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pedgito · 1 month ago

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𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

summary | twisted into the miller brothers web, you find yourself deeply entangled in a complicated situation between the two and hell bent on self-preservation, you discover that running isn't always the best choice.

author's note | i was going to get this out before the end of the year if it was the last thing i did. i have never been so fully engulfed in a fic like this. it's just a little mini series, but i could talk about this shit for hours. thank you to everyone who's listened to my incoherent rambling and especially @gracieheartspedro who nailed down this ending when i was struggling so hard to decide. if you enjoy this silly story as much as me, ily.

content warning | 18+ smut, this is heavily joel miller x reader leaning, cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, death, joel's territorial <3, lots of unprotected sex going on 'round here, oral (f receiving), pain kink go hard, blood kink and consumption, biting kink, literal love as consumption, restraints, description of wounds from said bites, scarring, omitting a few tags for spoilers but please remember you are responsible for the work you consume, if you are ever feeling uncomfortable, do not continue reading. this is dark fic. that's the only warning i'm giving.

word count —13k, BITTER (part one)

“Killin’ is a viable option.”

Tommy groans, hand rubbing over his face as he leans against the kitchen counter, “They aren’t backwoods folk, Joel. You know that, we gotta be smart.”

“All they gotta do is get the law involved,” Joel points out, “fancy lawyers—“

“We’re selling to half that department,” Tommy argues, a long moment of silence before he adds, “and if you’d stop interrupting I’d tell you I already spoke to ‘em. Said I’d run it by you first before we set anything in stone.”

The big brother seal of approval.

You watch along curiously, stuck in the chair that Joel had a hand gripped around, sandwiched between them both as they volleyed arguments back and forth like they were fighting gladiators shoved in the colosseum—may the best man win.

“I still think we should just kill ‘em,” Joel chirps with finality, glancing briefly over your dumbstruck look, frozen somewhere between fear and shock, their voices fading in and out like muffled conversation, “make sure no one’ll come askin’ questions. Easy. You ain’t never had an issue with it before.”

The letter was still clutched in Tommy’s hand, a list of vague threats and accusations—the weird occurrences around the Miller property, the strange behavior of Tommy’s older brother, the smell. There wasn’t hard evidence, but they weren’t wrong either. A few minutes grazing the property and a look in the barn would confirm anyone’s suspicions—which, speaking of…

“Are you going to kill me now?”

It was a brave thing to interject with, given Joel’s current hostility around the situation with their nosey neighbors and you, like a pest making a mess of his home. But, instead it was him. His mind—a foreign feeling that he didn’t like or intent to allow to wreak havoc much longer.

He’d kill you if he had to, if that was what it took.

Unsurprisingly, they both ignore you.

“Let me talk to ‘em tomorrow, Joel,” Tommy barters, “see if I can smooth things over.”

“Ya ain’t smoothin’ shit over, we know how this goes—you lose your temper and then we have a mess. Just take care of the fucking problem like I suggested.”

You knew the house, it was the only one within walking distance. Far off, covered by a line of trees and eclectic decor—you never thought much of it, under the impression that everyone in this town was as demented as the Miller brothers, most of the suspicions confirmed as the brothers continued to argue.

It was an open secret—deranged and fucked-up, but there was full, completely loyalty.

If you had gone digging enough, you would have found out yourself. But, Joel wanted you to know. It takes a killer to know a killer—the wood of the chair cracks behind you as his grip tightens.

“We aren’t gonna hurt you,” Tommy comforts suddenly, a quick glance over of your injuries, “not intentionally, at least—”

“She fell,” Joel explains, a half-truth, “made a damn mess and wasted the scraps for the pigs—”

“Joel,” Tommy warns, returning his gaze to you, “You’ve been good to us, better than most. We can trust each other, alright? Ain’t no reason to think otherwise.”

He was sickeningly sweet, laying it on so thick you see right through the facade. He was upset, rightfully so, but you weren’t sure how much of it was directed at Joel and how much of it was directed at you.

“When did I surpass being a meal?” You turn your attention toward Tommy, flicking your eyes up briefly at Joel, “Was it before or after you fucked me?”

You expect it to be newfound information to Joel, but he doesn’t react in the slightest. He almost smirks, actually. A sudden, miniscule response that you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t so on edge.

“Now, darlin’—”

“Cut the shit, Tommy,” You retort, “When did it happen?”

“Still a chance, if you’re feelin’ persistent,” Joel taunts.

Tommy shoots Joel a dangerous glare before his face softens.

“The thought never occurred to me,” Tommy replies though you find it hard to believe him, “M’not sayin’ we’ve been this kind to everyone, but with you—s’different. Right, Joel?”

“Well, she does like the taste,” He grins viciously, a showing of teeth that sends your body into a full chill, “ate it right up, loved it.”

Your eyes shoot daggers in his direction and he shrugs, his tongue shoved into his cheek as he moves to stand, turning in a circle on his heels as he leans against the nearest surface.

“I mean it, you’re safe with us,” Tommy assures, “out there—we can’t protect you. And if you think we’re the monsters, you’re in for a rude awakenin’, baby.”

“Don’t,” You chuffle, a short laugh through your nose, “I’ll—I’ll stay, but this,” You wave your finger between him and you, before it circles the group, a discoordinated trio, “I don’t trust either of you and don’t call me that. Don’t call me anything, actually.”

Your anger was justified and Tommy didn’t try to argue, only sinking back in his chair with an ‘I told you so’ look on Joel’s face. Luckily, they leave you to gather yourself, ignoring the subtle sting from the wounds on your legs and your spiraling thoughts—you could wait until nightfall.

That was it—wait long enough until it was dark and they were both asleep and make a run for the only sane people in the nearest vicinity. They could help you and help take the two brothers down in the process, it was a fair victory for the opposing party and your only saving grace.

–

They retire to their rooms eventually, the insistent chirp of crickets keeping you awake, standing on sore legs as you move around the dark room and pulling on a warm pair of clothes to trek against the nighttime winds.

You were careful, prying open doors with a quiet effort and allowing the softest steps against the old floorboard as you reached the door, immediately met with the deadbolt lock and an even heftier lock to keep you trapped–or to Tommy, safe. The house was silent aside from the sounds of nature, the occasional howling wind blowing through but you looked around, searching for another path—you had already made it this far, you weren’t going to go scrambling back.

If anything, the backdoor would have the same locks and your eyes scan the windows, closed shut but not inescapable. If either of them decided to wake, they would surely know.

There was no time to deliberate or weigh the consequences, hurrying toward the living room window that led toward the yard, pulling it up with forceful but cautious precision, ripping at the screen.

It isn’t an easy feat, not nearly the path you would have chose, but you fell to the ground with a deft slump, careful of your fresh bandages and gravel under your hands as you land, wincing as you stand but peering inside of the house cautiously, determining if you needed to make a run for it.

Silence meets you. Dead silence.

The eerie feeling in the distance creeps in, eyeing the house over your shoulder that is still lowly lit but quite the walk, you turn on your heels and make the long walk there, wondering if darting off down the road would be simpler, continuing until you came upon another sign of civilization or normality, anything to save you.

As you grow closer, the muffled melodic tunes coming from the house start to drown out your stream of thoughts, the bass booming from the driveway as you grow closer. You careful approach the steps to their door, pressing a finger into the doorbell as it chimes throughout the house—the music lowers in an instant, quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop, the door ripping open with a forceful gust of air, meet with the fierce scowl of an older gentleman.

It was hard to describe him, but there was so much going on—a peek at the inner house decor that screamed for a touch of neutralness, a mix of beaded necklaces hanging around his neck over a stretched out tank, barefoot as he approached you on the mat at his door.

It only dawns on you now that you hadn’t prepared anything—you were drawing a complete blank.

“You better start talking,” He speaks, a grittiness to his voice that stills you at your core, “botherin’ us in the middle of the night—”

“You’re right,” You blurt out, shaking your head slightly as you realize how abrasive it was, taking a breath before you speak slower, “about Joel and Tommy, you’re right. They’re bad people.”

His expression turns steely, jaw tightening as he straightens his back in an intimidating manner. You couldn’t mistake the whiff of alcohol on his breath, his drifting eyes down the length of your body, slowly realizing that this might have been a mistake.

Self-preservation had always come first, even if you didn’t think the Miller’s were the worst possible people you could have come across, they were unfortunate targets in the moment.

“They—they are killing,” You point vaguely in the direction of the house, “it’s—the smell, it’s the bodies. They’re murders, you have to help me,” It comes out in a panic and you stutter as the confession rolls off your tongue, his expression only growing dark as time passes.

Fuck, he didn’t believe you. Of course—who would?

Hey, you’ve got a couple cannibals for neighbors—let’s deal with them.

It was never that easy.

“You don’t think I know?” He responds, stepping into your space to send you stumbling backwards, but his arms lock around your biceps and keep you upright, but not for the reason he should, feeling the sting of pain as he squeezes down hard.

You gasp at the suddenness of it, “N—no, no! You have to believe me!”

“I’ve seen you helpin’ them,” He nods vaguely, “Think I’m gonna believe this shit? Where are they, huh?” The spit from his vicious reaction and volume sprays against your face as he shoves you to the ground, your arms skidding against the cement as you scramble backwards, trying to flee his quickly approaching figure, “They use you as bait?”

He’s over you before you have a chance to roll out of the way, your forearm presses up against his neck as he leers, glancing around for any sign of the brothers—silently praying that he was right in the moment, but you knew there was no one to help. Just you. Just him.

He forces you onto your stomach as your face was smashed into the rock path along the driveway, “Well, good—they can watch,” It makes your blood run cold, sensing the exact implication of his words as you calmly and slyly wrap your fingers around a palm sized rock, curling it in your fist as he leans back on his legs, twisting in his grip and bashing the rock blindly at his face, a grunt releasing from him as you make contact with his skull, falling to the ground with a dead weight as you scramble away breathless.

You stare at the sight, a man near death on his lawn before the whistle fades in—low and melodic as it approaches with the sound of heavy boots and speaking before you can react.

“Well, look at that,” Joel looks on in admiration, a small suspicion of amusement in his tone as he steps onto the lawn and peers over you, hand extended out blindly for help as he cautiously steps around the pooling blood of the now dead man, “little messier than I like, but you got the job done.”

If looks could kill—you’re seething, staring up at Joel with narrowed eyes as you take his hand and stand.

“I’ll give you some credit,” Joel continues, “You’re resourceful but predictable—suppose you can’t trust anyone in this town anymore, can you?”

He’s cocky about it, which pisses you off more. Undoubtedly, he was probably watching you the entire time, waiting in the shadows, undetectable. He’s mastered his craft, he killed people for a living. It wasn’t a mystery how he knew or expected your retaliation. But, his reaction is jarring.

“C’mon, up,” He yanks at your hand and helps you upright, instinctually brushing the clumps of grass and dirt out of your hair with a pinched expression as your eyes slowly drag toward the motion, unmoving out of…not fear. It was something indescribable, flinching at the heat of his hands as his eyes gradually rose toward the upstairs window.

“You know what happens next, right?” Joel asks, kicking at the dead body to roll him on his back, staring down at the lifeless corpse.

You didn’t need the whole speech—murder me now, please. Spare me the misery.

“Alright, alright,” Joel sighs, almost like he’s carrying on a conversation with himself—and with your silence, he was. But, he senses your fear, “well—you can’t just murder one and not the other, you little killer. You’re gonna take care of the other one, too.”

“Joel—I—” The adrenaline rush was waning, the bile in your stomach swimming and swirling.

His face hardens in an instant, forcing his hand over your mouth with a stern shake of his head as your eyes grow wide, “Ain’t time for excuses. You made this mess—you’re gonna finish it.”

You blink slowly, searching for any sign of a bluff. It never comes, in fact, his grip only grows tighter until you answer, shakily nodding your head.

“Go on,” He urges, “I’m right behind you.”

He’d have a front row seat this time instead of waiting in the wings.

Joel wanted a full taste.

–

The wife is tucked into bed when you finally find her, barricaded in her sheets and sleeping soundly despite the loud, blaring music when you first approach the house—you figured it was a regular occurrence, but you don’t linger on the thought long.

You hold onto the thought of the husband and his unwillingness to hear you out, how they seemed to already have you figured out, wrapped up in the Miller’s web and just another willing accomplice, repeating the same careful steps from earlier that had clearly failed you as Joel breathed over your shoulder.

It needed to be quick—not entirely painless, but clean.

The vase to the left of her head seemed like an emergency option, the woman splayed out on her back as you searched around, knowing that you didn’t have long with Joel’s looming presence. You chew at your bottom lip as you reach carefully for the pillow beside her head and slowly press it over her face, a few seconds of calm before you find yourself in a predicament.

Climbing over her lap, you mount and press the weight of your palms into the pillow, face scrunched in concentration as the woman flails and shakes against the movement, grunting meekly as your hand slips against the scratch of her nails, glaring at Joel for a silent plea of help, realizing that she was putting up far more of a fight then either of you expected.

He waits until the last possible second, an unreadable expression on his face before he’s flipping the switchblade out of his pocket and piercing it through her clavicle, the blood squirting on your chest and face, rearing back instinctually as you gasp, her body falling lifeless in an instant.

“I can appreciate the effort,” Joel comments, wiping the blade off on the sleeve of your shirt before he pockets it again, “how’d that feel?”

You don’t realize your heart is racing until he asks the question—it was a similar feeling to a drug-induced high, slightly floaty and off-balance, your mind hazy as you blink, the stench of iron filling your senses and that strange look on Joel’s face returns.

You understand it then—lust, another subtle hint as he licks at his bottom lip out of reflex.

Joel would lick you clean if you let him.

You clear your throat and speak quietly, “What—what do we do?”

“Well, we gotta transfer ‘em to the house,” Joel explains, “So, you’ll stay here and wait—not run, that clear?”

You nod mindlessly, towering over your second dead body of the night.

You were far too deep now.

You don’t move—not really. You sink to the sheets beside the woman’s body but you listen dutifully, ears perking up at the roar of an approaching truck and door slamming followed by footsteps before Joel reappears again, seemingly breathing out a sigh of subtle relief as he spots you.

He’d never admit it, but you can see it.

It take a while, but eventually you carry both bodies into the bed of the truck and cover them with tarp, questioning Joel on what happens with the house, the evidence, everything that could essentially criminalize both of you—

“That’s above my paygrade, honey,” You’re not amiss to the change in his voice, his expression more relaxed as he shifts the truck into gear, “the sheriff handles all that for us.”

“And…the sheriff…he—”

Joel chuckles, “It’s everyone. Not just a group of us. We aren’t just sellin’ to townsfolk, either. It’s overseas, across the country. Shit is high risk, high reward. Why do you think I followed you tonight?”

So, he did follow you—he’d known the entire time.

“I saw the idea pop into your head earlier while Tommy and I were arguin’. Like I said, predictable. I’m not sayin’ you didn’t have a fair reaction, I get it. But, we can keep you safe.”

You cross your arms over your chest silently, skin and face caked with blood.

“But will you?” You retort, “Can I really trust you both?”

As the truck pulls in near the barn, the ignition falls silent.

“I want to,” Joel admits, “natural ability like that shouldn’t be wasted.”

A natural-born killer, he means.

“You feelin’ guilty right now?” Joel asks, eyebrows raised.

You shake your head quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“Good, keep it that way.”

Joel works silently to unload the bodies and load them in the barn as you sit quietly in the passenger seat, staring at the barn door as he drags tarp covered corpses inside with a brute strength unlike his brother, somehow spotless throughout the entire ordeal.

“I’ll move the truck in the morning,” Joel tells you as he pulls your door open, a hand waiting in assistance as you climb out on unsteady feet, the ache of your wounds coming back in waves as reality sets in.

“It is morning,” You retort, earning a huff of annoyance from Joel.

“You know what the fuck I meant,” He responds, his thumb flicking at a flake of dried blood on your collarbone as you stand in front of him, “Tommy’ll get pissy if you wash the blood off in the main bathroom—I’ll let you use mine.”

Your face contorts in a mix of confusion and amusement.

“Or I can hose you down out here, your choice.”

–

The house is as quiet as you left it, guided silently with the touch of Joel’s hand between your shoulder blades as you traversed the dark house—and you aren’t sure what you were expecting as you enter Joel’s bedroom, but it wasn’t this.

It was lived-in, personal; full of books and random trinkets, pictures lining the top of his dresser and walls—his family, you can only assume. A few pictures of kids that you surmise are Joel and Tommy, you avoid Joel’s gaze as you look around aimlessly, clearing your throat as you approach the bathroom, hearing the light flick on beside your head.

It was clean, at least. A dark colored shower curtain hiding the tub away from view and his bathroom amenities only slightly astray, probably from previous use that night.

You turn to him with a quizzical expression, his expression matching.

“What? Somethin’ wrong?” He asks.

“It’s just—it’s…clean. It doesn’t—it doesn’t fit you, I guess.”

“I’m just a dirty old man to you, ain’t I?”

It’s a joke, but his delivery falls flat.

“I’m confused, I guess.” You tell him honestly, “Look at me—” A vague gesture at your own disheveled state, dirt and blood smeared on your face as he tilts his head against the doorframe.

“I am,” The deep timber to his voice strikes you at your core, a casual but unsuspecting answer, “I cleaned up for the night, wasn’t plannin’ on getting dirty again.”

“But, you’re always dirty.”

His job required that—but Joel was meticulous about his routine after he was done for the day. Dinner, a thorough shower, sometimes another if he was feeling particularly bothered, and the quiet of the calm house to lull him to sleep.

Unfortunately, that routine has been disrupted since you arrived.

Like an infestation, you’d taken over.

Joel ignores you with a half-assed shrug and flicks a dried speck of blood from your nose.

“Go on,” He demands, “I’ll grab you some clothes and fresh bandages.”

You clear your throat awkwardly and nod as you gently swat his hand away, avoiding his gaze as you press the door closed enough that it doesn’t lock, but allows you the privacy to undress.

It feels good to clean the blood and grime away, scrubbing at your body until it burns, bathing in the distinct smell of Joel’s body wash, a faint hint of it always wafting off of him despite his usually dirtied state.

You can hear him moving quietly beyond the curtain, his shadow passing a few times as you’re expecting him to fold against the urge to peek his head beyond the curtain—something, anything.

You hated the forced gentlemanly facade.

Once you’re out of the shower and dressed in clothes Joel had picked out, a matching set and a fresh pair of underwear that had you glancing sideways at him as his fingers peeked around the bathroom door with a bottle of rubbing alcohol and fresh bandages in his hands.

He kneels quietly with a concentrated expression, mirroring his actions from before. Wincing through the sting of pain as he cleans and dresses your wounds, catching his glances as the noises slip beyond your lips—an inconspicuous check-in, wordless.

You can’t help but fuck with him now, defenses down.

His eyes follow the way your hand smooths over the waistband of your shorts, your thumb slipping beyond the thick band as you lean against the mirror, watching as he taped down the gauze, “Kinda defeats the purpose, don’t it?”

“What’re ya gettin’ at?”

“The whole—bet you can’t guess what color underwear I’m wearing joke,” You play quietly with the waistband, fingers twirling in the drawstrings below your navel as your thighs spread against his guidance, his hand sliding down to your ankle to raise your leg higher in an effort to secure the bandage, “I see you wanted them to match,” You jest at him lightly, noticing the way his eyes immediately lock onto the apex of your thighs.

He brushes it off, a roll of his eyes as he finishes up his job, carefully piling up the trash on the floor as you slowly slide off the bathroom counter, leaving his head level with your waist.

Had you asked yourself if you wanted to be this close to him twelve hours ago, the answer would have been different, but the downright pathetic look on his face as his eyes drag up your body and eventually land on your face are a powerful spell.

Slowly, your hands drift into his hair—surprisingly soft as the curls sway with your movement, gripping the hair tight and pushing his head back in the process, a low rumble in his throat at the action.

“Do you like that?” You inquire, his eyes darkening at the question as he sets his sight on something he wants—a primal gaze, almost like a warning.

“You tryin’ to make my brother jealous?” He asks, “Think I should tell him about your plan to rat us out—how it didn’t work and now you’re tryin’ this—”

“I can’t leave now,” You admit, still not fully settled with the idea but deep down you knew, “I—I do feel safe, you know. With you—”

You exhale shakily as his lips press against the sliver of skin beneath your shirt, just below your navel as his eyes fall shut, his tongue following the path as he presses surprisingly gentle kisses into the skin before his fingers are curling over the band of your shorts.

“Don’t trust me, though—do you?” Joel asks snarkily, eyes peeking open slightly as your lips part in a soft gasp as he pulls the clothing down your hips, peeling the underwear down with it.

One hand drags up your calf, calloused hands against soft skin as he pulls one knee over his shoulder and shoves your shirt upwards, giving him an obscured view of your cunt, lips spreading open with the movement and glistening with slick despite how much you tried to loathe him—there was a racing in your heart that differed from Tommy, like you know you shouldn’t be doing this but your body was demanding otherwise.

You shake your head lazily as it drops back, slumping against the medicine cabinet as he drags a finger through your folds, toying with your clit in small movements, silent as he drinks in every small sound you make, your opposite hand digging into the counter of the sink as his fingers dig into your thigh, opening your eyes as he presses his lips to your cunt, right against the mound and into the short, coarse patch of hair before he’s spreading his tongue out flat against you and licking a slow, tortuous line up the seam.

“Trust–trust is earned,” You reply breathily, “It, fuck—it takes time.”

Joel hums a response of approval as his nose nudges against your clit, tongue dipping inside of your hole as he stared up at you, even at this angle you could see the smug smirk on his face as he drank you in—Joel was still a frightful man, enough unknown that you found yourself wondering if the choices you were making were correct, if somehow this would cost you your life in the end.

But, then he’s pulling away, dragging his finger up the seam of your pussy as he stands, unbuckling his belt quietly as you strip your shirt away, not needing to be told or guided, his tanned skin flushed a subtle red as he unbuttons and parts his flannel, adjusting his jeans and underwear down just far enough under his balls that they sit snug against the fabric, his cock intimidatingly large against his even larger hands.

So much with Joel is unspoken, his intensity held in his gaze. Even from your first meeting, there was a look—and even now, he’s got that look. Like he’s trying to decipher you.

He flattens one hand against the bathroom counter as you spread your legs to accommodate him, his other hand grabbing at your ass to pull you near the edge before he’s running his hand down his shaft, the foreskin swallowing up the red, angered tip of his cock before he’s pulling back and rubbing his cock through your folds, gathering the wetness there and pressing inside with a pinched expression on your face, your breath catching as your hand twists into his shirt.

“That hurt?” He asks, his voice taking on a softer tone.

You nod fervently, “Yeah—yeah, it’s—you’re…pretty big,”

You weren’t trying to actively compare the brothers, but the thought passes in your mind and Joel notices the thoughtful look on your face, huffing out a laugh under his breath.

“Good,” That it hurts—he wanted you to feel it tomorrow, that it would be a constant reminder.

He’s a natural masochist, but he wasn’t about not enjoying sex. So, while he savors the soft hiss of pain at first, the dig of your nails into his chest, eventually you relax and turn to curling yourself around him, legs tight around his hips and your arms slung over his shoulders as he presses his forehead into your own and fucks you with a slow, powerful force of thrusts that make the walls shake—surely it would wake his brother, maybe that was what he wanted.

His mouth parted slightly, panting out hot against your skin as he glares at you—into you, through you, your eyes fluttering open and shut as he follows your trailing gaze, the precipice of your pleasure clawing over the edge of their metaphorical walls.

“Yeah, s’right there—isn’t it?” He taunts, a half smirk on his face as he watches you.

Always watching you.

You nod again, feeling the hand that was squeezing at your thigh digging into your skin as he used it for leverage, thrusting into you while he guided your hips toward him, using your body like he had full control over it. His other hand finds your breasts, squeezing the flesh in his hand before he’s rubbing his thumb over the quickly hardening bud, a shiver running down your spine.

There was nowhere to hide with Joel, all imperfections on display as your head lulls back against the mirror, eyes opening to find him matching your expression—somewhat sated but nearing the edge of his own release, he nudges his chin up and speaks, “S’this what gets you off?”

Your brow furrows as you tilt your head, his hand trading your breast for the hand twisted into his shirt, guiding it toward your clit as he gives you a silent order, your fingers circling the sensitive nub.

“Fuckin’ both of us—s’gonna be a hell of an issue when he finds out, you know.”

“Is this what you like—huh, talking about while you fuck?” You counter, “Your brother?”

His jaw shakes slightly as he gaze dips, admiring the way your cunt swallowed him up, his fingers wrapped around the wrist that was working at your clit, toes curling as your knees squeezed into his hips, that heat building in your core.

“I can talk about how he eats pussy better than you,” It’s teasing, an effort to get a rise out of him, “or do you—you wanna hear how he whimpers when he fucks me because he’s so pathetic? Is th—is that what you want?” His hips stuttered with your words, “He’s so much sweeter, you know? S’all soft and kind—”

Nothing like Joel.

His hand seems to loosen at the mention, but you shake your head.

“Oh, don’t ease up now, honey—I never said I liked it.”

Joel opens his mouth to speak, but you didn’t want to hear it, shoving your opposite hand over his mouth as you both spill over the edge, the ache of loss finding you as he pulls out, thick ropes of come panting your stomach as you clench around the emptiness, his teeth digging into the palm of your hand as he groans with his release.

“I’ll handle Tommy,” Joel promises as you both dress, cleaning yourself up as he buttons his shirt, “It’ll be easier coming from me.”

“You don’t have to lie, he should know—”

“I’m not,” He responds quickly, looking up at you through his downturned gaze, “like you said—trust is earned. You’ll earn it.”

How was a mystery—but what other choice did you have?

You learn very quickly that Joel was intentional in you earning his trust—not so much Tommy. He wasn’t surprised by your attempt to escape, but the marring of their neighbors—yours too, now—he was slightly disappointed. Hoping that he could spare you the gruesome side of things, that keeping you within the house and under his watch would help save your innocence about the entire ordeal.

But, he quickly finds out that isn’t the case.

And you find out how steady their diet of human meat was, a fridge stocked full of various cuts and textures, unsuspecting to the eye but you knew—and truthfully, the sickness dissipates after a month of eating that way. Tommy will occasionally skip a day or two, sometimes even a week.

Whereas Joel, he’s fully accepted his ways.

“How does it work?” You ask curiously, night has crept in and left both you and Joel, who you’ve gradually drifted toward lately, aware of Tommy’s lingering touches and fighting that feeling of betrayal on both ends—Tommy never seemed to mind you favoring Joel, even indirectly. However, Joel was territorial, overwhelmingly so. You wished you disliked it, but that was the furthest thing from the truth.

“How’s what work?” He asks, legs spread wide on the couch as take a seat beside him, legs curled under your body and the fire crackling beside you, his hair wet from a recent shower and his shirt sticking to his skin, “Tommy’s job?”

You nod quietly, chewing on a piece of dried meat, akin to jerky.

You’ve willingly succumbed to the lifestyle over the past few weeks, partly to blame on Joel, but mostly out of your own morbid curiosity, finding that it wasn’t all that bad as the nauseous and general sickness fell dormant.

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Joel answers bluntly, but honest, “He’s got some kinda system going, I do my job—cuttin’ things up, mindin’ my business. I just know it makes us damn good money.”

You wouldn’t be able to tell outside of their house, but they kept things well within the interior—they owned nice things, you assumed they were out of debt and had money saved back, but they lived beneath their means as much as possible.

Joel liked a quiet life, you could tell.

“I could help out more, you know.”

Outside of your general duties and decent pay—it felt lacking, like you could be doing more.

Neither of the brothers kept you chained or trapped, that much was obvious. And you didn’t feel the lingering threat of something to come, the need to run—the feeling of security was something you had searched out for a while and oddly, they provided that.

In some sick, fucked up way, you felt protected.

“Stock is runnin’ low,” Joel debates, his thumb circling the beer bottle between his legs, while his other trails along his bottom lip in thought, “I got an idea, dunno if Tommy’s gonna like it.”

“Who cares what he thinks?” You reply, “He cowers like a puppy when it comes to you.”

It was essentially a lure and catch situation—Joel never strayed too far, always on the outskirts while you found the next willing victim, it was always you approaching them, never the opposite. You were in full control and under very specific orders.

Never people in town, always the stragglers. The more meek and unsuspecting the better, but it varied—after a couple months, Joel doesn’t even bother to stick around, sitting in his truck while you finish up the job.

And you’ve learned over time just how different Tommy and Joel are—Tommy prefers seclusion in the extremist of ways, more subdued with his affection when Joel was around and didn’t argue with him in your presence, almost like he was attempting to shield you.

Joel is out late in the barn when Tommy crowds you in the kitchen, a curious and longing stare out the window at the closed barn door, his tell-tale throat clearing as his hands wrap around your waist, his chest pressing against your back as you sip gingerly at the glass of water in your hands.

“M’glad you feel safe here,” Tommy murmurs into your skin, a soft peppering of kisses along your spine as he moves the material of your shirt out of the way, his fingers slipping beyond the thick waistband of your pants, shoving them down wordlessly, “ready for bed?”

“Not yet,” You admit, letting the silence linger before you speak again, “Can I ask you something—and I’m just curious, I swear.”

Tommy makes a noise of approval.

“What happened to my car?” A laugh bubbles up at the thought and Tommy laughs too.

“I mighta sold it for scraps when you agreed to stayin’ with us long term. I was meaning to tell you, but you never asked…so I figured…”

Who cares, right? Truly, it was a piece of shit anyways.

You laugh softly at his advances as they grow more needy, your arm curling behind you to flex your fingers in his outgrown hair, “I want you to fuck me here,” You admit, his eyes peeking open as he leans over your shoulder to look at you, a salacious smile on your face as you lean back, rubbing your ass against his cock, growing hard underneath the confines of his sweats, before you turn to face him, “like this—right here.”

Fortunately, it takes very little convincing. He’s impatient in his movements, only getting both of your pants down before he’s pushing the head of his cock inside of you, a welcomed but comfortable stretch before his cock is fully seated inside of you, walls squeezing down tight as he buries his face into your clothed chest, your hands cradling his head as he rocks into you at a gentle pace.

“God, I’m never gonna get tired’f this,” Tommy groans weakly, a hand gripping tight at your hip as he quickens his thrusts, one hand falling back on the counter to support the forceful angle of his movements, laughing breathlessly at his comment, his head rises to look at you with complete and full admiration, “I’m serious, baby.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips that quickly divulges into an open-mouthed exploration as you trade sounds, feeling Tommy teeter closer to the edge of his own orgasm as his fingers drift against your clit, always assuring that you were taken care of first—it doesn’t take long, hands gripping the curtain above the sink as your whine loudly against his ministrations.

Tommy is too distracted to hear the quiet creak of the door, but you’re not. The lights are off, only granting you a silhouette of Joel, but you know—he’s smirking to himself, closing the door behind him quietly as he freezes for a moment, seemingly locking eyes with your sated expression, your orgasm hitting you just as he passes down the hall, his face coming into view for a brief moment.

It was pathetic, how quickly your mind drifted to him even while his brother was buried inside of you, your grip on the curtain tightens, pulling the rod from the wall and sending it clanging down against the sink as it startles you back to reality, feeling Tommy’s hips stutter before he’s pulling out and you sink to the ground instinctively, lips wrapping around his cock as he releases the warmth of his cum against your tongue, a heady but tolerable taste that slides down your throat with ease.

Joel is already gone by the time you rise to your feet, redressing quietly as Tommy examines the broken curtain with a subdued chuckle, tossing the few pieces of sheetrock in the trash.

“Sorry,” You wince, looking at him apologetically.

Tommy grins, his thumb rubbing down the center of your chin in a comforting way as he shrugs, waving it off, “Easy fix.”

The difference between the two is simple to spot after a while—Joel’s leniency with things comes to a head as Tommy’s rigidness battles for dominance. He doesn’t make it a habit to put his foot down often, but he was already increasingly hesitant as you started luring people back to the farm—while thankful, it was dangerous. You were good at it, without fail, but something was bound to implode.

–

“She’s earned it, you know,” Joel fights for you, the usual recluse encourages a night-out—a real one, no work, just pure enjoyment, “Ain’t much trouble to get into there.”

The bar, he means. With how often you frequented it now, it was like a second home.

You were coming up on your sixth month mark of living with the Millers, finding the stragglers came in like a cycle, every few weeks, and the town was due for more.

Tommy squints cautiously, turning in the desk chair as the heel of his boot scuffs against the flooring, “An hour—only an hour, don’t need you stickin’ out like a sore thumb.”

Joel, he means. He rolls his eyes in response, dressed more casual than you’ve ever seen him. It was a simple pair of jeans and a dark-colored shirt, but it made him seem normal.

It was unsettling.

“Don’t worry,” Joel smirks, “No one’ll touch her.”

Except him, you think.

Tommy wasn’t oblivious to your odd affection toward Joel, but he wasn’t privy to every detail. He didn’t know how often you snuck into Joel’s bed at night, sometimes after being on his own before that, the devouring looks and purposeful touches that always happened behind his back.

Joel knows you find comfort in Tommy, but there was something missing.

Something lacking.

Tommy eventually relents and you arrive at the bar a half hour later, Joel in tow.

And it is mostly uneventful, drinking amongst the other patrons with the loud rumble of music drowning out far away voices—Joel was stoic, like a bodyguard over your shoulder as he seemed to people watch, like he often did.

“You’re doing it again,” You tell him, peering up at him from your seat as he glances down, his glass pressing to his lips, ignoring the wide-eyed stares from the occasional townsperson, seemingly shocked to see him.

“No I’m not,” He argues, tapping his finger against your lips before he’s guiding the glass to your lips, a wordless order to silence yourself, “Drink, enjoy it—or all that beggin’ was for nothin’.”

Eventually, Joel lets you wander.

Even if it was to dance lazily a few feet away, practically begging him to join you with your hand outstretched, a constant scowl on his face as he refused. But, eventually someone takes that offer for him, obstructing his view with a grin—an older gentleman with wiry hair and rotted teeth.

There’s a few moments of uncomfortable movement before you’re making an excuse to flee toward Joel who snickers at your discomfort, a hand wrapping at your waist to pull you between his legs as the man, persistent as you suspected, approaches beside you.

“Tommy finally let his dog out of the house?” He asks over you, staring Joel down.

Joel chuckles at that, subdued as his hand tightens against your waist, hiding your own giggle behind a sip of beer.

“C’mon, sweetheart—I’ll show you a better time than this guy. Wouldn’t know how to care for a nice piece of ass like that—him or his damn brother.”

Joel stands then, without warning as he towers over the man and you as he forces you into the seat, “Get the fuck out of here,” It was the only warning he was offering, but it strikes fear through the man without fail, sending him scurrying off for the moment.

“Tommy’s gonna kill you when he finds out about that,” You comment as Joel approaches at your back, maneuvering you out of the seat to settle between his legs again, his large palm settling against your stomach as he pulls you against him, spotting the man again from across the room, staring you both down with hardened eyes.

“What he doesn't know won’t hurt him,” Joel argues, the surprising press of his lips against your neck as you jump at the touch, calmed by his reassuring words, “Gonna scare him off, alright?”

“How—” You’re cut off on a gasp as his hand travels up your shirt, squeezing at your breast as his teeth dig into your skin, mouth hung open as you stumble back against him, eyes fluttering closed at the stinging pinch of Joel’s teeth, hard enough that you fear it breaking through the skin

Surely, it does.

As Joel raises his head and catches sight of the man’s widened eyes, he scurries off. He’s not amiss to your reaction to the bite, fingers clawing into his skin, moaning at the action. Really, he should’ve expected it.

“Turn around,” He orders, spinning you on your feet before you can react on your own, catching sight of your dilated pupils as you stare at him wondrously, a smile growing on your face as his impatience grows.

He ignores your wandering hands that crawl up his arms, gripping onto his large biceps before he’s hauling you out of the bar without a word, arm twisted behind your back as you tumble on your feet toward his truck parked in the far back of the parking lot, far away from the roar of music.

“Did I do something—oh,” You squeak, jumping back at the creak of the drivers’ side door as he sandwiches you between the seat and him, “wrong—Joel, did I—”

You’re stuttering but he isn’t answering and you begin to crawl to your side of the seat before he’s stopping you in your tracks, feet pressing against the step bar of the truck while the upper half of your body curls against the seat—and Joel, with his large and threatening presence, towers.

He works at the belt in your jeans, turning your head over your shoulder as he rips the leather from the loops of your pants, “Put your hands on the steering wheel,” He orders and you follow suit, watching as he quietly tightened the belt around your hands and through the steering wheel, rendering you immobile from the waist up.

“Wait—right here? But, there’s people—”

Never stopped you before,” He comments and your face heats at the mention, having never brought up the instance with you and Tommy until now, “I’m not a fan of waiting and I’m not against takin’ you in front of my brother—rather not, but…”

“You like having me to yourself,” You finish for him, a hum of acknowledgement following.

Joel yanks at your jeans until they fall to your ankles, pulling them off alongside your shoes and underwear as he tosses them over your head and into the passenger seat, sinking to his knees without a word as he parts your legs, licking into your with warning as you gasp, your hands yanking against the leather belt.

He squeezes your ass in his hands, spreading you open as he dips his tongue inside of you, forcing you up on your toes as you curse into the seat of his truck, forehead pressing into the fabric as your hands are stretched over your head.

He’s got an idea…a lingering suspicion as he trails his lips along the inside of your legs, never quite kissing or lingering, just a slow drag before he’s digging his teeth into your skin, a sharp pain that makes your pussy clench, his eyes locked on the action as he bites down.

Instinctively, you yank against the binds, the urgency growing as he bites down more, picking various places along your legs until he decides to bite into the fleshy cheek of your ass, purposefully breaking the skin—the tiniest drop of blood pooling at the surface before he licks it away.

He repeats the process, trading between bites and licking at your cunt until your orgasm catches you by surprise, panting against the seat as you catch your breath with his satisfied presence looming behind.

Quietly, he rustles with his belt and slides into you without a word until he’s got his hand tucked up under your chin, wrapped around your throat as he presses you against the seat with his chest, turning your head to the side to catch your already fucked-out expression, more turned on from the biting than the fact that his dick was finally inside of you.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Joel remarks, watching the smile spread across your face, “You like it when I bite you? The pain?”

You shake your head with a soft hum, “S’nice, but I like you marking your territory.” You watch his face morph into something indecipherable as you laugh, “Got you really riled up in there, didn’t it?”

“Gotta let them know to lead you back to me if you go runnin’ off again,” Joel taunts, grunting against the shell of your ear as your walls squeeze down when the head of his cock nudges at a particular spot inside of you that steals your breath away, “Yeah—that? That right there?”

You nod weakly, wishing you could touch him—claw at his skin, grab on and take hold, but you were left helpless. Though, somehow it was more comforting this way. Joel was increasingly careful of the authority you tried to hold over him, never allowing you to have the upper hand—and you didn’t mind it.

Again, it was the stark difference between he and Tommy, who’d be willing to bend to your will if you asked, eager to please you, but with Joel, it was kismet. He always knew what you were thinking before you even spoke about it.

And as the ache in your wrist grows into full discomfort he releases them without a word of acknowledgement, lips parted with bated breath as you turn until your back is pressing into the seat, legs wrapping around his waist as he hoists you up with his brute strength, releasing a loud moan of expressive pleasure as you surge forward, pressing your lips against his before he can object, licking into his mouth with profound eagerness as his nails dig into the skin at your hips, his balls tightening with an impending release as he returns the wet, sloppy exchange of lips.

It stalls him for a moment, the sensual pace of your lips pulling his focus up, your tongue twirling around his own before they trail to his lips, your lips dragging down his chin, along his jaw, before you’re biting against where his jugular would be hiding under his skin, not nearly hard enough to cause any damage but enough to have his eyes rolling back and his hips stuttering.

“Don’t—don’t pull out,” You tell him through a murmur, running your tongue along the mark in a soothing gesture, catching his gaze as he looks at you, “What? Are you scared, Joel?”

Not scared—Joel wasn’t sure he could emulate that emotion anymore, but it was far too personal for his liking, even with the few partners he’s had in his life he’s never crested beyond that, purposeful in his abhorrence distaste of kids or the possibility of, but you have him completely under your spell and he shakes his head.

“S’just you—wouldn’t want it to be anyone but you.” You assure him, his expression softening as your thumb trails along his bottom lip, eyes locked on his own as his thrusts stuttering through his own orgasm, face pinching at his brow, your breathy moans guiding him through as he pumps your pussy full, feel the warmth seep down as he eventually pulls out, his cum sliding down the inside of your thighs.

“Get in the car,” Joel instructs as he tries to catch his breath.

His silence on the ride home is deafening.

–

Joel is more stoic and pensive over the following weeks—spring is always harder on the business, or so he says, and selling overseas picks up quicker, it wasn’t something they could explain but it was a constant trend; high demand, high reward. It was quite stressful, really.

So stressful that eventually things are beginning to run thin and you become the source of stress relief for both of them—in different ways, but nonetheless.

Tommy would rather cuddle up with you on the couch while you lull him to sleep with your magic fingers, dragging through his hair—it was gentle caresses and quiet conversation that he found comfort in, but Joel was always unpredictable.

Sometimes it was just sharing a meal—his weird obsession with feeding you; providing, in a way? You couldn’t make sense of it, but it never made you feel uncomfortable.

“Have you ever gotten a bad batch?”

“We’re careful,” Joel reminds you, “It’s why we test all of ‘em before we go through the process.”

“Is that why you sent me?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

You stare at him blankly, waiting.

“Yeah—we had to make sure you’re clean.”

“But now?” You push, your tongue pressing against the underside of the fork as he brings it to your lips.

“I trust you,” Joel admits, “You’ve kept up your end of the deal.”

It was conversations like this that led to Joel’s affinity toward you, a drunken night several weeks later leading you both outside after Tommy had already fallen asleep, walking backwards as your fists curled into Joel’s shirt as his hand cupped your head, licking into your mouth as he unintentionally led you toward the barn door, both of you separating as your back hit the creaking wood.

You pull apart, peering curiously over your shoulder and attempting to look through the cracks, awaiting Joel’s reprimand that never comes.

“You wanna see inside?” He asks curiously.

“You’re fucking with me—”

“It’s a yes or no, darlin’.”

“Yes—yesyes, I do.” You spit out quickly, curiosity getting the best of you as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and snakes it into the lock, unlocking and prying the door open, met with full and complete darkness as he leads you inside, his chest close at your back.

He reaches blindly for the lights out of memory and you’re engulfed in the blaring lights of a spotless room—almost like a medical office with the array of equipment lining the walls and the long embedded tables, something reminiscent of what you would see at a mortuary for draining bodies and embalming, probably to help with the mess.

You sniff slightly, curious about the lack of smell as the door closes.

“That’s partly the animals, but we dispose of some of the shit the pigs can’t eat out behind the barn.”

“Like what?” You stare at him incredulously, eyes wide.

“Clothes, shoes—s’why we have the barrels burning every couple weeks when the stench gets too bad.” He spots your itch to explore, that glistening curiosity in your eyes as you relax at his answer, “Go on, look ‘round.”

You’re not ignorant to the absence of bodies—it was confusing to see a place so clean come from a man who always left work looking like he had brought half of it home with him.

There’s an array of knives and confusing cutting devices that you trail your fingers along, a bonesaw lying against the table lining the shelves, a stack of papers with faces and names, various info that you took a glancing look at, attempting to avoid the idea of putting names to faces and treating the people as anything other than product—it was how Joel lived, as disconnected and separate from the ideas possible.

“Usually it’s messier in here,” Joel admits, your lips parting in a surprised gasp as he presses his lips to your neck, “—we can fix that, though.”

“Joel Miller,” You respond in a scandalized tone, “what exactly are you implying?”

“I’ve got a room upstairs,” Your eyes flick up, spotting the loft overhead—that would explain the long nights when you wouldn’t see him at all, his comfort with being more openly affectionate outside of sex has grown slowly, turning your head to face his over your shoulder as his gaze trails up in another silent question, “unless you’ve got another idea—m’just dyin’ to get inside of you, honey.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip in faux thought, already knowing your answer as you were brimming with excitement, resisting the urge to drag him after you.

“Yeah?” You tease, his lips pressing against your soft, kissing you soundly.

“Yeah,” He responds against your mouth, a rare moment of calm, a sweet exchange before he’s chasing after you with a swift slap to your ass.

–

It was essentially an extension of his bedroom, cozy and homey, you find yourself stretching out on the rug rather than the couch, watching as he carefully kneeled to the floor, cursing his achy knees as you giggle, spreading your legs open to invite him in.

“The things you do for me,” You joke, slowly unbutton his flannel as he yanks you towards him, knees falling against his hips as his palms grip either side of your, his thumbs rubbing against the soft skin underneath your shirt, “careful—I might think you love me.”

“If that’s what you want,” Joel replies easily, stripping your shirt over your head as your breasts bounce free, removing your jeans with the same impatience before he’s immediately latching his lips onto your breasts and lazily trading off, biting teasingly into the skin as he looks up to gauge your reaction.

If Tommy notices Joel’s evidence that he leaves, he never says anything. Perhaps it was unspoken, maybe they’ve talked it out—it was information you weren’t privy to, but you didn’t question it. He could smell his brother all over you and he was dying to rid you of it, baring his teeth as he bit into the flesh of your breast, a satisfied hum coming from you in response.

“Do you want that?” Joel asks again, “To be loved—ain’t somethin’ you’ve felt much, is it?”

Quietly, you shake your head.

“Well, you’ve got my brother by the balls,” He chuckles knowingly, “I’m sure he’d marry you if you asked—I ain’t good with words, but I can show you—”

Curious, you watch as he stands, grabbing a sharpened knife off the end table before he’s returning to you, “Somethin’ my parents passed down to me—never used, just like lookin’ at it.”

“We’re not about to Romeo and Juliet ourselves, are we?” You joke lightly, half-serious.

Joel grins wide at that, a full belly laugh following as he slices his palm with a squint of pain before he’s allowing the blood to pool in his hand as beckons you forward with a finger. You rise on your palms and stare curiously before he’s directing his hand to your mouth, lips parting wordlessly as the deep crimson hits your tongue, eyes falling shut as you sucked at the wound.

You were so accustomed to the rich, irony taste that it isn’t even a surprise, moaning as the blood slides down your throat and his fingers curl, squeezing more blood out for you to consume before he’s sliding his hand over your mouth and down your chin, stopping against your chest as he smears it with blood, one-handed as he shrugs his flannel off and rips his shirt over his head, tearing the fabric apart in strips like butter, not a sign of struggle.

He ties the fabric around his wound before he’s wordlessly handing you the knife.

“My hand?” You ask curiously.

“S’up to you,” He admits—the wordless blood trade vowing his affection toward you.

It was something far deeper than love, you think. Devotion. Loyalty.

“Wherever?” Your eyebrow raises as Joel seems to clock the moment the idea comes into your head, trailing the blade along the inside of your thigh, up your stomach, along your breasts.

Eventually the tip of the blade finds a spot against your inner thigh, Joel’s hand careful adjusting your placing as he speaks, “Careful, there’s an artery there,” Further down, you brave the initial sting and slice through the skin, watching as the blood rose to the surface and Joel quickly descends, knife clattering to the floor as he sucks the flesh between his lips, his tongue lapping against your skin.

It’s euphoric, the feeling. So intense you could descend into madness as Joel eagerly lapped up the blood, even as he pulled away going back for a second time, a third, rising with blood stained lips and the crimson liquid pooling on his tongue as he pulls you toward him, mixing the taste of his blood with your own as he kisses you, a messy exchange of fluids as you claw at his skin, rising to your knees to match him.

Silently, you work at his jeans, unbuttoning and pulling them down his lips alongside his underwear—Joel works them the rest of the way before you’re pulling the hand supporting him over you out from under him, straddling him into the rug as your cunt sat directly over his cock, feeling him grow harder underneath you, a sight to behold with blood dripping down the corner of his mouth.

“I want more,” You tell him honestly, his cock twitching at the words, reaching for the knife laying beside his head, “Can I have more?”

Joel nods wordlessly, slightly breathless.

It was a trading battle of surface wounds, just enough to spill blood but nothing deep enough to cause any damage—surely looking insane as you straddled him with a smile, blood-stained lips yearning for more. Joel has a drunken haze to his expression, committing the sight to memory as he squeezes at your hips, rutting his cock between your soaked folds.

“Enough,” He says softly, barely above a mumble as he tosses the knife aside, rolling you underneath him before he’s sliding home inside of you, a hand cradling the back of your head while the other gripped at your knee, pulling it high over his hip, near his chest as he thrusts into you, a controlled but needy pace that was followed by low, pitiful groans of pleasure.

You’d broken this man.

His head was buried in your neck, your hand trailing down his back as you squeeze into the flesh of his ass, the fingers off your opposite hand carding through his hair, pulling gently at his curls.

“Got so much of me inside you now,” He breathes into your skin, “fuck—I’d eat your right up, baby.”

Despite his obvious lifestyle, your laugh is careless and light.

“Greedy,” You note, “I’ve already given you a taste and you’re asking for more?”

He doesn’t respond, not really. His hips are sharp, forceful as his cock spears itself inside of you, rubbing against the sensitive spot inside of you, eyes fluttering shut as it overwhelms you.

“Take a bite,” You encourage him, “f’that’s what you want.”

A real one.

Enough to scar, to leave a permanent mark and reminder of him.

One, two—you didn’t care.

His teeth drag over your breasts, tongue trailing around your hardened nipple before he’s biting into the skin at the top of you breasts, a gasp ripping from your throat as your walls flutter around him, tightening at the pain that slowly transfers to pleasure, glancing down at the small gash and trail of teeth marks in your skin.

He’s admiring, finger running over the wound before he’s rising on his knees, continuing the thrusts of his hips but slowing as he reaches for your hand, pulling you upright again.

“You–do you want me to?” You ask cautiously, feeling the blood from your wound trail down your chest, “Are you sure?”

“Ain’t never been sure ‘bout nothin’,” Joel admits, “but—this…yeah, I want it.”

It shouldn’t make you hesitate, but it doesn’t. He isn’t emotional or forceful—it was like a plea, disguised behind his facade of stoicness. He needed this devotion just as bad as you. He needed someone to put his own trust into.

When your teeth dig into his side, he hisses, his right hand cradling your head as the other curls tightly into a fist, your face pinching up as you bite beyond the first layer of flesh and taste the liquid against your tongue.

He pulls you away eventually, looking down at you with a newfound expression.

This was love—not the lust you were used to seeing.

The rest of the evening is quiet, his pace gentler before he brings you to a slow orgasm, coming inside of you nearly seconds after with a soft moan, persistent that the wounds needed to be cleaned immediately after a few moments of rest.

He tapes it away with a gentle care after cleaning and applying an ointment to fight away any possible infection, snorting at how fatherly it all seemed, even helping you situation your top back on.

“At least we spared the rug,” You break the silence, “guess you aren’t as messy as I thought.”

“Oh, I can be,” He assures you, noticing the scabbed up bit of your lip that had become victim when he’d bit into your, biting down to silence yourself. Just a small movement and the wound reopens, completely unintentional but he sucks the blood away from your bottom lip in a soothing gesture before he kisses you soundly.

You only hoped the bliss would last.

–

Eventually, the implosion comes. But, instead of gradual—it was all at once.

Tommy’s birthday was supposed to be a quiet affair, something at home, between the three of you, not having time to celebrate during the week on his actual birthday like you had planned—but eventually Tommy finds himself antsy and Joel senses your annoyance as he keeps finding excuses to slip away or cancel. He encourages Tommy to go off on his own, leaving you both sprawled out on his bed after a rousing round of sex that leaves you both sweaty and breathless, resting your arm against his chest as you stare at him, “What’s up with him lately?”

“He’s good at acting, isn’t he?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s a reason he keeps to the books, you know—why I do my job alone.”

Your eyebrow raises in a silent effort to urge him to continue.

“When I’m angry, you’ll know—” That much was obvious, having been on the receiving end plenty, but Tommy—it was unnatural to see anything but his kind, bright smile.

“He’s my brother—but there’s plenty of shit you haven’t seen yet. And I think it’s unfair that he’s actin’ like things are normal, like he can keep that act up, but something’s gotta give—”

“So what, is he like…a psychopath or something?”

Joel’s silence is telling, jumping up from your spot as you settle on your knees.

“He’s a fucking psychopath?”

“No—no,” Joel excuses, your face contorting into a mix of confusion and amusement.

“You took a long time to answer that.”

“He has episodes—periods of time where he ain’t himself. I can’t explain it and my parents refused to take him to the doctor—you know, backwoods folk and all. If we had a problem we toughed it out.”

“So, he’s got anger issues?”

Joel shakes his head, lips pursed into a tight line.

“He’s killed a couple people—by accident. Least, that’s what he calls it. Tried killing me a few times, too. I’ve always been good at talking him off that ledge, thankfully. M’not trying to turn you against him but I’ve grown up around him, I know how to handle it.”

It was a lot of information to consume at once, still naked in Joel’s sheets as you adjust to sit more comfortably, a small peek at the scar near his ribcage as the sheets shift down.

“He’s lucky we do what we do—he’d probably be in jail otherwise, I’m just telling you because—“

“If it came down to me and him, you’d choose him.”

Joel pauses, his face softened as his lips downturn.

“It’s okay,” You shrug, “Let’s just hope it never comes to that.”

Truthfully, Joel wasn’t sure anymore.

After years with Tommy, he’d grown tired. It was exhausting, fighting between the battling personalities that lived within his brother.

“C’mere,” He beckons, your nose scrunching up as you grin, fitting your face between his waiting hands as he pulls you back over him, kissing you slowly.

A gentle calm before the storm.

–

The arguing is what wakes you first, not the roar of the truck, voices trailing toward the barn.

The bed is empty too, not a single remnant of Joel in sight.

But, you hear him. Loud, angry.

By the time you’re outside the barn is already closed, illuminated by the light inside as you pry the heavy door open, several underdressed with only a shirt to cover the underwear clinging tight to your skin, bare feet digging into the dirt as your feet scuff against the cement and the door falls shut behind you.

“She doesn’t need to know, Joel!” Tommy’s voice cracks, a slight slur to his speech.

He’s drunk, clearly.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tommy—one night and you pull this shit? It’s exactly why dad had a tight leash on your ass for so many years—”

“Need to know what?” You ask suddenly, breaking through the tension as your head peeks around the corner, both of their heads whipping toward you, Joel moving subtly to block the body that you spot on the table, eyes widening.

It had always been something you and Joel had managed together—Tommy had never shown an interest, didn’t seem to care, but this…

“I’m just tryin’ to carry my weight ‘round here—is that why you like him more?” Tommy asks suddenly, his eyes glazed over and dark as you step forward.

“I invite you into our home—give you a place to stay. I—I stuck up for you when he wanted to throw you out and you chose him? My own fuckin’ brother?”

“He’s drunk,” Joel states blankly, almost dismissive of his rant.

“No—no, let’s show it off, Joel.”

Tommy comes at you with a knife, slicing it down the middle of your shirt as you struggle against him, ripping the fabric away and showing off the healing scar on your chest.

“What happened to no attachments, Joel? No baggage?”

As Joel moves toward Tommy to remove the knife, he lunges at Joel and pushes him out of the way, leaving you with a clear view of the woman laying on the table, an eerie resemblance to yourself as your eyes widen, stepping toward the table as you glance over the body—unmoving, still. She was already too far gone, with no signs of what Tommy had actually done to her.

Your head snaps up at the brawling brothers, screaming for the attention to break through their rage, Joel burying his knee into Tommy’s back to subdue him.

“Why her?” You ask him—Tommy, looking directly at him as you point to the lifeless body.

“Get the fuck off me—” He argues through gritted teeth, attempting to shake his brother off him.

“Why—her?” You stress again, walking forward to crouch in front of him, uncaring of how your body was bared to him in your vulnerability.

“Thought I could give Joel his own version of you to play with—but she wasn’t cooperating. That what you wanna hear? I had you first—motherfucker won’t let me have a single thing to myself.”

“Let him up,” You instruct Joel, backing away slightly.

As Tommy stands, you approach him, his face tight and unrecognizable.

He reeked of alcohol and sweat, a stench of something else that made the bile in your stomach rise, “I never chose, you both had me. You would continue to have me, but this—Tommy—”

“Don’t fuckin’ lecture me, not you,” He bites.

You stare at him with a growing sadness, “You’re drunk—really, really drunk. You’re gonna sleep this off and you’ll regret everything you’re saying right now, I know it. I know you.”

Something seems to snap in Tommy—attempting to rip away from Joel as you scramble toward the floor.

Tommy gets a solid right hook in, something that, if any normal person would have delivered would have left Joel unphased, but Tommy had his advantages, similar in size and stature to Joel, it was barely a fight as Joel dropped to the ground, hitting hard enough that both of you freeze, a slow ring of blood pooling from his head as your chest clinches in a mix of anger and resentment, but your body flinging into flight mode, fleeing while Tommy has distracted by the possibility that he killed his own brother.

Unfamiliar with the place you scramble to hide, unsure if running off would help after your last try, squeezing into a closet buried in the back corner behind a pile of yard tools and mowers, watching as Tommy dropped to the ground.

You could hear him mumbling to himself—a mix of self-assuring words and back and forth conversation, as if someone was responding to every word he offered.

“He’s dead—yeah I killed him,” He mumbles, “if I—if I chop him up, chop her up. Fuck,” His head whips over his shoulder, realizing you were gone, “gotta find her—but Joel, deal with him first.”

Your eyes widen at the firsthand witnessing of exactly what Joel had admitted to you—like some kind of bad omen of what was to come, you sunk down into the darkness and hide yourself away, watching as Tommy roamed around for tools, not a moment of hesitation as he intended to follow through on his plans with Joel’s lifeless body awaiting it’s demise.

It feels wrong, tossing a bone saw aside carelessly as he ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation, flailing tools around wildly, a knife clattering so far away that it lands near your feet, small enough to wrap your fist around as you grab it quietly, awaiting Tommy’s approach to Joel.

Sometimes takes over, not entirely yourself as you crawl from the spot you were hidden in and lunge at Tommy, planting the knife between his shoulder blades as pressed the blade against his own brother’s neck, his blood curdling scream ripping through the barn as he dropped to his knees.

“You bitch,” He groans, shouting out in pain as you remove the knife and sink into his spine, a few seconds of struggle before he slumps to the ground, his eyes dragging toward your shaking frame, bloodied hands rubbing your hair away from your face as you stare down at Tommy’s face, his lips parting as he gasped for air but instead find blood dripping from his mouth.

You drop to your knees, the air stolen from your own lungs but for different reasons.

Both of them dead, within a matter of minutes and it was all your fault.

“Fuck, fuck–” You cry, slamming your fist into cement, but quickly startled by the rousing beside Tommy, almost blaming it on a break in your psyche before Joel is mumbling your name, pressing his fingers into his temple as blood coats his fingers, a sizeable gash on the side of his head as he sits, slowly picking apart the sight before him.

“Oh, honey—what did you do?” Joel asks, glancing down at Tommy’s lifeless body and up at you—surprisingly, there wasn’t an ounce of anger.

“He thought—he thought you were dead, he had a knife at your throat,” You rambled in a panic, “He kept saying he was going to chop you up—chop me up. I don’t know, I fucking panicked.”

Joel remains wordless, staring into the deep abyss of blood pooling on the floor.

“I’m so—I’m sorry. I’m,” The emotion is like a tidal wave, “Joel—I panicked. I swear—”

Joel grimaces against the sharp sting of pain as he reaches for your face, his blood covered hand pressing against your face, fingertips wrapping around the back of your head as he forces you to lock eyes with him.

“Look at me,” He demands, waiting until your eyes lock on him, “This is the part where you promise—and I mean promise, that you won’t fuckin’ run off.”

“No—never. Never, not,” You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut to blink away the thick tears, “Never again, Joel. I promise.”

“We handle this together,” He explains, “I’ll protect you but you have to say it.”

“Anything,” You nod, leaning forward on your hands to move closer to him.

“Say you’re loyal to me—that you’ll listen and do whatever I ask, without question.”

“I am—I am. Joel, I’m loyal to you. I love—I love you. I need you to know that.”

Joel sighs, head bowing.

“I would have chosen you over him. I couldn’t admit that to myself earlier, but I’m telling you now. Tommy’s always been a manipulator, I tried warnin’ you. Months ago.”

You ain’t the first, you won’t be the last.

“I won’t run. I promise, Joel.” You assure him, because with Joel you felt that protection.

A silence falls before you speak again.

“What happens now?”

“You follow my lead, that’s all I need.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller x you #tommy miller smut #tommy miller fanfic #joel x reader x tommy #the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fic #my writing

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cinnbar-bun · 8 months ago

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Part 4 Jotaro going to Morioh only to find you, a former Stardust Crusader on accident. I imagine they fell out of touch/didn't have time to talk. (Maybe they had feelings for eachother??)

A/n: I LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH I WENT NUTS!!

Reunion in Morioh

Relationship: Jotaro 4 x GN!SDC!Reader

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1.4k

Notes: Reader is GN! Some discussions of spoilers for P3 and P4. A brief P5 mention (ifykyk). Jotaro is currently divorced in this fic, and it features some cameos of the Duwang crew. Some mentions of trauma from P3 but overall pretty soft all things considered.

Read in my AO3 here!

Taglist (if you'd like to be tagged, please fill out the form on my pinned!): @child-ofdust @starr-l1ghtt

Jotaro isn’t necessarily the best at communicating. That was always the case with him, as he felt he expressed himself just fine. Surely anyone could tell what he was thinking with just one look or a quick sentence.

Even when you two traveled together with the rest of the Stardust Crusaders, he assumed you knew him well enough. It did seem that way, at least. You practically became the Jotaro translator to the rest of the team.

His relationship with you was different from the others, a more close and intimate one compared to the others. It was clear that he valued your presence in the crusaders even more than he did, say, Kakyoin’s or Polnareff’s.

Jotaro, despite his rough and tough exterior, really did care for you. Even in his more immature state, he had a habit of protecting you and focusing on your comfort than he usually spared the others.

He knew what he felt inside, that the feelings he held for you went beyond platonic or just mere friendship. It was a genuine want for a closer relationship with you.

But Jotaro, ever the stoic seventeen year old who had never been in a relationship before, did not really know that his feelings were not easily read as desiring a romantic relationship with you.

To him, he was dropping hints left and right and showing obvious signs that he had a crush on you and wanted to be with you.

To you, he would just hand you the last bit of water before Polnareff attempted to chug it down.

To him, he was standing closer to you and signaling he liked being next to you, while also keeping watch of you to make sure you weren’t too far behind.

To you, he was gruffly telling you to hurry the hell up.

Despite the untold feelings you both had for the other, neither of you ever went out and told the other of them. It was the one time you had failed to read Jotaro correctly, one that he spent the next few years believing to be you rejecting him and his ‘advances’.

So when it came time to part, he believed that your rejection of him (misunderstanding his cues) was your real feelings and decided to stay away from you, figuring you’d rather not be around him after he confessed (throwing easily misinterpreted signals at you). It was another of his silent ways to make sure you were comfortable, but he didn’t realize that you would take it as a sign of him rejecting you as if your relationship meant nothing.

Well, that was ages ago. 11 years later and he’s no longer the 17 year old delinquent who could smoke five cigarettes at once, but a 28 year old marine biologist who had gotten divorced from his first marriage.

He didn’t want to be in Morioh, but considering Joseph’s colossal screw-up and the mysterious events taking place, he knew he’d have to stay far longer than he had anticipated.

Morioh is fine and all, but he didn’t find any worthwhile reason to stay. That was, until Okuyasu and Josuke accidentally destroyed a part of your fence, leading Jotaro to drag them to you to apologize.

“Come on, do we really have to?!” Josuke cries.

The commotion outside obviously bugs you, and you swing open the door, complaining about the noise when you gasp as you come face to face with Jotaro again. Time has really been kind to him, and even with his older appearance, it’s easy to tell it’s him.

“Jotaro?” You ask, making sure it’s really him, while Josuke and Okuyasu eye up Jotaro to explain what’s going on.

Jotaro keeps it curt and polite, feeling some fondness for you after all these years but still not wanting to overstep your presumed boundaries. He ignores Josuke and Okuyasu’s wide eyes and comments and gives you a brief nod.

“(Y/n). It’s been a while.”

“11 years, to be exact…”

Knowing that you’re here makes the trip significantly different in his mind. Your stand is quite useful, and he asks to recruit you one more time to aid him in finding Kira. He is being truthful about wanting your help, but admittedly, a selfish part of him wants to see what you’ve been up to.

You agree, feeling somewhat similarly to Jotaro. He has changed a lot since you two last said your goodbyes at the airport, and it’s made you curious how he may have grown.

Jotaro doesn’t really like to discuss much of what occurred in Egypt to the Duwang group. Josuke and Okuyasu mostly want to hear about how you two became friends and knew each other. Koichi recognizes that you two have some mutual respect for the other and that you seem to know a lot more about Jotaro than meets the eye. Rohan, however, is the one who knows something must have gone down for you two to be this awkward around the other. And he will be annoying and try to get sneaky about finding what happened.

“Call it a hunch of mine, but something tells me that there’s an interesting story to be told between the two of them.”

Joseph is the one that breaks the ice for you and Jotaro by being his usual self.

“Oh, (Y/n)? Is that really you? Don’t tell me I’m hallucinating this!” Once you assure him that no, you are not an illusion and that it really is you, Joseph embraces you and blabs on.

“You’ve grown well! Haha! I didn’t think I’d see you in this little old town. You know, it breaks my heart that you and Jotaro didn’t stay in touch after all that with Dio. I was sure you’d become part of the family!”

You can practically hear glass shatter as everyone gawks at Joseph, who is humming casually and doesn’t realize what he just admitted, while Jotaro is fuming internally and attempts to drag Joseph away.

“Ignore him. Old age has taken a toll on his brain.”

It’s both a blessing and a curse that Joseph spoke so freely. It stopped both you and Jotaro from thinking the other hated you, but it also left a reminder that once upon a time, you two were that close.

Still, Jotaro doesn’t want to push his luck- for pete’s sake, it’s been 11 years, why would you care for him like you did when you two were dumb teenagers?- so he tries to keep it professional.

But unfortunately, even he can’t help the way he gets more protective over you during an ambush from stand users. Or how he gets stern with the boys if they make a poor joke or something negative about you. Or the way he finds himself feeling nostalgic.

It takes a while but you two eventually begin to talk again beyond surface level greetings and battles. Jotaro finds out that Polnareff used to send you letters, but one day just stopped sending them all together without warning. You find out Jotaro pursued his dream of becoming a marine biologist and was currently writing a thesis on starfish. You moved to Morioh after the trauma from Egypt, living alone and being unable to connect with ‘normal’ people after being so fundamentally changed by the trip. He had a wife and daughter in America, but due to his time away from home, was divorced from her.

Some things haven’t changed. The comfortable air between the two of you still remains, giving the two of you a break despite Kira being on the loose. Jotaro thinks to himself that he hadn’t felt this at ease in years.

As the days pass, the feelings he had for you slowly resurface, but this time, he’s much more aware of relationships and wants to correct his mistakes from the past. He won’t be the same misunderstood boy from back then.

So with a casual and stoic expression, he puts his hands in his pockets and turns to you.

“How do you feel about going to grab a meal with me tonight?” he asks, hoping that him being upfront will give you two another chance to start anew.

#x reader #reader insert #jjba #jojo #jotaro kujo #jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #4taro #jjba x reader #jojo x reader

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nelkey · 4 months ago

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alright. kinda random but i do have to ask. what kind of media exactly is orv and where can i read it? (bc imma be honest, ur reblogs n stuff sound intriguing as hell)

That's not random at all, and I'm so happy you asked!!!

Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint (orv for short) is originally a novel, though currently there's a manwha coming out on webtoon.

The basic premise is that an apocalypse starts, and it just so happens to be exactly like the webnovel that the main character has been reading since he was a teenager. The novel has everything: comedy, drama, found family... As you might have noticed, I like it a lot, and have been going insane over it since I read it, so I reaaaaally recommend that you read it.

You can start with the manwha, as it might be a bit easier (especially if you're like me and have trouble picturing characters visually without memorizing images of them xD). Though I reaaaally can't recommend enough continuing to read the novel afterwards, instead of waiting for the webtoon to update.

If you still aren't convinced, go read these posts by @ot3 please!

These posts are a big part of what convinced me to read orv when my dash was flooded with fanart and I had no idea what it was xD

All that said, here are the links!!!

This is the link to the webtoon.

And here's a few links to the novel's epub, (so in case one of them stops working you can try the others):

Also, you might wanna check out @lee-hakhyun 's edited epub!

Let me know if there's anything else you need and if you read it and wanna talk to someone about it, my dms are always open!!! (I also recommend you filter the orv tag)

Oh, and last! In case you don't have an epub reader downloaded, I'll link you to the one I use, Lithium. It works with the epub's formatting and I've been using it for a long time with no problems!

#ask #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint

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edwin-paynes-bowtie · 5 months ago

Text

Okay, so. I am very happy to inform y'all that I am beginning work on the first "episode" (chapter) of my Dead Boy Detectives season 2 fic today!

It has two potential working titles, both lyrics from Taylor Swift's Fresh Out the Slammer. I am not going to reveal them because I haven't selected which one I'll be using yet.

It will have 9 chapters. The official case titles are:

The Case of the Weeping Walls

The Case of Niko Sasaki

The Case of the Choked Cheerleaders

The Case of the Scorned Son

The Case of Hell's Own Track

The Case of the Shredded Tapestry

The Case of the Separated Soulmates

The Case of the Great Fire, Part I

The Case of the Great Fire, Part II

Each chapter will also come with a fun feature, but I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about that yet. :)

IF YOU WANT TO BE ON THE TAGLIST FOR THIS FIC, PLEASE COMMENT ON THIS POST. I will tag everyone who wants a tag, but only if they comment since that's how I'll keep track of the list.

Next question because I know this is going to be an extremely expansive and time-consuming project:

I would still post my usual DBDA content, including other DBDA fics, on this blog. The other one would be exclusively for longfic-related updates.

I would probably still reblog the chapters I post there onto this blog.

Finally, something for you to enjoy: a playlist for the fic! This is very short and uninteresting, but it will be an ever-evolving thing that probably gets long eventually, so please follow it if you're interested :)

A few spoilers under the cut that might impact interest (endgame ship, etc)

Unequivocal Payneland endgame (they're soulmates your honour)

Palasaki and NN/Kashi endgames

Happy ending for The Cat King, who plays a big role in the story

No Sandman crossovers besides potentially a Death appearance (I do not know Sandman well enough to include them)

BAMF Edwin scenes ;)

No Esther or Monty (sorry!) - there is a new OC antagonist

I'm currently trying to find a place for Jenny. I want to include her, but she will likely only have a few cameos since I can't for the life of me think of a plotline to involve her in.

I will be keeping up with Yockey-posted spoilers and incorporating them into the story when possible (so, Niko is the Principal, etc)

#dead boy detectives #dbda #save dbda #save dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #payneland #Spotify #nwatslidmt

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astraariel · 1 year ago

Text

eternal snow

pairing: sanji x fem!reader

summary: your love for sanji was unconditional, unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same seeing as there were petals coming out of your mouth.

word count: 3.6K

warnings: spoilers (?) just the name of a character from the whole cake island arc, it’s a modern!au so I don't mention anything about the actual arc!

tags: loosely based on “eternal snow” from fullmoon wo sagashite; angst; hanahaki disease; implied cheating; modern!au; hurt no comfort; lovesick; requited unrequited love

author's note: I think along with everyone opla is taking over my life so it encouraged me to finish this fic I started months ago lol. once again I like angst and this is soooo ooc of sanji he would never cheat I love him so much I’m sorry. on another note, I really like AmaLee’s cover of this song so you can give it a listen if you want to feel the vibe.

also, ignore the fact that Pudding is sixteen, she’s older than that in this. I couldn’t really think of anyone else to have/didn't want to think of a different character. just know, she’s of age. other than that, ignore grammar mistakes and enjoy♡

──★ ˙ ̟read pt2 here!

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You weren’t entirely sure how you had gotten to this point. You were certain that you two would be together forever. How you had unknowingly lost the one you love so dearly, you would never know.

Sanji was a flirt and you loved it, he could simply say that you looked beautiful today and you’d melt. Hell, that’s how you too met, Nami had introduced you two and Sanji wooed his way into your heart. You knew that he had you in the palm of his hand, but you weren’t sure you could say the same for him.

Sanji was an attentive lover. When he loved, he showered you with his attention. You could always tell that his presence was there whenever you spoke. He’d care and cater to every request you asked of him, not allowing you to lift a single finger. It’s who he was.

You were blinded by your love for Sanji that you never noticed him slipping away from your grasp.

The two of you were currently sitting together on your living room couch. Sanji mentioned there was a new show he wanted to watch, so here the two of you were. Your attention was focused on the TV in front of you while his was on his phone.

You glance at him, “Who’s that?”

He hadn’t looked away from it for more than 30 seconds throughout the last episode. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he looks at you.

“Oh, it's the new dessert chef at the restaurant,” he shuts his phone off, “I've been assigned to help her around and show her the ropes,” he smiles, “It’s nothing, you want popcorn?”

You turn to him, “Of course I do.” He gets up to walk to your kitchen, “Hey, I love you.”

He walks up behind you and bends down, kissing your head, “And I love you more.” He stands up and you hear him rummaging through the pantry for a popcorn packet.

You cough slightly, “Could you grab me some water, Sanji?” He shouts back a response but you don’t make it out because you’re too busy pulling a petal out of your mouth.

♡‧₊˚

After that lone petal had made its introduction, it planted itself as a constant. Every so often for the following weeks, you’d feel something weird in your mouth, only to pull out a single flower petal.

You weren’t sure what was going on, but you couldn’t bring yourself to think too much about it. On top of the weird cough you were having, Sanji was also acting off.

It was small at first, just tiny, little white lies that he’d tell you.

Like when he’d say he was tired, that he was going to bed, but you could hear him on his phone laughing at something from the room. Or when he claimed that his phone had died and that’s why he hadn’t texted you back even though you were hanging with Nami at the time and he had replied to a video she had sent him a minute after you texted him.

That was just the first few weeks.

You weren’t sure when the white lies became real lies but it had only spiraled more. You had found that he wasn’t even bothering with lying anymore, simply stating that he was too busy to come over or that he didn’t even want to hang out with you that day.

Sanji would claim to be too tired and not bother to see you for an entire week, but then he’d call you complaining that he missed you and question why the two of you hadn’t gone on a date recently and then insist that he was going to cook dinner for the two of you. Those times were always the best. It made you feel like nothing was wrong.

It was pure whiplash.

You were never sure which Sanji you were gonna get that day. Maybe it’d be the Sanji that you loved or this new person who had taken over and wouldn’t even text you back for days on end.

Recently, he was your loving, doting boyfriend. Which caused you to completely forget about the flower petals you were currently collecting from your mouth when you were being distracted by Sanji’s full attention.

You were lying on Sanji’s chest recounting your day to him when suddenly the sound of his phone pinging cut you off.

A quiet chuckle made you peek up at Sanji, his eyes were looking at his phone intently, whatever was on his screen, clearly captivated him more than what was coming out of your mouth.

You sit up, his blatant disinterest in your day annoying you.

“Did I do something wrong?” Your voice cuts through the room.

He looked up at your now sitting form, it looked like he was just acknowledging your presence.

He lets out a noise of confusion, “What?”

“Are you angry at me? Did I say or do something that pissed you off? Because, please, just tell me, I can't take it anymore.” you pleaded.

You notice Sanji’s body tensing, his brow scrunching in even more confusion. He laughs awkwardly, “Baby, what are you talking about? I’m not angry.” he looks away, “I love you, you know that right?”

And suddenly, you weren’t angry anymore.

You smiled, “I love you too.”

He glances at his phone again.

But you don’t care, because he loves you.

Satisfied with his response, you settle back down but are interrupted when you begin to cough. Quickly, you stand up to fetch your handkerchief from your pocket, wiping your mouth swiftly.

You look back at Sanji, “I’m gonna-” but before you can finish, you feel the familiar flowers clawing their way up your throat. You walk out of the room coughing.

Sanji doesn’t look up from his phone.

♡‧₊˚

He was late.

Again.

You were exhausted. The constant lies that you fooled yourself into believing for the sake of your heart were beginning to wear on you.

The old hoodie you were wearing enveloped you in an attempt to provide yourself some level of comfort that no one could really give you anymore.

It’s late, around midnight, last you checked. The spaghetti dinner left on the table you had cooked had long gone cold. The Baratie had closed hours ago and Sanji still wasn’t home.

You sit in complete darkness, the TV is currently rattling off an old rerun of some show you didn’t watch. You’re too tired to get up and find the remote to change the channel so you settle on watching the old comedic sitcom. You’re holding your trusty handkerchief that’s become your best friend in the past months; ready to close around your mouth in an attempt to catch the petals of flowers that’d come up your throat every so often.

Your eyes glaze over the screen when you hear the door creak open. Footsteps were heard as a soft clatter sounded throughout the room from Sanji setting his keys down on the counter.

You sit up slowly, in an effort to prohibit any intense coughing.

Your eyes meet Sanji’s surprised ones, “You’re still awake? It’s late, you should go to bed.” he looks away.

“You missed dinner.” You look over at Sanji’s form, he’s stiff, you note.

“I stayed late to help close, sorry we can reschedule.” He brushes you off swiftly.

“Was she there?” The argument had already begun, why not fuel it some more?

Sanji whips his head at you, an incredulous look gracing his features. “Who are you talking about?” Acting dumb was never a good look on him.

Your tired eyes stare at him, “I know you’re spending time with her.” The venom in your tone was palpable.

You were over the lies. You were over the constant tiptoeing between each other, you’re honestly surprised he still even decided to come over. It would have been better for him to stay at his place and just call you in the morning to tell his lie.

He has balls, you’ll give him that.

“Do you even love me anymore?”

The silence that surrounded the room was upsetting. Of course, he didn’t, who were you fooling? You had all the proof you needed in all of the trashcans around your house, discarded tissues soaked in blood, and petals filled the bins.

Sanji scoffs, “I don’t know what you want from me.” He doesn't answer the question, “Why are you asking if I love you, you're being needy.” He stares at you before continuing, “If you don’t trust me,” he looks away, “Then maybe we should break up.” With a tone of finality, he turns around and walks toward the door, the sound of it shutting echoing throughout the house.

You’re left alone in the silence, the ticking of the clock on the wall muffling your coughs that were accompanied by flowers and blood.

♡‧₊˚

With the new development of the blooms coming out of your throat, you felt defeated. You’re not sure what you did in a past life to deserve this. You didn’t wish this on anyone, it was a lonely and awful feeling, physically and emotionally.

You’ve gotten used to your condition. It had been a month since you’d seen Sanji after he had broken things off and in that month, you would constantly find yourself leaning over the toilet bowl, hacking up blood and flower blooms.

You finally had the courage to look up what you assumed was hanahaki disease. It was a rare condition, but you were certain that was what was causing you pain. The only cure was to have surgery that resulted in the patient forgetting about whomever they had loved. That you’d act as if nothing had happened, that you’d live in ignorance bliss afterward.

Sacrificing your heart for your life.

After that month, you had decided to go to a coffee shop forcing yourself to get out of the house and do something.

So you went to Sanji’s favorite coffee shop.

Why you had put yourself through that? You weren't sure.

You remember wrapping your hand around the door handle, ready to walk in when a wisp of light auburn hair had caught your attention inside the cafe.

There she was. Pudding. The girl who had replaced you. The one who had captivated Sanji’s attention in a way you could only dream of.

Sanji stood beside her, you were certain he couldn't see you from inside, his attention was fully on Pudding’s face, absorbing whatever story she had been telling him.

He had never looked at you like that.

Did he ever love you? Were you that stupid to even see the truth? Had it been there all along and you were simply too blind to notice?

An “excuse me” had brought you back to reality and had you rushing back to your apartment in hopes of not bumping into Sanji or Pudding. You weren't sure your heart could take it if you were forced to talk to them.

After that defeat you noticed that you were no longer hacking up petals, but fully blossomed flowers, you couldn’t walk for a long distance without wheezing, the flowers constricting your airways preventing you from wanting to do anything. You knew you were nearing the final stage, soon roots were going to begin to show up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go to a doctor. You had read that the longer you kept this from being treated, you’d enter the point of no return.

So, you simply waited.

Your mind was reeling. You never wanted to stop loving Sanji. You didn’t care about the pain that it brought you.

You don’t care that you still long to have Sanji tell you that he loves you. To tell you and for you not to immediately have to turn away and cough up blood and flowers.

You missed him. You yearned for him.

After Nami had found out why you and Sanji broke up, she went on a rant about how she was going to kill him, on how he could have done this to you. You weren't sure if you had ever seen her get so angry before.

But even after that, you confessed that you still loved him.

She proceeded to call you insane, but she simply didn’t understand. She didn’t know about how his eyes would sparkle when he would go on about a new recipe that he developed and how he was certain that it was going to be the new hit at the Baratie. She didn’t know how bashful he got when you complimented him on his food. How he’d kiss you like how it was the first time you were kissing each other.

You loved him. And you would forever love him.

But he haunted your life. Leaving you lying at night, not even allowing you to find comfort in your dreams since he haunted those too. When you’d close your eyes you could only mourn for the love that once was. To mourn for him even though he was alive and well, but could you say the same for yourself?

You had long accepted that you were going to die. If anything, you willed it. Never did you want to forget your love for Sanji. The idea that you would never be able to recall how he made your heart pound every time he’d look at you, would be a nightmare.

But you were tired.

In the months after the cafe incident you would go through phases where the pain would turn to anger, cursing Sanji, wishing you two had never met, wishing that Nami had never introduced you too.

But the anger would never stay directed towards Sanji. It would always circle back to you. And anger would turn to pity and pity would turn to sadness.

You wanted to cry and scream at the sky, to yell at the world, to question why love felt this way. Why couldn't he just love you back, why were you being punished for simply loving him unconditionally?

You suffocate yourself in the love that you have for Sanji. Sacrificing your every breath to simply feel the true and fierce love you felt for him. You’d cry until you were gasping for air, til you were choking up flowers that were clogging your lungs. You wished, begged, for it to go away. Wishing that you had never fallen for him.

But even with all the pain he caused you. You could never hate him.

You could never hate Sanji.

You can’t even bring yourself to hate Pudding, it wasn't her fault that Sanji was infatuated with her rather than you.

And you could never truly hate him for that.

The sterile white walls and the smell of disinfectant wafting through the air brought you back to reality.

Recalling how hours before Nami had found you on the ground of your bathroom, post-hacking your brains out from the various blooms of flowers that rose from your throat at what seemed like at every hour of the day as of recently. You hadn’t heard her call for you when she entered your apartment so you weren’t able to hide anything from her.

“Are you insane?” Her voice ricocheted in the bathroom after you had explained to her what had been happening to you for the last couple of months.

You were numb the entire car ride to the hospital as Nami yelled at you for being so careless.

“Why are you letting that boy kill you?”

Why were you?

Why were you putting yourself through this pain, knowing he would never love you again?

The recent memory reminded you of Nami’s presence on the side chair that was placed beside the crunchy bed you were currently sitting on. Her brown eyes met yours and smiled softly at you.

“You’re gonna be okay.” Nami’s attempt at reassurance was comforting to you for 5 seconds before the door swung open revealing the doctor.

“Hello,” she said your name, “you’re the one with hanahaki disease, correct?” You glance over at Nami before replying to the doctor in confirmation. “Well, unfortunately, it has been developing for a while and if you had come just a little bit later it would have been untreatable, so I highly suggest proceeding with the procedure as soon as possible.”

Your hands grew clammy. This was it. You were going to be relieved from this grueling life you had found yourself in. You would finally be able to go back to normal.

Normal.

Would it truly be normal if you didn’t love Sanji anymore? Could you truly live with yourself knowing that you gave up the one thing that has been keeping you going? You guess you wouldn’t actually remember your love for him if you did the surgery but your heart would know. Your soul would know.

You wished that all of this pain would go away. Longing to run back to Sanji, for him to stop the anguish that you felt. To have him whisper that he loved you and for you to not cough up flowers anymore. To know that he truly meant the words that he was saying.

You wondered how your life would have gone if you had never fallen for Sanji. Would your life still lead you to this very moment of hell that you’re living currently? You would think that hell would be hot, blazing with heat, but all you felt was the coldness of lies that you believed that spewed from Sanji’s lips when he spoke to you.

You would like to think that you wished you had never fallen into this trap. That your heart never fell for him, but you knew better. You knew that he had your heart from the beginning. You were doomed from the first interaction.

Wasn’t it a true act of love if you could let the person go? Wouldn’t it be the final seal of approval of your love if you went through with the surgery? The love that you felt for Sanji would be proven by this simple act.

You felt Nami’s hand grab yours. Her eyes were filled with remorse, a sadness that you could distinguish as the same sadness that you saw in your eyes ever since that first petal came to be.

Anticipatory grief.

She was grieving your love for him already, grieving for your heart, how you would never love again, how you would never love him again.

You sigh.

♡‧₊˚

You wake up to the soft murmurs of the television in the corner of the room.

Your mind was hazy, from what, you weren't entirely sure yet. It felt as if you had lost something like it was on the tip of your tongue, but you just couldn’t think of exactly what it was.

Guess it wasn’t important.

Your eyes wander over to your surroundings, the hospital room is bare except for the basic, usual furniture. Your eye caught movement out of the corner of your eye, turning your face to examine what it was.

A balloon with the words “Get well soon!” fills your vision, and your gaze scans over the hearts that surround the bubble letters in bright yellow hues. You reach over the side table to grab the card that sat under the balloon.

Hope you feel better - Nami.

Sad that you had missed your friend, you made a mental note to pay her a visit after you were discharged from the hospital to thank her.

A soft knock echoed throughout the room, your attention to the door opening revealing the doctor. “Hi, glad you’re awake. The procedure was a success. You should be good to go soon, but take it easy for the next two weeks.”

The procedure.

You quickly scour your brain for answers of who it was you loved but came up short.

Guess that was the point, wasn’t it?

Before you could thank the doctor, rushed footsteps were heard outside the room, hasty knocks piercing the air along with the clamor of the door opening quickly.

Sanji’s blond hair comes into view, and he stands, wide-eyed, near the doorframe. He was panting slightly, a sign that he possibly had been running before he got here.

He says your name quietly, the doctor gives you a nod before excusing herself from the room to give you guys privacy.

“Sanji,” you smile brightly at him, “Did you get off of work? Why are you here?”

His eyes shift over to the balloon on the stand beside the bed. “Nami told me about the…procedure.”

“Really?” you roll your eyes teasingly, “It’s not that big of a deal honestly, that Nami. Always the worrier, thank you for visiting me though, you’re a good friend, Sanji.” You look away before you can notice Sanji’s face falling.

You look back at him, “Oh, could you take me home? I probably shouldn’t be driving right now.” you laugh quietly and scan Sanji’s face. His mind seemed to be somewhere else, perhaps he was really busy at the restaurant. “If you can, if not I’ll just call Nami.”

“No,” he clears his throat, “Yeah I can take you home.”

You offer him a smile, “Thanks, hey I think I may have to fill out some paperwork. Could you grab it while I go change?” You begin to stand up slowly before he rushes over to help you up.

You look up at him to thank him again when you realize his eyes are watering.

Weird.

Your eyebrows knit in worry, “Hey, are you okay?”

He blinks rapidly while looking away from you. His hand lets go from his grasp on your arm and runs it through his blonde hair while turning away from you. “Yeah, I’m fine.” he coughs, “Uh, I’m gonna go look for those papers.”

He walks out of the room before you can respond, leaving you slightly confused but you shake it off before you begin to look for your clothes.

You don’t see Sanji standing outside the doorway, coughing up a flower petal.

#astraariel♡#one piece #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji x you #vinsmoke sanji x reader

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fabled-fiction · 2 years ago

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Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder (Hobie Brown x Spider!Reader)

Summary: When Hobie hasn’t seen you in a while, he starts to come to the realization that he might be missing you for the wrong reasons. So when you come back, all those feelings reasons come bubbling up to the surface.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: MINOR SPIDERVERSE SPOILERS

A/N: This kinda took a mind of its own, but I LOVED writing every second of it. Hope you enjoy it!! ☺️

Request by @its-me-ig-101: I was wondering if I could request for you to write a fluff Hobie Brown x GN reader, where the reader visits Hobie in his universe, or reverse? (Kind of like what Gwen does)

It had been 127 days since he last saw you,

14 since you last spoke.

It wasn’t like he was counting or anything. Nah…no he was completely able to be his own person. I mean, he had a whole Earth to protect as Spiderman.

But if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think four months apart would take such a toll on him.

You both were just always together. It didn’t cross his mind that there could be more than two to three days of you being away…from him especially. Gwen always joked about how quickly you both became so close so quickly. How Hobie was usually a steel trap and you were the key.

And he couldn’t even visit you! You were away on Spider business! Miguel had you consistently going after anomalies. It didn’t help that you had an insanely good success rate. Hell! Hobie couldn’t remember the last time you didn’t catch one of the anomalies!

“I’m sure they’ll be back soon! This is the ultimate test before the big question! Will their relationship prevail over this unexpected test?!”

Pavitr placed his hand on his chest, spinning around before collapsing onto Hobie's bed, where he was currently lounging. His fingers fiddled with his watch, flicking through all the channels. Maybe if he clicked on the right one, he would end up on the Earth where you were. Miguel had stopped telling him what Earth you were visiting, knowing he would just tag along. But Hobie could come up with something on the fly, he didn’t give a damn at this point if Miguel was pissed at him for interrupting your mission.

He would like to see him try and keep you from him any longer at this point.

“Hello, Earth to Hobie. Hey!”

Catching the plush that Gwen had thrown at him, he huffed and sat up. Pav smiled when he caught a glimpse at Hobie’s watch, and the roulette wheel of universes were still going.

“ Dude, they’re fine! (Y/N) is like…an invincible spider.”

“You know why he’s being more quiet than usual! He’s realizing he’s in looove. Our Hobie is head over he-” A well shot pillow from Hobie landed Pavitr on the floor.

“Am I not allowed to miss a friend? I remember ‘ow upset you were whenever you’d talk ‘bout Miles.” He scoffed, crossing his arms. He smirked when he saw how red Gwen’s face got.

“Ooooh we’re starting to enter the grumpy Hobie stage!” Pav shot up into a sitting position, this time dodging the second pillow that he had thrown.

Scoffing, he waved his hand at them as he pulled his phone out of his pant pocket. Unlocking it, he scrolled through his photo album and sighed.

They always teased him like this when he was down in the dumps. It had just been more recent as of late, seeing as you were rising in the ranks. Meaning you were gone more and more.

That also meant your friendship was tested more and more. He had noticed the change, he wasn’t completely blind to his emotions. He had noticed that as of late whenever you were gone he got a bit more snippy, and a bit more cynical-well more cynical than usual. Some had even told him that his color seemed more drained the longer and longer you were away.

This time had just been the longest. But it was also the most eye opening.

It's odd how you don’t notice how consistent someone is in your life until they’re gone.

He was mindlessly scrolling with a thousand yard stare off into the distance, when his phone suddenly anchored him back to reality.

Specifically your text tone.

Flicking to his messages, he felt his heart rate pick up.

(Y/N): heey! im finally back!! i missed you (cry emoji) (heart emoji)

Before his head could reminisce on the heart emoji and brew up any meaning behind it, he heard Pav gasp. Quickly looking up from his phone, he saw Pav squeal in excitement and Gwen chuckle as she shook her head.

“Look at him G! Do you see how much brighter he is? Ugh! Our boy has it bad.”

Sliding off his bed, he grabbed his bag and mask. Both Gwen and Pavitr could see that there was some pep in his step as he slung the bag over his shoulder. Fastening his web shooters on, he slid his mask into his pocket before entering your Earth into his watch.

“Oh oh! Where you heading Hobie? Thought we were having some serious bro time!”

Flicking them off, Hobie felt the portal open below him. Glancing through, he could see the flickering lights of your Earth.

“Piss off.”

Jumping through the portal, Hobie braced himself as he felt a quick rush before landing on your bed. The flickering and crackling of the portal remained only for a second before it snapped shut, dropping everything in the room along with its departure.

You stood in the opposite corner of the room, barely even unpacked. Your bag sat at the foot of your desk, unzipped with some of your clothes spilling out. You must’ve just texted him, because you were still in your spider suit…with one of his jumpers on.

Turning around, a smile spread across your face in an instant. Whatever you were doing was soon abandoned as you ran towards him. He was quick to stand, enveloping you in his frame. Feeling your aura mix with his, as he buried his nose into your hair felt nice. It awoke whatever nerves that had gone into hibernation after your departure, activating his senses once more.

Because he became highly aware of how right when you entered his arm, the hairs on yours stood under your suit. Your heart rate calmed but also picked up. Hell, he could even feel the blood rush to your cheeks as you buried your head into his chest.

“You really did miss me aye?” He teased, pulling you back by your shoulders to get a good look at his face.

“Mmm, only like…thiiiiiiis much.” Holding up two fingers, he watched as you held them close together and very very slowly pulled them apart.

“Oh wow, and here I was in absolute agony.” He hummed, sitting on the edge of your windowsill.

“Oh really?” You laugh, leaning over him. He looked up at you, nodding as he placed his hands in his pocket.

“Absolutely, almost died.”

Watching you laugh was something he knew he needed. It wasn’t too hard, at least for him. Your back and forth quips and teases were something that usually ended in you laughing or him chuckling. Inside jokes and knowing stares were usually exchanged to test the waters whenever others were around. It happened so often people usually felt excluded whenever you were both in each other's presence.

It was something he didn’t know he could miss.

“Wanna go for a swing?”

Watching the way your eyes lit up, he knew he had his answer.

Slipping his mask on, he was quick to open your window. He knew you were right behind him as he swung into action.

This was a dance you both did whenever you visited his world, swinging between buildings and each other. Finding ways to play off the others webbing and moves.

He loved watching you swing and flip. Hearing you laugh as you gave him a heart attack with how close you’d like to fall before yanking yourself back up into the air.

He felt a rush of similar emotions in the two weeks of you going dark. Whenever it was just him alone in his room, his mind would wander. He knew that if anything had happened he would have been the first told, both a blessing and a curse. But it still didn’t stop him from…worrying.

When did his worry for you become such a crutch?

Reaching to your normal hang out, what was atop your Statue of Liberty (which was still bronze here on your earth), both of you sat atop her torch. With shoulders touching, he watched as you leaned back and looked at your city.

“So, how many anomalies did you catch on this little spree of yours?”

With a big sigh you ripped your mask off and stuffed it into your-no, his jacket pocket. Bringing a knee to your chest you placed your cheek on it as you looked at him.

“Twelve. Probably the most in a row.”

Tisking, he leaned back on his hands now as he also took his mask off.

“Wow, remember which ones?”

“Most of them were Vultures. They were the only ones that could reach the portals that opened in their respective worlds. I might as Miguel if I can take a break though.”

That piqued his interest. But he didn’t show a reaction, in fact he just hummed and watched as you put your forehead to rest on your knees.

“I appreciate how much Miguel…trusts me to keep the multiverse intact, I really do. I went through hell with his stupid tests in order to get into the Spider Society and its…its lead me to meet some of my favorite people but recently I've been more Spider than Person…”

Hobie sat up now, putting his elbows on his knees and smirking. He knew what you needed to hear in this moment. He knew you like the back of his hand, in the year that you two have gotten to know each other it is safe to say he almost knows you better than he knows himself. The same could probably be said about you knowing him.

“Favorite people aye? Where do I fall on that list?”

Watching you lift your head to give him a quick glance, a small smile graced your lips before you lifted your head fully to clear your throat.

“Atleast top…let's say ten? There's a lot of competition BB.” You chuckle

“Oh yea? That jumper you’re wearing says otherwise.”

Your eyes grew almost as wide as the lenses on your mask as you looked down. Your hands gripped the edge of the jacket for a moment before shoving into the pockets.

“Oh I uh…yea I dunno what to say…”

The gears were turning in your head, he could tell. Something was brewing.

“..y’know I didn’t even realize I had packed this until I was subconsciously putting it on the first night. I'm being dead serious when I tell you I only ever took it off whenever I was about to go into battle…I didn’t wanna ruin it.”

He smiled to himself listening to your words. Something similar to what was brewing in your head was brewing in his chest.

These past few months, more specifically the past two weeks where you couldn’t contact him, there was a confession building. Words that were just waiting in the dark until he was at his most vulnerable to come into the light were bubbling up in his throat. The only thing keeping them from spilling right at this very moment was the seal of his lips.

It was nice, having you back. But all these realizations that he was having just in these last few days, especially now in these moments he was sharing with you, told him all he needed to know.

Especially with those words that you had just said to him, he knew his realization was not far from out of the blue.

“ Y’know those two weeks were you went dark were ‘ell. Pav and Gwendy were up my arse the entire time. It irked me how well they read me those two weeks..”

Watching you grow still and turn towards him, and sighed before turning towards you as well.

“I'm sorry about that Hobbie…my communicator died and Miguel told me I wasn’t allowed a new one until I finished my assignment. Which made everything so much harder to do since I had to wait for texts from Lyla and code instead of her just being able to talk me through it.”

“I knew it ‘ad to be somethin outta your control…and I also had a keepsake that ‘elped me keep my cool.”

Pulling back his cuffs, an array of bracelets both woven and made were on both of his wrists. They were all yours, but ones you hadn’t seen in a while and ones you were sure you had left on your desk before you had left.

What he couldn’t show you was the shirt he had of yours that was also on his pillow. He had it for the same reason he was sure you had his jacket for the entire trip…

Though it was starting to lose your scent.

There was a comfortable silence, at least he hoped there was. He could barely tell based off the thumping of his heart…

When he finally made eye contact with you, he saw a dopey smile on your face. It made him smile too. No matter how long you two were apart, no matter how raw the two of you got it never changed anything.

Well, he hoped nothing would change after what he was about to do.

Hobie wasn’t scared of a lot, practically nothing. But you scared the ever loving shit out of him. Both with all the stunts that you pulled and just the way you made him feel. He used to be this hardass corruptor but now? He wasn’t sure what he was without you.

“Hey Hobie..”

“Yea?”

“You should totally kiss me right now.”

“Yup.”

His hand fit perfectly on the crook of your neck, and so did his lips with yours.

Whatever you were feeling spilled into him, and he with you. A full year's worth of pent up emotion exploded into the kiss as he seemingly took your breath away. In recent months he could only imagine how your lips would feel against his, but it was nothing compared to what he was experiencing right now. Yours and his molded together in a flurry of silken passion, fitting together perfectly just like he knew they would.

Your hands found their place resting on his cheeks, just as his found theirs. With one resting on your neck and the other finding its way onto your side to pull you close. So close that he could feel the drum of your heart match his when your chests collided.

He wanted to curse whatever being made it so that the human body needed oxygen. When you pulled away his lips followed yours in chase, and it wasn’t until you held his face in place so that your bruised lips could take in a breath. Your finger ran over his bottom lip, playing with his lip ring as he panted in time with you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that…how..how being away from you for so long made me realize that's all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

“I ‘ave an idea.”

His hand that rested on the edge of your neck came around to hold your throat, with his fingers resting on your pulse.

It was going a mile a minute just like his.

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #x reader #across the spiderverse #marvel x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #into the spider verse #spiderman x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spider punk #spider!reader

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stsgluver · 1 year ago

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synopsis. gojo satoru always wins.

wc. 880

tags. gojo x reader, fluff, spoilers for 236, possible spelling mistakes I have not proofread this (do I ever?)

a/n. currently clearing out all my old wips. i've already written this in a different version I think but idc bc if i write about him coming home enough times he will eventually do it. my next few works are probs going to be my rich boy!gojo drafts

there was a brief moment when the world stilled. the air was squeezed from your lungs as everything around you slowly began to spin and you weren’t sure the last time you had slept – had it been that long that the hallucinations were finally starting to kick in?

“oh my god.” those were the only words you could utter in your state of disbelief. you couldn’t close your eyes: you couldn’t risk him disappearing. if you were brave enough, you’d reach out to trace the new scars carved into his porcelain skin.

“you can’t say that, you know how my ego is,” gojo looked as gorgeous as ever, arm raised as he leant against the doorframe of his apartment. the same apartment you’d set up camp in nineteen days ago and had only left when yuuji brought you some food. you’d lost too much to process and you were a shell of the person gojo had kissed goodbye to before he left for shibuya. there were deep purple bags under your eyes, your hair was loosely tied back in a messy bun that probably hadn’t been properly washed or brushed in several days and your clothes were probably just gojo’s – you’d been desperate for some sense of familiarity.

he looked like he hadn’t just been sealed away in another realm. the only evidence of a struggle were his new scars that seemed to decorate every inch of available skin, beyond that he looked excited to be alive, his fitted clothes clinging to him. his cursed energy was terrifyingly immense and you knew him well enough to know he was still riding off of a high that came with fighting for him.

you were scared to ask who had been the opponent – never would the world’s strongest sorcerer be injured and not cause equal amounts of harm in return. he had a title to uphold after all, something to prove.

“not even a hello?” he shook his head, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he tsked you. he was so casual in his mannerisms, playing it all off as though he hadn’t spent what felt like an eternity counting down the seconds so that he could see you again. “you can’t have forgotten me that quickly.” he was practically whining now, desperate for the love and warmth you gave him but not daring to cross the threshold and smother you.

you weren’t a sorcerer and though you understood some of his world, there was so much more that you didn’t. gojo would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared that one day it would be too overwhelming for you and you’d leave him like everyone else had.

so he did what he did best: masked his insecurities with a sarcastic humour that held no bite: “don’t tell me there’s another man in the house.”

you smiled, and blinked, and you were suddenly here again; in the moment with him and not a thousand miles away wondering what the hell he’d been through. a lone tear slipped down your cheek and gojo ached to wipe it away.

“are you… are you real?” your voice was still shaky and if it wasn’t for the complete silence, you doubted that he would’ve been able to hear you.

but he did, and then his arm is up against the doorframe again and he was gesturing to his physique as he complimented himself, “super powerful, mega rich and dashingly handsome? i know how perfect i may seem but i’m very real.” he winked and suddenly it was like you remembered that you have free will, practically jumping into his arms.

gojo wasn’t phased as he tucked you tightly into his body, his cursed technique completely dropped for the first time in what felt like forever. his body breathed a sigh of relief as his muscles ached.

“you’re such a jackass,” you lifted up your head to rest against his chest, eyes shining with tears that didn't fall.

gojo nodded slowly, brushing back the loose strands of your hair as he stared at you adoringly, “you love me.”

“mhmm,” you hummed, taking a step back from his longing arms to look up at him through your lashes. “y’know,” you traced a finger across the material on his chest, “you could make it up to me by closing your eyes.” his breath hitched ever so slightly under your touch. you leant in so that your lips almost touched his ear, “i need to kick my boytoy out. things could get kinda awkward if you two saw each other.”

it would be easier to list the things gojo wouldn’t do for you. he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, even going as far as to hold a hand over them. “how pretty is he on a scale of 1-10?”

there was a pause before you responded, as you took in every inch of the man that stood before you. a god in a mortal’s body. one that lived and breathed and worshipped you. “he’s gorgeous,” you whispered, breathless simply from his existence alone. and then he’s smiling and laughing and picking you up, spinning you in a circle and telling you how much he loves you and for a few brief seconds he’s just satoru and you’re just his.

#gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo drabbles #jjk gojo #jjk 236 #jjk spoilers #gojo imagines #gojo fluff #satoru

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cosmerelists · 20 days ago

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How Well Did We Predict Wind & Truth, Based Only on Cosmerelists Posts?

[Obviously, big BIG spoilers for Wind & Truth in this post!!!]

[If you're tagged in this post, it means that you said something interesting in one of my prediction polls, so I'm REALLY sorry if I tagged you but you haven't read the book yet--I'd still recommend waiting until you finish reading it to take a look at what I said about you sorry]

In the runup to Wind & Truth, I published a number of prediction posts & polls trying to guess what would happen. Now it's time to step back and assess how I -- and all of you, via the polls -- did!

1. The Length of WAT (This entry is NOT a spoiler)

Before I get to the actual predictions, shout out to @gekho who used math to accurately predict the length of this book! In my post about Cosmere-themed math problems, I had one asking people to use the previous books to predict the length of Wind and Truth. I didn't think it was actually solvable, but gekho used a graphing program and came up with 1360 plus or minus 45 as the result....and the actual length was 1344! Holy shit!

2. The Windrunner Fifth Ideal

In this post/poll, we tried to guess what the Windrunner Fifth Ideal would be. In the poll, two answers were tied for first place with 19.9% of the vote: "I will protect what is right" and "I will protect more than people's lives." In those guesses, we were...quite wrong! The actual ideal was "I will protect myself so that I can protect others." The closest option offered was "I will protect everyone, including myself," which was the second post popular guess at 15.7%.

Almost good job, us!

3. My Wife Tries to Predict the End

In this post, my wife, who has read 0% of any Sanderson, tried to predict what the ultimate fates of Kaladin, Adolin, Shallan, and Szeth would be.

She guessed that Kaladin would die, and in that, she was wrong! He's immortal, even. Everyone just...thinks...that he's dead... :(

She got Shallan correct, saying that she would merge personalities! RIP Radiant.

She also got Adolin correct, guessing that Adolin would "have a power with his buddy" (=get some sort of special ability with Maya) and that Maya "wouldn't scream too much." And yeah! Adolin & Maya are now the super cool Unoathed Squad, and Maya now talks.

But she failed to predict Szeth's fate, predicting that he would become a Worldhopper when in fact he...just settled down and got married. I don't think any of us saw THAT coming.

4. Honor's New Vessel

In this post/poll, we tried to guess who would pick up the Shard of Honor. The number one choice was Kaladin, with 32.5% of the vote, so we sure got that one wrong. BUT Dalinar was second with 21.3% of the vote, and he did hold it for a hot second, so I think it counts. Sadly, the most correct choice, Taravangian, was not on the poll because who the hell would guess that. ...Other than @godless-of-the-hunt who friggin' NAILED it and guessed EXACTLY that in the tags, and @violet-snail-sfw who agreed.

5. Dalinar Not Being Homophobic

In this passionate post, I argued that when Renarin & Rlain got together, Dalinar would NOT respond homophobically. And in the end...he died before he ever found out they were dating so....

I still think I (would have been) right. As a final piece of evidence, we discovered that Renarin was worried about Navani's reaction. That's...something? I guess?

6. The Third Bondsmith

In this post/poll, we tried to guess who the third Bondsmith candidate would be. As it turned out, we still don't know...and maybe there won't ever be one, now. The top guess, with 16%, was "Someone who is currently a child, like Gavinor or Shallan's future kid," but since this didn't actually happen, I'll call this a bust.

7. General WAT Predictions

In this post, I just threw stuff at the wall. Honestly, I didn't do too bad! Let's do it rapid-fire:

Shallan getting pregnant: WELL, it depends on whether anyone else is reading too much into her "clutching her stomach" at the very, very end, two months after her shower sex with Adolin.

Rlain & Renarin getting together: Hell yeah.

Kaladin swearing the fifth ideal: Hell yeah.

Szeith wearing the fifth ideal: Hell yeah.

Adolin healing Maya & becoming an Edgedancer: Nope. But what actually happened was cooler

Finding out the truth about the Recreance: Yes! Finally

Kandra shows up: I mean, *I* didn't notice any

Someone bonding the Nightwatcher: Nope. :( Should have been Leshwi :( :(

8. Kaladin's fate

In this poll/post, we tried to guess Kaladin's fate but, uh, the actual answer was not an option, as I did not guess that he would become a Herald. The top answer is kind of correct, though: with 31.9% of the vote, the top answer was that Kaladin would simply live and be in Arc 2. Which does TECHNICALLY count, I think!

However, shout out to the people who predicted the whole Herald thing, @actual22plus and @lexiwhatwegot!

9. Will Dalinar Lose?

In this post/poll, we tried to predict the outcome of the duel. The top answer with 37.2% of the vote was that Dalinar wouldn't actually be the champion at all. So we were wrong about that. But, like, my basic choices were "win," "lose," "tie" or "no duel" -- I didn't predict that Dalinar would break the terms of the Contest of Champion themselves, bond Honor, break his oaths, and die immediately. How could I have been so foolish.

10. Who will be Odium's Champion?

Honestly, we nailed this one. The top guess, with 18.6% of the vote, was that Odium's Champion would be "baby Gavinor." And, okay, it wasn't actually a toddler holding a sword and crying like I expected, but it WAS Gavinor, so. We got it.

11. And finally....That Travel Games Post

This one wasn't even meant to be a serious prediction post, guys...and it started going around again pretty much as soon as Wind and Truth came out...and I just feel SO bad...for making a joke about Szeth having a pet sheep named Sweep, and then Szeth really did have a pet sheep which he saw get murdered and eaten and it was so traumatic....

That joke really did not age well. Sorry, Szeth...

#wat spoilers #Wind and truth Spoilers #Wind and truth #Stormlight Archive spoilers #cosmere #cosmerelists

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kaylopolis · 7 months ago

Text

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Thirteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power…

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

____________________________________________

Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

Lots of historical stuff happening, but don't worry, I have little endnotes explaining each with links to more information at the end of the chapter!

Spoiler Warning: Be careful if you flip between the end to read the notes as you read the chapter. There is a major spoiler at the end of the chapter you might accidentally read!

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Thirteen - The Truth

Content Warning: Spoilers after the end of the chapter; mentions of physical and psychological abuse, panic attack (let me know if I missed any!) MINORS DNI!!!!!

(107 years ago, Heaven)

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Enter,” the Seraphim’s voice called from behind the wood.

Your head held high, your shoulders squared, you entered your Father’s office. The sword strapped to your side knocked against your hip as you walked. Although you wore your casual blue robes and not your metal armor, the sword never left your side. You tucked your golden wings in, your blonde hair cut short to frame your face, the wisps of your bangs barely brushing your collarbones.

Stopping before Father’s desk, you nodded to the others in the room in greeting: Adam, the Seraphim, and a few of Father’s personal guards who filed out of the room after you entered.

“Father,” you stated, waiting for him to begin.

From a worldwide flood to raining frogs in Egypt, a meeting in this office always meant serious business. After all, out of all your siblings, you were the most trustworthy. “Father’s Golden Girl,” they all called you - and not just because of your looks. You were his warrior, his right-hand man, his perpetrator of action. You carried out God’s will.

“You are aware of the current events of Earth,” a statement, not a question.

It was January 1917. The mortals were in the middle of a war to end all wars. Who didn’t know?

“Just yesterday, our Ishim delegates intercepted a telegram from Arthur Zimmerman to the Mexican Government proposing an alliance between Germany and Mexico to invade the United States.*” Sera slid a piece of paper across the desk. You glanced at it but didn’t give it much thought.

The Ishim were low-level Angels, more human than divinity, really. They carried out more menial endeavors. Father dispatched a hundred to Earth a year before the war broke out. Why? You weren’t sure, but you were about to find out.

“This war is the mortal’s problem, is it not?” You asked.

Adam caught your eye from the corner of the room he stood in, his usual cockiness replaced with… you sniffed. Guilt?

“Not anymore.”

That caught your attention.

“We believe this telegram was sent by Eve.”

You took a step back, clenching your jaw shut to prevent it from falling open. Instinctively, your hand found the hilt of your sword. “She escaped?” You looked at Adam, but he didn’t look back, his gaze downcast as a wave of emotions weighed down his shoulders.

“Some years ago, yes,” Sera answered.

But why didn’t they… Oh, they couldn’t have sent you right away. No one knew she had escaped, and they weren’t about to let it get out that the evil Evelyn of Eden had bested Heaven’s topmost security prison. Technically, it was the only one Heaven had, and it only had one prisoner, but still. Especially after the whole Lucifer and Lilith incident. Rumor had it they were in love.

You eye the telegram on the desk. “What do you need from me?”

Wouldn’t be the first time you hunted down a human. Cain went into hiding after he murdered Abel. You found him not long after - even with the magic he used to conceal himself from you.

“Find Evelyn and bring her back.”

You nodded, taking the telegram. It smelled of roses, how fitting for the Second Lady of Eden.

“Mikaela,” Father called after you. You paused. “Do not disappoint me.”

You nodded before shutting the door behind you.

Time to go to work.

____________________________________________

(1917, Russia)

This tux was killing you. It was itchy, it was hot, and more importantly, it was suffocating. You didn't have much time to find a suit that fit, so you grabbed whatever the tailor had. Unfortunately for you, the collar was way too tight, and it constantly rubbed against the injury on your neck.

The music echoed off the ridiculously decorated walls of the Palace. Gosh, you did not enjoy the pianoforte. It was like the instrument was screaming every time one of the strings was plucked.

Just find her and get out. You've been chasing her nearly a year and this was as close as you had gotten to capturing her. Evelyn was slippery...

You pushed through the crowd, making your way around the dancefloor.

"Шампанское, сэр. Champagne, sir?" A servant thrusted a tray in front of your face. You turned up your nose and pushed onwards.

Ugh, alcohol, you've never touched the stuff.

Sniffing, you could smell the roses. The room was filled with the scent of them, the aroma so pungent you could reach out and touch it. So, she was here, but where exactly?

Making your way to the front of the room, you stopped when you finally spotted her. "What is she doing?" You asked yourself.

Evelyn, her brown hair done up in a mass of stacked curls atop her head, was whispering in the ear of the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich. The feather sticking out of her hair wiggled as she laughed.

What is the Second Woman doing playing fairytale at a royal Russian Ball? She even had the dress to go along with it all.

Whatever, all you had to do was grab her and get out.

You pulled your sword from the Void and took a step forward - wait, no. You couldn't work like this. Ripping off the bowtie, you undid the top two buttons, freeing your neck. You rubbed at the black and blue bruises, the action soothing but also painful.

Okay, let's do this.

"У него есть меч! Он собирается попытаться убить царя! He's got a sword! He's going to try and kill the Tsar!" A woman screamed.

Oh, crap. Last time you were down here, everyone carried a sword. Now, nearly two thousand years later, they don't seem to like it so much... Oops.

The room plunged into chaos.

Briefly, you made eye contact with Evelyn. Her brown eyes flashed with confusion before they changed to recognition and then acknowledgment - she recognized you and knew why you were there. Evelyn smiled, mouthing the words, "Hello, Mikaela," before she disappeared into the crowd.

You tried to follow, but you were tackled by a guard. The sword went flying out of your hand as you hit the ground, a bear of a man sitting on top of you.

Great... You were hoping this was going to be an easy in-and-out type of mission...

Pushing the man easily off of you and collecting your sword. Shoving it back into the Void, you huffed, blowing the hair out of your face. You had cut it so short that the seamstress laughed when you walked into the boutique shopping for a dress. She thought you were a man. You’d be mad but, it wasn’t the first time humanity has made that mistake.

Jesus' Disciples named you "Michael" instead of "Mikaela." Ever since then, humanity thought you were a man. It was kind of insulting when you read the first draft and a little sexist...

Alright, let's get out of here and see if we can track her down.

A wall of guards stepped into your path before you could make much progress.

You groaned. It was going to be a long night...

____________________________________________

(1923, Chicago)

“Another?” The bartender asked. You nodded and watched as she poured you a glass of soda water and lemon. Taking a long sip, letting the bubbles dance across your tongue, you went back to twirling your glass.

“You sure you don’t want anything else to drink? Any alcohol?” She asked.

You shook your head. “Not one for the taste, I’m afraid.”

She finally let you be, busying herself with dirty glasses.

You were growing restless on the barstool, the smoke from the cigarettes giving you a headache. Drinking in public for women was scandalous in this day and age - even though you technically weren’t drinking, you were a woman alone at a bar - and you had caught your fair share of male attention. You denied and denied and denied until the men finally got the message.

But this wasn’t just any old bar, and you were hoping that, eventually, word of your presence here would attract a different kind of attention.

The aroma of roses hit you before her voice did.

“This seat taken?”

Right on schedule.

“Not at all, Evelyn,” you motioned to the stool. “Please.”

The brunette settled in next to you, her iconic long hair chopped and curled around her face. Other than that, she looked exactly the same as you left her, save for the wardrobe change - a string of pearls and a grey silk dress that left her ankles exposed. She was always a fashion rebel, pushing the iconic clothing of the decades to the point of scandal. Speaking of, you tried hard not to look at her cleavage - it would take another few decades before that became appropriate in public.

“Please, call me Eve. To what do I owe the honor?” She sang as the bar girl poured her a gin and tonic.

“Come back,” you ordered.

She huffed, “Oh, come on. This is the first proper conversation you and I have ever had, don’t bore me with the self-righteous bullshit propaganda your father feeds you.”

You've been chasing her for six years now. Every time you met, it was all action before she slipped away. How she managed to disappear every time, you didn't know.

She stirred the ice around in her glass before gulping down the entire drink. “You and I both know I am not going back willingly.”

You had to give her the option.

“You’re going back either way.”

“I want you to meet someone,” she smiled, changing the subject. “Al!” Eve waived to a rather portly man at the back of the establishment. The mortal was dressed to the nines in a blue pinstriped suit and accompanying fedora.

“Hey, dollface,” the gentleman kissed Eve on the cheek before taking his hat off and tipping it in greeting. “Pleased'ta meet’ya miss, Al Capone at your service."

Ugh.

You stood, grabbing Eve’s upper arm as you attempted to lug her towards the main entrance. The motion sent a sharp pain through your bruised shoulder. “Let’s go,” you winced.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Eve giggled. The sclera of her eyes flashed black before she turned back to the bar and screamed. “Al! She’s with the fuzz!”

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! CLICK! The echoes of guns loading rang out across the bar.

Fucking Mafia.

You didn’t drop Eve’s arm.

“We can do this the easy way, toots, or the hard way,” Al said, holding a pistol to your face. Despite being no taller than you, he did his best to look threatening.

“Between you and me,” Eve leaned in and whispered. “I’m pretty sure the fat one’s got syphilis.” She motioned to Capone.

Why, Eve? Why was that important right now?

She giggled before pulling out an extremely small pistol from her cleavage. The Angel pointed it at your head. You held your hands up as if feigning surrender. “That won’t kill me, Eve.”

“I know,” she laughed, smiling wildly.

Was this fun for her?

“But it'll kill them,” she motioned to a random man before turning and shooting him straight in the face.

The bar plunged into chaos as you ducked for cover. Rolling your eyes, you mumbled beneath your breath, “The hard way it is.”

____________________________________________

(1937 Lae, New Guinea)

You rolled open the hangar doors. It was late, well past midnight. An oil lantern hung from a mobile post, illuminating the opened engine of a two-seater plane.

Ensuring your sword was strapped to your side, you trudged through the hangar doors, cautiously approaching the single soul inside. As per usual, the room smelled of roses.

You were but one step in the door when Eve called out, “Mikaela!” Her head popped out from behind the engine. “Good to see you! Been a while, hasn’t it? Chicago, good times.” She dove back inside the engine, half her body sticking out of the contraption. A blue tarp had been laid at her feet, to capture oil as she worked, you assumed.

“You shot up a bar, nearly set it on fire, and almost burned the city to the ground - again… I wouldn’t exactly call that fun.” Keeping your distance, you circled around to the front of the plane. You had better chances of catching the plague than predicting her next move. Eve was wildly unpredictable.

“Oh, my friend,” her sclera flashed black as she smiled over her shoulder. “Chaos is always fun.”

“Why are you doing this, Eve?” And more importantly, what was she doing?

“Can’t a girl love power and chaos with absolutely no motive?” She played dumb, her voice echoing from within the metal compartment.

You crossed your arms, your silence communicating that she had asked a dumb question.

“I’m sick and tired of Heaven, of them always telling me who I am and what to do.” She shrugged, ripping out a piece of the engine. “I’m taking it back.”

“Stop messing around with the airplane, Eve.” You felt like you were scolding a child.

She paused, a metal component in her hand, oil coating her fingers, as she backed out of the engine. Eve waived the metal part around as she spoke. “Aren’t you sick of being their puppet? Of… Of being a part of their machine? Of being told to jump and asking how high?” Grabbing a brown saddle bag, she stuffed the components inside, the tarp crunching beneath her feet.

Oh good, she was sabotaging the plane. Great. You didn’t know why she did half the things she did, but sabotaging Amelia Earhart’s plane? Just... Why? What did that accomplish?

“I’m an Archangel - a soldier - and soldiers follow orders,” you responded, watching Eve clean the oil off her hands.

“And if they don’t?” She raised an eyebrow, motioning to your wrist.

As if on instinct, you tugged on your sleeves to hide the bruises.

“Adam was a dick,” she continued, “but he never touched me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you felt the blood drain from your face.

She sighed as she got to her feet. You watched the conflict play out on her face. Did she push the topic? Did she change it completely?

"Do you know how they caught me the first time?” she smiled.

“Adam.” You answered, your eyes following her every move. She was planning to bolt. You could feel it. She wouldn't get away this time.

“They used him as bait,” she grabbed her satchel and threw the loop over her head. “And trapped me in a Pentagram.” Eve kicked the edge of the blue tarp beneath your feet to reveal the edge of a chalk line.

She was smart; she kept you distracted and annoyed just enough to keep your eyes off the floor to the lightly drawn star and circle hidden beneath your feet.

Here's the thing about being a General. You knew how to organize armies, how to train soldiers to fight, how to strategize on a battlefield. You were not a covert spy trained to track down rogue Angels. Sure, you went after Cain, but he was sloppy. Despite going to the Goetia and bargaining his soul for a bit of magic to hide him from you, he left a trail for you to follow. All you had to do was hunt down the Goetia he talked to, and, presto, you had a lead.

Eve wasn't really trying to hide. If she was, she'd have found a way to hide the potency of her power: roses, her magic smelled like roses. You could scent it miles away. The downside to chasing Eve was that she was unpredictable. Her moves didn't make any sense or have any logic to them. She was scattered with her actions. Map it out on a battlefield, and it would seem like random nonsense. There was logic to war but not to Eve. Which made it hard to capture her.

Like trying to trap lightning in a bottle.

“Tootle-loo, Mikaela,” Eve sang. The Angel skipped to the hangar doorway, stopping before she closed it. Something flashed in her eyes. Sadness? Pity? Worry? “Don’t be a stranger,” she smiled softly, and then she slammed the door shut.

____________________________________________

(1945, Germany)

The sirens were deafening as you rounded corner after corner, your fire illuminating the tunnels as you ran.

“Come on, come on,” you huffed, out of breath. You’ve been sprinting through battlefields all night long to make it here before the Russian army, but you were cutting it dangerously close.

BANG! The echoes of a gunshot had your ears ringing as you emerged into a well-lit bunker. A dead body lay at Eve’s feet, scarlet pooling beneath it. Another - a woman - sat slumped at a table in a pile of vomit.

Gross.

“Oh, hey!” She lit up, her brunette curls bobbing.

You sidestepped the blood, trying to catch your breath, “Eve, this is getting old.” You were quickly finding out the Angel had a proclivity for violence - specifically guns. What was with her and modern weaponry?

She did a double take, not of the man moaning on the ground, but of your face. You ignored her questioning look, choosing to bend over and suck down gulps of air. It wasn’t that the running took a lot out of you. By golly, you could run for days before getting tired, go weeks without food, go months without water, but broken ribs always made it hard to breathe.

Her happy demeanor turned down a few notches as she holstered the gun. “Hey,” she put a hand on your back in comfort.

You shoved her off.

You did not need her pity.

Eve blinked. “Why don’t we head up top and get some fresh air?”

The Russians were expecting to arrive at any minute, they’d most likely bomb the crap out of this place and bury the two of you alive. You nodded, wincing as you stood.

Eve led you out of a secret tunnel hidden behind boxes of supplies. You followed behind her, summoning your sword as support as you limped to the surface. Ugh, your ankle was so swollen.

Eve pushed open a wooden door, leading you into the morning sunlight. The two of you emerged at the edge of a small lake. The sun was rising over the water, the ruins of Berlin surrounding the park.

Eve sat at the edge of the water, watching the sun rise as armies marched and chanted toward the Capitol behind you. The dichotomy was iconic.

You looked between her and the sword and made a silent decision.

Slipping your sword back into the Void, you joined Eve in the grass - wincing as you sat.

“Germany wasn’t my doing. I just wanted to make that very clear,” she laughed awkwardly. “I’m only here because I wanted to end the bastard myself…” Her voice trailed off, the tension becoming… weird.

You could feel her staring at your split lip and black eye.

“Why?” You asked.

She huffed, turning towards the sun, bathing in its morning warmth, “Because fuck heaven and fuck their design.”

“People are dying because of you, Eve.” You gritted.

“So?” She scoffed. “People are always going to die, more will be made. Either they go to Heaven, or they go to Hell. There’s life after this, so not like I’m robbing them of anything. Besides, they’re nothing but puppets fulfilling some predetermined mapped-out plan Daddy designed. Regardless of their free will, they're powerless to fate. They're just machine parts, Mikaela. Just like you and I were designed to be.”

She huffed. “I mean, look at me. I was literally created from Adam’s rib - designed to be the perfect little wife. That’s all I am. That’s all Dad made me to be. I’m changing that!”

“By messing with Father’s design?”

She nods.

“And you do this how?” You raised an eyebrow in confusion, choosing to humor her behavior.

“The Book of Knowledge.”

You laughed, “The book Lucifer stole and then gave you?”

She nodded.

“Why not use it to do good?”

“Because who the fuck cares if I do good? I mean, if I save a few hundred lives or help further a society what does that really accomplish? I’m only further giving in to God’s will. He wants them to succeed, to become better. It’s all a game, Mikaela, don’t you see that? I mean look at this!” She gestured to all of Berlin. “What kind of fucked up, power-hungry arsehole allows this to happen!? Just so humans can rise from the darkest moments of history, to learn and become better than they were before. All this to teach them a lesson!? I mean… Wow.”

You shut your mouth. She had a point. This was messed up.

The two of you sat for a long while, the orchestra of war playing in the background.

Eve’s demeanor changes. “I saw the bruises in Russia.” Her words were sharp.

Your blood ran cold.

“At first, I thought they were just from training, but then why would a soldier have bruises around their throat from training?”

Please don’t go there, Eve. Her rants about Father you could handle, not this. You didn’t deal with personal emotions, you bottled them up and shoved them deep down and quietly forgot about them - like a good soldier.

“They talk, the guards in the prison. I’ve heard the rumors of Dad’s Golden Girl and her mysterious injuries, of the screams behind closed doors. So, in Chicago, I looked again. You had bruises on your shoulder.”

You shot her a questioning glance.

“When you grabbed me part of your dress slipped just a bit… Mikaela, they looked like hand prints.”

You turned away from her, pulling in your knees and hugging yourself.

“So in New Guinea, I tested my theory. Your reaction told me everything.”

Were you that easy to read?

Eve turned to you then, clearly eyeing the bruises on your face. “He beats you, doesn’t he?”

You didn’t answer.

“I don’t know how you do it. To obey his every command for thousands of years… You, out of all of us, have a right to be pissed.”

“It’s my job,” you gritted, your hands were shaking, all emotion absent from your voice. “Besides, my failures are my own fault.”

“What?” Eve jumped to her feet. “How could you say that!? You don’t ask to be beaten. You don’t ask to have your bones broken and your face bloodied!?”

“My failures are my own fault,” Your entire body was shaking now, your voice cracking.

“Mikaela…” Eve planted herself on the grass next to you. Bombs exploded off in the distance, cheering echoing off the buildings. The Russians have arrived.

“My fault.” You whispered, the words imprinted on your brain like ink on paper. “My fault. My fault. My…”

Eve brought you into a bear hug, holding you as tight as she could as the panic attack overcame you. “It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

You sobbed.

"Listen to me - no one ever deserves to be abused, and it is never your fault. Abuse is a deliberate, cruel choice made by the abuser, and it is entirely on them. You are a strong, beautiful woman deserving of respect and love. Don't ever let anyone make you feel otherwise."

Eve turned you to face her. “Say it, Mikaela. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.” Her words were sharp and to the point, trying to jam the message into your mind. To cut out the toxic and replace it with the new.

“It is…” You choked. “It is not my fault.” You cried.

“Louder!” She demanded.

“It is not my fault,” you repeated, your voice shaky.

“Louder!”

“It is not my fault!” You screamed.

“It is not your fault!” She echoed.

And you hugged her back.

____________________________________________

(Present Day, The Nothing, Pride Ring, Hell)

“You turned against Heaven and joined, Eve?” Alastor asked. He’s been eerily silent the entire time.

You smiled, your yellow irises glinting mischievously. “I joined, Eve.”

The demon summoned his own chair and settled in next to you. Together, you stared off at the silhouette of Pentagram City, its lights shining like beacons into the red sky.

“We spent the next thirty-something years traveling. London, Korea, Russia - we went everywhere, sowing seeds of chaos in our wake. She started me on the little stuff, and I worked my way up from there. From swearing and alcohol to stealing and, eventually, murder. Eve was like a gateway drug; just once wasn’t enough to satisfy you, but it was enough to get you hooked. And, somewhere in that time, Eve became my friend.”

You sighed, your eyes swimming in memories. “But, like any drug, at some point in time, it isn’t enough anymore. You need more to keep going, to stay satisfied…”

____________________________________________

(1974, London)

DING!

“Order up!” The chef behind the counter yelled.

SLURP! You found the bottom of your milkshake. “Fuck,” you cried. “I’m out.”

The two of you, after an extremely long plane ride from America, stopped at a lunch counter for a quick snack.

The time in between master plans was always your favorite but also your most hated. It meant a time of scheming, of plotting something new and exciting, but it was also a time when Eve tended to channel her energy into other matters. Most notably sex, drugs, and music. It's like she needed an outlet for her restless energy.

You put your newspaper down, the title reading "Nixon Resigns!" and turned to Eve. The brunette wasn’t paying attention, her mind on the cute human boy sitting at the end of the counter.

You analyzed her as she daydreamed. The itch was there again, the temptation to bring up what you’ve been keeping silent on for so long.

Eve was fine with toying about on Earth. You didn’t blame her; she’d been locked up for so long, and all she wanted to do was live and do as she pleased, but frankly, you were growing bored. Sure fucking around with the humans was entertaining, but the fact of the matter was you accomplished nothing from it.

Eve believed she was messing with Dad’s grand creation, but if you paid attention, Heaven found a way to fix everything she undid. After all of her meddling, things always returned to normal: war ended, economies stabilized, rulers were replaced, and laws were rewritten. Anything Eve ever did was fixed. And that was starting to bother you.

You wanted bigger. You wanted more. You wanted permanent. And you had an idea to make it happen.

“Eve,” you lightly tapped her hand. Dreamily, she turned to you.

“Oh, you’re done already?” She pouted.

“Yeah… Listen,” you cleared your throat, preparing your speech. “I want to propose a field trip. Maybe a change in scenery?”

Eve blinked. “A change in scenery? What’s wrong with the scenery here?” She motioned to the cute British boy, her voice a little too loud for comfort.

“Nothing! Nothing! I just…” You hesitated. You needed a hook, a reason to get Eve interested.

The truth was, you tried broaching this topic before, but she always blew it off. Eve was content. You were not. She didn’t want a change in the status quo - you were growing bored of the status quo.

So, this time, you were going to baby-step her into your plan - turn her opinion around. Perhaps, help her see the fun she could have by finally doing something your way for once.

“There’s this festival I’ve always wanted to go to,” you suggest. “Lot’s of cute boys. There will be music, dancing, drinking… It’ll be a good time!”

“A festival,” she lit up. “Sounds fun!”

“Cool. Cool… It’s in Wrath.”

She choked, “What!?”

“I know, it’s in Hell, but can we just check it out? If you hate it, we can leave right away. I just… I’ve never been. I thought maybe it would be a new adventure for us?” You shrug.

Eve thinks a moment.

“Plus, we’d be breaking so many rules. Angels aren’t allowed in Hell, after all…”

“Done.” She stands. “Let’s go!” Eve grabs your arm and pulls you out of the restaurant.

In a side alley, you summon a portal and are whisked away into what you would look back on and consider to be the beginning of the end.

____________________________________________

(7 years ago, Pride Ring, Hell)

"I'll be there momentarily, Al," Lilith hung up the phone as you entered the room. "Mikaela, Eve," she greeted.

You step into the office and close the door behind you. “Lilith,” you nod to her in greeting.

Your plan worked. Eve and you spent the better part of nearly fifty years partying your way through the Rings of Hell. It started in Wrath with the Harvest Moon Festival - Eve enjoyed the Pain Games far more than you expected - and resulted in a series of debauchery moving up from there.

You hadn't really spent time in Pride - you've had enough of mortals and their petty problems for a good while. However, your next plan - the ultimate plan - required you to be here.

Nearly 50 fucking years... It took you that long to convince Eve of your plan... and to make it seem like it was her idea. You had discovered that, yes, Eve was a schemer, but her plans were always limited in their size. You were thinking bigger.

This was your third meeting with Lilith and if everything went to plan, it would be your last.

The Queen of Hell stood next to the window, the view overlooking Pentagram City. She didn't want to meet at her home - understandable - which was tucked away in a pocket dimension. So, you met here, at her... office? I guess if you want to call it that, sure. It was an office in the City.

Even took a seat on the desk, her fingers rummaging through everything and anything set before her. "Awww," she grabbed a photo. "The three of you are so cute!"

You tried not to groan. "Eve..."

"Sorry," she dropped the frame, pulling her hands into her lap like a scolded child. The Second Woman turned on her charm before addressing existence's First. "Are we ready?"

Lilith continued to stare out the window, her eyes swimming with unspoken thoughts. Her horns looked rather shiny today, her purple dress perfectly pressed - she dressed for the occasion. The woman smoothed her dress, a nervous habit of hers. The Queen turned to you, her plum eyeshadow sparkling in the light. "Yes."

In a flash, you had Eve pinned to the floor, your hands wrapped around her throat.

Confusion swam in her eyes as you squeezed. "Mikaela?" She choked out.

Lilith leaned over. Making eye contact, the First Woman commanded, "Do not move. Do not fight back."

And Eve froze.

The power of Lilith's voice... It's what makes her singing abilities so powerful; it's how she convinces the masses and rules over Hell so easily.

"I'm sorry, Eve, but I can't have you holding me back any longer."

Confusion turned to fear as you channeled your fire into your hands and began to burn - Holy Fire. You've killed members of the Angelic kind before - mostly lower-level Angels prone to corruption, like the Ishim. It was easy to erase lesser beings, and surprisingly, it was easier to take down Eve than you originally thought. Especially considering she never thought you turning against her was a possibility.

Eve screamed as she died, and when her body was nearly ash, you were left with not a soul before you but the physical embodiment of power: a book. not just any book, but the book. It was ethereal and partially incorporeal as you collected it in your hands.

"Having second thoughts?" Lilith asked.

"No," you immediately responded. "No, just... I've been thinking about this for a long time. Longer than when I originally approached you and proposed the idea. Now it's finally here... It doesn't feel real."

(In hindsight, this wasn't just one of the hardest decisions you had ever made but a defining moment that had left a mark on your very being. If you were willing to kill one of the most important people in your life, what else wouldn't you do?

So, no, dear reader, you did not tell Alastor how much this killed you. You did not tell Alastor how much you cried. You did not tell him the real reason why you needed music to sleep at night was not because the screaming disturbed you but because when you fell asleep, those screams morphed into that of Eve's.

There would be a day, however, when you told the Radio Demon how much this hurt, and he would see you cry and completely fall apart. A day when you would broach this topic and eventually heal this ugly part of you.

But - as we all learned from the Full Moon episode - years of trauma does not get resolved in one conversation.

Alastor, however, could see it in your eyes. You didn't need to tell him. He may not have ever killed Vox, but there was something there, something that happened with which he could relate to what you were feeling right now as you told him your story.

And you were thankful for it, because he gave you a look which said you did not have to go there right now - he understood.)

Hesitantly, you brought the golden, glowing book to your chest and felt the power fuse with your being.

Printed text exploded across your skin as the magic accepted its new host. The energy flooding your veins, the high unlike anything ever before.

Fuck, is this how Eve felt all the time? No wonder she was always so restless with energy.

"Okay," you turned your back on Lilith and unbuttoned your shirt. You would NOT let yourself revel in how good this felt. You would NOT let yourself drown in the ecstasy of power.

Pulling ink and a quill from the void, you stood there as Lilith etched a rune across your back. When she had finished, the text across your skin was pulled towards the rune and locked beneath the seal.

You breathed deeply, feeling the weight of the power lift from your shoulders, "It worked."

It had to be contained until the time was right. You couldn't have anyone sensing what you carried. The potency of power is how you managed to track Eve down on Earth - it made her a target. Plus, you didn't know what that kind of power would do to your head - it made Eve scatterbrained and impulsive. Constantly chasing the high. You needed clarity to accomplish what you and Lilith had planned.

Power is a dangerous thing. You saw what it did to God, and no part of you ever wanted to have any similarities with that man. So, long ago, when you made the ultimate decision to take the power from Eve, you decided it needed to be locked away as well.

"This is written in Leviathan," Lilith observed. "Didn't Dad -?"

"Yes," you cut her off.

It was before the dawn of man, during Dad's experimental age. The monsters were violent and could not be controlled. He ordered you to corral them into a pocket dimension: Purgatory. You raised and led an army against them, and still, it had taken you years to subdue and capture them all. Your reward? Father pushed you in behind them and locked the door.

"Find a way out," he ordered - punishment for disappointing him. How had you disappointed him, you ask? You took too long.

"I have some... baggage to take care of before I leave." She began, noting the pile of ash on her carpet. "Your contact in Pride is no longer an option."

Fuck. You'd put considerable effort into vetting the Overlord Lilith had pointed you towards - Husk. Now, you were going to have to start over with someone else.

You'd later learn Husk fell from power, losing it in a game of cards to Alastor, of all people. The demon had become a thorn in your side long before you ran into him at the Hotel.

"Whom do you suggest?" You rebuttoned your shirt.

"Rosie, she's a wonderful woman. She'll be good to you, and I trust her."

You had no choice but to take her word for it. Question her now, on the eve of the beginning, especially when you sensed hesitation within her, might just tip her over the edge. She was leaving her husband and child behind, after all.

You held out your hand. "Shall we?"

Lilith considered your offer for a moment. Although she agreed to help you double-cross Eve, you never finalized the contract. You agreed not to, pending how killing the brunette played out, but Lilith came to play.

Your heart held no sympathy for the Queen. She was about to lose everything, but it was temporary. Lilith would be returning home to a husband and a child - to a family. You? You had no home, no family anymore. Lilith could handle a few years away.

Eventually, the demon shook your hand. The room exploded in blues and purples, marking the contract you two just made.

You smirked, "I guess it's time for my grand entrance." You made for the door. "You'll be fine?"

Lilith sighed, "If anyone knows how to handle Adam, it's me."

Right...

"Goodbye, Lilith."

She stopped you, her fingers wrapped around your arm rather tightly. "No harm comes to her." The purple in Lilith's eyes flashed.

She was talking about Charlie. Her daughter was part of the deal: no harm comes to her or her family.

"Of course..."

She let you go. "To power and chaos."

"To power and chaos," you responded as the door shut behind you.

You nearly landed on Rosie a few hours later...

____________________________________________

(Present Day, The Nothing, Pride Ring, Hell)

Alastor leaned forward in his chair, his elbow on his knees, his chin cupped in his hands. His eyes bore into you with every word of your story. The demon listened intently, paying attention to every detail, every flicker of emotion on your face.

Was he expecting you to lie? Was he expecting deceit? You had offered up nothing but the truth - for once. You told Alastor the entire story.

“You killed Eve.”

“I did.”

“For power?”

“Yes.”

Alastor’s eyes finally leave yours, his gaze wandering to the City before you.

“I know why you’re at the Hotel, Alastor.”

That caught his attention. Surprise fills his face as he raises an eyebrow at you, ears perked at attention.

“Oh?” He purrs.

“I know about the deal with Lillith, but it’s more than that. You’re looking for Roo.*” You cross your arms in front of your chest, a sly smile worming its way into your crooked grin. Finally, you could let the demonic side of you shine - the curse of Knowledge slipping through.

“Is that so?” He intertwines his fingers, his hands coming to rest in his lap. The Radio Demon is clearly amused with your statement - yet his radio static is nowhere to be found.

Interesting.

“Power and chaos. Isn’t that always the story?” You stand and take a step towards him, cautious yet curious to see how he will react.

“And what would you know of Roo?” His lips curl.

There it was. There’s the Radio Demon. The power-hungry murderer. God, that look gave you chills.

“I know that’s not her real name,” another step.

Alastor sits up straighter.

You can’t believe he hasn’t put it together - or he has, and he’s toying with you.

“Oh?”

“Rule number one of Hell, don’t go by your God-given name.”

He waits for you to elaborate.

“Roo’s real name…” You take another step, his eyes flicker over your form, noting the proximity. Was he anxious? You leaned forward, your hands on the armrests of his chair as you towered over him.

You stopped close enough to feel Alastor’s breath on your face, his eyes automatically dropping to your red lips. You smirked, “...was Eve.”

You feel the tattoo on your back shift as you break the rune which was sealing the magic within.

Words fly across your skin, roaming the unclothed flesh. Your sclera turned black, your hair coming undone by the power surging through every fiber of your being. Horns grew atop your head, your spiked tail unfolding from your backside. Your wings popped out, their black feathers shining in the light. The Radio Demon watched as you let the power of the Book of Knowledge, hidden deep within you, flow freely for the first time in nearly a decade.

He could feel it, he could smell it - the power so potent he could taste it on his tongue: roses, the Book forever carrying a remnant of its original owner, Eve.

You were the epitome of power - the Root of All Evil.

Roo.

After Lucifer ran off with Lilith, he returned to the Garden of Eden with a gift: the Book of Knowledge. He granted it to Eve before he left. Eve never said why he did it, but she was grateful. She would do anything to get away from Eden. Eve took the book and attempted to flee, but Father lured her back, using Adam as bait. Despite what the Second Woman claimed, part of you always believed she had feelings for the First Man...

But, before Eve was taken, she merged herself with the power from the Book so it could never be separated from her. They’d have to kill her for it.

Instead, Father had her locked up and contained. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t, and he didn’t want to risk that power passing on to a different hand only to breed a more powerful enemy.

Eve stewed in isolation for thousands of years before finding a way out, before she made her way back to Earth to brew chaos and destruction.

That’s when you were sent to find her. That’s when you befriended her. That’s when you killed her and took the power from the Book for yourself.

Alastor’s smile widens far past what you thought was possible for the demon. His eyes meet yours, his gaze exploding with fire.

“Interesting.” From the Void, Alastor pulls a blade - Velvette's blade. He palms the handle, gripping it in greedy temptation as you, the object of all his desires, stand before him.

You couldn’t recall when the Angelic blade had ended up in his possession, but you weren’t surprised. You knew he was going to try and kill you when he found out - he’d need Angelic steel to do that.

The demon cups your face, his thumb running across your cheek. You could see the hunger for power in his eyes, the constraint with which he fought to maintain composure. Briefly, his pupils flashed into radio dials.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Alastor breathed, his voice absent of static. His lips found yours as he kissed you long and gently. You let yourself melt into him, memorizing his smell, his warmth, the way his lips felt against yours for one final time...

(Keep scrolling)

... and then Alastor plunged the blade deep into your belly.

Could you imagine if I just ended the series right there? That would be HILARIOUS, right? …right? Ha, ha, don’t worry, the story goes on.

-> Chapter Fourteen

History Guide (if you read any of this, read the red at the bottom; it's super important to understanding the fanfic):

1917, Russia - A month after Eve and Thestral's meeting in Russia, Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovich and the rest of the Romanov family were taken prisoner during the February Revolution in 1917, which ended Russia's involvement in WW1 and the Imperial reign of the Tsar. They were executed in July 1918. Yes, I am implying Eve had something to do with this. Link to Wiki

1923, Chicago - Al Capone (also known as "Scarface") was Chicago’s infamous Prohibition Era gangster. He was famous for bootlegging, illegal gambling, and violent crime. He ran one of Chicago's largest and most infamous gangs: Link to Wiki

1937 Lae, New Guinea - Amelia Earhart's - the famous American Aviation pioneer who attempted to become the first female pilot to fly around the world - last known location, before they found her plane in the sea, was Lae, New Guinea: Link to Wiki

1945, Germany - Did I just imply that Eve killed Hitler? Yes, yes, I did. Fun fact, Russia beat the USA to the Capitol of Berlin by only a few hours: Link to Wiki

1974, London - Although our protagonists (arguably antagonists at this point, am I right?) are in London and not Washington D.C., the major event of this segment is Nixon's resignation. I am implying that they had something to do with Watergate without directly stating it: Link to Wiki

*The Book of Knowledge: Okay, go back and watch Episode One, "Overture." In the beginning, when Charlie is reading the story of Heaven and Hell, there's a point where she says: "Together [Lilith and Lucifer], they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity, offering the Fruit of Knowledge to Adam's new bride, Eve, who gladly accepted." The scene shows Lucifer handing Eve a book. The idea here is that knowledge = power, and Lucifer handed over the most powerful well of magic to Eve unknowingly. Knowledge = power = literal physical power = power corrupts = Roo is born.

BOOM. The entirety of my fanfic was birthed from one scene in Hazbin Hotel! But, in actuality, I do think Eve is Roo in canon. Link to Transcript

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you want to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto

118 notes · View notes

willowser · 1 year ago

Text

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to.

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress.

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought.

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek.

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon.

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

#i was so nervous about getting the quirk right kahfkahf #and then i was so nervous about it being fluffy enough bc the first draft of this was too angsty ??#SO I REWROTE IT LOL #i hope this is okay !! 🥺#i love the idea of bakugou being able to express how he feels in emotion only #that the fear he doesn't know how to name or how to explain or understand is conveyed to you somehow #whenever he touches you #🥺#tysm for giving me the chance to write it !!!#literally no but seriously you're the only reason i haven't privated this blog again LMAOOO tysm 🥺#✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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supermarvelgirl15 · 6 months ago

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The Stripper's Bodyguard

Summary: Wade tricks you into dressing as a stripper to get information for a merc job. Logan isn't too thrilled about it.

Pairing: Logan Howlett × f!reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Slight Deadpool and Wolverine spoilers, Wade being Wade, alcohol tw, light violence, perverts, and reader has self-doubts for a moment

A/N: I too have become a victim of the Logan Renaissance ™. This is my first time writing for Logan and Wade, so I apologize for any inaccuracies. I love my little angry babygirl <3

Main Masterlist

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You didn’t want to be here. To be fair, you’re sure the only one that wanted to be here was Wade, but his vote didn’t count. Not to you anyway, or Logan for that matter. The place was crowded, loud, and the floor was sticky, you dare not to think with what.

The hell, although heaven to some apparently, you were currently in was a strip club. Wade had persuaded, no, dragged you to join him. It was obvious that he was here for something other than the gorgeous, half-naked women because he was dressed head to toe in his suit, despite hiding his weapons from view and some petite bag he was carrying. Sure, he could just be covering his face for—ahem—other reasons, but you knew how Wade played these games. Besides, the only stripper he went to anymore was Vanessa, and this wasn’t her place.

Before his little mid-life crisis, you were Wade’s “guy in the chair.” You were the one that would find Wade his merc jobs, always finding the biggest asshole with the biggest number on their head. There were a fair share of targets that were done for free, but those were usually the ones that deserved a fate worse than Wade’s sword.

During his time as a car salesman, however, you just became an information distributor, selling knowledge to whoever was willing to buy. You always did your research on the buyer of course, never letting info get into the wrong hands. The job wasn’t fun without Deadpool though. Especially when the rent usually fell onto just you and Al, because who in their right mind would buy a vehicle from a raisin with what looked like a baby Ewok stapled on his head.

Then one day, Wade pranced back into the apartment accompanied with a dog dressed in a matching Deadpool suit and a man that seemed vaguely familiar. Apparently, the two of them had just saved your universe, and the scruffy man, Logan, was from another Earth in a separate timeline. You were just happy that Wade had found himself again.

Slowly, but surely, you grew accustomed to your new roommate. Logan mostly kept to himself, but he was always kind and polite towards you. The ideal roommate really, unlike a certain mouth. He was easy on the eyes too, so bonus.

It was nice to have someone else around while Wade started seeing Vanessa again. You loved Al to death, but when she didn’t have her “white girl interrupted” time, not even the Wolverine dared to get in her way. You’d like to think Logan liked the company as well.

Logan didn’t share any of his past with you, but from what you gathered from Wade, you didn’t blame him. You just hoped that this Earth treated him better than the last. Even though you didn’t know too much about him, he seemed like he had earned it.

He honestly felt like a personal bodyguard at times, which was great for the creepy guys at the grocery store. One instance when it was your turn to go food shopping, Logan decided to tag along—it was either going with you or risk getting roped into helping Wade give Mary Puppins a bath.

While at the store, a guy had come up behind you, making a comment about your ass. Before you could even get a word out, Logan stepped in between you and the guy, looking down at him with an expression that usually meant that he was about to stab Wade with his claws. A “beat it, bub” was all it took for the creep to hightail it out of there. The butterflies that came to life in your stomach after that hadn’t flown away since.

You eventually got back the title of Wade’s—and now sometimes Logan’s—guy in the chair, and you were ecstatic to go back to your roots. Between the three of you, rent was no longer a problem, which was relief to Al’s ears. You all made a pretty good team, even with Dogpool.

It was earlier that day when Wade came to you, asking if you were free. At the time you had said yes, but now you wished you had lied. He just clapped and ordered you to get ready, that he was going to take you out for a girl’s night—ha! You should’ve known better than that.

Logan had overheard you crazily caving into Wade’s pleas to go out with him. He didn’t need heightened senses to know that Wade had an ulterior motive to getting you to go out. That’s why he invited himself to come along. Someone had to make sure Wade wasn’t screwing you over.

Now, the three of you were hanging out on the outskirts of the club, the music blaring through the speakers around you. You weren’t even one of the working girls, yet you could still feel multiple pairs of eyes on you. It must’ve been a coincidence that Logan moved himself closer to you then.

“Are you going to tell us why you dragged us here?” You questioned Wade over the music. You had to repeat yourself a second time for him to hear you.

Wade turned to you, holding up two fingers. “Two things. One: I dragged you here. Real Steel came on his own, which isn’t a new thing for him. Don’t worry, pal, we’ve all been there.” He attempted to give Logan a reassuring pat on the back, but Logan’s warning glare made him rethink it rather quickly.

“Two: Remember Mister Bad Guy we’ve been looking into? He’s here getting his rocks off with some friends of his, like some evil orgey thing.” Wade made a gesture with his hands, one making you scrunch your nose up in disgust. You’d think you’d be used to it by now.

The “Mister Bad Guy” Wade was referring to was a man named Ramone Grimm—his name even sounded evil. He was one of the homicidal leaders of a trafficking ring that both you and Wade had been keeping tabs on. You’ve been looking tirelessly for where their operations were being held, but kept running into a dead end. How Wade even found out he was here was beyond you.

Your eyes widened in surprise. “What? How? More importantly, what does that have to do with me being here?” You never went out into the field, that was strictly Wade’s area of expertise. He knew that too, so now you definitely knew something was up.

“Everything, sweetums!” Wade excitedly reached into the bag he had been carrying, pulling out a two-piece set that looked similar to lingerie. “I hope you don’t mind that I know your size. Blind Al’s always getting our bras mixed up in the laundry.” He held up the outfit up against himself to display the look for you.

Bile rose up at the back of your throat. “What, what do I need that for?” Your eyes had to be bulging outside of your head. It really didn’t help that Logan was here witnessing all of this. You were going to find a way to kill Wade.

Wade just dipped his head, looking at you like he was annoyed that he had to spell it out. “For your promotion to exotic dancer, silly.” He threw the set back into the bag before rubbing his hands together. “Now, what should your name be? Candy’s too cliché. Buttercup? Nah, too Robin Wright-y. How about—”

“What?”

Both you and Logan spat out the word, though you’re sure his held more venom in it. Logan’s fist clenched at his sides, along with his jaw. He looked more pissed off at Wade than you were, if that was possible.

Holding his hands up in surrender, Wade took a step back. “Whoa there, Mickey and Mallory. No need to go all Natural Born Killers on me. It’s just a cover so you could get close enough to Grimm and his buddies. Believe me, if I could get away with wearing this,” he held up the bag that now hung on his finger, “I’d already be out there struttin’ my stuff, baby girl.”

Logan stepped in between the two of you. “She’s not wearing that,” he seethed through his teeth. This had to be Wade’s most idiotic plan yet, and Logan wasn’t about to let you be a part of it.

Wagging his finger, Wade clicked his tongue. “That’s not very woke of you. I know you were alive before women were even allowed to wear pants, but come on, James, get with the program.” Wade’s life flashed before your eyes when Logan roughly grabbed him by the collar.

Before he could take it any further, you snatched the bag out of Wade’s hands. “I’ll do it,” you muttered, rubbing the material in the bag between your fingers. At least it was thick.

“You don’t need to do this,” Logan tried to reason with you as he let go of Wade.

You just shook your head. “It’s fine, Logan. Besides, you and Wade will be here to watch my six, right?” You let out a dry chuckle at an attempt to make him believe you were actually fine with it, but you knew he could see through your facade. Still, he reluctantly nodded in agreement.

The bathroom mirror did nothing to hide your discomfort, both from the lack of clothing in a place full of men with bad intentions and that Wade did in fact get the right size. It was going to be worth it though. You were doing this to save lives. It was just like wearing a bathing suit, right? Right.

After several minutes of psyching yourself up, you emerged from the bathroom, the immediate stares burning holes into your skin. There was nothing like being the new blood at a strip joint. You already regretted going along with this.

“Well, look. At. You! If I knew you were going to look this sexy, I would’ve started buying you lingerie a loooong time ago.” Wade used his hands as a pretend camera. “Might have to save this mental image for later. I know Wolvie here definitely is, you filthy animal.”

The daggers you were using to stab Wade repeatedly in your mind wasn’t enough.

You had to make yourself look at Logan, just to see his eyes raking over you, soaking you in. The expression on his face was unreadable. Maybe the outfit wasn’t so bad after all.

“What do I need to do now?” You asked as you scanned the crowd, locking eyes with a few different men instantly. Ew. The other women that walked around had a confidence that made your insecurities start to claw their way up to the surface. How could Vanessa do this for a living?

Wade made a gesture for a group huddle, but just ended up putting one arm awkwardly around Logan and a hand respectfully on your shoulder. You were surprised that Logan even let him go that far, but you just found that his eyes were still on you. Hopefully he’d think your elevated heartbeat was because of your nerves.

“Here’s the gameplan, team. You’re gonna work your magic and make your way to the back where the VIP tables are while we play the stripper’s bodyguard. Once you hear Grimm’s dirty little secrets, we ride off into the sunset. Capiche?” Wade looks at you expectantly. You swallow past the lump in your throat, forcing yourself to nod. “Great! Okay, on three! One, two, three! Go Dragons!”

With that, Wade took off skipping across the club, leaving you with your self-doubts. Why did you let him drag you here? Why did you agree to do this? This is why you stay at home, where it’s safe and away from the real danger of this job. You’re not cut out for this. There’re too many people. Are you freaking out now? Oh, no, you’re freaking out—

“Hey. Look at me.”

Logan gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch stopped your inner turmoil, your focus zoning in on him. His eyes glanced over your face. “You look fine,” he assured you. At least you wouldn’t hyperventilate now because you’re pretty sure you forgot how to breathe.

“Anyone touches you, says anything to you, so much as looks at you the wrong way—you come get me, and I’ll set ’em straight. Understand?” Logan’s voice is low as he speaks to you, the sound comforting to your ears against the obnoxious music. You slowly nod, not trusting your voice enough to respond verbally.

He keeps eye contact with you, his thumb absentmindedly stroking your chin, until he’s sure you’ll be okay. It isn’t until then that he finally let’s go of you, reluctantly pushing himself through the club in the opposite direction that Wade went. You didn’t take your eyes off his back until he disappeared into the sea of people.

You take a deep breath, coming back to your senses. You could do this. You looked hot, you were confident, and Logan or Wade wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. Everything would be fine.

Your shoes had trouble with clinging to the questionable floor as you made your way towards the back, ignoring the cat calls from other patrons. You picked up a discarded tray with drinks from a table to make it look like you had a reason for being in VIP. It was surprisingly easy to get in, with you just telling the bouncer that you were the new blood. The way his eyes raked over your body was nothing like the way Logan had looked at you. This one left you nauseated instead of elated.

The bouncer just let you in with a mumbled “good luck” and closed the rope behind you. Now, you just had to find Grimm’s table. His face was practically burned onto the back of your eyelids from all the times you’ve been researching him and his group. How did Wade find him here when you didn’t? You probably didn’t want to know.

Once you slipped pass the VIP rope, Logan lost sight of you, which made his heartbeat pick up some. It was hard to focus on just your scent when there were so many others mixing together within this place. He was going to stab Wade in the dick for this. You shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t have let you do this.

One way or the other, this was going to end with him mauling somebody. Everyone in this place should be praying to God that someone doesn’t lay a single finger on you. He needed a drink.

Grimm’s table were a bunch of disgusting bastards. They were all drunk and held no respect for the girls that were working their table. Then again, what else would you expect from assholes that ran a trafficking ring.

It didn’t take long for one of them to mention something about transporting “products” to a warehouse a couple states over. You tried your hardest to keep your expression neutral as you mentally jotted the location down while also ignoring the unsavory comments from the other men. This whole mess was actually going to be worth it.

You were luckily able to slip back out just as easily as you had slipped in, acknowledging the bouncer with a small smile. All you had to do now was find Wade and Logan, get out of here, and put on some more clothes. You were actually amazed at how smoothly this had worked out.

“Where you off to, darlin’?”

Maybe you spoke too soon.

Everything in you went into overdrive as you slowly turned to face the guy that had spoken to you, seeing that he was barely even able to stand on his own. He took a long sip from his beer, his eyes glued to everything on you but your face.

“Sorry, my shift just ended.” You offered him an uncomfortable smile before turning away from him.

The guy immediately grabbed your arm, pulling you back towards him. “But we just got started,” he slurred, his breath alone enough to intoxicate you. His grip didn’t waver, even when you tried to pull away. Frantically, your eyes scanned the crowd, hoping to find either Logan or Wade, but neither of them were in sight. Where were they?

“Let me go.” You said the words with as much malice that you could muster, but they might as well had fallen on deaf ears. If anything, they just seemed to entice him more.

“Oh, ’m like it when ya talk back.” His face was way too close to yours now. The smell of his breath—and his words—were going to make you puke right on him. Good.

You barely even registered it when the guy was suddenly slung backwards off of you into a table, the commotion capturing the attention of the nearby clubgoers and workers. The cause of the pervert’s sudden take of flight was none other than Logan, who now stood in front of you, his chest heaving and eyes filled with a rage that not even you had seen before.

“What the hell?!” Perve guy yelled as he clamored to stand back up, someone beside him eventually helping him. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Logan’s hands twitched at his sides. “She said let her go.” You were worried his teeth were about to break with how hard he clenched them together.

Perve guy scoffed. “’M money means I can touch her if I want, jackass.” He attempted to push past Logan to get to you, but he didn’t get too far before Logan pushed him backwards until his back hit the wall with a loud thud. Logan’s claws unsheathed against the man’s neck, earning gasps and screams from the crowd that now surrounded them.

“You wanna try that again, bub?” Logan spat, his claws only just grazing the perve’s bobbing Adam's apple. The guy shook his head, his eyes wide. He seemed to sober up almost immediately.

When Logan didn’t make a move to let him go, you slowly approached him, calling his name. “Let’s get out of here.” You placed your hand on his arm gently, moving your head so he would look you in the eye.

Slowly, Logan retracted his claws and let him go. He gestured with his head for the guy to beat it, which he did not hesitate to do. Logan turned to you then, delicately grabbing your arm where the guy had had a hold of you. “Did he hurt you?” He still held a bit of anger in his eyes, prepared to gut the guy if you said yes.

You shook your head. “I’m fine. Can we just get out of here?” If anything, you’d have a bruise in the morning. You’d just try to hide it from Logan if so. The two of you had already created a big enough commotion as it was.

Logan stared at you a moment longer, making sure that you were actually okay. He shrugged off his jacket, placing it over your shoulders before directing you towards the door. Not a single person even dared to look in your direction while he was with you.

Wade had met you at the door, a few bills tucked into his belt. “I heard there was almost a murder on the dancefloor, and not the kind that gives you a salt burn either.” He paused when he noticed you in Logan’s jacket, and that Logan had a protective arm wrapped around your shoulder. “O. M. G. Did y’all have a 1992’s The Bodyguard moment? You totally did, didn’t you? You have to tell me every detail. Now, who was Whitney and who was Costner?”

Both you and Logan shared a look with each other before glaring at Wade.

“Shut it, Wade.”

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#marvel #logan howlett × reader #wolverine × reader #logan howlett fic #wolverine fic #logan howlett #james howlett #james logan howlett #wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #kay writes

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