap between you, your lips brushing his in the lightest of touches. For a second, you hesitated, your heart pounding in your ears as you pulled back just enough to see his face, wondering if you’d gone too far.

But Mark’s reaction was immediate. His hand slid up, cradling the back of your neck, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty. His lips crashed against yours with a kind of desperation, like he’d been starving for this for as long as you had. The kiss was firm, claiming, his other hand slipping down to rest on your waist, fingers curling possessively around your side.

You gasped against his mouth as his body pressed closer, his heat enveloping you. Every touch, every sensation felt amplified—the brush of his lips, the way his hand tugged lightly at your hair as he kissed you harder. Your fingers dug into his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath, and you could feel the tension in his body, something tight and wanting, waiting to be released.

“Mark…” you breathed, breaking the kiss for a moment as you leaned your forehead against his, your lips swollen and tingling from the intensity of it all. His eyes were clouded with desire as he stared down at you, his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he muttered, his voice rough with need. “I’m not letting you go this time.”

You shivered at the possessiveness in his tone, your body responding in ways you couldn’t control. His hands slid down your waist, pulling you against him, and you could feel the hardness of his body pressed firmly against yours. The air between you felt thick with desire, each breath you took seemed to pull you closer.

The line between wanting and restraint blurred as his lips found your neck, leaving slow, heated kisses along your skin, each one sending a shock of pleasure through you. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he nipped lightly at the sensitive skin beneath your ear, his hands roaming lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hips.

Your pulse quickened, your body arching instinctively against him as his hands found the hem of your shirt, teasingly sliding beneath the fabric to touch your bare skin. His touch was warm, firm, but careful, like he was savoring every second of this moment. He helped you out of your top as he took in the sight of your breasts. 

You moved to cover yourself before Mark grabbed you bridal style, placing you on your bed as he quickly rid himself of the rest of his suit, completely bare before you. 

“Don’t be shy, baby. Lemme show you how much I want you,” he said as he climbed on top of you, pulling you into a long kiss. While your lips were locked, his hands came down to palm your breasts, pinching and pulling at your nipples. Mark pulled away from you, moving lower, sucking and kissing as he fondled one of your tits, bringing the other between his warm, wet mouth as he began suckling. 

You arched your back in pleasure as you brought a hand to pull at his hair as you moaned. 

“Oh, Mark–Please!”

He pulled away from you and tilted his head coyly. “Tell me what you want,” he said in a low tone as he moved his mouth to your other breast, giving it the same treatment. “I-I don’t know I want–want more,” you whimpered as the hand that was in his hair came to grab at the pillow under your head.

Mark stopped his efforts on your chest and moved lower, using both hands to spread your legs as he appraised the heat between your thighs. “Poor thing. She’s begging for some attention, you know that?” 

Mark’s strong arms kept your legs apart as you squirmed under his touch. He placed light kisses along your inner thighs before he brought his mouth against your clit and sucked. Hard. You cried out in bliss as Mark continued licking, and sucking, swallowing your essence as you writhed under his touch. 

Mark's tongue worked expertly, flicking against your sensitive clit with a rhythm that made your body tense and shiver with every stroke. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place as you bucked against him, lost in the overwhelming pleasure.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, your head falling back as the intense sensation built inside you, a fire spreading through your core. "M-Mark..." you gasped, your voice trembling as his mouth moved faster, the wet sounds of his tongue sending electric jolts through your body. He moaned against you, the vibrations sending you even closer to the edge.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, his hand slid up, teasing your entrance with his fingers before thrusting them inside, curling just right. The sudden fullness made you cry out louder, your hips lifting off the bed as the pleasure crested. His tongue and fingers worked in perfect harmony, pushing you higher, deeper, until the pressure inside you finally broke.

You shattered, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as your body shook uncontrollably. Your cries echoed through the room, your thighs trembling around his head as he continued, drawing out every last bit of your orgasm until you were spent, breathless, and completely undone.

Slowly, he pulled away, kissing your inner thighs tenderly as you tried to catch your breath, your body still trembling from the aftershocks. Mark looked up at you, his lips glistening with your arousal, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he crawled back up to hover over you.

"That," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face, "was only the beginning." But the intensity of his gaze softened as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, leaving you breathless all over again.

You registered the sound of your phone buzzing, but with Mark on top of you, loving you, the edges of your mind fuzzy and melting, you willfully ignored it. 

For now, you were his, and the world outside didn’t matter anymore. Mark was different–but did it really matter to you all that much if it gave you the chance to be his? 

tags: @weeb-simp-11

[coichii]

small girl fantasy ✭

—(🎧)—> when your husband comes to save you from the insecurities causing you to drown in your own head

pairing - dad!husband!changbin x post-pregnant!fem!reader

genre - comfort

word count - 0.6

warnings - insecurity regarding weight

You don’t even know who you are anymore, and the feeling is pitiful.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, but it isn’t you. It doesn’t feel like you.

Your sweet, sweet baby girl is asleep in her crib, her little snores filling the dark bedroom with some sort of sound. You’re trying to use the noise to help ground you, but it’s trivial and you know it.

The tears suddenly flow out as you continue to stare at your body. Your stomach pudgy, your legs full of stretch mark, your breast a little more sagged than usual.

You try to keep your choked sobs inside, attempting to avoid waking up your little one who you just put to sleep 10 minutes ago. Not to mention your husband is in the other room, and as he just got home from a long day of work, that’s the last thing you want him to hear.

You close your eyes, darkness surrounding you. You could get lost in this feeling if you already haven’t. It’s like swimming in every single thought, word, and letter that pops into your head.

Suddenly two strong & muscular arms wrap around your torso, causing you to jump and hitch your breath.

“C-Changbin?” You stutter, and he just hold you tighter and situates his self on the bed you were sitting on.

“You’re beautiful, honey.” He whispers. Fuck. You don’t know how he knows you so well. How the fuck does he know that’s what was making you cry?

“I don’t know how you see that.” You dryly chuckle, but there’s no humor behind. “I’m so damn big and I’ve changed so much, I don’t even know how you can stand looking at me.”

“Baby, stop. Don’t ever say something like that.” You can hear the sound of changbins heart cracking in his voice.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world. I love you more than anything, I could never ever not want to look at you.” He says, voice soft and comforting while also being firm.

“I-I don’t know. My body has just changed so much not to mention I’m exhausted.” You sniffle, cuddling up in your husband’s sturdy arms. He always had a hold that made you forget about everything bad that ever happened. “I’m so flawed.”

“Honey that is not true.” He moves his hands from around your torso and cups your face in them instead. “You call them flaws, I say they’re what make you perfect”

“But-“ He places a small kiss on your lips, effectively shushing you.

“Let me say something first. I love you more than you could ever imagine, so don’t even think of me not loving you anymore for something as simple as your body. Even though there’s changes, that’s just proof of how much you’ve been through and how powerful you are as a woman. You still look beautiful, and you always will for as long as you live.” He consoles, instantly making the tears in your eyes heighten and your sobs continue.

“I-I d-don’t know what t-to-“ “Shhh, baby. Let it out, I’m here. I’m here.”

You let his voice console you in a warm blanket of love and comfort. You let his hands on your body and the sweetness of his voice lull you into peace.

No one gets you like he does, and no one ever will.

Imperfections & all.

[adelliet]

Joel Miller x f!reader

NO BOUNDARIES

Summary: Your dad’s friend, Joel Miller, stayed over at your house every friday. Over time, your affection for him grew into something deeper, something dangerous. One fateful night, and you both break the boundaries.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, age gap, strong language, flirting, mention of masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), contraceptive use, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (p i v), after care (ofc)

A/N: Hey there! So, this is once again ridiculously long, sorry, I always get carried away. But I just want to thank you so much for all the activity and support! I really appreciate it! If you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story, I personally absolutely LOVE it! Enjoy! <3

It’s another Friday night, which means another one of Joel’s sleepovers at your house. You can’t even remember when his visits became a tradition. It was so long ago that even your dad doesn’t really know how the two of them met. He always tells the story differently, but one thing remains the same, they’re inseparable.

Honestly, you’d even call them soulmates. They can talk for hours, without ever getting tired of each other. Sometimes, they even remind you of teenage girls. But it’s nice. Nice to see your dad this happy. And nice to see Joel so often, right here, in your home.

Just like you can’t remember when Joel first became a part of your life, you can’t pinpoint the moment he carved himself into your mind. Every time you saw him, he settled deeper and deeper into your head, until he was right where he is now, completely inescapable.

You’re a mess for him. The mere sight of him makes your legs weak, your nipples hard, and your mouth flood with anticipation. Your heart races, your pulse quickens, and it feels as if everything around you slows down. The only thing your focus clings to is him.

It’s like some sort of spell, as if every time you sense his presence, your core begins to throb with need. And you, pathetically, have to escape him, running away to calm your body, though it feels pitifully hopeless.

Even though you hide upstairs in your room, in your comfort, the heat in your veins, the tingling between your legs, and your quickened breath remain relentless. You always have to take care of it, of yourself.

It’s truly remarkable, how ever since your thoughts began to wander to Joel, whenever your hands found their way between your thighs, you’ve climaxed within seconds. Never before have you come so fast, but then you think about those massive hands of his, wrapped around a coffee mug, his fingers nearly swallowing it whole. The rough hair and bulging veins on his arms, so effortlessly attractive. And it’s not just his hands.

His salt and pepper beard, looking so coarse and scratchy, tempting you to imagine how it might feel against your skin. His soft, silky hair, always swaying so easily in the breeze, as if the wind itself adored him. And those eyes. God, those goddamn eyes. Enchanting, mesmerizing, capable of pulling you in like a deep, endless well.

His neck, thick, strong, the way he rubs it absentmindedly when he scratches the back of his head. The unintentional glimpse of his chest when his shirt shifts, revealing just a hint of those dark curls beneath.

Joel makes you feel things you’ve never felt before. It’s nearly impossible to define, to understand what the hell is even happening to you. Are you in love? Or is it just obsession? A stupid crush? Or is it simply, pure, unfiltered desire?

You don’t know exactly what it is. The only thing you’re absolutely certain of is that your panties dampen every single time your eyes land on him. It’s as if he’s some sort of god of arousal. A living, breathing definition of attraction. And for you, he absolutely is.

Still, here you are in your room, breathless from the “activity” that barely managed to soothe the throbbing ache between your legs. Because today, Joel looks even more devastatingly good than he did last week.

You were utterly exhausted, sweat still clinging to your forehead and soaking into the pillow beneath you. Your fingers trembled, your legs shook, and your chest heaved unevenly. You had to close your eyes because the room felt like it was spinning. It didn’t take long before you fell asleep like a baby.

Eventually, though, an unrelenting hunger stirred you awake. You had no desire to get up, honestly, you’d rather stay buried beneath your blanket, dreaming up filthy, romantic fantasies about Joel. But the hunger grew stronger each second, and your body made it very clear with the impatient grumbling of your stomach.

Annoyed, you let out a groan, rubbing your eyes with your thumb and forefinger before slowly, sluggishly, pushing yourself up. Your body felt heavy, and you stumbled to the door, barely able to find the handle in your drowsy haze. As you made your way down the stairs, you yawned widely, your eyes still adjusting to the dim light, and you nearly tripped a few times.

When you reached the bottom, a faint glow from the kitchen caught your eye. It surprised you, but your half-asleep brain didn’t have the energy to question it deeply. You simply trudged forward, too hungry and too tired to care who or what might be waiting for you in the kitchen.

You rounded the corner and suddenly froze in place. There was Joel, leaning against the table with a glass of water in his hand, facing you. For a moment, you thought it was a dream. It really felt like a dream until he greeted you softly.

In an instant, a rush of adrenaline surged through your veins, and the word exhaustion was wiped from your mind. You swallowed an imaginary lump in your throat, a bit too loudly, and offered Joel a shy, quiet, “Hey.” You didn’t want to keep staring at him like some kind of creep, but damn, he looked so fucking good.

His hair was tousled, a little messy, giving him that irresistible, just-woke-up look. He wore a loose t-shirt that gently hugged his godlike body, and those gray sweatpants that had you fighting desperately not to stare. His salt-and-pepper beard looked both sharp and somehow soft to the touch. The warm kitchen light glowed softly against his stormy gray eyes, like clouds right before a heavy rain.

Oh god, your knees felt weak, and that familiar throbbing between your legs grew more intense. Your thighs clenched instinctively, desperate to ease the pulsing ache. It was humiliating how easily he did this to you, how little it took for your body to react like this. Just one look, one sleepy, half-lidded gaze from him, and you felt like you could melt into the floor.

Your whole body burned from the inside out, a heat so fierce it almost ached. It was like every nerve ending had woken up, set on fire just from seeing him like this, so effortlessly rugged, so devastatingly handsome, standing in your kitchen in the middle of the night. Your chest tightened with a mix of excitement and nerves.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice low and rough, rasping with a hint of sleep still clinging to it. His lips curved into a small, lazy smirk.

“Hmm…” you hummed softly, your voice barely audible. Forming a coherent sentence felt impossible when every fiber of your being was focused on not falling apart under his gaze. You fought against yourself, desperate not to make a fool of yourself, not to seem like some desperate, pathetic whore, aching for his attention.

“I’m hungry,” you finally managed, your voice a little steadier as you offered him a shy, almost innocent look. Joel chuckled, shaking his head with a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“Eating this late ain’t healthy,” he teased, lifting his glass to his lips. His eyes stayed on yours, unwavering, intense, like he could see right through you.

“Maybe not,” you shot back, finding a fragment of confidence amidst the storm raging inside you.

“But this rumbling stomach isn’t gonna quiet down on its own.” You tried to keep it playful, lighthearted, but your body betrayed you.

The throbbing ache between your thighs was relentless, an unyielding pulse that made your breath hitch, your core clench helplessly. You could feel the slickness growing, soaking through the thin fabric of your pajama shorts. A humiliatingly obvious sign of just how badly you wanted him. It took everything in you to keep your face composed, to not let him see how shamelessly desperate you were for him.

“You’re right,” he nodded, his calming smile still gracing his wrinkled face. As your confidence steadily returned, the heat within you grew stronger with each word that left Joel’s mouth, control over your own actions was slipping away, bit by bit. Maybe that’s why this idea even crossed your mind.

Across from Joel, there was a kitchen island. A centerpiece your dad mainly kept for decoration, though it was occasionally used for snacking. A mischievous smirk spread across your face as you gracefully walked past Joel, positioning yourself right in front of him. Then, you bent over, leaning onto the counter as you reached for the bowl of fruit.

You knew exactly what you were doing. The thin, loose fabric of your pajama shorts shifted as you bent over, and with no underwear underneath, there was nothing to shield the view. The cool air brushed against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the burning heat radiating from your core. You knew exactly what you were exposing, and Joel noticed too, almost immediately.

Almost the second you bent down, you heard a sudden spluttering noise, followed by Joel’s deep, raspy voice choking and coughing. You turned around to see him setting his glass down on the counter, his fist pressed against his mouth, eyes squeezed shut, and his face flushed a deep red.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice so innocently sweet it only added to his torment. Joel nodded, but he was still coughing, clearly struggling to regain his composure.

After finally catching his breath, Joel inhaled deeply, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. The redness on his face lingered, a shade too obvious to ignore, and his fingers nervously tapped against the counter, a silent attempt to steady himself.

With a raised eyebrow and a teasing smirk, you watched him. “You sure you’re okay?” you asked softly, a hint of mischief in your voice. Joel nodded, his eyes slowly lifting to meet yours.

You knew exactly what hid behind those eyes of his. He had seen you, bare and exposed, exactly as you’d planned. The way his composure shattered so easily because of you made your core clench desperately around nothing, the ache between your legs intensifying.

For a moment, an awkward silence settled between you, both of you standing there, tangled in the aftermath of what just happened. Joel cleared his throat one last time, his fingers nervously brushing over his beard.

“Just… swallowed wrong,” he muttered, a lame attempt to explain away his reaction. But you both knew the truth. There was no way to hide the way his gaze had lingered, no way to ignore the way his breath had hitched. You gave a slow, hesitant nod, your eyes briefly sweeping over his figure before settling back on his flushed face.

“And you couldn't sleep ’cause you were thirsty?” you teased, nodding to the glass of water on the counter, changing the subject Joel glanced back at the glass and let out a breathy laugh, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Something like that…” he mumbled, shifting his weight. You nodded again, the tension still hanging heavy between you, pulsing in your chest and lower, so much lower.

“Had a nightmare,” he added quietly, the way his shoulders sagged, the frustration lining his face, it struck something inside you. You knew about his nightmares. You’d heard whispers of him and your dad talking about them over beers on the porch and during late-night movies, about the things that haunted him.

“I’m sorry…” you whispered gently, and Joel shook his head, offering a faint, tired smile.

“It’s alright. I’m used to it,” he replied softly, pointing towards the empty glass. “Water helped a little.”

As you stood there with Joel, your heart pounding and your pulse thrumming in your ears, a reckless thought crept into your mind. What if you could help him sleep in a completely different way?

The idea of his strong, calloused hands gripping your hips, his body pressing against yours, tangled sheets and muffled gasps. It all hit you so suddenly and so vividly that a shiver ran down your spine. You couldn’t believe where your mind had wandered, but the thought alone made your knees weak, your body burning with a desire you could barely contain.

You could feel the heat still burning under your skin, every part of you hyper-aware of the man standing just feet away. The way he tried to steady himself, the lingering flush on his face. It thrilled you.

“Don’t you want some sleeping pills?” you asked, finally piecing yourself together enough to speak, your brows furrowing in a guilty, concerned expression. Joel scoffed softly, shaking his head just a bit.

“Nah, but thanks,” he muttered, lifting a hand. His voice was rough and gravelly, that deep, rasping tone that always sounded like it was dragging over rocks. It seeped under your skin, settled low in your belly, igniting that familiar heat that made your thighs press together involuntarily.

“Okay,” you whispered, so quietly that Joel barely heard you. You shifted away from the kitchen island, your heart still thundering as you moved toward the fridge. You could feel his eyes on you, following every step, every sway of your hips, like he needed to keep you in check, or maybe like he couldn’t help himself.

When you opened the fridge, the cool air brushed over your flushed face, but it barely helped to cool the warmth spreading through your body. Your eyes lit up as you spotted the leftover pie you’d baked with your dad yesterday. The light from the fridge illuminated your face, highlighting the curve of your cheekbones, the arch of your brows, the slope of your nose. It was almost unfair how exposed you felt under his gaze.

Joel caught himself staring, eyes dragging slowly from your face to the curve of your neck before snapping away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Wanna try some?” you asked, pulling the pie from the fridge and turning to face him. Your voice was casual, but your pulse was anything but. There was a tightness in your chest, a dizzying need that made your mind wander to dangerous places. Places where that gruff, rumbling voice of his was in your ear, muttering things that had no place in the dim kitchen.

Joel let out a low, disapproving grumble and shook his head.

“Oh, come on,” you set the pie on the counter, your eyes glimmering with mischief. “Just a small bite.” You tried to coax him, but Joel remained firm. Still, you weren’t about to give up that easily.

You slipped a finger into the pie, scooping up a bit of the filling. Keeping your eyes locked on his, you slowly brought your finger to your mouth, your tongue sliding over it as you tasted the sweetness. A pleased hum left your lips, your eyes fluttering closed for a second as you savored the flavor.

“It’s delicious! C’mon,” you teased, voice laced with playfulness.

For a moment, Joel just stared, a muscle in his jaw flexing as his eyes followed the trail of your tongue. You saw the hesitation, the way his eyes flicked from your mouth to the pie and back, the internal battle playing out behind those stormy eyes.

Finally, the resistance broke. He let out a resigned breath, a hint of a smirk on his lips, and stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate.

Pushing off the edge of the counter, leaning in closer. Your pulse quickened, the air between you charged and heavy. You wondered if he could hear your heart beating or if his rough breaths were enough to drown it out.

You arched a brow, the silent challenge daring Joel not to hesitate. With a small, reluctant grunt, he finally reached out and dipped his finger into the pie, his expression skeptical.

“Don’t you want a spoon?” he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“My finger works just fine,” you replied, voice dripping with mischief. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly licked the remnants of pie from your finger, your tongue curling around it until there was nothing left. As you pulled your finger from your mouth, a playful, almost obscene pop echoed in the quiet kitchen.

Joel’s chest rose as he took a deep breath, his jaw tight, his gaze sharp and unreadable. You could practically see the internal conflict flickering in his eyes, questioning what he was doing, why he was still here, if he should just leave.

God, you hoped he wouldn’t leave.

Eventually, Joel gave in and tasted the cake from his finger, just like you had. It was genuinely delicious, and he let out a pleased murmur that sent a wave of heat crashing through your body. Your stomach twisted, your skin flushed hot, and the throbbing between your legs became almost unbearable, making it hard to stay still.

“It’s really good,” he muttered through a mouthful, his voice gruff and warm. “Did you make this?” he raised an eyebrow, dipping his finger for another taste. You nodded silently, watching his lips wrap around his finger again.

“It’s really good. You’re talented,” he praised, and those words etched themselves into your mind like a mark on stone.

You’re talented. Paired with his voice, his face, his eyes, everything about him was overwhelming. You fought every urge to not throw yourself at him right there, praying your wetness wouldn’t betray you, wouldn’t drip down your thighs.

Your cake was truly delicious. Neither of you could get enough of it, your fingers diving into the treat one after another, savoring each sweet bite. The atmosphere had settled, and the two of you were sharing stories, funny little moments and memories. It was nice, comfortable. Until the conversation faded and the only sounds left were your pleased hums and the soft, sticky licks of fingers.

Then, an idea, a ridiculous, childish idea, popped into your head. Before you could reconsider, you swiped your finger through the pie and, with a swift motion, smeared it right onto the tip of Joel’s nose. You hit dead center.

Joel froze, his eyes widening in surprise as your laughter filled the room. You quickly licked the rest of the cake off your finger, smirking playfully.

He took a breath, disbelief etched into his expression, and without a second thought, dipped his own finger into the pie and swiped it across your small, cute nose.

You gasped dramatically, your eyes wide, while Joel grinned like a mischievous kid.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” you teased, dragging your finger through the pie again, before smearing a sweet line across his scruffy beard.

A war had begun.

You both kept digging your fingers into the mess of what used to be a pie, smearing each other playfully without caring about the sticky disaster in front of you. Laughter mixed with lingering glances filled the kitchen, and your game became a careful balance of teasing touches and unspoken tension.

Despite your playful antics, you both managed to keep the mess mostly contained to your fingers, avoiding a complete disaster in the kitchen. Every swipe of his finger against your skin and every dab of frosting you left on him carried a weight that neither of you fully acknowledged, yet it was undeniably there.

When Joel reached out, swiping his finger through the ruined cake and aiming to smear more of it on you, his touch accidentally brushed against your lips. His finger paused there, resting softly on your mouth, and everything around you seemed to halt.

The air hung thick, the room drenched in a heavy, charged silence. Joel’s gaze locked onto yours. A mix of surprise, uncertainty, and something deeper that you couldn’t ignore.

His expression was torn, a fragile balance between the stone-cold restraint he always carried and the sudden, forbidden realization of what he’d just done. It was as if, in that brief moment, he saw the boundary he was crossing.

The fact that you were his best friend’s daughter, someone he had no right to look at that way. For a moment, you just stared at each other, both holding your breath, eyes full of anticipation.

Your eyes flicked from his gaze to his hand and back, a silent reminder that his finger was still on your lips, though the last thing you wanted was for him to pull away. You wanted him to grab you, to feel his lips on yours, to shatter the thin line of restraint between you.

Joel’s hand began to retreat slowly, hesitantly, as if he was battling himself over what was right and what he truly wanted. But he didn’t manage to pull away in time. Without a second thought, you wrapped your lips around his finger, warm and intentional.

Your eyes locked, your lips wrapping tightly around his finger, the motion slow, teasing, like you were savoring every inch of him.

The warm, wet feeling of your mouth sent a shiver through him, but your gaze remained innocent, wide and soft, a stark contrast to the fire building inside you. Despite the calm exterior, your mind was a whirlwind of forbidden thoughts, each one darker and more daring than the last, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you let yourself act on them

Your tongue swirling around his long thick finger, devouring the last bits of the pie. Joel was like a rock, motionless, his eyes fixed on you. He breathed through his nose, loudly, like a bear. His nostrils flared, his chest rising and falling more rapidly and all of his blood rushed to his cock.

You loved the way Joel looked right now. The thought that it was you, the reason he was struggling so hard, fighting every instinct to resist those seductive, pleading eyes of yours.

Joel’s breath caught sharply as you finally released his finger from your mouth, the slow, deliberate motion sending a jolt of electricity through the air. You lingered for a moment longer, your lips curling into a provocative smile as you slowly licked them, your eyes never leaving his.

Something primal stirred in him, like he was trying to steady himself. He exhaled deeply, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s late… I’m going to bed,” he muttered, his voice rough and laced with barely-contained desire, his gaze dropping to the floor as if it was the only thing keeping him from losing control. Without another word, he turned and walked away, each step heavy with unspoken tension.

“Wait!” you called out, your voice unsteady.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, not from excitement, but from a desperate fear that he might actually leave you like this. Here and now, with your knees weak and trembling, an unrelenting pulse throbbing between your legs, your breath uneven, your nipples hard and your mouth full of saliva. He couldn’t just walk away, not when you were this vulnerable, this exposed.

He stopped, his back still turned to you, shoulders taut and unmoving. It felt like he was waiting.

Waiting for the excuse you’d give him to stay, a reason not to walk away. His head tilted slightly to the side, just enough for you to glimpse the sharp line of his jaw, covered in a rugged, silver-brown beard that caught the light perfectly.

“Please don’t go…” Your voice was shaky, quiet, almost pleading. It might have sounded desperate, but you didn’t care.

Joel inhaled deeply, his eyes closing as he tipped his head back, facing the ceiling as if searching for strength. His jaw clenched tightly as you stood completely still, heart pounding, every nerve in your body screaming with anticipation.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he turned to face you. His brows were furrowed, his eyes dark and wild, like a predator barely holding back. They burned with a hunger that made the air feel thick and heavy, stiflingly hot. When his gaze locked with yours, it felt like a challenge, a dare that made your breath catch

“You should go to bed too,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly growl that seemed to scrape up from the depths of his chest. It was rough yet steady, carrying a weight that could silence a room.

There was a primal quality to it, like the warning growl of a wolf, restrained but undeniably powerful, a sound that demanded attention. It was the kind of voice that sent a shiver down your spine, commanding and untamed, yet tempered by a layer of reluctant restraint.

“I don’t want to…” you whispered carefully, testing the waters as you stepped closer, slow and deliberate, your eyes never leaving Joel’s face.

His fingers curled into a fist, knuckles whitening from the tension coiled beneath his skin. He lifted his chin slightly, his gaze sharp, assessing, dominant and firm, analyzing each measured step you took toward him.

When you were close, impossibly close, you paused, biting your lip as you looked up at him, a silent confession in your eyes. You didn’t need to say what you wanted; it was already written all over your face.

He scoffed, a dry, incredulous sound as he looked away, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what was happening. But when your fingers brushed against his shirt, hesitant yet intentional, his entire body seemed to tense.

Your palm pressed fully against his chest, feeling the steady, heavy beat beneath, strong and unyielding. His gaze snapped back to you, intense, zeroing in on your hand as if it burned.

You expected him to pull away, to reject you, or to yell at you to stop, to tell you that this was wrong, to push you away with force and distance himself as far as possible. But none of that came.

Instead, he stood there, frozen for a moment, his eyes locked on your hand resting on his chest. His breath caught in his throat as you felt the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

He bit the inside of his mouth, fighting to keep his composure, to control whatever he was feeling. His muscles tensed slightly under your touch, as if he were trying to decide whether to stop you or give in. But he did neither. Time seemed to freeze as the air around you became charged, the silence stretching longer than it should have.

Your eyes dropped down to where your hand rested. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, pounding rapidly, almost erratically. The rhythm was fast, uneven, and at moments, you couldn’t help but worry that it was too fast, almost as if it might be too much for him to handle.

Heat flooded through your lower belly, your body taking control. Slowly, your hand moved downward, grazing the soft fabric of his shirt, your fingers brushing lightly over the outline of his abs, hidden beneath the material that you desperately wanted to pull away.

Your gaze followed the movement of your hand, and in that moment, your breath caught, noticing the shiver that ran through Joel as goosebumps spread across his skin.

The lower your hand moved, the more you felt the heat rising in your body. Your breathing quickened, each shallow inhale matching the rapid beat of your heart as your hand ventured lower.

Joel didn't do anything.

Then, your hand stopped at the waistband of his sweatpants, but before your could do anything else, Joel's hand briskly grapped your wrist, giving you a warning look. Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes innocent as you suck your lips into a thin miserable line.

“This is inappropriate,” Joel’s voice was suddenly different. So were his eyes. They were hungry and dark, you could barely read what was hidden behind them.

“But is it what you want?” Your soft voice made Joel’s hand twitch, his jaw clenching, already preparing for what was coming.

“Your dad is going to kill me,” his voice wasn’t as harsh, as rejecting anymore. You could tell he was backing down, that he no longer wanted to resist.

“I know,” you immediately spoke those words without thinking, your mind already elsewhere, ready to jump at him.

“We’re going to be in trouble-”

“I know,” you stepped closer to him, even though it had seemed impossible. His grip on your wrist was tight, definitely leaving a bruise, but you barely noticed the pain as the air around you thickened with an almost palpable tension.

The space between you two crackled with unspoken desire, like static in the air, the kind that buzzes just before a storm breaks. Everything felt heavier, the silence thick enough to suffocate, yet somehow it was intoxicating, drawing you closer.

Joel glanced around, his gaze sharp, scanning the area, making sure no one would interrupt, see, or stop what was unfolding. His attention to detail made the moment feel even more intense, as though nothing existed outside of this bubble you were trapped in, where the only thing that mattered was the space you shared, the heat, the tension.

And without another word, he cupped your cheeks and crushed his lips into yours. It was like an explosion. There was no softness, no gentleness. Just raw, hungry need.

His grip tightened on you, pulling you closer as his mouth slammed against yours, urgent and demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second. The kiss wasn’t slow, wasn’t tender, it was messy. His teeth grazed your lower lip, almost bruising, but you didn’t care. It only made the fire between your legs burn hotter.

You could feel his breathing coming in sharp, ragged pulls, like he was trying to taste every inch of you. His hands roamed over your body, grabbing, pulling, the pressure hard, relentless, like he wanted to own every inch of your skin.

As his hands slid over your body, exploring every inch of your skin, as if he needed to memorize you, to imprint every curve and line of your body into his mind to never forget, he forced you to back up.

The force was overwhelming, and when your back collided with the cold surface of a fridge, it hit with such intensity that both of you gasped, breath stolen by the shock of the sudden impact. His massive frame pressing you against the fridge, forming an unyielding barrier you couldn’t escape.

There was no hesitation anymore, no doubt. Just an intense hunger, a need so fierce it was almost suffocating. You could taste the urgency in the kiss, the way he kissed you like he was trying to consume you, literally pull you inside him.

“You have no fucking idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he groaned into your ear, his teeth sinking into your neck, biting and sucking, leaving you breathless.

Your fingers instinctively tangled in his dark curls, tugging when he hit that sweet, sensitive spot. His hands were all over you, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch, leaving no part of you untouched. He wasn’t modest, he wanted all of you.

His bear-like groan rumbled against your neck, sending shivers down your spine. One of his hands found your ass, squeezing it firmly, making you squeak and rise up on your tiptoes.

“You like that, don’t you?” You could feel his cocky smile brushing against the other side of your neck, making you gasp. Your fingers found the fabric of Joel’s shirt, tugging it, pulling him closer. That answer was more than enough for Joel.

He grabbed your hips, pulling your body flush against his. You moaned as his lips found yours again, feeling the hardness of him pressing against your thigh.

God, you wanted him.

Every inch of your body was on fire, your dream unfolding before you, and you could barely believe it. Here you were, kissing Joel Miller, the man you had been obsessed with for months.

Your moans, growls, and desperate whimpers melded together, swallowed by the intensity of the kiss. Your tongues collided, moving together in a fevered rhythm, as your bodies instinctively pressed closer, synchronizing with every shift and pull. You craved the warmth of his skin against yours, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, and the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by him. You needed him, in every way, feeling the undeniable pull that made it impossible to stop.

Joel felt it just as strongly, but he was always good at keeping it buried beneath the surface. He’d learned to hide his desire, to mask the intensity, never allowing his emotions to show. But now… now things had changed.

With you so close, with every breath shared between you, his control started slipping away. He could feel the heat of your body against his, the growing tension, and it was all becoming too much for him to contain. His movements, his breaths, everything began to reveal just how far gone he really was. How much he needed you.

His hand subtly slid to your thigh, moving higher until, with a slight shift, he managed to slip under your pajama shorts.

Your breath caught in your throat as the warmth of his fingers pressed against your inner thigh. His grin and the soft scoff that escaped his lips made your core pulse even harder.

Finally, his finger brushed against your wet folds, but he paused, pulling away from the kiss to take a long look at you.

“Already that wet, huh?” His finger rubbed agonizingly slow over the surface of your wet folds, his skin absorbing your moisture. Even though it was just the lightest, almost nonexistent touch, you felt it more than you should.

Your body reacted instinctively, throwing your head back, closing your eyes as your hips moved against Joel’s hand, desperately seeking more friction, more contact.

He savored the way your body trembled, the way your face contorted with need, and how your small hands desperately gripped anything they could find, clinging to something, anything, to hold on. You needed this. You needed him. And he knew it.

His finger finally burried into your folds, making your jaw fall open and gasp really loudly. Joel quickly covered your mouth by his free hand, throwing a warning look.

“We don’t want to wake your daddy up now, do we?” His voice was raspy, dark and deep. His finger working on you, curling inside you and stretching you out. You let out a soft sigh into Joel’s palm, your breath shaky as your eyelids fluttered, struggling to stay open.

“Look at you? Such a good girl,” His words made you melt into his touch. His finger increasing the pace and strength, dugging in as deeply as he could. Your senses beginning to blur. The pleasure, slow at first, built with an intensity that made your chest rise and fall in shallow breaths.

“Yeah, that's it” he found your swallow clit with his thumb, making slow firm circles, showering you with waves of pleasure. The feeling of ecstasy was creeping in, washing over you like a tide, and you could feel your body betraying you, helplessly surrendering to the overwhelming sensations.

Your knees trembled slightly, barely holding your weight as Joel’s finger stretched you, his fingertip brushing against your walls, making you whine against his sweaty palm. He was relentless, maintaining a steady, determined rhythm while his thumb teased your sensitive clitoris in slow, deliberate circles.

Each calculated motion sent jolts of electricity through your veins, leaving you breathless and desperate for more. The contrast between his unyielding pace and the gentle, teasing caress made your mind foggy, your senses overwhelmed. Every brush, every press felt like it was designed to drive you closer to the edge, your vision blurring as if stars were bursting behind your eyelids.

His gaze never left your face, watching, studying every gasp, every twitch, the way your body responded to him. It was intoxicating, the way he seemed to know exactly what you needed without a word exchanged. Your mind struggled to hold onto a single coherent thought, lost between the need for release and the unbearable, delicious torture of his touch

You completely lost yourself when he added another finger. Your legs shaking as if they couldn’t support you any longer. Every breath was an attempt to regain control, but the control was long gone. Your mind was clouded, thoughts scattered, and all you could do was grasp at his messy, soft hair, needing something to ground you.

“That's my good girl,” he whimpers, His voice was strained, broken into ragged breaths as he struggled through gritted teeth not to cum in his pants.

Something about you made him weak, unleashing the absolute monster inside him. The way beads of sweat slid down your face, the tears welling in your eyes, your fingers tangled in his hair as he still covered your mouth, controlling your every sound. You were close. He knew it.

Your core clenching around his wet fingers, covered by your juice. You gasp his name into his strong hand, finding his nape, gripping it roughly with your hands.

You swear under your breath, feeling the orgasm getting closer, only if Joel keeps going. And he does, harder, faster, relentless. His cocky smile never leaves his face, a silent promise that he’s fully aware of what he’s doing to you.

You let out a muffled groan, your voice breaking through the barrier of his palm, and threw your head back aggressively. You hit the fridge, but that was the last thing on your mind. You were tiptoeing on the spot, desperately trying to lift yourself higher, but it was impossible.

A few more tender curls of Joel’s fingers, and you felt it, an intense wave building deep inside you, ready to crash. That tingling between your thighs rippled through your entire body, making your skin prickle and your breath hitch. Your pulse raced dangerously high, pounding in your chest, echoing in your ears until it was the only sound you could hear.

Your muscles clenched tightly around him, a desperate, involuntary response that made your legs tremble. Every nerve was on fire and for a moment, the world seemed to blur and tilt, leaving only you and him, tangled in that intoxicating tension.

Your ears rang, your breath caught in your throat, and your fingers pulled tightly at Joel’s graying curls, finally reaching your orgasm. Even though you had reached your peak, he didn’t stop. His pace remained relentless, determined to draw out every last tremor from your body. The overstimulation was almost unbearable, your mind a hazy mess of pleasure and sensitivity, yet a part of you craved every second of it.

Your breath was ragged, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to regain control, but Joel didn’t grant you that mercy.

“You look so beautiful,” he groaned, his own breath uneven, strained by the effort of holding back his own arousal, forcing himself to focus solely on you. His voice was thick, rough, betraying just how much restraint it took not to lose himself in the heat of the moment.

Then, carefully, slowly, when he saw that it was getting too much for you to handle, he pulled his fingers out. You let out a small whine as the emptiness and cool fresh air hit your bare, swollen core. The absence of his touch left a lingering ache, a pulsing reminder of how intensely he had pushed you to your limit.

Your legs felt weak, keep trembling slightly, and your breath was still unsteady. Joel’s eyes roamed over you, taking in every detail. The flush on your cheeks, the dazed look in your eyes, the way your body still shivered under his gaze.

His hand finally left your mouth, slick with your saliva. Joel took advantage of the moment when his hands were free, and without warning, he grabbed your ass, giving it a firm, rough squeeze before lifting you up as if you weighed nothing. You squeaked in surprise, a giggle escaping your lips as you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tightly.

The erection in his sweatpants poking you right between your legs, making your wet core pulse even faster. He looked at you with a smile, passion, and desire. He needed you, you had no idea how much he needed you.

Joel turned with you in his arms, pressing your back against the kitchen island. The same place where, just moments ago, you'd been teasing him with poking your ass right into his face. Carefully, he set you down, his hands lingering on your hips for just a second longer than necessary. The cold surface beneath you sent a shiver straight up your spine, a stark contrast to the burning heat in your lower belly.

For a moment, he simply stood there, watching you, taking you in. His chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths, but his eyes were dark, intense, filled with something raw. Then, without any warning, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it over his head in one swift motion.

Your gaze dropped instinctively, taking in the way the dim light cast soft shadows over his broad chest. A dusting of dark, slightly curled hair covered his chest, thickest at the center and tapering as it traveled down the firm ridges of his abdomen.

His muscles weren’t chiseled in a way that came from gym workouts, they were real, earned through years of carrying, lifting, surviving. His shoulders were wide, strong, built to bear weight, and his arms, corded with muscle, held the kind of strength that could be both dangerous and protective.

His stomach wasn’t perfectly sculpted, but it was firm, defined, his obliques leading down to that sharp v-line disappearing beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. The faintest sheen of sweat clung to his skin, catching the light, making every ridge and hollow of his body stand out even more.

Joel was all rough edges and raw power, a man who had lived, fought, and enduredand, and right now, every bit of him was focused on you.

When your eyes finally drank him in, trailing up his body, they landed on his smug, charismatic face. The one that sent a jolt of pure, electric desire coursing through you, your core dripping wet yet again, pulsating and clenching around nothing.

“Like what you see?” he murmured, his voice rough as he stepped closer, slow but deliberate, the heat of him pressing in, forcing your back to meet the cool surface of the counter.

Your breath hitched. You could feel the weight of his stare, dragging over your face, your parted lips, the rise and fall of your chest. He wasn’t just looking at you, he was consuming you, unraveling you, making you feel exposed and wanted all at once.

Before you could even process it, his lips were on your bruised, tender neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. His grip on the other side of your throat was firm but not forceful, just enough to hold you there, to let you feel his presence completely.

His other hand pressed into your hip, grounding you, keeping you from writhing too much beneath his touch. But it was impossible to stay still. The sensation of his mouth against your sensitive skin. The slow, deliberate way he worked his lips and teeth over you, had your body reacting on its own, your muscles tensing, your breath quickening.

You could feel him smirk against your skin, as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And of course, he did.

Within moments, his lips left your neck, his breath still lingering on your skin as he pulled away just enough to look up at you from beneath his lashes.

Slowly, almost teasingly, he let his head trail downward, inch by inch, never breaking eye contact until it was impossible to hold it any longer. His hands followed the same path, skimming over your sides, your waist, his fingers barely brushing the fabric of your cute yet dangerously tempting pajamas.

His hands found the waistband of your pajama shorts, fingers slipping beneath the fabric as he tugged them down at an agonizingly slow pace. The soft material glided over your thighs, down your legs, until they finally pooled around your ankles.

“There you are,” he breathed out with joy. You were now bare, exposed, with nothing left to separate you from his burning gaze. His eyes roamed over your sticky, wet folds, drinking in every inch of you like a starving man. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he exhaled sharply, the sight of you testing every last bit of his restraint.

“Where have you been hiding all this time?” he exhaled, as if he’d finally found the meaning of life. You chuckled, cheeks red, but were cut off quickly as you felt Joel’s tongue glide over your labia, making you gasp and arch your back.

“F-fuck” you whine, squeezing your your thighs together, locking Joel’s head between your legs. He laughs against your heated skin, the vibration sending hot waves right into your core, making your breath hitch.

He repeated the teasing licks. Long, slow, and deliberate. Each one dragging against your folds, making your jaw fall open. The tension coiled inside you tighter and tighter, getting dangerously closer to your edge.

Your fingers found his messy hair, tugging at it and entangling your fingers in it while you bit your lower lip, hard, trying to be as quiet as possible. But even with your teeth clenched, a few desperate sounds slipped past the barrier of your swollen, wet lips, betraying your struggle to stay quiet. Every Joel's slight movement caused a new wave of sensation that you couldn’t fully contain.

His tongue entered you, making your legs tense and your heart skip a beat, you could feel the heat rushing to your face as the sensation overwhelmed you. His gaze never wavered. He didn’t stop looking at you, not even once. It was as if he was absorbing every little reaction of yours, and the way he enjoyed it made your pulse race even faster. The intensity of his attention only heightened the pressure in your chest, making you yearn for more.

The image of him, thrusting into you, finally feeling you inside him made Joel go faster, his movements sharp and precise, pressing his nose against your clit intentionaly, his breath warm against your skin.

And you felt it, again. That familiar sensation that had your mind spinning, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. Your body reacted involuntarily, muscles tensing as if they had a life of their own, your whole body vibrating with anticipation. For just a second, you felt as if you were floating.

Your body arched, an instinctive reaction to the pleasure coursing through you, your fingers tugged at his hair with a force you didn’t realize you had. You even pulled some strands from his scalp, but he didn’t flinch.

If anything, it only seemed to fuel him, his grip on your thighs tightening as he continued, oblivious to the way your hands were wrapped tightly in his hair.

His tongue mercilessly stretched you, licking you out and savoring every drop, while his nose teased your clit even more frequently. He could feel how close you were. The way your thighs trembled around his head, your core clenched around his tongue, and finally, you reached your second orgasm of this night, his name tumbling from your lips in a breathless, intense whisper.

He stilled, his movements ceasing, but he remained there, letting you feel every lingering sensation. He gave you a moment to catch your breath, to let the waves of pleasure settle in your body. Your legs felt weak, your senses hazy, and the lingering warmth of his touch sent occasional shivers down your spine.

When you finally started to come down from your high, the overstimulation became almost unbearable. Every little touch felt electric, your body twitching involuntarily, still reacting to the intensity of it all. He finally pulled away, his lips and beard glistening from your juice, as he watched you with a look of pure satisfaction, taking in every detail of your dazed expression.

Your eyes remained shut, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggled to regain control over your breath. Each time you dared to open them, the world around you spun, a dizzy haze clouding your senses. You had to ground yourself, to force your body back into reality.

Joel’s hands never left your thighs, his grip firm yet reassuring. His thumb traced slow, comforting circles against your skin, anchoring you, silently reminding you that you were safe. His touch was steady, patient, giving you time and letting you come back at your own pace.

„It’s okay, babygirl. Relax, take your time,“ his voice melted into the air, deep and soothing, like warm honey coating every syllable.

His voice was enough to ease the lingering tremors in your body. The pounding in your ears slowed, the dizziness faded, and you found yourself breathing in sync with him.

You finally managed to open your eyes and prop yourself up on your elbows, taking in the sight before you. And God…that sight was unforgettable.

Joel, shirtless, his body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, droplets rolling down his temples. His lips, red and slightly swollen, his beard still damp, from you. And that look in his eyes. Soft, comforting, yet laced with hunger.

“What?” he tilted his head slightly, that signature smirk playing on his lips, clearly amused by your reaction. You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth as you met his gaze.

“Are you ready to continue?”

Continue?!

Your eyes widened, your pupils dilated, your body instinctively tensing. You weren’t sure if it was from anticipation or the sheer disbelief that he wasn’t done with you yet. That this wasn’t everything.

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You didn’t know if you could handle more. If you could handle him. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry as you tried to find your voice.

“I…” you started, but your own hesitation made you pause. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for your answer, his expression filled with curiosity and just a hint of amusement.

“Suddenly speechless, huh?” His hands remained on your thighs, keeping you in place, not forcefully, but enough to remind you that you weren’t going anywhere unless he allowed it. Your lips parting slightly, but no words came out.

But everything shifted the moment your eyes dropped lower, down to his sweatpants.

The outline of his erection was impossible to ignore, straining against the soft fabric, so prominent it sent a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body.

He was big.

Bigger than you expected, bigger than you thought you could handle. How were you supposed to take that?

His tip was already leaking through the material, a darkened spot forming where he was pressing against the fabric, and the sight alone made your breath hitch in your throat. Your fingers twitched at your sides, an unspoken mix of anticipation and uncertainty making your chest rise and fall faster.

In that moment, as your eyes remained fixed on the outline straining against his sweatpants, everything suddenly became crystal clear. Any hesitation, any lingering nerves, dissolved into nothing. You knew exactly what you wanted.

You wanted him. You wanted to feel him, deep, filling, stretching you in ways you had only imagined. Your body burned with need, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable, and as you finally dragged your gaze back up to meet his, there was no doubt left in your mind.

You were more than ready.

A sudden surge of energy shot through your body, making you push yourself up onto your elbows without hesitation.

Before Joel could react, your hands found their way to the back of his neck, pulling him down to you with a desperate need.

Your lips crashed against his, tasting yourself on him. He let out a low, surprised groan against your mouth, but quickly melted into you, his grip on your thighs tightening as he pressed closer.

You were hungry, desperate, and Joel felt it instantly.

Not just from the way your lips moved feverishly against his or how your fingers gripped the back of his neck with such need, but from the way your hips instinctively pushed forward, grinding against him without a second thought.

A low, guttural sound rumbled in his throat as he felt the pressure, your warmth pressing into his hardened length, still trapped beneath the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

“Shit,” he muttered against your lips, his hands tightening on your thighs as if trying to ground himself. But you weren’t about to slow down.

His hands traveled up your sides, fingers ghosting over your skin as he subtly slipped them under your pajama shirt, inching it higher.

You broke the kiss just long enough to lift your arms, making it easier for Joel to pull the fabric over your head and toss it carelessly to the floor.

The moment your bare chest was revealed, his eyes darkened, scanning every inch of you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. His lips parted slightly, but no words came, just a sharp inhale, like he was trying to steady himself.

His tongue swiped over his lower lip, and you swore you saw his throat bob as he swallowed. Meanwhile, beneath the soft material of his sweatpants, his already strained arousal twitched in response to the sight before him.

Joel didn’t need to say a word, his expression and the way his body responded spoke volumes. His dark eyes, filled with admiration and raw desire, roamed over you, drinking in the sight.

When he finally snapped out of it, his hands quickly found their way back to your body, one cradling your cheek with surprising tenderness, the other gripping your waist with quiet possession. In one swift yet careful motion, he guided you down onto the cool surface of the kitchen island, his touch a contrast of control and craving.

The air between you was thick with warmth, every small gasp and deep murmur filling the silence. His patience, what little remained, was slipping away. His movements became more purposeful, more urgent. And then, finally, with a slow exhale, he pushed down the waistband of his sweatpants, letting them pool at his feet.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his swollen tip dragged teasingly along your folds, smearing warmth with every slow, torturous pass. The sensation sent a shudder through your entire body, your fingers twitching against his skin.

Joel caught your reaction immediately, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he hovered above you, his lips barely brushing against yours. “Bigger than you expected, huh?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His smirk widened as he watched your breath hitch, his own control hanging by a thread.

He kissed you a few more times, each kiss deep and hungry. His lips moved with an urgency, pressing against yours as if he couldn’t get enough.

Then slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to enter. The feeling was overwhelming at first, his moves careful, as if waiting for you to get used to him. Your back arched involuntarily, a wave of sensation running through you as you felt him deeper.

A loud gasp escaped your lips, your eyes snapped shut, the pressure building as your body responded to him. You could feel the heat coursing through your veins, the intensity of the moment nearly too much to bear.

Your hips moved against him, pushing him deeper into you. Joel groaned loudly with his teeth clenched, you were so increbily tight and wet, thanks to him. You boosted his ego without saying a single word, but your body was enough to prove him he is good. Amazing actually.

When he was fully in, you both exhaled in unison. You focused on trying to adjust, to calm yourself down. Meanwhile, he fought the urge to not cum yet. Though you made it really difficult for him, you had the best pussy he had ever felt.

After a while, he started moving. Slowly, deliberately, he moved without rushing, each moment drawing out the intensity between you. You could feel how badly he wanted to go faster, harder, his restraint palpable, but he was determined to take his time.

His focus was on you, ensuring that each movement was gentle and considerate, not wanting to destroy you…or did he?

He pulled out almost fully, the shift in pressure causing a sharp breath to catch in your throat. Then, with a slow motion, he slammed back in, making you gasp with every deep, steady thrust.

The feeling of him moving inside you was both tender and intense, each shift bringing a mix of pain and pleasure, that seemed to build with every passing second. The world outside seemed to fade as all you could focus on was him, the connection, and the rhythm that only the two of you shared in that moment.

“Yeah, just like that,” he hummed with low, deep, vibrating tone. His warm breath tickled your ear, and you could feel it on your skin as it sent a wave of shivers down your spine. The sensation made you press closer, wanting to feel him more deeply.

With a subtle shift, he increased his pace, moving with a deliberate rhythm. His hands on your hips, his grip firm and reassuring, pulling you in time with his movements. Each movement of his body against yours made the connection between you stronger.

“Have you even been fucked before? You're so fucking thight,” his voice began to falter, each word stumbling over itself as his breaths grew heavier. His tip hitting your cervix, faster and faster. Goosebumps rose on your skin, each tiny shiver spreading across your body as if every nerve was alive, reacting to him. Your body trembling, your skin was more sensitive, every touch amplifying the feeling, each breath becoming a little harder to take.

“Look at ya, taking my cock so well,” his rhythm quickened, as did the force of his movements. The slapping sounds of your bodies grew louder than your sighs.

Your hips moved instinctively, trying to match his pace, but Joel held you firmly, offering support in this moment that consumed you both. Every movement was synchronized, His breath matched the rhythm of his movements, each exhale sharp and heavy, filling the air between you.

It was all too much, but you absolutely loose it, when his thumb found your clit, creating frequent circles. You murmured, your movements becoming unsteady as your nails left marks on Joel’s skin, ones that would linger long after. Your lips were raw from biting them, trying your best to stay as quiet as possible.

“That's it sweetheart, that's it,” his forhead touching yours, his pace now uncontrolled, sloppy, trying to catch up with his orgasm. It was all too much for you. The way his finger moved on your clit, how his dick stretched you out and hitting all the good and deep places you couldn't reach yourself on your own, his hot breath warming your cold nose. This combination was just too much.

You could feel every inch of your body tightening, muscles pulling taut, ready to snap. The pressure inside you built steadily, each rough movement of his sending waves of sensation that coursed through you, igniting every nerve. You gasped, your chest rising and falling with each desperate breath, trying to keep up with the whirlwind of feelings crashing through you.

“Are you close?” Joel’s voice was a low murmur, his words almost lost in the soft sounds of your breathing. He knew damn well that you were about to cum, but he asked you anyway, purely to provoke you, to push you further into that moment.

You could only nod, your own voice failing you as your body responded to him with a hunger that couldn’t be ignored. His hard thrusting was urgent, each one deliberately measured to bring you closer.

Then, it hit. The pressure, the tension, all of it exploded in a sudden, overwhelming rush. Your breath caught in your throat, the release sweeping through you like a tidal wave. Every muscle in your body clenched involuntarily, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. Your core clenching aroud Joel, locking him inside you, making it more difficult to move.

His name escaped in a whispered gasp as you trembled under the intensity of it. His hand found your cheek, cupping it tightly as he followed soon after, his own release coming with a sharp, breathless exhale. You felt the shudder run through him, a final wave of tension washing over you both.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the silence heavy between your breaths. His forehead rested gently against yours, his breathing labored as he tried to catch his breath.

“That was…” Joel’s voice faltered, but the words didn’t need to be finished. You exhaled slowly, a soft laugh escaping your lips. Your breathing heavy, listening to the rhythm of it - his and yours, blending together in the quiet of the kitchen.

Your bodies still connected, neither of you moving, just absorbing everything that had just happened. The heat between you still lingered,the world outside felt distant.

Then suddenly, Joel tensed. His entire body stiffened against yours, and his breath hitched as if something had just struck him like a bolt of lightning. He pulled back slightly, his forehead no longer resting against yours, and when you looked up at him, his expression made your stomach drop.

His usual unreadable, nonchalant demeanor was completely gone. Instead, his eyes were wide, his face frozen in shock. It was the kind of expression that sent panic crawling up your spine, because Joel didn’t get shaken easily.

Your breath caught. “What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked once, then twice, as if his brain was still catching up to his own thoughts. Then, in a rushed breath, he asked, “Do you have… contraception?”

For a moment, you just stared at him, processing the words. And then, relief washed over you so fast you almost laughed. Your body relaxed as you let out a slow, deep sigh, closing your eyes for a second as you exhaled.

A small, amused smile tugged at your lips as you opened them again. “Yeah,” you murmured, voice still soft from exhaustion. “I do.”

Joel let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. His shoulders dropped, and he shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face before letting out a low, relieved chuckle.

“Jesus… Alright. Good. That’s… yeah. Good.” He blew out another breath, muttering under his breath, “Scared the hell out of me for a second.”

The tension that had momentarily gripped the air dissolved just as quickly as it had come, and all that remained was warmth, quiet laughter, and the steady rhythm of your breathing once more.

Joel’s hand traced lazily onto your stomach, his fingers running up and down, grounding you in the quiet aftermath. His touch was absentminded, gentle, as if he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

But eventually, he exhaled deeply and shifted slightly, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring, “Alright, sweetheart… I gotta move.”

You hummed softly, barely responsive, still lost in the blissful daze. But then, you felt it. The slow pull as he carefully withdrew from you, making sure to move gently, mindful of your sensitivity. The sudden loss of warmth made you shiver slightly, and Joel noticed instantly, his hands rubbing over your hips before he pulled you closer for just a second longer.

“Easy,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

It took him another breath before he finally pushed himself out, stretching his back slightly with a small, tired groan. He looked down at you, taking in the sight of you still sprawled out, your chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. His expression softened.

“You okay?” His voice was quieter now, laced with something that sounded like concern. You managed a small nod, offering him a sleepy, satisfied smile. “Mhm,” you hummed.

Joel didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before he muttered, “Stay here. I got you.”

And with that, he stood, running a hand through his messy hair as he made his way to the bathroom. You barely had time to process the sound of running water before he was back, a warm, damp cloth in his hand.

“Alright, darlin’, let’s get you cleaned up.”

He was gentle as he moved, wiping you down with slow, deliberate care, making sure not to rush. He took his time, his rough hands smoothing over your skin as if to comfort you as much as to clean you. When he was done, he tossed the cloth aside and ran his palms over your thighs, massaging lightly, making sure you weren’t too sore.

Then, without another word, he reached for you, effortlessly lifting you into his arms.

“Joel,” you murmured, surprised by the sudden movement.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he said simply. “Just takin’ you to the bathroom. Wanna make sure you’re okay.”

You let your head rest against his shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. He smelled like sweat and warmth and something unmistakably him. It was comforting in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

Joel carried you into the bathroom with ease, setting you down carefully before grabbing another warm cloth, making sure you were comfortable as he helped you clean up properly. He never rushed you, never made you feel like you had to do anything but just be there, letting him take care of you.

Once you were done, he grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders before pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

“There we go,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into your back. “Better?”

You looked up at him, meeting those deep brown eyes, and smiled. “Yeah,” you whispered.

Joel smirked slightly, brushing a thumb over your cheek before muttering, “Good. Now, let’s get you to bed.”

And with that, he scooped you up again, carrying you effortlessly back to the warmth and safety of his arms. On the way to your room, Joel bent down to grab your clothes from the floor, all while still holding you securely in his arms. He was strong, effortlessly so. Without breaking a sweat, he climbed the stairs, pushed open your bedroom door, and gently laid you down onto the bed.

You peeled off the towel, exhaustion making even the smallest movements feel heavy. With the last bit of strength you had left, you reached for your pajamas, determined to dress yourself. Joel lingered for a second, clearly wanting to help, but you gave him a look that told him this was something you needed to do on your own.

Once you were settled, he pulled the blanket over you, tucking you in with a care that felt almost out of character for him. Then, he leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight,” he murmured, stepping back.

He was trying to slip back into his usual nonchalant self, acting like this was nothing, like he wasn’t affected. But the faint, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

“Joel?” you whispered softly as Joel stood with his hand on the door handle. He turned to face you, staying silent for a moment. “Thank you… for everything.” Joel’s lips curled slightly, and he gave a quiet chuckle, nodding once before finally stepping out of your room.

As soon as he left, his mind was a whirlwind of confusion. He still couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened. How had things ended up like this? He had sex with daughter of his best friend. How messed up did that sound? It felt wrong, disgusting even. But he couldn't help it. You were just so-

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Joel froze as your dad’s voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. He turned, finding your father walking toward him. The grip on the door handle tightened instinctively, and Joel quickly swallowed, realizing he was still holding it.

He had to think fast. “Uh, I was just checking on her, making sure she’s okay,” Joel said, trying to sound calm. He hoped his voice didn’t betray him.

“Uh huh, and isn’t that my job?” your dad replied with a smirk, raising an eyebrow and pointing to himself. Joel’s heart skipped a beat, and his pulse quickened. He was barely holding it together but had to stay cool.

“Yeah, I was just on my way to the bathroom, and I figured I’d check on her while I was passing by…” Joel added quickly, pretending like the situation was completely normal. He had the perfect excuse, the bathroom was right next door, so it made sense. It was bealivable.

“Hmm… and is she okay?” your dad asked, his tone skeptical, but Joel could tell he was buying it.

Joel exhaled, feeling the tension leave his body as he relaxed. A smile tugged at his lips, and he dropped his gaze to the floor before looking up again. “Yeah, she’s more than okay.”

With that, Joel turned and walked past your dad, offering a casual “Good night.” Your dad watched him, but didn’t say another word, just stared after him.

What had Joel meant by that??

Thank you so much for reading! I’d really appreciate a reblog, comment, or follow! If you want to be tagged in my fanfics, feel free to let me know! Love you, and take care of yourselves!🤍

[avaredava]

Ate out!

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Master list

⯌Sum

Megumi eating you out! (Aged up!)

⯌ Wc

0.7k

⯌ Warnings

Oral (fem!receiving), alcohol (reader is drunk), Megumi got SUPER mad at Yuji, some thigh grinding, clit stim

୨୧・・・・୨୧

One thing about Megumi Fushiguro is that he is one shy boy. Your poor boy is even too shy to hold your hand in public. One thing that fully changed his beliefs and personality for a split second.

You, his favourite girl, his love of his life, flirting with Yuji Itadori, his fucking best friend.

A bunch of Jujustu sorcerers came together after high school, since most of you still work at or for jujustu high and the society. A bunch you went to the bar. You're boyfriend Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji.

Soon enough you were drunk and it wasn't full on flirting but your hand on Yuji's chest was enough to set Megumi off. He grabbed Yuji by his collar and shook him.

"What the fuck are you try to attempt Itadori?! Do with my lady?" he slams him against the bar counter. "Man, I'm sorry!" He seems more scared than sorry. You're a bit scared yourself, he's more calm and collected seeing him like this is kinda scary.

Since your drunk and your an emotional girl anyway it just made it worse. The scariness in his eyes made some tears roll down your face. Your tight red dress that he bought that you're playing with, drunkenly like a child.

When Megumi heard a sniffle coming from your direction, his head snapped back dropping Yuji against the counter. He scurried over to you holding your cheeks.

"We weren't flirting, w-well I wasn't, maybe he was i-i'm sorry." You drunkenly ramble to him as some tears roll down your face. He hugs you close others watch and he gives a death glare and they look away quickly.

"I know you would never cheat me baby." He coos in your ear. "I was worried about Yuji, not you. You're my good girl..." He rubs your back kissing your forehead.

He brings you back to his apartment kissing your hair. "I'm sorry for scaring you baby." He says in his still face yet the emotion in his eyes showed sympathy.

He bounced you like a baby on his lap since you were so out of it and drunk but unfortunately that bouncing was making you grind pleasurably on his thigh causing you to whine out.

It took him a second to realize he was rubbing your clit with his thigh. But you to drunk to think straight so you sat there and whined tears pricking at your eyes.

He rubbed your cheek kissing your forehead. "Aw baby... it's okay, I got you." He cooed in your ear petting your hair. "Such a sweet girl."

He dipped his hand into your panties and and rubbed your clit while petting your hair, kissing your forehead.

The ache in your cunt was intense. Almost painful you needed him so bad. "I know it hurts, baby... I know."

He lays you in the bed kissing your head. He takes off your shirt letting your perky breasts free from your tight shirt. He slowly takes off your pants kissing down your body.

He throws your clothes to the floor leaving you in just your panties. He kisses the pubic area. He takes off the lacy panties not ripping because they are his favourite panties on you so he leaves you naked.

He gives your slit little kitten licks making your legs twitch. He rubbed your thighs because you were practically like an adult child right now. All he could think about was taking care of his sweet girl.

You sat there sprawled out drooling with tears. But he thought it was so hot, he couldn't get over how good you tasted. He did slow licks savouring your juices.

He slowly licked up to your clit with his eyes squeezed shut with his own sort of pleasure as he sucked on your clit.

It made you squirt so quick. Just the way he enjoyed himself and took his time just made it so pleasurable.

He lapped up your juices and went up your body and kissed your lips, you can taste yourself on him but your too tired and drunk to do anything.

As soon as he pulled the blankets up and held you, you fell asleep. His sweet girl.

୨୧・・・・୨୧

A/N: Gr I don't know how I feel about this 😭

[kagaintheskywithdiamonds]

omggggg Ford joining a parenting group (that's basically all women aside from him) because he wants to be the best dad for Stan. I hadn't even thought of that. But he would though. Being a single parent is HARD, he needs all the help he can get.

Which brings me to one of the things I didn't mention in the other post cuz it was already getting so long, but like, as the years go on, Stan's gonna have questions about his mother. I think any child in his situation would wonder the same thing. And even if he's still too young at this point to understand the specifics of where babies come from, he's probably aware that it takes two to tango. Surely he has a biological mother, right? Like, how could he exist without one? But Dad never talks about her, doesn't have any pictures of her, doesn't wear a wedding ring. Something weird is going on

And Ford tries to come up with believable stories to tell Stan but we all know he's a terrible liar. The only reason he's able to keep Stan's real origins a secret is because "hey dad, are you actually my twin brother?" is a question Stanley would never think to ask. but he WOULD think to ask about his mom, and it still catches Ford off-guard every time and he never has a good answer ready.

At one point he considers telling Stan what is technically the truth and saying his mother was a woman named Caryn, until Ford realizes that would put himself in sort of an Oedipus situation and it makes him sick to his stomach. So he thinks up a generic female name (a name that Ford isn't able to keep consistent, Stan notices) and comes up with stories that also don't stay consistent. "She died when you were a baby," "she broke up with me and didn't want to raise you and just left us," "I grew you in my lab" (that last one Ford says half-jokingly, though he realizes in hindsight that it might be the lie he's best able to maintain out of the lot)

And this creates some tension in their relationship as Stanley gets older, the fact that Ford is definitely hiding secrets. But then there's the undeniable fact that Ford still loves him, and that breeds some cognitive dissonance. I'm thinking it plays out a bit like the scene from NWHS where the mystery twins are down in the lab and they have every reason at this point to believe that Stan is a villain, but Mabel points out that photo of her and Dipper and says "but he still loves us". It's a bit like that. Except that the vilification of Stan's parent figure happens much more gradually (as opposed to the mystery twins finding all that incriminating shit about stan over the course of one day lol)

BUT ANYWAY I can't see that causing real tension between them until Stan is like 15 or so. Let's go back to him being younger

YES I was also thinking about Ford working to make sure Stanley's needs are met in school. and ok yeah this version of Stan still isn't a straight-A student, more like a straight-C student, but he still does a lot better than the Stan that Ford grew up with because who'da thunk it, kids perform better in school when they're actually given some encouragement now and then instead of being constantly told that they're a good-for-nothing idiot. I'm picturing Stan coming home from school all excited to show Ford the B- that he worked so hard to get and Ford picks him up and hugs him and ajsdklfjsdkl

and YES the love of sailing. the first time Stan mentions, even in passing, how cool it would be to sail around the world on a boat, Ford has to turn his face away and mutters something about allergy season.

And I hadn't even thought about Ford low-key spoiling Stan but it makes sense, having grown up with such a stingy father himself. I might have to disagree with you on the shark thing though. Like I said I picture this Ford being maybe a biiiiit overprotective. Think Marlin from Finding Nemo. No matter how much you try to convince him that the shark thing is safe, and no matter how much his logic-based brain wants to believe you, you know how parents are with their worrying. No way Ford's letting his child swim with sharks

And that becomes another point of tension as Stan gets older. Ford turns into a bit of a helicopter parent. And while this version of Stan actually makes friends with some kids from school, he has a hard time hanging out with his friends and just being a kid without Ford trying to involve himself somehow. And as much as Stan loves Ford, he does find it a bit stifling. One might even say... suffocating (my, how the tables have turned)

On a lighter note, imagine Ford trying so hard to butt in on Stan's circle of friends that he tries pulling the "cool dad" routine (much to hilarious failure). Imagine Stan hanging out with some friends after school and Dr. Pines comes rolling up on a skateboard (while wearing a helmet and elbow and knee pads, of course, gotta set a good example) and is so distracted trying to correctly use kid slang in a sentence that he ends up falling off a curb wrong and eating shit on the asphalt.

Dr. Pines (if you call him "Mr", Stan will correct you and brag about his dad's 12 PhDs) ends up being a bit more well-known among the student body than most other kids' parents, if only because of his embarrassing attempts to worm his way into Stan's life. And, ok, for that you can call Ford a dork, or a weirdo, but you better not call him a freak, and don't you DARE make fun of his fingers. Stanley will throw hands

Ford gets a call from Stan's school one day informing him that Stan got in trouble for fighting, apparently even gave another kid a black eye, and Ford is shocked and disappointed at this news. But when he learns that what instigated this fight was the same sort of "six-fingered freak" comments that followed him through childhood... Well, he's not sure what he feels anymore. Proud? He probably shouldn't be proud that his son is picking fights, even if it's on his behalf. Logically he knows that he shouldn't encourage this behavior and that he'll have to discipline Stanley somehow, but... goddammit, it really is the same Stan who constantly placed himself between Ford and their childhood bullies. How can he scold him for that?

(I should probably start putting these under a read more if I'm gonna have this much to say each time ^^')

Stanley has an important role in the grand scheme of things, specifically saving the universe. His role is so crucial that if anything were to happen to him it could lead to not only the destruction of his universe, but also lead the destruction of others. So what would happen if Ford had lost Stanley somewhere during the ten years they spent apart, only for Ford to be met face to face with the time police and what appears to be 2 years old Stanley.

His ears feel muffled as he’s handed the toddler.

Death by asphyxiation

Trunk of the car

Far too late

Paradox

The child’s timeline was already gone

The fate of the universe

His hands

The baby coos in his arms babbling as he grabs Ford’s pinky.

[dammit-tazmuir]

TLT Theory: Pyrrha was the Necromancer

No get back here, hear me out. I'm not saying Gideon didn't become one as a Lyctor. But I've been noticing a lot of things adding up weird here...

In Ch6 of HtN, when preparing for the first trip through the River, they call it Pyrrha's trial.

Much later, when Pyrrha is mad at Palamedes for the soul fuckery he and Camilla are doing, she refers to it as one they designed together, but that doesn't negate Mercy calling it Pyrrha's first and foremost. And...

She's worried about Camilla's brain, and okay, sure, they only have Camilla's body. But with Cris and Mercy, it was Cris getting cracked open. With Harrow and Gideon 2, it was always Gideon in danger, not Harrow. And with Gideon 1 and Pyrrha, it was Gideon's skull, Gideon's brain, getting the testing done. No mention of the same kind of testing or Mercy or Pyrrha. The principle of it is the necromancer's consciousness being overlaid onto the cavalier's brain, right?

But okay, maybe Pyrrha just doesn't mention herself, and Gideon's "a control variable" to compare herself to? But there's more.

Pyrrha fights with guns, prefers them. Gideon fought with not just a sword but a whole ass massive spear for an offhand, and has easily more physical prowess than any other necromancer we've ever seen. His stomach is still desiccated in typical necromancer fashion, he's dehydrated and not a scrap of fair fat on him, but he's a wall of muscle and sinew. Yes he looks "like an idiot's construct", probably because John regrew him from an arm when he was still getting the hang of using that level of power, but he's distinctly not built like other necromancers. If he wasn't a necromancer prior to being a Lyctor, his build might make more sense. Moreover, we've seen other cavaliers turned into sort-of-constructs, with both Protesilaus and Kiriona.

I also want you to look at the Saint of Duty and tell me that man isn't the walking essence of what it means to be a Cavalier.

And he rarely uses necromancy. He can travel in the River, and he drains thanergy, but he never really uses theorems or sets up wards. His necromancy is used pretty exclusively in passive ways or to remove obstacles between himself and his weapons. But Pyrrha is extremely knowledgeable about all kinds of necromancy. She tells Harrow fresh thalergy is harder to drain. She sees Ianthe's brilliantly inventive combination of wards creatively mimicking the effect of Mercy's trial and can accurately tell what they're going to do, as well as how to break them. Among other things. She also says she walked the Eightfold. Maybe that means being led willingly as a cav, but what if she was in control of the process?

With Harrow, Gideon was constantly in and out of awareness, watching from Harrow's subconscious, things that Harrow was fully conscious for. Palamedes doesn't have that with Camilla, and both of them being conscious is rare and dangerous, as detailed above. Pal and Pyrrha are frequently compared with their situations. How did Cam and Pal work out how to do the switcheroo, especially while Pal had extremely limited ability to move or perceive? How did they work out a safe time limit before too much irreparable damage was done? Could they have had guidance from someone who's done it? Done it with a necromancer's knowledge, letting him know where he can safely go under in the brain, how to come out at will, what to watch out for?

On a separate note:

Lyctor names are sacred, but the Houses were founded before Lyctorhood was achieved. Anastasia did not become a Lyctor, so her name was not removed from history, and became common in her House. Judith and Marta are part of the Dve Territorials, and while that doesn't prove anything or could even be evidence against, I feel like it would make sense to have named prestigious military groups after the House's "main" Founder, before there were Saints and the decision to erase the Saints' names.

On a more meta level, I think it would be weird to have "their names were meant to be forgotten", history knowing jack shit about the cavaliers of old, and even emphasis on the Lyctors forgetting each others' House names, only to have a cavalier's House name in active use somewhere, if that information wasn't supposed to be serving a narrative purpose. If we weren't meant to question why.

"But they call her his cavalier. She calls him her necromancer."

Sure. And maybe that's straightforward; this is a theory, I could be wrong. But switching titles after Lyctorhood doesn't sound too out of the question to me. What's a bit of revisionist history in TLT? John knows where memory lives in the brain, and on Pyrrha's end, at least after Lyctorhood Gideon was the necromancer, after all.

(Edit to add: Augustine calls attention to how astonishing it is that Pyrrha never divided opinions, that not one of them has ever had a single bad thing to say about her. She's great but we've met her. We've seen John rant about her calling out his bullshit, in the dream. Not one bit of annoyance or criticism, from anyone? I'm just saying, if Something Happened that led to John needing to tweak memories, making everyone remember her nothing but fondly feels plausible.)

"So why can't she do necromancy when she's in control?"

"He took more from me than got taken from you" feels like explanation enough to me. He got her aptitude and more. She's a partial soul. If anything, she could even still has an ounce of it, to retain the body's healing capabilities. If Gideon was fully giddy-gone and the soul that was left had zero aptitude, what would the furnace be burning? But if Gideon's consciousness is dead and what's left of his soul is in the furnace with a (partial) necromancer at the helm, well, that's not far off from Lyctorhood working as intended.

"Why though?"

And there's the part that gets really tricky but interesting. My best guess short answer is, one of them was dying, and it was an act of desperation.

Maybe Pyrrha was dying and so brutalized her body wouldn't have healed right even becoming a Lyctor, but given what they're like and the Cam/Pal parallels, I feel like an even more likely answer was that Gideon was dying. Cris and Alfred had already put Mercy and Augustine in that position, and they took their souls to preserve something, but Pyrrha would have seen how well that worked, assuming the third ascension wasn't immediately after the first two. So perhaps in her own desperation, with endless adoration for the man so willing to burn for what he believed, she said no. You don't get to throw your life away. If you're going to keep throwing yourself on things, I will make sure you can survive it and keep surviving it, even if it kills me instead. And then walked the path in reverse, pinning her own soul to his instead of pulling his into her.

I've seen a post around here pointing out how when Pyrrha tells Nona about her first tantrum, she's laughing with her mouth but not her eyes, and it looks like it reminds her of something her brain doesn't want to bring back, and the post proposes maybe Alecto killed Pyrrha. And I do think there's a solid possibility it was Alecto's tantrum that mortally wounded whichever (or maybe even both!) of them and prompted them to ascend. If Pyrrha didn't blame Varun for Gideon recently, I doubt she'd hold it against Alecto either.

Either way, wouldn't something like that more than earn the title of Duty? Wouldn't it be beautiful that they both fit the title if both had in ways been the cavalier? Wouldn't it be fitting to allow the name Dve to stand in the military as a monument to such a woman?

I know this might still be a long shot, but I definitely think there's enough little things sprinkled around to at least to warrant some solid suspicion. And it honestly would explain a lot.

[borkunlimited]

Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 10

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey

Chapter Summary: The world continues onwards, a new game starts but if you ask him, maybe names does not matter much anymore as long as he holds you in his arms. As the last ice of winter thaws and the much-awaited spring comes marching with trumpets and drums, so does change.

Author's Note: Just tying up loose ends- Enjoy!

Tagging: @phisen @wrimaira

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

10: My Dearest, In My Arms

“Do you think he would like it?”

It was already past midnight, the only light remaining was the warm glow of your lamp and you tilted the embroidery hoop for Daisy to inspect your current work while you fixed the quilt wrapped around your shoulders.

The crow, always dutiful, hopped to check your design stitched at the corner of the cream handkerchief, a little dragon among the field of red wildflowers, and it let out a caw of approval, always making sure to nod its head so you know its answer.

Mephisto.

It was the real name of your crow friend, a little secret you found out over breakfast during your stay at one of the many homes of your dragon the night after he woke up from his long nap.

“You can still call Mephisto, ‘Daisy’, sweetie. Mephisto wants to tell you it loves that name.”

While that trivia is certainly exciting and you are happy that your crow friend still wants to keep the name you have given to it, you only grew more eager when you were told by your favorite visitor he can understand the words spoken by your crow friend.

A language that can be learned, as long as you work hard enough.

Ever since then, you try to recall what you have learned only to realize-

-It takes a certain skill to understand your crow friend’s words so here you are, back to interpreting its answers based on its movements for now.

“Do you want me to make one for you as well? I can embroider little daisies for you.”

The winter is coming to an end but even then, the cold still persists. Daisy continues to wear the red woolen scarf around its neck but it was quick to nod again, already looking forward to wearing a new kerchief when spring arrives.

A soft hum escaped your lips, your eyes darting at your window with the curtains swept aside. The little pots that used to line up your window are set to the floor for now, a lesson you have learned the first time your favorite visitor had taken a page from his twin henchmen’s tactics.

A knock.

You stashed your little project on your desk drawer, giving Daisy a wink and your fingers on your lips, a silent ask to keep it a secret between the two of you before opening the window.

Perhaps it was the eagerness, or the happiness when you met eyes with your late night visitor through the window glass that you fumbled slightly when opening your window for him, tugging your wool cardigan closer as the cold air slowly rushes in while you give him a sheepish smile.

It is the most unusual arrangement if Sylus says so himself who prefers entering through your front door.

There are three reasons why.

First, your neighbors.

Unlike the rest of the denizens of N109 zone who are awake at night, the residents of this small community of prey hybrids call it a day once the sun sets.

One by one, each shop goes dark until only the light posts by the side of the roads remain, the day ending with the rustle of the branches of the trees.

“Mr. Sylus, I understand you want to see her but your presence-”

The words of the older lion hybrid stopped abruptly because of course, that deer hybrid is always quick to cut to the chase, refusing to mince his words that sounded louder in the empty streets even when all three of them are talking in low voices.

“What everyone is trying to say is do you really need to announce to the entire neighborhood you are here? In the middle of the night?”

Of course, if it wasn’t the sound of his vehicles (He even drove ones with the quietest engines), then it's the headlights (Even if he set them low) that bothers someone.

“You can always see me tomorrow, Sylus. I am not going anywhere.”

You once told him when he came over during your shop hours and he kissed your cheek first, amused at the faint blush everytime you say his name and then telling you he is willing to leave his car (or motorcycle) in the borders of your small community if it means he gets to meet you whenever.

(The lock of the windows clicks open, his cue to enter.)

Second, your father.

“Mr. Sylus, I hope you don’t take this as an offense but rest assured I already checked my daughter’s room and she is still there.”

It was around the fifth night when your father had gathered enough courage to speak up and Sylus doesn’t have to read in between the lines to know the older deer hybrid is losing sleep over answering the front door for him past ten yet still letting him in just to placate the dragon hybrid’s worries.

(Sylus steps inside, your hand reaching out to brush the snowflakes that clung on his hair while he was making his way to your shop on foot.)

Lastly, was actually himself.

Sleep was never the same without holding you close, without seeing your deer ears poking out above the blanket as you huddled closer to his chest for warmth.

That and his days have been more tiring lately, the N109 zone still a mess after his long sleep and only his precious deer can make everything lighter.

These are one of the nights he is glad you are still up, greedy for all of your smiles.

(Finally, the window closes behind him, followed by a line from you and then him, a precursor to a short play before retiring to bed.)

“Good evening, Mister Dragon.”

“Hm? Are you talking to me, sweetie?”

Sylus smiled playfully, amused at how you are shifting back and forth with a faint blush on your face while you help him remove the red woolen scarf you knitted for him around his neck.

He is fully aware his greed extends to hearing you call him by his actual name several times, having kept count of it and he had made it a goal that the number should surpass the times you addressed him as ‘Skye’, so far, you are barely halfway through.

Which is why he intends to use most of his free time making sure he is around you.

“Well, there is only one dragon here right now.”

“I am afraid not, sweetie. I can see many so you have to call us by our names.”

“Oh, you are right, everyone must be so confused now.”

You smiled at him, making sure to set his coat and gloves by the chair after checking them for tears and your small bed creaked when he took his spot, the one near your bedroom door.

“That’s correct, little doe, so help us here,” Sylus answered, the ever playful smile growing, watching you take the side by the window as he slipped on the dragon puppet you always leave by your bedside, its spot beside your deer puppet and the flower pot with your sole antler.

“Is this the Mister Dragon you are looking for?”, he asked, quirking his brow at the puppet.

“No, mine is certainly taller,” you smiled, giggling softly when he used the snout of the puppet to tap on the tip of your nose and then you pressed your finger between his brows, “This one.”

“And the name of that dragon is?”

A small lopsided smile formed in your face while you giggled softly and then finally, you answered.

“Sylus.”

He always laughs when he hears you say his name. 

Was it because of your shy smile? 

Or how do the two syllables have a harmonious pitch when it comes to you?

Or maybe how you try to pull the blanket to cover half of your face, your ears twitching slightly while you gaze at him fondly?

Even when he tries to not laugh as loud so to not wake up your father in the next room and disturb your neighbors, his shoulders shake, suppressing the laughter that threatens to break your bed that somewhat managed to accommodate the two of you.

Yes, your bed is small, only fit for one person and yet you did everything you could just for him, from altering your blankets to cover his feet to adding more pillows for his head to lie on.

Everything, to make him welcomed and comfortable.

It was cramped, not suited for a tall and broad person such as him, and there are obvious signs that he might not be able to sleep well with such space.

Yet, looks can always be deceiving and this is one of the rare occurrences that he looks forward to sleeping, watching you bury your face on his chest, murmuring “You are very warm.” and he is glad that he woke up before spring because it gave him another excuse to pull you close.

Sylus always told himself he is content, that you calling his real name is enough.

Then, new desires came in.

To see you waiting in the hallway of his home, greeting him.

To always hold you close, the fur of your deer ears tickling the tip of his nose.

To press his lips against yours, your hands intertwined against his before he leaves and when he comes home.

Then, if they come true, he always tells himself he would be finally content.

He can ask you. 

It is just a simple question.

“Sweetie, can I?”

He knows he can always ask you but maybe, all of these little favors, these quiet musings, can wait when spring arrives and by then, the N109 zone would be back to its usual state of chaos he tolerates.

Spring can’t come any sooner.

────────────────────

The last days of winter had always been vibrant, maybe because of the colorful lights and singing decorations against the white background.

Seeing little reindeer statues with antlers on their heads on every corner of the community makes you sad (and maybe, slightly envious.)

Afterall, antlers are the pride of every deer hybrid.

It is true that you and your father never recovered your old antlers, all of them lost in the fire of your old shop (You assumed that is the case since you never saw a trace of them after) but even then, both of you continued the tradition of planting those you have shed after moving away from your old home into the best flower pots you owned with plants you want to grow.

Your father smiled when you told him that it won’t be him this year who would choose what plant will go into your pot but someone else instead.

“And have you asked your favorite visitor yet, twig?”

A faint blush crossed your cheeks upon his question and you shook your head leading to your father ruffling your hair, bidding you good luck.

Of course, you have been rehearsing your question many times in front of the mirror of your studio during your little breaks.

“Mister Dragon, what flowers do you like?”

(No, he can plant anything aside from flowers.)

“Mister Dragon, can you decide for me?”

(You want him to know this is a very important favor you are asking, that it is not because you simply need help.)

“Mister Dragon, I am letting you choose which seed you want to plant.”

(That sounds too bossy.)

You pulled your cap in frustration, little whines muffled by your woolen scarf and maybe it was his acute senses that Sylus is quick to materialize beside you, politely ending the conversation he is having with the owner manning the counter of the small flower shop both of you entered.

“Anything wrong, sweetheart?”

Sylus’ eyes were always quick to scan your clothes for anything amiss.

Is the white woolen scarf tied like a bow around your neck still unblemished? Yes, and as always, you look adorable.

Is your cap still in place? Yes, but slightly tilted so he reached out to fix it.

Are there any stains of red on your coat? No, just a little dust that still clung after you picked up a plant to admire the pot’s ornate design earlier.

Everything seems to be in order.

Except, your drooping ears.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is that so? But your ears say otherwise.”

A soft gasp, and you murmured “How could they betray me?” before tugging your cap again to cover them but he only ended up laughing, his hands holding both of your ears.

“Is the outside not too much for your liking today, sweetie?”

He doesn’t need a verbal confirmation from you to know that shedding your antlers is making you anxious, how your eyes lingered at every glass of the shops both of you passed earlier and they are not trained at the displays inside but at your reflections.

The two of you, not a mirror image for now, not with one of his horns shattered and your antlers waiting for the new season to come in.

“The lights are beautiful today,” you answered, trying to dodge his question and you leaned at his touch as he traced small circles around your ears, his tail flicking slightly in thought.

Always a terrible liar.

How you shift back and forth, your eyes darting anywhere but him, and finally, that sheepish smile.

He already knows this particular expression of yours.

You want to ask him a favor.

“Is asking for favors from me a bit too much now that you found out I am Mr. Sylus?”, he asked, and beneath the playful undertone was a hint of disappointment.

He knows it is still taking you a while to adjust to the actual truth and there are many times you still accidentally call him by the false name he gave you before.

Not that it bothers him but he always find himself wondering if this is a dream, another layer of it, maybe because this-

-This is too good to be true.

Yet, you are quick to shake your head and then after taking a deep breath with all the little voices in your head cheering you on, you believe you found the right question to ask him.

“Can Mr. Sylus decide which plant we should grow for our first flower pot?”

“Our first flower pot?”

“The one by my bedside.”

“You said ‘our first’, little doe. Does that mean there will be more in the future?”

“If you are fine taking care of them with me?”, you asked, and your ears perked up under his touch, the small smile in his face a close to an affirmative.

Without your antlers, you certainly look like a kitten when he pulls up your ears, which he is doing right now (Gently, of course), before he answers.

“I supposed we should get ready before spring arrives, don’t you think, darling?”, he mused and he is already listing down in his head stores aside from this flower shop where you should pick up supplies you need.

Perhaps he should also hire an architect for the greenhouse he has in mind and he is already looking forward to the days you will spend your afternoons there with him.

With your tail wagging in excitement, you certainly look like a puppy now as he folds your ears (Gently as well).

“I can’t wait.”

“Just a few more sleeps then, sweetie, and when you wake up, the snow has already melted.”

“Maybe we should take a long nap for the remaining days so it would come sooner.”

“If there is a lovely deer beside me, I might actually miss spring because of her,” Sylus chuckled softly, now pressing down your ears, making the pointed ends slightly curved.

Now you look like a bear cub and all you need is a nice and cozy den.

“I’ll wake you up!”

“Aren’t you a brave little doe?”

Has winter always been vibrant?

Sylus never quite noticed the lights, the sounds until he is holding your hand with his other carrying a bouquet of assortment of winter blossoms on the way out and in his arms, a bag of gardening tools with more to join it today.

Did he always prepare for the spring ahead?

No, he never did, at least, not for domestic purposes. Preparations meant loading each firearm with bullets, preparations meant making sure all equipment were in top shape and preparations meant his body was in top condition.

This change is good.

This change is real.

These changes are all he could ever ask for.

“Sylus, do you want to check that store with me?”

The two syllables always accompanied with a slight tilt followed by a faint blush on your face as you pointed to a fabric store never fails to make him smile.

“Wherever you please, sweetie.”

All he could think about is how the rest of your days and his will be, taking care of various plants in his corner of the N109 zone.

You with your embroideries and him trimming the plants. Maybe you and him taking naps under the shade while the twins knit nearby or you and Mephisto playing hide and seek among the rows of plants while he looks for the both of you.

All of it, they all make for good images he wants to see throughout every passing year.

Perhaps dreams will always find a way to materialize in reality.

────────────────────

One can never predict the flow of the stream.

It was your mother’s words to your father from a long time past, her hand on top of her belly while the two of them gaze at their reflections of the running water, the ice finally thawing out.

Your father had asked her back then if the world will be harsh to you as it is to them, if you will detest them when you grow up just as they are to their parents for being brought into this world.

For being born as a hybrid.

As always, she only laughed at his questions while he sighed at her optimism.

“She’s a gentle one, very gentle.”

Your mother will say before they go to bed after their walk, telling him that you are a very docile fawn, the one that refuses to kick much and will only do so when you sense her warm touch.

Your proof of life.

Gentle . Of all the words your mother described you, that specific one lingered inside his head and he had strive to work harder than before even when she passed away too soon, even during the days of mourning when he had to blink the tears to see, to make sure the thread still manages to go through the eye of the needle.

She was right on the mark, of course, you always try to be kind.

Giving flowers to a young predator hybrid you found crying at the side of your old shop even when he told you that you should not be seen with one.

Fixing the tears of the clothes your former neighbors bring over, free of charge (but he noticed you work faster at the prospect of something sweet.)

Eventually taking over him when his hands began to tremble too much, when his perfect straight lines on the pattern paper have become wobbly, his eyesight slightly blurry leading to the thread refusing to enter through the eye of the needle despite many tries.

He had always feared that this is the gentleness that this land loves to swallow whole and spit out the bones after chewing the meat thoroughly.

Yet, the steady stream has brought you to another destination, not to the gaping maw of the cruel world.

“I am ready!”

Your father looked up, pausing from sorting the gifts that continue to flood your shop even when the holidays had come to an end and the Spring Festival started.

The layers of clothes you wore during the days of winter (Much of it is because Sylus always insists for you to wear another coat before you and him leave for a day out) are now replaced with a flowy set and a hat, your nicer clothes as you called them, which you frequently use when meeting with Sylus.

“Do you have everything with you, twig?”

“Daisy and I double checked everything.”

The crow on your shoulder also let out a beep, your first assistant, as you called it and the red scarf it was wearing is now exchanged for the brand new kerchief your father saw you working on last winter.

“Then, shall we go see the new place your favorite visitor invited you to?”, he asked, helping you carry the box of the latest suit you have finished sewing that Sylus commissioned and you nodded eagerly.

His eyes lingered at your back as you went ahead to open the door for him and he had always regretted he was not there when you needed him the most, on that fateful night where the one that had trampled the field of your dreams found you on the place where new wishes are slowly taking root.

“You are always too hard on yourself.”

If your father closed his eyes right now, he could almost hear your mother playfully chastising him just like the many nights when he stays up to finish all his commissions so your family will have enough, enough to ensure a better future for you.

Will she be proud to see you have grown to be a fine seamstress? 

Will she laugh in amusement when she finds out you have stood vigil by Sylus’ side, waiting for him to wake up?

Will she also thank Sylus a hundred times just like he did when the dragon woke up from his long sleep and brought you home the day after?

“Luke and Kieran told me our neighbors are coming as well!”

“Looks like your favorite visitor is trying to apologize for all the late night ruckus, twig.”

With your laughter, the burden of his regret grows light and finally, your father has found his answer.

────────────────────

All of Sylus’ business associates know it isn’t wise to provoke him, especially today.

Sylus was quick to fix all the messes that happened during his long sleep over the course of the winter and there was no sign of exhaustion in his face every time he showed up, whether to keep someone in line or for business negotiations.

For them, his actions are certainly favorable. 

No one wants to operate when everything is in chaos, not when his enemies vying for his position suddenly think it is free for the taking in his absence.

If you ask them who to thank, they all know to whom they owe the dragon hybrid’s speedy recovery and that someone was showered with gifts that it might take her until late spring to open them all.

The room was quiet, except for the distant sound of the slot machines from the casino a few floors down and the occasional shuffle of papers from Sylus sitting at the head of the table, his eyes moving to read the text of the latest contract he had to sign.

The rest of the predator hybrids did not say anything, and maybe because they already have caught up to the latest news before Sylus stepped inside so they opted to drink in silence or take a puff from their tobaccos.

Of course, the latest news is that you, the little deer that Sylus is doting on, is going to be here tonight.

Your first official appearance.

Do you even know how tight the security is for today’s event? They doubt you do, especially when their security, who often stumble inside your studio, all said that all you wanted to do for the grand opening of one of the many casinos that Sylus owns is to pull the lever of a slot machine at least once or maybe press a button of a pachinko game.

Sylus even made the space accommodating to you, inviting the other prey hybrids in your community and he has men stationed around the building ensuring not even an incredibly stubborn journalist will get in to snap a photo of you.

A knock and one of Sylus’ men was about to come and get it until he called out.

“I’ll handle that.”

Sylus doesn’t need his people to open the door for him, not when he had already picked up the faint scent of cotton and wildflowers through the haze of tobacco and he knows who is clearly on the other side, waiting for him patiently.

You call them your nicer clothes.

There you are, wearing them, and holding the box of suit he will wear for tonight.

“Oh, did I come at the wrong time?”, you asked, your eyes shifting at the people behind him, some recognized you and you nodded politely at their small waves.

It wasn’t just the scent of cotton and wildflowers he picked up earlier but something new-

His gaze moved from the top of your head where your antlers are now growing back, still short, then to your hair always adorned by one of the hairpins he gifted you and then finally, to where the new scent is prominent, sweet, incredibly sweet.

Strawberries.

Your lips have always been very inviting and all he can recollect is your particular preference for sweets, especially cakes, how you always give thought on how you will cut the slice with your fork so you would not miss out on both the cream and the filling.

He always wanted to tell you then that he has another method of wiping the cream from the corner of your mouth aside from his handkerchief.

“Sylus?”

You repeated his name again and he blinked, chuckling softly.

“I am fine. If anything, I need to rest my eyes, sweetie.”

“Is there anything I could do to help?”

“Stand there for a moment for me then, miss seamstress.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion and he tapped on the crease playfully after he accepted the box from you before giving you a quick once over and then pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

“My eyes are well-rested now,” he whispered in your ear, the tip of his nose nuzzling the fur before letting go, watching you giggle softly, then he added.

“I’ll see you downstairs. I made sure all of your favorite desserts are served.”

“But they wouldn’t be as delicious with no one to eat them with.”

Does Sylus care if the rest of his business associates are behind him, their ears occasionally picking up words between the two of you?

No, not at all. Not when in the room full of people, all that matters is you and tonight, when his gaze lingered for too long on your lips, he had decided this is the night he will finally ask you.

.

.

.

Yet, maybe he is too focused on phrasing his question to notice that it is not only him who wanted to ask permission.

────────────────────

Louis had always told himself that it will take years for prey hybrid and predator hybrids to get along, a sentiment shared by older prey hybrids in the community despite their cordial relationship with the rest of denizens of the N109 zone.

Yet, against the confetti falling endlessly in this casino where prey hybrids dance with predator hybrids in between the rows of the slot machines and more, the lines put by those who are much older than all of you disappears until all that remains is but a whitespace.

All of the lion hybrids that accompany him are mingling so well among the crowd and maybe they are all too brave because they never noticed they are taking turns twirling you, of all people, around.

“Can you tell them if they value their heads, they would stop horsing around with her?”

“I supposed so but the miss enjoying the party takes higher precedence in Mr. Sylus’ eyes.”

Of course, leave it to the older lion hybrid (Who surprisingly, proved to be a wise one) to tell him otherwise.

This is one of the few times Louis simply shakes his head and he leaned against the counter, keeping a watchful gaze of each member of this little community attending this party.

There goes Simon, the delivery boy of your shop, chasing around Sylus’ twin henchmen with the furious and young sheep hybrid not so far behind, berating them three.  Even here, they really go to so much extent to piss the sheep hybrid’s older brother.

Then, to Simon and that sheep hybrid’s parents, one of the few interspecies couples he had seen, dancing slowly against the upbeat tempo of the music, lost in their own world, the wife wearing a dress you tailored.

Finally, to each of the prey hybrids in the room. Some making jokes, some content on the slow conversation, and others, dancing against the beat.

It is certainly not a bad way to welcome the arrival of spring.

“You lot do realize you were dancing with Sylus’ precious deer?”

Louis asked, taking a sip of his drink while he watched the lion hybrids twirling you earlier walk towards him, taking a break and all of them quickly shaking their heads at his question.

“We know it was her-”

“She saw us twirling people around and it is not like we can turn her down-”

“We only stopped when we realized she needed to sit down, alright?”

The young deer hybrid let out a bark of laughter at their reasons and even then, maybe his concerns for tonight are for naught.

As long as the rest of the members of this small community are enjoying themselves, maybe being a little unguarded is not so bad and he clink his glass with the lion hybrids around him, the song played by the speakers inside the room fading into new one.

All of the lonely nights

Waiting for you to come

Longing to hold you tight

Can crows dance?

Daisy surely can and when it saw you pouting that the twirling had stopped, it was quick to step in as your new dance partner with the new song coming in.

It held the end of your braid, as if guiding you to spin around and the hem of your dress lifted slightly as you chuckled, letting it dictate the steps.

I need you so desperately

Waiting for you to come

Bring all your love to me

“Oh, lookie, Kieran, the bird is trying to dance with the miss!”

Luke exclaimed, and Mephisto was quick to let out a caw, scolding the two for not volunteering immediately when you were left alone by the lion hybrids twirling you earlier.

“Right, try getting chased around by a mongrel,” Kieran answered and he held your hands, swaying you against the beat and their shoes tapping.

Luke clapped, throwing his coat up in the air, and his arms moved together with the beat, waiting for his brother to let him have his turn.

You don’t have to see through their masks to see their grins.

“We’re better dance partners than this bird, aren’t we, Miss Deer?”, Luke asked over the music, taking over and spinning you around.

You were about to say all of them are good dance partners but your crow friend had already taken offense, another game of chase kicking off but this time, they have to duck through the crowd to avoid being pecked by it.

A small wave and your laughter is all you can give as you watch them from where you stand.

But I’d wait a million years

Walk a million miles

Cry a million tears

“Now, where did all of your dance partners run off to, twig?”

“It’s okay. I still have you.”

Your father smiled at your answer, picking up where the twins have left off and perhaps he is being a more doting parent tonight, not wanting for you to feel left out while you wait for your dance partner from his business meeting.

Before, it was him, a young widower with a fawn holding his hand and the other lugging behind an old sewing machine operated by both his feet and his remaining belongings in line to apply for residency in Bloomshore District.

Both of you didn't even have a vinyl player back then yet so he hummed a song for the both of you when you finally had a house, stooping slightly since you were so little back then, so he could dance with you.

Now, the speakers do the singing for him.

Now, you are the one guiding him through the steps.

Now, he can rest easy, knowing you finally have a good life he and your mother had always dreamt for you.

.

.

.

“It looks like your dance partner is here, twig.”

I’d swim the deepest sea

Climb the highest hill

Just to have you near me

Sylus had decided to watch you from afar at first, hidden in the shadows barely touched by the bright lights of the casino and the neon lights of the machines

The clothes you have tailored for him fit him well as always and he is more than aware how you are looking forward to seeing him wear it.

How would you look at him now without the mask, the false name?

He had always been a confident man but he had to gather his bearings before he finally made his way to you, your heartbeat, your scent, and your laugh are breadcrumbs he is picking up one by one and this time, the crowd seemed to instinctively part for him, even when they barely noticed his presence.

Not because he is Sylus, the one at the top of the N109 zone.

Not because he is Sylus, the dragon hybrid willing to burn down cities in your name.

Not because he is Sylus, untouchable, elusive, distant, loner.

No, it is as if the way is clearing itself so he can reach you in quick strides.

“Can I have her for a moment?”

Sylus asked your father, offering his hand for you to take and your father smiled politely at him, letting go of your hand and then stepping back.

A rehearsal between the two of them for a very important event to come in the future.

“Take care of my daughter, Mr. Sylus.”

“I have always been one to honor my words.”

You took one last look at your father’s back as he disappeared among the crowd and Sylus pulled you close, his hand on the small of your back, his steps careful as swayed with you against the beat of the lively music.

“Have I kept you waiting, sweetheart?”

“I like you here, early, late or on-time.”

He smiled at your reply, his precious deer always a little charmer, and then there were many times he had always asked himself if this is real, that this is too good to be true yet every day, he wakes up and everything is still in its place.

Is it real that you indeed stood vigil by his bedside, tending to him? 

Is it real when he held you close under the altered blankets of your small bed? 

Is it real that here you are, letting a hideous fiend dance with you?

He had lied, lied for long because he is a man greedy for your gazes devoid of fear when you and him meet eyes and even the truth has come out, it never changed.

Yet, the notion of being called a ‘monster’ by you still lingers.

His pointed horns are a grotesque mirror of your magnificent antlers.

His sharp canines always send people running while yours make fiends like him love you even more.

His tail’s color is of the abyss and yours is of the bark of tall trees growing in a lush forest.

“Miss seamstress,” he called out quietly and you tilted your head when his hands moved to cup your cheeks, his nose brushing against yours. “Are you having fun dancing with someone like me?”

“Of course. I think Mr. Sylus is a good dance partner.”

“Is he now?”

You can be playful when you want to, he noticed, especially when you are enjoying yourself and he smiled at your response.

“You are always have a way with yours words, little doe,” he continued and with a sigh of relief mixed with perhaps his wishes for all of these to continue, no matter what, he added.

“Lie to me, sweetie. I’ll believe everything you will say.”

You should have know your dragon still has doubts after his long sleep, and sometimes, you hope you have pieced everything together earlier, that you should have seen right through him.

All this time, Mr. Sylus isn’t a shy and elusive benefactor you have thought he is.

“But Skye told me I am a very terrible liar,” you answered and he can’t help but grin at how you are referring to Skye as if he and that man isn’t one and the same, “So when I said that Mr. Sylus is a good dance partner, I really think he is.”

Then, your hand traced the embroidery in his coat and he had to bite his tongue to stop a soft whimper, your touch almost seeping through the fabric into his skin as he listened to you continue.

“When I said that I love how Mr. Sylus fit all the clothes I have tailored for him, I really think there is no need for alterations.”

Finally, your hand held the cuff of his sleeve as you leaned on his touch.

“When I said that I understood why Mr. Sylus lied, I really think he doesn’t need to punish himself too much over it.”

You know ‘Skye’ well, the always diligent dragon hybrid who brings you gifts but now, you want to know ‘Sylus’, the dragon hybrid behind the gifts.

His world is dark, like the fabrics of his clothes but every dragon has to return to a hearth eventually and someone has to look after the embers so they won’t go out.

And perhaps, he also needs a proof from you that this is real.

The first day of spring, of ice thawing, and of the flowers slowly blooming.

Sylus will always remember this day. You and your determined gaze when you declared you will convinced him how much of a terrible liar you are.

How you stood on your tiptoes, holding your hat to cover both of your faces and then slightly losing your balance along the way, his arm immediately wrapped around your waist to balance you followed by a strangled chuckle from him when your fleeting attempt landed at the corner of his lips.

“Oh, I am sorry,” you said sheepishly as he set you back on your feet, slightly embarrassed your idea did not go as planned, “You’re pretty tall.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart,” he replied, shaking his head in amusement.

“Can I try again?”

“I was hoping to ask that first, darling.”

“Help me make sure it will land correctly this time?”

If he asks you to say his name a hundred, a thousand times, and perhaps a million more, would it be too much?

He had to lift you up with one arm when you leaned towards him, not wanting you to stand on tip toes then miss again. With a lopsided smile, he savored the warmth of your first kiss hidden behind the hat you were holding to cover your faces, as if both of you are sharing a secret.

Right now, all that matters is you and this secret you shared with him that he might ask you to repeat more, just so he could remember.

Just you in his arms, and the soft chuckles from between you every time one of you pulls back or bumped each other’s noses. 

A sigh, a smile and then one of you closes the distance once again, another secret shared, a piece of you for a piece of him under the warm glow of the orange fluorescent lights, the music, and laughter.

He was a fool for asking you to lie to him.

There is no need to prolong the dream when this, is very, very much real.

Although, he might ask for more of your convincing (as you called it), when you two are alone later.

────────────────────

The plan was to bring you home after the party.

Sylus had a brief talk with your father earlier and agreed to bring you home while both of you are in between walking around at every slot machine he had purchase, watching you pull down the levers so you can hear a ‘ding’ then tell him you have surely won something.

(Of course, it was amusing that you point at him everytime he asked you what prize do you have in mind.)

You were clearly exhausted with all the fun, a sign it is time to call it a night when he let you sit at one of the chairs to let your feet rest but your words made him rethink his agreement with your father.

“I want to stay longer with you.”

He should have said no.

Yet, he didn’t take the road on your way home, taking the route to the base instead and he sent the twins to tell your father that you insisted, that you refused to move let alone be carried by him.

It was hard to resist you and your adorable threats too especially when you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist from where you are sitting back at the casino.

You and your pout and drooping ears.

That tactic of yours always work so well and now here you are, back at the base and fast asleep in his bed, wearing his clothes.

Sylus can say for himself he is finally content but then again when it comes to you-

-He is a terrible liar too.

His eyes traced the slope of your neck, the sweater he lent you too loose and he was able to catch a glimpse of the fading bite mark he had left on that fateful night.

Then, to your legs tangled against his and his tail wrapped around your waist.

Finally, back to your lips and he remembered the many times both of you shared kisses in between your exploration of the casino machines.

New desires have come in, to touch you and be touched by you, under the cover of the thick blankets.

Now, he had to figure out how to ask you soon but that is reserved for another day-

“See you in our field of dreams, little doe.”

You stir, an unconscious nod, and he close his eyes, listening to your heartbeat slowly lulling him to sleep.

.

.

.

.

.

See you soon, Miss Deer.

See you soon, Mister Dragon.

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Author's Note:

Is this it? Is this the end? Nah, we still have an epilogue (that I decided to split into two and you will know why.)

This is the song the dance sequence was based on (Maybe I wrote this fic just so I have an excuse to write Sylus and MC dancing who knows JK): Pachinko S2 Opening - Wait A Million Years

(Also, not me imagining all the characters in this fic in this opening sequence. The show and the book changed my life.)

I honestly had a fun time writing perspectives of each character in this story and painting this AU was so much fun since I get to incorporate all media that greatly influence me.

See you in the next (and last) update!

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10