#he doesn't consciously remember but deep down he knows it comes back to this. same as with the age thing: he doesn't 'know'

[muninnhuginn]

So, at first I wasn't registering episode 1 was taking place in seven's head which is why I didn't link this together, but now I *have* and. What does it mean that the bridge to remembering his past is the same as the bridge he first fell from?

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART TEN

masterlist | kofi | notifs | *spongebob narrator voice* 4 months later. well, i'm not gonna bore you all with excuses, god knows most of you have heard what's been goin' on with me at this point lmao. but yall have been so patient and lovely and i really really appreciate it. i hope you enjoy this chapter; it's a little bit of bliss before things get... interesting. there's still more to come (about four chapters or so) and i'll try to update much sooner next time but please remember i'm only one person & i write this for fun (and for free) in my spare time!!! ik it can be frustrating when there are long periods between updates but i'm trying my best, please know that. k love u bye 💕 chapter summary: you & joel enjoy your little weekend getaway, far from the prying eyes and ears of your parents. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: age gap (reader is early 20s, joel is mid 50s), unprotected p in v sex, creampies, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink (joel has a big dick), tummy bulge, deepthroating (or...attempted deepthroating), cum swallowing, fingering, pussy kisses, ridiculous amounts of fluff, namedropping one of my fav songs of all time because i can, the tiniest mention of sexual assault (aka noah) word count: 12.9k ao3

You think you might finally understand what it means to experience happiness.

Not the feelings you've faked for most of your life, not the plastered-on smiles and faux giggles, autopilot prayers and forced gratitude. No - real happiness. That tingling sensation of nothing but pure bliss, safety, love, and peace, something that's felt far out of your reach for most of your life. It swells in your chest, makes a home in your heart as you nuzzle into fluffy pillows, warm bedsheets, and feel yourself drift in and out of consciousness, completely and utterly relaxed. Happy, you can't help but think to yourself, I'm so happy.

You're aware of Joel's presence, fading in and out here and there as he wipes a damp cloth between your legs, across your stomach, down your thighs - taking care of you, making sure you're comfortable. Afterward he cuddles in behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, buries his face in the back of your neck and inhales deeply; you wonder if he's feeling the exact same way you are right now - god, you hope he is.

"That felt so good," you murmur to him softly, eyes still closed, "Felt so good, Joel."

He kisses your neck, holds you tighter in his embrace, "I know, babygirl."

"Can still feel you inside me," you breathe, "It's like you're still there."

He chuckles softly, "Not to burst your bubble but that's probably cum. Couldn't get all of it with the cloth." The words that should be dirty - should seem shameful - do nothing but send a warm tingle down your spine, a sleepy smile to your face. You know he's right - you can still feel something warm deep inside you, a slow trickle making its way to your opening, but there's something else. You're still pulsing every so often around the phantom of a shape, an echo of what was still there only a few moments ago.

"It's not just that," you shuffle in the sheets, nuzzling your face further into the pillow, "it's like... like you're still in there, spreading me open."

He groans and his grip around you tightens, fingertips pressing into the malleable softness of your belly. He leans down to press a small kiss to your ear, "Can't just say stuff like that, angel. Gonna get me hard again." You shiver.

"Good," you whisper, "'Cause I want you to do it again."

His legs tangle with yours under the sheets as he pulls you in, scruff nuzzling against the bare skin of your shoulder, "We'll wait a little bit," he murmurs, "You're gonna start feelin' a little sore soon, if you don't already."

"I don't," you breathe, and you mean it. "Doesn't hurt at all, really. It... it didn't hurt. I always thought it would hurt."

You can almost feel his frown against your skin, "S'not supposed to hurt," he murmurs, "Woulda stopped if you'd been in any pain."

You smile, "I know you would've."

He hums into your hair, strokes his hand down along your arm, "S'good," he mumbles, and you're suddenly aware of the heaviness in his voice, the way his lips wrap lazily around the words.

"Are you sleepy?" you ask softly.

"Yeah, baby," he breathes, "M'sleepy."

You smile at the adorable admission, then lean back into his embrace and settle in. The sun is starting to go down, casting the room in long orange and blue shadows, warm and comforting. Your eyes close again and you focus on that blissful feeling, on the weight of Joel's naked body behind you holding you close, the sound of his breathing, his smell. On the fact that you've never felt more safe in your entire life.

"I'm so glad it was you," you whisper, and you don't mind if he's already fallen asleep.

--

You're not sure how long you both nap, but you wake up soon after to a completely dark hotel room, save for the flickering lights from the traffic below and the warm glow of the buildings outside the window. Your eyes flutter for a few seconds as your brain reconnects you to the present, and you're suddenly very aware of a dull ache in your groin, an unpleasant throb that hadn't been there earlier.

"Ow," you mumble incoherently, reaching blindly for the blankets and pulling them back to peer down at yourself, but the room is so dark that it's difficult to see anything properly, "Ow."

"S'wrong?" you hear Joel mumble beside you, stirring from his own slumber.

You wince in embarrassment, shaking your head, "It's nothing, go back to sleep."

"Y'said 'ow'," you feel him sit up and reach over to turn on the lamp, "You okay?"

As soon as the lamplight floods the room your eyes cast downward, half expecting to see some medical emergency, some horrific reason for the vacation to end early, to ruin everything before it's barely even started - but thankfully it's none of those things. You're just a little swollen - puffier than usual - and aching, but not in a good way. You bring your hand down and cup yourself gently, hissing a bit when your fingers brush against your opening; it feels almost like a bruise.

"Oh, honey," Joel murmurs, and you turn your head to see his brows furrowing in concern, "Y'sore?"

You wince, biting your lip, "Um, a little."

He frowns and pulls his own side of the blankets back, and you can't help the warmth that floods your cheeks when you see his exposed body; the dark hair wisping across his tan skin, his soft belly and strong thighs - and his cock, soft and heavy and impossible not to look at. You've seen him naked several times at this point but every time still somehow feels like the first, like it's brand new. You watch as he crawls downward and gently places his hand on top of yours.

"Lemme see," he murmurs softly, and you allow him to pull your hand back, exposing your sore pussy to him. His brow furrows, "Aw baby, you're all swollen."

"Is that normal?"

He nods, eyes still trailing up and down, "It's normal," he assures you, "It's probably worse 'cause - well," he smiles sheepishly, peering up at you.

"'Cause you're so big," you finish for him, your own lips turning up into a smirk, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, that." You watch as he brings his hands down and very carefully thumbs your outer lips, pulls them apart to assess what's inside. He groans, and you're about to ask what's wrong when you see a thin stream of his cum dribble out onto the sheets below.

"Fuck," you both whisper at the same time, and when your eyes meet you can see that his are suddenly dark, glassy. You feel yourself begin to throb beneath his touch.

"Still full o'me," he murmurs, eyes trailing back down to where you're dripping, "Messy girl."

Your own eyes go hooded as you watch him lean down and press a small kiss to your clit; your hips buck up, a whimper slipping past your lips as his whiskers prickle deliciously against your sensitive skin. He smiles against you, kisses your clit again and darts his tongue out to taste, just for a moment. You whine.

"I know what you need, babygirl" he whispers, nosing your mound and closing his eyes, "I know what'll help."

Your mind races with possibilities. "Wh-what?"

He suddenly pulls back, crooked smile lighting up his beautiful face, "A bath. It'll help with the soreness." Oh. He presses another kiss to your clit, "If I can bring myself to stop kissin' this perfect pussy."

You giggle softly and he opens his eyes to look up at you again, smiling tenderly. He reluctantly pulls himself off you and climbs off the bed, reaching down to grab his discarded underwear from the floor. "I'll start runnin' the water," he tells you softly, pulling them on and taking a step forward to brush your hair out of your face, "You just relax, sweet girl. Don't move a muscle."

The bath is warm and inviting, lit candles lining the counter and floor and dousing the room in a warm glow; it's hard to believe only a few hours earlier you were on the verge of a panic attack on these very tiles. Now you lean back against the cool rim of the claw foot tub, eyes closed as you submerge yourself in the hot water. There's no panic or anxiety in your body anymore, just warmth and comfort and the welcome ache in your groin, the smell of vanilla in your nose.

"Good temp?" Joel asks softly nearby, and you hear his hand breach the surface of the water, testing the heat. You smile.

"Perfect," you breathe, eyes still closed, "Thank you."

His hand brushes lightly against yours under the water and he squeezes it gently, then murmurs, "I'll give you some privacy."

Your eyes snap open, "No," you cradle his hand in both of yours as your brows furrow, "Stay."

A smile breaks across his face, charming and boyish as he seats himself down next to the bathtub with barely any hesitation, like he'd been hoping you'd say that. He keeps hold of your hand beneath the water and tilts his face toward yours - you press your forehead against his and breathe a long sigh of relief.

"Feelin' okay?" he murmurs, "Emotionally?"

You nod, sighing contentedly, "More than okay," you whisper, "I... I still can't believe it actually happened." Your lips twitch upward and you press a soft kiss to his cheek, closing your eyes, "Thank you."

He squeezes your hand again beneath the water before pulling out and bringing it upwards to cradle your face, tilting your head to look at him. His eyes are still a bit sleepy, hair sticking up in all directions and that beautiful smile still lighting up his face as he thumbs your cheek.

"I should be thankin' you," he breathes, "For trustin' me like that, bein' so vulnerable with me." He leans in to kiss you tenderly, but his words send a sudden flutter of insecurity through your body and you pull back to look at him again, unsure.

"Was I... was I good at it?" you ask quietly, "Did I do okay?"

"Oh, angel," he murmurs, bringing his other hand up to cup both your cheeks and brush his nose gently against yours, "You did so good. So, so, so good."

He ends up washing your hair, a small but significant gesture that makes the feelings from earlier bubble up again, the warm fondness and tenderness and love. You lean back in the tub, eyes closed, lost in the sensations of his big hands deftly applying the shampoo and conditioner, massaging it into your scalp and making your eyes roll back. It's ridiculous how even this makes you throb beneath the surface, the ache dissipating a bit in the hot water. So much so that when he caps the conditioner and rinses your hair once again, you reach up to take his hand and squeeze, eyes still shut.

"Touch me," you whisper, voice already desperate, "Please."

He doesn't need any convincing, inching toward the side of the tub and reaching inside to cup your pussy in his big hand again, softly rubbing your clit. You whimper and tremble, gripping the edge of the tub for support and whining when he speeds up, circling and rubbing it exactly how you like it.

"Poor little pussy," you hear him murmur, "Just needs some relief after gettin' fucked like that, doesn't she baby?"

"Mmhmm," you manage to hum, squeezing the sides of the tub and nodding furiously, "Y-yeah."

"Took so much cock in this little hole," he whispers, and that's enough to send you over the edge, eyes snapping open as you shake and shiver in the hot water. You see him sitting there, smiling at you with a devious glint in his eyes. He knows exactly the effect he has on you.

--

"What do we do now?" you ask him softly from the couch a little while later, carefully scrunching a towel in your hair and watching as he changes the bedsheets upon your request - you'd felt a bit embarrassed asking, but you'd really rather not sleep in a wet spot. He'd been more than gracious in honoring your request.

It's late, but the nap and the bath have left you feeling wide awake, and you have to admit that you're feeling a bit hungry too despite the full meal earlier. Does sex make you hungry? You file it as a question to ask Tasha.

"Whatever you wanna do, darlin'," he says with a smile, turning down the sheets and gesturing for you to join him in bed again, "C'mere."

You give your hair one last squeeze and pad over to the bed, clad in Joel's Grateful Dead shirt from earlier today. You don't care in the slightest that it's not necessarily the cleanest article of clothing to be wearing after a bath - it smells like him, feels like him. You just can't get enough of him.

Insatiable.

You both climb back into bed and he pulls you in immediately, tugging you close and wrapping his big arms around you. You lean back into him and feel yourself grinning without even really thinking about it, eyes closing as you focus on the feeling of his chest moving back and forth against your back with every breath.

"Always look so pretty in my shirts, babygirl," he whispers in your ear, and it sends tingles down your spine, a rush of warmth to your heart. He kisses you gently and you listen as he inhales deeply, nose buried in your damp hair. His hand travels downward and you both watch as he cups your pussy yet again, warm and soft.

"Feelin' a little better?" he asks quietly, thumb trailing gently up and down your outer lips, "Still sore?"

"Better," you reassure him gently - and you mean it; the warm water did help to ease the ache.

He hums and continues to trace your soft lips, nosing your ear and breathing deeply again, and fuck, you could get used to this. This casual intimacy, being touched without any expectations, any fear or anxiety. Feeling safe and wanted and cared for in his embrace, no worrying about getting home early, no time limit looming. Just you and him.

I love you, you want to whisper.

Your stomach growls.

He removes his hand almost immediately. "Room service," he says with a chuckle, and your eyes snap open again as he reaches over and grabs the menu on the nightstand, placing it in front of you both, "Pick your poison."

Your eyes are drawn almost immediately to the dessert section, followed by a short wave of guilt. You're craving something sweet, but you can't help but think back to being a kid again, asking for treats and being denied, feeling as if your desires were unimportant, childish, silly.

But no, you're not that scared kid anymore. You're not. You won't be.

You bite your lip, "You know what I could really go for right now?"

"What?"

"It's silly, but-"

"It ain't silly, babygirl," he murmurs, and his big hand travels down to squeeze your thigh gently, a comforting gesture, "Whatever it is, it ain't silly."

Less than a minute later he's on the phone with room service, ordering you a hot fudge sundae.

You spend the rest of the night nestled in the warmth of your hotel bed, flicking between channels, legs tangled together beneath the sheets as you take turns scooping heaping spoons of ice cream back and forth. Your mouth and fingertips are sticky, chocolate lining your lips, dribbles of melted vanilla dolloped on your chin which Joel wastes no time in delicately lapping up with his tongue.

"God, you're so fuckin' sweet," he whispers to you, kisses you softly, darts his tongue out to taste again. You hum against his lips and try to keep your emotions at bay; he tastes like chocolate and vanilla and safety.

--

Waking up is different with the morning sun shining brightly through the hotel windows, but that's not the only thing that's different; you notice as your eyes flutter open that the ache in your groin is gone, replaced by a growing hunger and arousal in the pit of your stomach.

Oh, wow.

Joel's arms are around you, wrapped strong and solid, and when you turn within them and see him sleeping next to you, the hunger only grows. God, he's so handsome like this - the grey in his hair sparkling in the early light, jaw soft and lax with sleep, cheeks flushed. Almost angelic in his own way, gentle and peaceful.

Until his eyelashes begin to flutter delicately against the streams of sunlight, brow furrowing in sleepy confusion at your sudden movement; he's awake.

The desire in your belly burns.

"You look so cute," you whisper without even really thinking about it, and his eyelashes halt their fluttering to give you another look of confusion.

"Cute's not exactly a word I'd use to describe myself," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, "S'all you."

"Well, I would," you reply with a smile, watching as he closes his eyes again and nestles his face into the pillow. You reach forward to gently thumb one of the lines at the corner of his mouth, deep-set and soft beneath your touch. His eyelids twitch but he doesn't open them, "You're so soft too," you admit quietly.

"Again," he breathes, lips turning up slightly into a sleepy smile, "Not a word I'd use."

"Cute and soft," you repeat, thumb moving downward to trace the shape of his bottom lip, "And mine."

He chuckles under his breath, face smooshing a little more into the pillow, "M'yours," he murmurs, "all yours."

All yours.

You lean in even closer and inhale deeply, nose trailing up and down along his temple. Your eyes almost roll back at the scent of him, the masculine and heady aroma of his sweat alighting your senses. You're wide awake now, pussy throbbing somewhere below as you press a kiss to the apple of his cheek, tongue darting out to taste his skin.

His eyes open halfway, eyebrow raising as he sleepily watches you work your mouth up and down the side of his face, breath coming quicker and more frantic as your legs wind around him under the sheets. Obliging your desperation, his big arms tighten around you and he rolls the both of you, allowing you to settle on top of his large, warm body.

You stare down at him, hunger clear in your eyes.

"You were inside me," you whisper.

His mouth turns up at the corners, "I was."

"It felt really good."

"It did."

You lean your face down to trace your nose along his cheekbone again, eyes hooded, voice needy.

"I want you to be inside me again."

He peers up at you, sleepiness already fading from his expression as he watches yours with mirrored desire, "Yeah? You want me to be inside you right now?"

You nod, "Yes, please."

"Then turn over on your side, angel."

A little confused but certainly not opposed, you do as he says, rolling back over onto your side and resting your head softly against your pillow. You feel his hand dip downwards beneath the sheets, then his fingertips glide smoothly along your abdomen. Your heart hammers in your chest when he lifts up your - or rather, his - shirt and thumbs your tummy gently.

"Are y'still sore?" he murmurs, "How d'you feel?"

"M'wet, Joel," you whimper, grinding back against the blankets and trying to feel him, "M'really wet."

"Lemme feel," he breathes, hand trailing downward even further. His fingers dip into your soft, soaked centre and a low groan rumbles in his throat, "Oh babygirl, so wet for me."

"Put it in," you whimper, not caring how pathetic and needy you probably sound, "Please, Joel, put it in me again."

"Christ," you hear him mutter, arousal burning in his voice, "Okay baby, hold still, I'll put it in. I'll make you feel better."

Seconds later you feel the heat of his tip crowding the space at your entrance, already wet and sticky. A soft moan falls from your throat at the sensation, eyes closing as you feel Joel's hand cup your leg and pull it upwards, holding you open. He hooks it in the crook of his arm, shuffling forward a bit and pushing the head of his cock inside your heat.

"Oh, fuck," you whine, head falling backwards. You feel his nose in your hair again, feel the stretch of your pussy and the widening of your thighs as he pulls your leg up even more.

"Yeah, there you go," he murmurs, pushing inside further. He goes slow, takes his time, until he's fully sheathed inside of you and your eyes are rolling back on their own accord, quiet whimpers tumbling past your lips. "Yeah, look at you takin' that cock."

As if by muscle memory your hand reaches downwards to cup the protruding shape of him at the bottom of your tummy, a low whine in your throat. He's so big inside you, nestled perfectly within the deepest parts of your body just like he'd been last night, large and warm.

"Feels so good," you manage to gasp out, other hand clenching into a fist against your pillow, "So good, so good." It's almost a mantra, voice breathless as you squish your face against the cotton and push back almost lazily against him, his balls settling heavy and warm at the base of your ass. You can feel every twitch of his shaft, the way the tip pulses against that special spot within.

"Yeah, you like bein' full like that, don't you baby?" he murmurs, "Don't even need me to move, do you? Just like feelin' it in there, huh?"

And you almost hate how right he is, how just the sensation of being so full of him already has you on the edge of an orgasm without any stimulation. Because you want more, you want what he gave you last night, want him to fuck you even firmer, deeper, without holding back. You want it to last hours.

But you know it's too much before he even starts to move, that familiar ache in your groin returning as your walls constrict around the long shape of him. He pulls out slowly, takes his time, pushes back in at a snail's pace. You feel a tickling sensation against your clit, his pubic hair pressing deliciously against the wet skin as he fills you - and without any warning, you start to come.

"Fuckfuckfuck," you cry out into the sunlit hotel room, trembling in his arms, legs shaking. You can tell in his body language behind you that he's taken aback by your sudden release, hand suddenly dropping from your calf so he can palm your sternum and pull you against him.

"Oh, honey," he groans, simultaneously tender and aroused, "Are you comin', baby? You comin' just from bein' stuffed full like that?"

"Yes," you grit out, voice a high keen as your body shakes and your release stretches out before the both of you in quick spasms, "Yes, I'm sorry."

"Nonono, no sorries," his voice is honey in your ear, fingertips grazing your nipples as he lays his palm flat against your chest, "You're a good girl, angel. You're such a good girl."

You continue to spasm on his cock, legs quivering and pathetic whines tearing from your throat until your orgasm has passed and you're just leaning back into his embrace, eyes closed. You breathe deeply, lashes fluttering when he noses your jaw and presses a soft kiss to the space beneath.

"S'alot for you," he murmurs, "I know it's a lot, babygirl. Don't ever gotta apologize for comin' too fast, not to me."

You hum softly, still extremely aware of his girthy size stretching you out somewhere below. Your eyes open and you peer downwards, brows scrunching in wonder and pleasure when you see where you're joined, where his flesh meets yours. You really are full, the base of his cock barely visible beneath your folds, the pubic hair that had caused your early release still pressed against your outer lips.

"How does it even fit?" you ask softly, almost by accident, but he just chuckles.

"The human body is a hell of a thing," he murmurs, kissing your cheek and pulling you in even closer, shuffling you on his dick just a little bit and making you wince a bit with oversensitivity, "You want me to pull out?"

"No," you shake your head and readjust yourself in his embrace, taking a breath, "No, I want you to keep going."

"Y'sure?"

"I'm sure."

He doesn't need telling twice. Within seconds he's resumed his slow and careful thrusts, almost rhythmic in their presses and pulls, filling you and emptying you in melodic succession. You reach down and take his big hand in yours, squeeze his fingers and let him fuck you like he had last night - tender, soft, comfortable. It almost doesn't feel real; how are you in a hotel room in another city, wrapped up in bed with a man three times your age, his cock buried to the hilt inside your body while you whimper and twitch in his arms? How did you get here?

"Y'know, women are a bit different than men in the orgasm department," Joel says gently behind you, stroking your hand with his thumb, "You might be able to come again if we try."

Your eyebrows go up, "Really?"

"Mmhmm," his hand slips from yours and he reaches it downward to carefully prod one of his fingers against your sensitive clit. You buck in his arms but don't protest, watching as he temporarily halts his slow thrusts to rub you softly. Your eyes go hooded, body melting like jelly in his arms as his his thick fingers slowly begin to work against the already swollen bud.

"Feel good?" he whispers.

"Yes."

He continues his careful circling, presses a kiss to your shoulder and resumes fucking into you. The sounds are pornographic in nature, surrounding your senses and filling the room with the low slap of his hips against your ass and the wet squelch of your juices dripping down his palm. But it somehow doesn't feel dirty or shameful - in fact, it's hard to imagine anything that feels more right than this.

"Joel," you breathe shakily, face twisting against the pillow again, heart pounding.

"I know, feels good doesn't it, babygirl?" he noses your skin and breathes you in, hooks your leg under his arm a bit more and groans softly, "God, you're so fuckin' tight. Such a tight fuckin' pussy."

It's your pussy, you want to breathe, it's yours. I'm yours. But you can barely get any words out as his thrusts pick up speed, as the sounds get louder and his fingers against your clit become firmer in their movements. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge again, the fire in your belly burning hotter than ever as you let him crowd your space as much as possible, let his body push yours further and further until your eyes are rolling back and all you can feel is the steady thrust of his big cock and the girth of his fingers against your pussy.

"I'm coming," you moan out weakly, "M'coming again, Joel."

You don't hear what he says in response, ears muffled as if you're underwater, pleasure spreading throughout your body and hitting you at full force like a hurricane as he fucks you through it. You're barely aware of the sounds you're making, high pitched and almost feral as his hips slap against yours a few more times. And then you feel it, the hot pulses of his cum painting your insides, filling you up as his cock spasms and twitches deep inside.

"Oh, fuck," he groans, voice thick with pleasure and sleep as he buries his face in your hair, hips stuttering, "Fuck. Take it, there you go."

Yeah, you could get used to this.

--

You'd been pretty sure you wouldn't leave the hotel room this weekend, just like you'd told him a few days prior. The thought of staying wrapped up in bedsheets, warm bodies pressed up against each other, sharing soft kisses and quiet whispers and tender looks...it'd be more than enough for an enjoyable getaway.

But it's hot, way hotter than you'd anticipated before arriving - and the pool is calling your name.

Or maybe something else is calling your name.

You stand in the bathroom and stare at your bikini clad form, a smile curving your lips as you assess the thin straps and baby pink frills. To think you'd tried to return this to Joel, briefly refused to wear it. Now you're about to don it in front of a hotel pool full of people like a normal woman, like someone without shame, without guilt, without a mother who'd skin her alive if she saw her wearing it.

Your smile falters.

You'd texted your mother after getting out of bed, apologized once again for missing her calls last night and told her you had a "busy" day at the festival ahead of you, that you'd let her know when you leave tomorrow. All she'd said in response was Ok.

You'd climbed back into bed defeatedly, finding a home against Joel's naked form, "She's mad at me," you'd murmured softly against his bare chest, squished into his side with his heartbeat thrumming in your ear.

"Don't think about her right now," he'd whispered, carding his fingers gently through your hair, "Think about this. How this feels."

He'd peered at you so softly, so full of warmth and affection. Those three words had been on the tip of your tongue again, so close to tumbling past your swollen lips - but you'd held it in.

It hadn't stopped you from texting Tasha though:

we had sex and i love him.

UM!! UMMM!!!! DETAILS????

monday!!! i'll call you

🫡 ok slut just leave me hangin i see how it is. AT LEAST TELL ME HE LIKED THE LINGERIE.

oh he liked it :)

queen shit

"Hi, pretty girl," Joel's voice says suddenly, and you're snapped from your reflection in the mirror to find him leaning against the doorway, clad in a pair of swim trunks and a Bob Dylan t-shirt, "Look at you."

You pose a little bit, hand on your hip, "Think the pool boys will like it?"

He laughs lightly, shaking his head, "I don't doubt it, but they might have some competition." He holds out his hand for you and you take it, stepping forward to let him pull you in close.

"They couldn't hold a candle to you," you whisper honestly, and he kisses your forehead with a smile, thumbing the corner of your mouth.

"Wait 'til you see my breaststroke, that'll really get you goin'."

You snort and slap his arm playfully, "Lead the way, pool boy."

--

Joel may have just been teasing about his swimming ability, but he certainly hadn't been wrong about it getting you going. You watch from the comfort of a lounge chair as he whips back and forth across the broad expanse of the hotel pool like a bullet, kicking off from end to end without much effort at all. His arms are strong and lean, body fast and nimble as the water splashes around his broad form. Every so often his face peeks up from the water and you catch a glimpse of his drenched scruff, the way the greying locks of his hair curl down his forehead into his eyes. God, he's fucking gorgeous.

You're laid out in your bikini just watching, letting him expel some energy before you join him. He'd told you he likes swimming but doesn't get to do it as much as he'd like, what with his work responsibilities. You wonder if he'd ever want to swim in your parent's pool...

You shake the thought away as soon as you think of it. There's no feasible way that could work, no option that wouldn't involve an obscene amount of risk. But still... the thought of watching him from the comfort of your own backyard, just completely alone without any bystanders or hotel guests...

"You gonna join me or what?" Joel suddenly calls from the water, and you blink the thoughts away and throw him a grin. He wades near the shallow end, arms coming up to lean against the concrete edge as he peers at you. "Don't keep me waitin', baby."

You feel your cheeks warm, unable to help but glance back and forth to see if anyone is watching, listening. Everyone else seems to be minding their own business, lost in their own conversations, their own fun. Nobody cares that you're here with him. Nobody cares what you're wearing.

Slipping from the lounge chair, you totter over to the edge where Joel resides and slowly sink down onto the concrete, kicking your legs over the side to seat yourself in front of him.

"God, these legs," he almost groans, immediately taking one in his hands and massaging your calf, your knee, your thigh, "Look at you."

"Stop acting like you haven't seen me naked," you tease, though you still feel a bit shy underneath his gaze as he moves his attention to your other leg.

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop admirin' this body," he seems lost in his own movements as he caresses the space behind your knee, "You're so god damn beautiful." His hands suddenly wrap around your waist and without much warning he's carefully pulling you down into the water, moving you in close. On instinct your arms come up to wrap around his neck.

"How the hell am I here with you right now, huh?" he murmurs, leaning down to brush his nose gently against yours, "How're you even real?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you reply a little breathlessly, "I've been asking myself that since we got here."

He slowly turns your bodies in the water, peering down into your eyes like you're the only people here - and you might as well be. You're unable to stop yourself from leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, from letting your tongue dart out to gently explore his mouth; he tastes like toothpaste and chlorine.

"Y'gonna swim with me?" he asks after you've pulled away, pupils blown a bit wider, "Gonna put that little swimsuit to good use?"

"I think I'm putting it to good use right now," you breathe, inching closer so your breasts are pushing against his chest. You're genuinely surprising yourself at your own boldness, especially in such a crowded place - it's almost like you're a different person here, the person you're supposed to be, confidence coursing through your veins. You stand on your tiptoes beneath the water, bringing one of your legs up to wind around his waist.

"Hmm," he hums, and his face is still dripping with water, the wrinkles in his skin peppered with little droplets that make you crazy, "You do have a point there, darlin'."

You lean in again to kiss him, feel a burst of pride in your chest when you see the sudden hunger and arousal in his expression. Just before your lips touch however, you pull back from him and throw yourself into the water, turning back to toss him a cheeky grin.

"Gotta catch me first," you giggle, then speed off in the opposite direction, leaving him standing there with a look of surprise etched on his face - followed quickly by a look of determination.

"Oh, I will," he practically growls, diving into the water in the same manner and reaching out to grab your ankle.

Time passes quickly in the pool, Joel chasing you back and forth, catching you time and time again until you're a giggling mess with tears streaming down your face and his fingers pinching your sides. You can't remember the last time you had this much fun, felt so free and light. You suppose your night out with Tasha had been a fun experience for the most part, until you remember the vague feeling of an unfamiliar body pressed against you from behind and the smell of alcohol crowding your senses on the dance floor.

No, don't think about that.

Before long you've exhausted yourselves, settled back near the edge of the pool where you started and just softly talking to each other. His big hands are all over you beneath the water, palms wide on your bare hips and tummy, caressing your thighs and your back, touching everywhere he can reach. You feel almost lightheaded with desire, eyes hooded as you peer up at him and tighten your arms around his neck, pull him closer and silently beg for more. You can feel the shape of his hardening cock through his swim trunks, pressed wet and heavy against your thigh. It makes you salivate.

You suddenly hook your chin into his shoulder, bury your face in his neck and whisper, "I wanna suck it, Joel."

"Yeah?" he murmurs, hands exploring your back and holding you tighter against him, letting you rut softly against his bulge, "You wanna go back to the room and suck on it, babygirl?"

You nod ferociously against him, "Yes. Please."

It doesn't take long at all for you both to be out of the pool and making your way back over to the chairs to grab your towels. It's frantic the way you rush to dry off, slipping back into your flip flops and shaking the water from your hair as quickly as possible. Joel follows suit, ruffling his own towel through his hair and making your body burn with need, lost in how sexy he looks with water droplets cascading down his large and strong form, dipping down his sternum and into his belly button. All you can think while you look at him is how badly you want to lick, to taste.

You're making your way back toward the entrance together when a woman runs up behind you, calling out, "Wait, hang on!" You both turn, confusion in your expressions as she reaches you and holds out something in her hand - your phone.

"I think you or your dad left this behind, sweetie," she says with a smile and places it in your grasp, "Gotta be careful!"

"Th-thank you," you manage to stutter out, eyes wide as she nods and turns away from you to head back toward the pool.

You stand there dumbstruck for a moment, thoughts muddled.

You or your dad.

Your dad.

You turn to Joel then. He's looking at you with what you can only describe as apprehension, lips downturned into a frown as he stands and waits for you to say something - anything. You stare back, words failing you.

And then you burst out laughing.

His apprehension turns into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughs along with you and squeezes your hand in his tightly - as if to say, this isn't wrong, what we have isn't wrong and you know that. And you do, which is why he has to practically drag you back inside the hotel as you double over and heave out laugh after laugh, tears in your eyes.

"Silly girl," you hear him mumble under his breath fondly as he leads you to the elevator, and all you can do is keep giggling.

--

"I love your cock."

Your knees dig into the plush rug of the hotel room, ass sitting atop the balls of your feet as you kneel between Joel's wide legs. He's sitting comfortably on the couch, one hand resting to the side while the other strokes circles into the apple of your cheek. His cock is out of his swim trunks, heavy and hard in your palm as you slowly stroke him up and down, up and down, heart pounding in your chest.

You've done this to him before, you remind yourself, and he said it was good.

But not like this, another part of you argues, not properly.

"Yeah, you love it?" he murmurs, breaking you out of your thoughts. With his words his hand drops from your face and joins yours on his shaft, helps direct it toward your cheek so he can press the tip ever so gently against it, "What d'you love about it, baby? Tell me. Wanna know."

"It's so big, Joel," you practically whimper, brows furrowing together at the sensation of his warm stickiness on your face, "So big and so thick and long."

"I know, baby," he coos softly, smearing it along your jaw in a way that has goosebumps rising all over your flesh, "Bigger than your pretty face, huh?" At his words he delicately lays the length of his cock against your face from base to tip, lets it rest there as you close your eyes and try to calm your breathing. You're so fucking turned on.

"Big," you repeat, as if no other words can find their way to your brain, as if your brain doesn't even exist; all that exists is this. The feeling of his warm dick laying heavy across your face, precum leaking out onto your forehead.

"And what's it taste like, babygirl?" He's suddenly moving it downward, towards your mouth, and you happily lean forward to lap at the tip. It pulses against you, leaks onto the pink softness of your tongue. "Tell me what it tastes like."

"Kinda salty," you whisper, peering up at him with big eyes, "But good, it still tastes good to me." Your nose scrunches and you peer up at him sheepishly, "Tasha said it's not supposed to."

He laughs breathlessly, taps the tip against your bottom lip, and when more precum dribbles out you allow it to drip into your mouth. You swallow, eyes never leaving his, then swirl your tongue all around the head before slowly taking it into your mouth and suctioning carefully.

"God, you make me fuckin' crazy," his voice rumbles in his chest, eyes hooded, "Look at you suckin' on my cock." After a few seconds he pulls it out and taps your lips with it again, hissing a bit through his teeth, "Fuck, this mouth. And those eyes," his head leans back against the couch and he groans, low and deep, "You gotta stop lookin' at me like that, angel. M'not gonna last."

"How am I looking at you?" you ask shyly, a smile playing at your lips.

"Like... you're just so new to everything."

"But I am," you say with a breathless giggle, "It is new to me."

He smiles fondly down at you on your knees in front of him, so vulnerable, "I know," he tells you, "It makes me want you so bad."

"You have me," you whisper, leaning forward to mouth at the head of his cock once again, "M'yours, Joel."

His lids go heavy as you suckle gently on the tip again, reveling in the masculine taste of him and the way you can feel his heartbeat on the tip of your tongue. You suck it the same way you did last time - like a sucker or a popsicle - and you hope it feels good to him, hope you're doing it right.

"That's so good, baby," he murmurs, and you whimper at his praise.

You pop him out of your mouth and take a deep breath, peering up at him curiously, "Can...can you..."

His brow furrows, "Can I what, angel?"

"Can you show me how to... how to take all of it? Like, how to put it in my throat?"

The expression on his face is hard to describe, a mix of disbelief and untamed arousal. His mouth opens to speak but he doesn't say anything, taking a few seconds to formulate a response before clearing his throat and giving you a weak - and slightly wrecked - smile.

"Y'sure you wanna try that?" he asks you, ever the gentleman, "That's....it's a lot to take in your throat, babygirl."

"I know," you breathe, sincerity in your eyes, "But I wanna try."

He reaches down and thumbs a stray hair from your face, pushes it behind your ear, "You're probably gonna gag," he murmurs gently - a warning. "It might be uncomfortable for you."

You raise an eyebrow, "So... you don't want me to?"

He laughs breathlessly, "I... I didn't say I don't want it. But I don't want you to try something you don't feel ready for," he frowns, "Don't want you to feel any pressure with me."

"I don't," you admit honestly, "I don't feel any pressure, Joel, I promise. I just...really wanna try it. I want you to show me."

He takes a deep breath, strokes your cheek gently and then reaches down to hold the base of his cock again. Your hands fall to his thighs, still clad in his swim trunks.

"Lemme just see how far you can go without gaggin' first," he tells you softly, patiently, "Want you to stop when you feel it in that spot, okay? Don't go any further than that."

You nod, already beyond excited that you're learning something new, something that'll make him feel good. You open your mouth to take him back inside but he touches your face again, stopping you.

"Deep breath," he advises quietly. You do as you're told.

He helps guide the fat head of his cock past your lips, watches as you very slowly ease yourself down. You close your eyes, all your focus centered on this singular task, fighting to push past the slight discomfort of having your mouth stuffed so full. It takes barely a moment for you to reach the point he was talking about, when you feel the head of his cock brush ever so slightly against your gag reflex. On instinct, your eyes snap open, your entire body freezing in place.

"Right there?" he asks quietly, but you know he's not waiting for an answer, knows you couldn't talk even if you wanted to, "That's so much baby, good girl." His praise send throbs of pleasure to your pussy, warmth to your cheeks. Your eyes meet his and you can see how turned on he is, see the way the corners of his mouth twitch with pleasure. "Let go when you're ready, honey."

You hold yourself there for a few more seconds, eyes watering a little bit as you hold his gaze, just testing the power of your lungs and the strain of your jaw. When it becomes too much you pull your mouth off him and find yourself gasping for breath, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as drool spills down your chin.

"How was that?" he asks, thumbing your cheek again with one hand and stroking himself with the other, working your saliva up and down his length, "Uncomfortable?"

You shake your head, "It was good," you whisper, voice a bit crackly, "I wanna try and take more, can I?"

He nods, smiles encouragingly and taps his swollen cockhead against your bottom lip again, slow and tantalizing, "Course you can, babygirl," he murmurs, "Deep breath."

You inhale deeply again, gathering as much air into your lungs as possible before sinking your mouth down onto him and allowing his thick girth to fill you all over again. This time when you feel him reach that spot, you let yourself keep going just a little bit further, allow the head of his cock to push more firmly against it and slip the tiniest bit into the back of your throat.

You gag immediately.

It's very loud; a dry wretch that you can admit sounds absolutely horrific in the current circumstance. Before you can even really process what to do next, he's tugging you off his cock, voice suddenly worried, frantic, "Okay, no, that's too much," he says quickly, and you look up to see him shaking his head, "You're gonna hurt yourself."

"M'fine," you try to garble out, but you're shocked when just talking suddenly sends you into a coughing fit. You bang on your chest and squeeze his thigh with your other hand, feeling more drool cascade down your chin and onto your bare chest.

"Angel," he says soothingly, leaning forward to pat your back, brows furrowed again in concern, "I'm sorry, honey."

You shake your head, "I-I'm okay," you splutter out, "Just gimme a second."

"It's too much," he repeats, almost pleading, "Please, baby, I don't wanna see you struggle, that's not fun for me."

As much as you hate the idea of giving up, you have to admit that he's right. That wretch had not been pleasant, and while you think you could eventually learn to take all of him, maybe forcing yourself to do it when you're supposed to be having fun on vacation isn't the best time.

"Okay," you mumble defeatedly, sitting back on your knees, "But I still wanna suck it."

He laughs again, relief flooding his features as he leans back on the couch and smiles crookedly at you, "You can still suck it, darlin'. Just take your time and don't push your limits, alright? Promise me."

"I promise."

You spend the next fifteen minutes or so playing with Joel's cock, stroking it with your hand, kitten licking along the shaft and head, just touching as much as you can without any time pressure for once. He pets your hair as he watches you, thumbs your cheeks and dimples, small groans tumbling past his lips, face scrunched in pleasure as you explore. You take as much of him as you can in your mouth, bob up and down slowly with your eyes trained on his face, feel the way his thick length twitches and pulses against your tongue.

It's almost feral the way you drink him down, hollowing your cheeks and basking in the way his body responds to you. You're so wet, aching to touch yourself but wanting this moment to be just for him, a thank you for this weekend, this hotel, for everything. Instead you palm his balls, roll them in your palm and revel in the desperate sounds he makes.

"I love your cock," you whine, repeating your earlier statement as you fist it up and down with spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, "I love it so much, Joel." You can feel yourself dripping in your bikini bottoms, feel your own slick gathering on your inner thighs.

"I know, baby," he gasps out, running one hand through his hair and the other through yours as his belly tenses and untenses, as his thighs tremble, "I know you love it, s'all yours, baby. S'your cock."

"My cock," you echo, almost a whimper, "Mine."

"Yours, it's yours," he moans loudly, hands curling into fists as his head hits the back of the couch, "Shit, I'm gonna come."

"Come in my mouth," you tell him immediately, wasting no time in sinking back down onto his length. He doesn't ask if you're sure; he's too far gone to be a gentleman anymore, and you love it. You watch as he suddenly sits up on the couch, reaches both hands forward and cradles your head in them firmly. He helps you move up and down, groaning as he does, and then-

His cock pulses on your tongue, thick and heavy, bobbing against the roof of your mouth. You feel a burst of cum hit the back of your throat, then another, and another, all the while Joel moans and holds your head in place, toes curling into the rug. Your eyes roll back as he fills your mouth, overwhelmed by the salty taste and thick texture, and - without really meaning to - you swallow around him to make more space. He practically whines at the sensation, pulsing once more to release one final burst of his spend.

And then he's falling back against the couch, cock popping out of your mouth, expression dazed. Without thinking about it you swallow the rest of his cum, eyelashes fluttering at the odd sensation of it all slipping down your throat. So much, gone in an instant. It's only then that you actually realize what you've done.

"I swallowed it," you say, panic suddenly brewing in your stomach, "Was I supposed to swallow it?"

He laughs softly, covers his mouth with the back of his hand, "It is perfectly fine that you swallowed it, darlin'," he smiles wide and opens his arms, "C'mere."

You clamor off your knees and crawl into his lap immediately, straddling his thighs and pressing your wet bikini bottoms against the slope of his belly. He lets out a little groan, pulls you in and strokes your hair.

"You did so good," he praises you softly, kisses your temple, "So good, baby. Made me come so much."

"There was a lot," you tell him, nuzzling into his neck and letting your breathing slowly even out, "S'why I swallowed it, I was trying to make room."

"Was it okay? It didn't make you gag, did it?"

You shake your head, a pout on your lips, "Felt good in my mouth," you whisper, "I liked it."

He hums, hands trailing from your hair to your bare back where he unclasps your bikini top and lets it cascade to the floor, then reaches down and tugs at your bottoms. You lift up carefully, let him slip them down your thighs and watches as you kick them off, leaving you fully naked in his lap.

"So pretty when you're bare like this," he whispers, and it sends more slick to your folds, oozing down and making a mess on his tummy. He cups your pussy in one hand and slides two fingers easily inside of you, thumb rubbing circles against your clit. You grip his arm, eyes falling closed and pitiful little sounds slipping from your mouth. "My good girl deserves a reward for suckin' my cock so good, swallowin' all that cum, don't you think?"

You nod, biting down on your lip and letting him fuck you with his digits, eyes rolling behind your lids.

"Yeah, you do," he answers for you, "You deserve it, angel. Always."

He makes you come easily, leaving you a messy, twitching heap in his lap as your arms wrap around his neck, body going lax and loose. After a few moments he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom, helps you into the shower, smiles when you peer blearily up at him through your afterglow.

"Just close your eyes and lean against me," he tells you softly as the water falls, removing his swim trunks and getting in to stand behind you, "I'll get you cleaned up, sweetheart."

--

You nap after your shower, exhausted and sated in every possible way. Joel wakes you up around two o'clock with more room service - sandwiches and soup that you devour with bright eyes and light conversation side by side in bed. It's domestic bliss the way he thumbs mustard from your lips, pours you more water, slices your key lime pie and feeds it to you with a fond smile.

I love you I love you I love you.

"Would it absolutely ruin this moment if I suggested tryin' our hand at a hymn?" he asks when you've both finished, wiping the crumbs on his fingers with a napkin and gesturing to his guitar case in the corner of the room.

You grimace, "I guess not."

"I'm just thinkin' about your parents," he places his hand on your hip - clad in another one of his shirts - and gives you a sympathetic smile, "It's probably best to pick somethin' and have it ready."

You nod. You know he's right, that your lack of preparedness these past few weeks has been pretty reckless considering it's been the entire "reason" you've been seeing him. With a sigh you slip out from under the covers and traipse over to the couch, listening as Joel unclasps the guitar case.

"I did some research," he tells you as he walks over, hooking the strap over his shoulders as he goes, "I think our best bet for an easy tune is How Great Thou Art. Pretty repetitive chord progression, only uses G, C, and D."

You make a face, crossing your arms, "I can't believe I have to do this."

He laughs, "It was either that or Come Ye Sinners, and I think that one's a little too on the nose, don't you think?" He tosses you a smile and you can't help but return it, feeling your frustration melt away under his gaze.

"Can we do that thing again where I get a reward?" you ask shyly, biting your lip. His eyebrows go up, a smirk lighting his face.

"Hmm, I think that's doable," he sits down beside you, tuning the guitar, "What'd you have in mind?" You notice the way his eyes dart toward your groin and your cheeks warm.

"I was actually thinking that maybe..." your hands play with the hem of his shirt nervously, unsure what he'll say, "maybe you could play something for me? You said last night that you've written some songs," you shrug, trying to be nonchalant, "I'd... I'd really like to hear one, if you wouldn't mind."

He peers at you for a few seconds, smirk fading briefly only to be replaced with a tender smile, eyes softening as he gazes at you. Warmth blooms in your chest. You never want him to stop looking at you like that.

"I can do that," he tells you quietly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, "I mean... I can't promise it'll be good, but-"

"I don't care."

He chuckles and nods, grips the guitar again and clears his throat, "Well, alright then. Let's get started."

For the first time ever, the lesson is actually a lesson. No undercurrent of sex, no inappropriate touching or sensual glances, no teasing or filthy words. You're not sure how you're able to hold yourself back so easily, able to really focus on what Joel is saying and showing you, helping place your fingers in the right locations and teach you the strumming techniques. Maybe it's because you're tired - you did come three times already today - but it's not just that.

It just feels so... normal. So easy. You think back to that first lesson, the nervousness you'd felt and the pounding of your heart in your chest, the anticipation and the fear.

It's different now. Now that he's been inside you, become one with you, it's like your whole dynamic has changed - for the better. Of course you still feel that curious nervousness, the innocence, the electricity between you. But there's something so solid and tangible about it now, something certain. Something real.

He shapes your fingers along the neck of the guitar, praising you softly every time you play a note that sounds right, encouraging you as you repeat the G chord a few times, then C, then D. You strum along slowly, taking your time, and before you know it you're playing something that actually doesn't sound half bad.

"We definitely need to work on buildin' up those calluses," he murmurs, stroking the tips of your fingers under his thumb, "Well... If you're gonna do this long-term, I mean."

You peer at him curiously, tilting your head to the side. He looks sheepish, like he's said something he hadn't meant to.

"You think I could do this, like... for real? As a hobby?"

His mouth turns up at the corners and he nods, "I think you can do anything you set your mind to, darlin'."

Your heart is suddenly in your throat at his words, emotion bubbling under the surface of your skin. You drop your hand from the guitar and reach up to cup his face, pulling him toward you to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He kisses you back just as soft, just as careful.

"Thank you," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "Thank you for saying that."

He presses his forehead to yours, shakes his head ever so slightly, "Don't gotta thank me for sayin' what's true, angel. You deserve to hear it every single day."

You finish the lesson with tears still welling in your eyes, a lump in your throat. When you lean the guitar against the side of the couch he cradles your face in his hands and gently kisses the tears away, brushes his lips along your eyelids and cheeks, your jaw and your lips, saying everything without saying anything at all.

"Okay," you sigh, taking a deep breath and opening your eyes to smile sweetly at him, "Time for my reward."

He chuckles and rolls his eyes a little, reaching for the guitar and beginning to tune it again. You watch as he twists the keys, strums a little here and there, hums softly for each note to match his voice. Anticipation rises in your chest.

"Now, uh," he clears his throat a bit, avoiding eye contact, "It's been a while since I played this one but it's, uh," he takes a breath, "It's one I wrote when Sarah was born. Used to sing it to her to help her fall asleep."

You melt at the words, smiling wider, "What's it called?"

He finally meets your eyesight, lips pressing together sheepishly, "Sarah."

Oh, duh. You nod in encouragement, leaning back against the armrest of the couch and waiting for him to begin. He takes another deep breath, dropping his gaze to watch his fingers shape the first chord. It's then that you notice his hands - usually deft and steady - are trembling a little bit, so much so that he has to readjust his position on the strings a few times.

He's nervous.

He stares at his hand, takes another deep breath.

You wait.

"Sorry," he mumbles under his breath, "Sorry, just gimme a minute."

"It's okay, take your time." Your voice is barely a whisper, awestruck by the sudden vulnerability you're witnessing. He'd agreed to the reward so quickly, you'd been sure he didn't mind. But now as you sit here waiting, you're not so sure. You watch him take more deep breaths, watch as he closes his eyes and seems to center himself.

"If you don't want to-"

"I want to," he says immediately, shaking his head, "I want to, I've just... I haven't sung in a while."

Your brow furrows, confused, "You sang yesterday in the car, didn't you? And you sang Tangled Up In Blue when we first met, and that other one, the one from the eighties."

His lips turn up at the corners, a welcome smile, "Take On Me."

"Yeah, that one."

He sighs, tightening his grip on the guitar, "It's not that I haven't sung I guess. Wrong wordin'," he bites his lip, "It's moreso that I haven't sung this one. Or any of my originals. Not for a long time."

You frown, "How come?"

"I guess... I just..." he searches for the words, staring at the floor, "No one's really asked me to. And it's not like I'm playin' gigs or tourin' or any of that pipe dream stuff I thought about when I was a kid." He laughs humorlessly, like the concept is ridiculous, "So I guess I just kinda... stopped, after a while."

You feel a sudden sadness that you can't really explain, picturing that bright-eyed little version of Joel, stuck in a household that wouldn't let him grow, wouldn't let him be himself. All those dreams and big ideas, dashed before he was able to get out and make his mark. Life getting busy, too busy, other responsibilities taking up all his time until the thing he loved most became nothing but a memory. A pipe dream.

It makes your heart ache.

"D'you mind if I just..." he meets your gaze again finally, eyes soft and a little sad, "Could I maybe just hum it? Instead? I know that's kind of a cop-out, but-"

"Of course you can," you breathe out, hand coming down to rest atop his knee, "Of course you can hum it."

"I'm sorry, baby, I know you wanted -"

"It's hard being vulnerable, Joel," you interrupt him again, shaking your head and stroking your thumb against his skin, "God knows it's been hard for me, and you've been nothing but patient." You give him a watery smile and he returns it, "Please take your time. I can be patient too, I promise."

You can tell how much he appreciates it. He reaches down and picks up your hand, presses a gentle kiss to the back of it before setting it back down and taking one last deep breath.

"Well, here it is," he says with a little more confidence, a smile playing at his lips.

You've heard him play before, obviously; you've already seen the way his fingers work the strings like it's just second nature, the way his thumb strums out the chords effortlessly. But this time is different. Knowing what he's playing is completely original, born from his own creativity out of love and devotion, a father's affection and protectiveness, it just sounds special. New. He begins to pluck out a soft, slow, soothing melody that immediately puts you at ease, makes you lean back further against the couch and loosen your body. It's tender, quiet - a lullaby.

He hums softly, voice crackling a bit in his throat at first but then settling into a smooth and comforting sound. It's almost like a waltz, the way the chords change back and forth, in and out, slow and steady. Of course you wonder what the real words are, what his quiet hums are substituting, but you find that it doesn't really matter. What matters is the look on his face, eyes distant, as if he's picturing his daughter as she was when she was little. You try to picture it too, thinking of the photograph in his house, the one of him pushing Sarah on the swing. Just a father and his little girl, against the world.

It isn't a very long song. It fades out relatively quickly, and as soon as he strums out the final chord you sit up on the couch and clap ferociously, tears stinging in your eyes all over again.

"I'd usually, uh, play it a couple times for her," he says awkwardly, "'Til she fell asleep."

"It was beautiful," you tell him earnestly, "It was so beautiful, Joel."

He shakes his head with an embarrassed laugh and swivels around to go place his guitar back in its case. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't need to. You know how he feels when you spot the tips of ears, tinged pink, warm from your praise.

--

The rest of the day passes in what feels like a warm, luxurious, passionate blur. You go to dinner that evening and order lobster, revel in the way it practically melts in your mouth with sips of champagne and bites of blueberry cheesecake. Joel tells you a little more about his life, tells you everything you want to know about his daughter and his ex. It's not a difficult or uncomfortable conversation like you'd been worried it might be. Instead, you feel closer learning these things about him, feel even more connected to him than you did before as he tells you about Mish and Sarah, their relationship, the arrangement.

"I think I understand it better now," you tell him thoughtfully, "Now that I've actually..." you peer at him shyly, "You know... done it."

He chuckles, "Sex is a powerful thing, it really is. And when you find someone you're compatible with it can be really easy to keep goin' back to 'em. Settle into it, you know? Even if the other parts of your relationship don't work."

"It's like...friends with benefits, right?"

"Exactly. And it really does work for some people, worked for Mish and I for a long time," he shakes his head and reaches across the table to take your hand, "But that's over now, I need you to know that. It's over. You're the only woman in my life and that's how I want it to be. You believe me right?"

His eyes are soft, warm, loving, sincerity practically glowing in his expression.

"I believe you, Joel. Of course I believe you."

You have sex again when you get back to the room, slow and intimate and tender and perfect. You claw at his back as whimpers and cries tear from your mouth, writhing in pleasure beneath him on the bed as he fills you over and over, murmurs filth in your ear and presses down on your clit with his thumb. It's like you've died and gone to heaven, this feeling of permanent bliss and satisfaction, the sensation of being so full and so connected. It's the closest you've ever felt to real inner peace; who would have thought that sitting on a cock instead of in a church pew would be the thing to bring you closer to godliness?

I pray at the church of Joel Miller, you think to yourself as you recover from your fifth orgasm of the day, laying there with fluttering lashes and heaving belly, mind foggy and eyes bleary. Joel is kissing your thighs somewhere below, whispering praises, humming against your skin as he wipes a warm cloth over your twitching pussy.

"I keep thinking about how many sins I've committed in the last twenty four hours," you mumble to him, sleep quickly making its way into your psyche, "And then I remember that I don't care."

His laugh is the last thing you hear before you drift off.

--

Sunday morning is bittersweet. You spend most of it wrapped in Joel's embrace, tracing the freckles and scars on his skin, drifting in and out of consciousness while he peppers kisses all over your face and neck. You have to leave the hotel by noon, get back on the road again and head back home, but the bed is so warm. He's so warm. Everything is warm.

"You never fucked me in the shower," you whisper to him softly, so quiet you wonder if he can even hear you, "Or on the floor."

"I still can," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep, fingers trailing delicately through your hair, "We have a little time."

You nuzzle into his warmth and close your eyes, sighing contentedly, "No," you breathe, "I just want you to hold me."

So he does.

--

The drive home is quieter, but not in a bad way. You're still tired from your escapades and find yourself dozing every so often, vaguely aware of Joel turning down the volume or switching the song to something more chill when he notices you starting to drift. His hand is ever-present on your thigh, stroking the skin over and over like it's just habit at this point. You know you should be forcing yourself to stay awake, to enjoy these last few hours before life goes back to normal, but he really did a number on you.

It's only when you stop at a gas station - the same one where you first saw the playlist you weren't sure you were meant to - that you finally start to feel more awake.

"So tell me about this Angel playlist," you say with a smirk, waving his phone at him as he gets back in the truck, "Can we listen to it?"

A look of surprise crosses his face, but he doesn't seem upset, "How did you even find out about that?"

"I'm in control of the music, remember? It's your spotify."

He groans, cheeks flushing as he pushes on the gas and pulls out of the station, avoiding eye contact. "You were not supposed to see that."

Intrigue floods your brain, fuels your grin, "So it's for me?"

He takes a moment to respond, thumb stroking the wheel as he eyes the road, lip between his teeth. You can tell he's debating whether or not he should answer you, but his silence says everything. Impatient, you practically bounce in your seat, "Can we listen to it? Pretty please?"

He laughs a little breathlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, "Who is this girl sittin' in the front seat of my truck?" He squeezes your thigh, "You're gettin' bold, darlin'. I like it."

"Enough to let me listen to the playlist?"

He sighs, but you know he's not mad, can see the smile tugging at his lips, "...Maybe. At least enough to listen to one song. Will that tide you over?"

"Yes, it most certainly will," you're already tapping Angel, eyes alight with curiosity, "Which song?"

"Northern Sky by Nick Drake, should be the first one there."

You turn to him with a raised brow, "How do you know that's the first song?"

"'Cause I made the damn playlist."

"And you listen to it a lot?"

He laughs again, eyes rolling fondly as he turns his attention back to the road and grins at your words, "You're somethin' else."

You've still got a shit eating grin on your face as the song starts, the soft strumming of guitar filling the small space. Oh, this is pretty. You playfully nod your head to the chords and he rolls his eyes again, strokes your thigh and keeps his attention focused on the road.

And then the lyrics start.

I never felt magic crazy as this I never saw moons, knew the meaning of the sea I never held emotion in the palm of my hand Or felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree But now you're here Brighten my northern sky

Your grin fades almost immediately, realization blooming on your face as the reality of what this playlist actually is begins to dawn on you. You'd thought maybe it was songs he wanted to share with you, songs he wanted to teach you how to play. Just random tunes that he compiled together with you in mind.

No, that's not what this is at all. As the lyrics continue, the melody growing more steady, more beautiful, you realize that these are songs that remind him of you. An entire playlist dedicated to the way he feels.

You stare at the road as the song plays out, not speaking. Your eyes are stinging with tears but you can't bring yourself to say anything, to even look at him. You feel him squeeze your thigh again, a comforting and reassuring little gesture. As if to say, l know, I'm here. As the final chords fade out you frantically reach for his phone and press pause, out of respect for his privacy but also because you're completely unprepared to hear another song like that. You catch him peering at you in your periphery, and you will yourself to look at him with watery eyes.

"Satisfied?" he asks softly, giving you that gorgeous crooked smile.

All you can choke out is a "Yeah."

--

Arriving back at the parking garage hurts. Joel pulls his truck in beside your car, still in the same spot you'd left it, and takes the key out of the ignition with a long sigh. You look over at him, emotion burning in your throat.

"I don't wanna go home," you whisper.

"Oh, babygirl," he murmurs, brow furrowing, "C'mere." He holds his arms open and you clamor over the center console to settle into his lap, burying your face in his neck. He holds you tight and rubs your back, hushes you softly when you start to cry. How is this weekend already over? How are things just supposed to go back to normal now?

"I don't want you to go back there either," he breathes, "If I had it my way you'd be comin' home with me." You feel him press a kiss to the spot just beneath your ear, "But you're strong. You're stronger than you think you are and I know you can get through this. Whatever they have to say, whatever they do, you'll get through it. We'll get through it together."

You don't say anything else, just melt into the warmth of his body and let him hold you, comfort you, until your cries and hiccups fade into even breaths. You pull back slowly and peer at his beautiful face, long to say the words you've been holding back all weekend - but you know there's a reason you've been holding back, know this isn't the right time, not yet.

Instead, you kiss him. It's soft and sweet, a tender goodbye. Temporary, fleeting. You know it's not forever, know you'll probably sneak over tomorrow night to see him again under cover of darkness, find yourself in his bed, get wrapped up in him. But it's a goodbye nonetheless. A goodbye to this - the simplicity, the sense of normalcy and lack of time constraints, the domestic bliss and the thrill of the escape. A goodbye to the bliss.

Driving away from him a few minutes later, watching his truck fade into the distance in your rearview mirror - you think it might be one of the hardest things you've ever had to do.

[that-hazbin]

Sorta AU/story idea where Alastor's a serial killer but he doesn't... completely realize that he's a serial killer.

He's super mentally Not Okay with a whole load of traumatic baggage, and sometimes when he gets past a stress threshold, he sort of... blacks out. Not faint, exactly, but his body moves on autopilot while his consciousness is just. Not there.

The first time it happened, he was fourteen. His father had beaten him black and blue, and left him limp on the floor to go beat Alastor's mother. When Alastor came to the realization that his mother stopped moving, his vision went blurry.

When he regained consciousness, his father was on the floor, bleeding from the head, eyes glazed over. It looked like he fell and hit himself on the corner of the dining table. Alastor lost both his parents on the same day.

After that, Alastor started having "episodes" a bit more often. A majority of the time, he manages to get home, and when he wakes up, he's hiding under his bed or in his closet, confused as to how he even got home. He doesn't want to be admitted into an asylum, of course, so he keeps quiet about this.

Sometimes, though?

Sometimes, he'll wake up knee deep in water, staring into the dark of a bayou. Sometimes, he'll wake up half-submerged in his bath, red going down the drain, with no clue as to where he's injured. Sometimes, the person who was screaming at him before the episode hit just went... missing the next day.

Alastor keeps quiet.

Naturally, when Alastor dies, he goes to hell. He doesn't remember the crimes, but he did commit them regardless. Of course, when people ask him what he did to end up down there, he can't give a real answer. The truth of the matter is that he doesn't know. Sure, he has... suspicions. Theories. But he doesn't know.

Things happen. He has several black out episodes in Hell before they simply stop happening, because he's stressed all the time and he can't just block every single second of every day from memory. He learns how to consciously survive in hell. Makes a name for himself.

Things roughly stay truthful to canon from there.

Then, one day, Charlie has a brilliant idea for a hotel activity. Part of redemption means acknowledging what brought you to hell to begin with, and what you can do now to make up for those actions! They go around the room, talking about the sins they committed, and what they can do now to improve. Alastor fully intends to stay out of the activity, he's not working towards redemption after all, but... Of course, Lucifer has to taunt.

Lucifer: What, you're just gonna sit around judging us?

Charlie: Er, dad—

Alastor: Hilarious coming from you, your majesty, truly. In any case, your memory seems to be failing you, I'm not here for redemption. I have no reason to participate.

Lucifer: Uh huh, neither is the bartender or the maid, you think you can be exempt just because you're staff? I'm the King of Hell and you don't see me skipping out. And here I would've thought you would have taken the chance to brag about the fucked up shit you did up there.

Charlie: Hey, guys, I don't think—

Alastor: Husk and Nifty are grown adults who are perfectly capable of making their own decisions. I am also a grown adult, and my decisions don't need to reflect theirs.

Lucifer: Oh, I see, you're a coward then?

Alastor: Believe whatever you want to, it makes no difference to me.

Lucifer: Sure it doesn't. Why don't we make this a game, huh? I'll guess your sins, and you stop me when I get it right.

Charlie: Dad, Alastor—

Lucifer: Can't imagine you fucked before marriage or anything, I mean, you scream prude. Bet you died a virgin.

Alastor: Hah, I wouldn't know. Are you done with your childish taunts, or are you going to allow your daughter to continue?

Lucifer stops dead, both because of the reminder that he's interrupting Charlie's activity, and also because he's replaying Alastor sentence back in his head. And, as the father of lies himself, he realizes that Alastor... wasn't lying when he said he didn't know.

Charlie: Great, yes, thank you Alastor! So, anyways—

Lucifer: Wait.

Charlie: Dad!

Lucifer: Seriously, wait. Bellhop, what the fuck do you mean you wouldn't know?

Angel: ... Oh shit.

Alastor: ... Charlie, continue your activity.

Charlie: Uh.

Lucifer: Oh, FUCK YOU! No, what the fuck did you mean by that?! What, were you like, drugged or—

Angel: HEY LET'S TALK ABOUT MY DEEP DARK PAST AS A MEMBER OF A MAFIA FAMILY!

Charlie: YES THANK YOU ANGEL LET'S TALK ABOUT IT! I'M VERY PROUD OF YOU FOR VOLUNTEERING!

Alastor gets the fuck out of dodge, and Lucifer finally gets the hint that he definitely stepped on a landmine that he very much should have not touched. Unfortunately, Lucifer alongside everyone in the hotel are left with a misunderstanding regarding Alastor's history.

[dreaming-of-lu]

Dizzy With Love

Hihi!! Some of you may be familiar with my writing already over on the other blog, but if you're not, hello! I am The Wizard and I am finally writing stuff for here too :3 Expect a lot of whump and hurt/comfort, as that’s what I like to write the most (who doesn't love tenderly caring for each other?), and perhaps some stuff going into disability and gender if I feel like it/others are interested. This one was mostly just a little warmup, some Twilight fretting over an injured reader. Hope you enjoy!

- Wizard anon

Content: Twilight focus, concussed reader (gn), committed relationship. Wordcount: 565

----

“Hey there, darlin’,” you hear from above you.

Your head pounds something awful; everything spinning without you even opening your eyes. The light is too bright against your closed eyelids, and you can feel each individual item of clothing on your skin. There’s something else, too, that you can’t quite grab on to yet in the daze of semi-consciousness – are you even conscious? Everything feels fuzzy, faraway, like your head is filled with cloth. But you must've made some sort of noise, because whoever’s voice that is expects you to reply.

You try. All you manage is a groan.

“Shh, shhh, I got you. Up you come, now.”

The entire world lurches, head crashing into pain as you're propped up against something soft. You reach out towards it blindly, gripping tightly the soft fur you find. Fur?

“Hyrule’s just headin’ over here now, it’ll be all better soon,” Twilight murmurs, pulling you closer. You now recognise the pelt underneath your hand, and the warmth and softness of the body you are leant against. You let yourself slump, riding out the dizziness in the safety of Twilight’s embrace, face tucked into his chest. When there’s sounds of movement closing in you press your cheek further against him defiantly.

“He needs to take a look at you, darlin’.” Twilight rubs his hand up your arm soothingly. A whine exits your throat.

“Just a head injury?” Hyrule’s voice now, trying to keep soft but still too loud and too grating and too much.

Twilight keeps rubbing your arm as he replies, “And some stubbornness,” with a chuckle, and despite its similar grate, the rumble of it against you settles something deep inside. A soothing that spreads to your head when the familiar feeling of Hyrule’s magic washes over you.

Finally opening your eyes, you look up at Twilight and Hyrule blearily.

“...Thank you.”

Hyrule just smiles back, before he’s being called over to elsewhere, and leaves you and Twilight to your embrace.

“You’re okay now…?” Twilight’s grip tightens, and his gaze down at you is a complicated mix of anger and fondness and worry. Brows knitted, frown tugging at his lips, relief clear in his eyes.

It is in this moment, that you remember the hit you took was meant for him.

…Whoops.

He presses your face back into his chest, arms squeezing around your back like he’s terrified to let go.

“Do not do that again. You scared me.” He almost whispers that second part, afraid to admit it, and you snake your arms up until one hand is rubbing his back while the other is tangled in his hair.

“I’m sorry.” You say it mostly as a formality, a soothing of his nerves. You’d do it again in a heartbeat. And you know if the roles were reversed, he’d do and say the same. You’re both silly like that.

“I don't need you to put yourself in danger because of me,” he stresses.

“I know.” You do, you know he’s strong, and capable, and good at what he does, but—

“Then why on earth did you do that?”

“Because I love you, Link.” Why wouldn't you want to protect him anyway?

Twilight looks down at you, frown still pulling at his lips, searching your face for something you cannot decipher. Then, he’s sighing and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too.”

------------------------

🧙anon, respectively, as always, i am eating your writing up. I am so soft, you don't understand.

[noparadiseinthis]

English is not my first language. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles

Series: Come away, O human child! Part 3:

Because all living things disappoint us on some level

Spencer Reid/fem!Reader

Series masterlist here

Warnings: explicit domestic violence and abusive relationship. Descriptions of physical violence. Mention of miscarriage (doesn't happen). Marital rape (nothing too explicit, but there are some descriptions of the moment). Reader is married and has a child. Dissociation as a way of coping.

Summary: You reflect on your life choices in recent years while Spencer drops a bomb on you that shatters your illusions of comfort. How good a mother are you being? You scrub the dirt off your body in the shower, but it never comes off.

Your world has stopped several times during your life. The first time Steve shouted at you and showed that he could be aggressive, the first time he did more than shout, but especially when you held that positive pregnancy test in your trembling hands and lost all sight of the horizon.

You were already 8 weeks pregnant, and for the next 7 months, you had to learn to share your body with a little creature that slowly grew on you in every way. You thought you were broken when you didn't feel that mother-child connection, long nights awake wondering what was wrong with you. It was only the first time you felt Will move inside you that you realized how real it was. From then on, that protective instinct began to develop.

What you were ashamed to admit was that you only really loved him when you fell down the stairs and there was so much blood around you and as you lost and regained consciousness, Steve's face wandering above you in an ambulance, all you could think was "if there is a God, don't let anything happen to my baby". When you woke up in the hospital without knowing how much time had passed, you felt an emptiness inside you, and the nurse found you crying copiously, certain that you had suffered a miscarriage. That's when you found out that your baby was a boy, and reading one of your thousands of poetry books for college, you decided what to name him. A college you never finished, by the way.

When they placed him in your arms for the first time, bawling and with tearful little eyes wide open, wishing to go back to the comfort of your womb, where everything was safe, you hugged him tightly against your chest, wishing you could do the same thing while swearing in your thoughts that you would never let him be affected by his father's behavior, and under Steve's delighted gaze at the baby you had made, you almost thought things could be different. When you were discharged from the hospital with a list of foods for iron deficiency, you didn't bother to explain to the doctor that the bruises on your arm weren't due to a lack of iron.

"Hey, can you hear me? I need you to focus on my voice." Spencer said, loud enough to get his attention, but not so loud as to alert William.

He blamed himself for throwing you into this state, immediately recognizing the signs of dissociation. He knew he should have approached the subject with more caution, but for a moment, he felt that any chance he had was slipping through his fingers. How traumatized were you to already be conditioned to disconnect from reality when it knocked on your door?

Gradually, your breathing steadied as you realized where and with whom you were, blinking to stare at the worried face in front of you, the man's frown deepening as he analyzed you carefully. You were immediately mortified, looking away as you swallowed and remembered the original subject of the conversation. Will. You took a deep breath, glancing briefly at your son to regain your strength before turning your attention to Dr. Reid.

"Are you all right?"

You could only nod. "What... What were you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause that reaction. Is that common?"

You hated the way you felt like a patient in a doctor's office, and you had to suppress the urge to hug yourself for comfort. There was nothing wrong with you. Right?

"Please... Dr. Reid." You added your title as an afterthought, hoping it would do something for his request.

And so, he agreed to ignore one of the many elephants in the room, just as he ignored the nail mark on your arm and your blank stare.

"It was something he told me when I was bringing him here. He told me he ran away because you two were starting..."

"Starting?"

"I hadn't understood either, but then I got here and I knew. He sees you fighting." Could it be called a fight when you never fought back? "He knows what happens at home, maybe not everything, and I hope not, because these things are never good for a child's upbringing, but he can already tell there's something wrong. Children aren't as naive as their parents think, he'll only realize it more as he grows up."

Proudly, you swallowed and straightened your back, hiding the little dried blood on your arm by pressing it against your stomach. "I don't know what you think is going on, Dr. Reid, but there's nothing for him to notice."

Spencer sighed, not understanding exactly where his denial was coming from, considering that he had already seen the violence firsthand. Still, he noticed how your eyes showed anguish and regret for the first time, unconsciously making his profile. You felt you had failed as a mother, and you were ashamed to expose it.

"Willy, darling, it's time to go, okay?" You spoke up, drawing your son's attention.

Once again, Spencer felt like he was doing a bad job, his left hand twitching next to his thigh as he thought about how this could be the last time he would see you. And of everything that could happen to you and your son if you never managed to break out of this cycle of abuse.

"Can we go to the park?" The childish, bored voice asked, walking up to you with his phone in his hand.

With a glimpse, Reid realized that it seemed to be some kind of educational game about dinosaurs. A quiz where you had to guess the name of the dinosaur that appeared on the screen.

"Not today, love, you know you shouldn't have run away from me. Maybe tomorrow, if you behave."

"Whatever," William muttered sulkily, kicking up invisible dust. "Bye, Dr. Reid."

"Bye, buddy." Spencer said, his voice much softer as he crouched down and raised his hand for a goodbye high-five, which brought a smile, albeit a small one, to the child's face.

With impressive agility, he stood again, staring at your face for what seemed like long seconds before finally asking. "Am I going to see you again?"

Answering was more painful than you'd like to admit. "I don't think so. Goodbye, Dr. Reid."

Picking up your bag from the table, you turned to leave, holding your son's hand.

"Does he like dinosaurs?" Spencer asked, still unwilling to allow you to leave. Unwilling to admit that he was scared.

You turned around, frowning before nodding, a confused look on your face.

"I saw the game on your cell phone." He admitted, looking a little shy as he did so. "It's just... there's a traveling park. They're going to be in town for one day in three days. Admission costs 10 dollars. You should really consider going... You never know... who you might meet after you've thought it through."

"I don't know if I'll have time for that."

This time, Spencer didn't stop you. You didn't see when he noticed the zipper of your bag open. Dangerous, but convenient. You didn't see when he took a card out of his pocket and threw it in. You only heard when he exclaimed, "Your bag is open!" Because he wasn't a bastard who would let you walk around with more risk of being robbed. He watched you walk away wishing deeply that you'd decided to go to the park after all. He would be there, regardless of any decision.

When he returned to his meeting, Spencer made little eye contact and mumbled some lame excuse about taking questions from a policeman when they mentioned how long it took him. He didn't see how Morgan's gaze remained on him for much longer.

•••

Steve could have been in several moods today and you knew them all. The most likely was aggressive. William would have to go to bed early while you suppressed any moans of pain and any crying so as not to alert your son. He was often the passive-aggressive one, pointing out all your little mistakes without caring if it made you cry. When he fought with you, however, it was very rare that he came home being the loving Steve. You knew what it meant; he wanted to get into your pants, but today, you were too exhausted for that.

Even so, when he played with Will in the living room, when he complimented you on your food when he came up behind you while you washed the dishes and wrapped his hands around your waist while placing kisses on your neck, you pretended that you and your son were loved.

"You look so beautiful today." He whispered against your ear, one of his hands going down to explore the inside of your thigh. "Driving me crazy."

"Steve!" You exclaimed softly. "Will will notice." Will noticed a lot of things, you reminded yourself, and quickly pushed the thought away.

"It's past his bedtime." You didn't even know that Steve knew his son's bedtime. "I'll send the boy to bed and we'll finish this, what do you think?" One of his hands slid to your throat, and your head instinctively went back, resting on your husband's shoulder.

He interpreted her silence as the only answer he needed, whispering in a thick voice, "That's right, kitten," before slapping her ass and leaving to put William to bed. Leaving you there with a lump in your throat as his fingers tightly gripped the last plate you had just washed, and you tried to pull yourself together.

•••

"Damn, you're so pretty," he said, pulling you under him on the bed as he showered your face with kisses and made you tingle. "I'm sorry about today, darling. You know I'm sorry, don't you?" he asked, taking your arm gently and kissing the wounds softly. You just nodded. "This would never have happened if you hadn't been so absent-minded, but still... I feel so bad."

You lost yourself in his almost loving words, his soft kisses, and the tender, careful touch on your skin, the weight of him above you seeming pleasantly welcome after such a long time. You missed it so much... feeling like you were in a normal relationship. Somehow, he always convinced you to let go of any transgression.

It was only when he pressed his erection against your thigh and growled in your ear, "I can't wait to fuck you tonight," that you realized exactly what you were getting into.

"I'm so tired." You murmured against his lips. "Tomorrow, please?"

Suddenly, the grip around your waist was much more oppressive, almost painful, revealing his true intention: to restrain you.

"But you had me so worried today," he said, in that annoying tone as if he were talking to a child, then he cracked a smile that gave you goosebumps, "Aren't you going to make it up to your husband?"

The hand that went to the side of your neck reminded you of how much you disliked what happened when you tried to reject him. Feeling so small, you nodded.

From then on, you hardly noticed the dirty, possessive things he whispered and growled in your ear, his strong grip that would leave bruises all over your body and the brutal way he penetrated you. No, you kept replaying that conversation in your head, wondering if Will could hear them from his room. You remembered that article you read a while back, that listening to parents having sex causes effects similar to sexual abuse in a child. How children who grew up in violent homes were more likely to be violent or suffer abusive relationships. Spencer Reid's voice never left your head, filling you with guilt for all sorts of reasons.

When Steve fell beside you on the bed, pulling out a condom that you had not noticed he had put on - but felt grateful for - you no longer knew who you were. This morning, you were a good mother. Now, not even that. When you got into the shower, Steve didn't even bother to go after you and when you scrubbed your skin until it was red, crying quietly and feeling like the dirtiest person in the world, trying to get any trace of him off your body, he rested with a clear conscience in bed. The weight of what had just happened finally hit you and you suppressed the urge to vomit as you realized that you had been used once again.

As you lay on the bed, you allowed Steve to pull you against him; you allowed him to wrap his arms around your body as if he were some kind of protector, and when he kept whispering things like "You're only mine", you agreed. Because, after all, what else could you do?

Staring at the ceiling, you remembered the first time he pushed you and how he clung to you afterward, begging forgiveness as he cried and said he didn't know how to be different from your own father.

"Hmm... Lovie?" You asked softly, trying hard to stay calm.

"Yes, darling?" he mumbled, being roused from a light nap.

"There's going to be a dinosaur park in town in a few days. Can you... can you give me the money to take Will?"

You finally realized that you didn't want to be like your mother.

Taglist (if you want in or out, just let me know):

@yokaimoon @fanfic-viewer @v1ckycheesue @mynameiskelly @pacmil

[soupandsorcery]

Beaux wakes abruptly, mouth dry, heart in their throat. For a moment, they don't remember where they are, and it's...disorienting. Like being in a mental free fall that has their stomach swooping unpleasantly. The light is odd, which doesn't help. Shifting, rippling, blue-green and eerie. There's something there on the edges of their memory, like a half remembered dream. It wasn't a nightmare, they don't think. There's no gripping fear at the very least.

But there's something...

"Smells like apples and heat. Warm. Wet."

The rasping voice cuts through the bleary half consciousness, and it all comes back to Beaux in a rush. They're in their room at the Lighthouse in a rare moment of down time. And Lucanis—no, that voice is Spite's, isn't it—is standing over their bed.

"Shit," Beaux swears, rolling into a sitting position. Their instinct is to defend themselves, even though they're trying to keep an open mind where Spite is concerned. For Lucanis' sake, if nothing else. Leading by example, so the rest of the team will do the same. They don't reach for a weapon, so that can be compromise enough. "What are you doing in here?"

"Watching." Spite's eyes glow stronger in the dim light, casting their own shadows.

Right. Of course.

"Watching me sleep? That's a new level of creepy, even for you." They rub a hand over their face. "You have to let Lucanis sleep, Spite. And the rest of us too."

"He sleeps. And not interested in the rest," Spite says, leaning closer. "Only you."

Beaux frowns, and really, they're too tired for this conversation. "You're not making any sense right now. Can we do this in the morning?"

"No," Spite says sharply. "He won't let me talk to you in the morning. He's protective." He says it like it's a bad word. "Warns me to keep my distance. He's keeping distance for us both!"

"Can you blame him? Generally chatting with demons isn't the best idea."

"Wouldn't hurt you." Spite makes a face, offended. "Not you."

"I've seen you hurt Lucanis, and you're sharing his body. What makes me so special?"

In a flash, he's even closer, one knee up on the cushion, pressing right up into Beaux's personal space. There's really nowhere for Beaux to go, unless they want to jump over the back of the couch and end up on the floor, and they feel caught. Pinned. Staring into those glowing purple eyes, set into a face Beaux is coming to know pretty well these days.

But this isn't Lucanis. Lucanis never gets this close.

Sometimes...sometimes Beaux thinks he wants to. Thinks they can see him holding himself back with effort. But it's always on the fringes of their vision, and by the time they turn to look properly, Lucanis is back to his usual restrained self.

It's Lucanis' hand reaching up to touch Beaux's hair now, though. His fingers sifting through, rubbing the silvery strands like they're precious.

"Soft. Warm. Trembling," Spite purrs, and it's a low, deep sound that thrills something deep in Beaux's gut.

"I am not," Beaux breathes. Their heart is pounding in their chest, and they should be pushing Spite away. Should be waking Lucanis up so he can put an end to this.

Only...

Only.

Spite inhales deeply and closes more of the distance. "Want to keep you. Want to taste you."

"Oh. I���"

An annoyed look crosses Spite's face—Lucanis' face—and he pulls away suddenly, leaving Beaux struggling to remember how to breathe.

"He's trying to wake up. Bothersome. Cowardly."

"Be nice to him," Beaux whispers.

Spite says nothing, just turns and leaves as silently as he came, presumably so Lucanis will wake up somewhere else other than Beaux's room.

And Beaux lies awake for hours afterwards, absently touching their hair where Spite touched it, wondering at their lack of disgust for this whole thing.

[ahgasegotarmy116]

He Doesn't Deserve You | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter Seven

Summary: Taehyung catches you coming home late and makes you regret it Pairing: Noona reader x Jeon Jungkook (She's 28 and he's 22) Word Count: 5.3K~ (kinda got carried away with this one lmao) Warnings: Smuuuuutttt, Domestic abuse (physical and mental), explicit language and yändere behaviors a/n: Sorry it's taken me a while to come back around to this story but I hope you guys like it 🥰 Start from the beginning

After watching as Jungkook rounds the corner and out of sight I turn around and unlock the door, noticing that only the bottom lock is locked. 'That's strange, I could've sworn I locked both of them' I think to myself but don't let my thoughts wander farther than that before walking in. 

Taking off my boots and starting to strip out of my clothes just as quickly as I did the last time I went out I'm met with one of our table lamps turning on in the living room making me freeze in place. 

"Have a nice night?" I hear Taehyung say, totally void of emotion, knowing full well there's anger hidden just behind it. "Tae I can explain" I start off, walking towards where he's sitting on the armchair that faces the door but I stop in my tracks when he stands up and slowly walk towards me. 

"You can explain? What is there to explain y/n? Did you do something that needs explaining?" he continues to ask, deepening his voice as I slowly retreat, trying to maintain some distance between us. "No, I didn't do anything wrong" I say, standing my ground and knowing that it's the truth. 

"Is that so? Then why was it that I heard not only your voice but a man's voice as well right outside our door y/n? Care to explain that?" he asks, continuing to stalk towards me and in my need to escape I stupidly bump into a wall behind me leaving him a chance to lunge at me and trap me against it. 

"He's a friend" I breath out, my voice getting smaller and smaller, dissociating and pulling my consciousness out of the situation, only being able to watch from above. "A friend? Huh, didn't remember you having any friends. Where, pray tell, did you meet this friend? Or better yet, where were you tonight?" he ask, getting up in my face and taking a deep breath. 

"You smell sweet, seems like you might've been drinking tonight huh? Is that what you did? Met a man at a bar behind my back? Then you have the audacity to tell me you did nothing wrong!" he says, raising his voice as he continues to stare me down. 

"We didn't do anything. We just had a few drinks and he walked me home, that's it" I explain, giving him the facts and the facts alone because that's exactly what happened. He pushes off the wall and walks away from me, letting out a sigh with curses attached to it, trying but failing to calm his temper. 

“Are you cheating on me?" he asks and my jaw drops. "No! You do not get to play the victim card with me like I'm the one that did something wrong! This has nothing to do with you" which in reality it doesn't. My intention was to talk about what happened this morning but I decided to focus on Jungkook instead. 

I'm not lying and I'm not the one who's in the wrong here. I have to keep reminding myself of these things because otherwise if I start blaming myself again then he wins. 

"This has everything to do with me! I am your husband and last time I checked my wife isn't supposed to be going out for drinks by herself and picking up men to bring them home!" he yells, his anger building by the second but I'm not backing down this time. 

"I did not pick him up or bring him home. He was a friend that was walking me home so I wouldn't have to pay for a cab or walk in the dark on my own. I didn't cheat on you and you know that" I say, continuing to defend myself and Jungkook. 

"Well you might as well have" he mumbles while running his fingers through his hair. 

"I can't say the same for you" I say without a second thought but throw my hand over my mouth, knowing that I've made a terrible mistake. "Excuse me?" he growls out, rearing his head toward me, his eyes narrowed and waiting for my response, seconds away from losing control... 

But I press on anyway.

"You heard me! You had the audacity to not bother coming home last night and then when you show up bright and early this morning you didn't even give me any sort of pitiful excuse as to why. Then when you get a call from your mistress, the one you probably just left, you let her not only interrupt what we were doing but you also left and ran back to her right away" I say, raising my voice and holding my chin high, summoning all the confidence and strength I'll need to deal with this conversation. 

"My mistress huh?" he chuckles dryly, shaking his head and stalking towards me before grabbing me by the throat and pulling me towards him before slamming me up against the wall, squeezing so hard that he cuts off my cries of pain.

"What makes you think you can talk to me like that huh? What makes you think that you can disrespect me in my own house? You dare accusing me of stepping out on you when you were just with a man tonight. From the looks of your hair and makeup alone I know you're lying" he says squeezing harder for a second before letting loose just enough for me to choke out a response. "I'm not lyin-" 

"Don't you fucking dare! I know he fucked you! Your messy sweaty hair and you smeared makeup is proof enough. Although looks like he didn't do a very good job of it since you still have some lipstick left huh?" he says through gritted teeth. 

I start to see black dots in my vision and just as I'm about to lose consciousness he lets go, letting me fall to my knees. 

I cough and wheeze, trying to flood some oxygen to my lungs while he cracks his neck, getting rid of some tension before saying another word. He glares down at me before crouching down and lifting my chin up, making eye contact while he smiles at me with a look that says he's gonna make sure I regret what I said to him. 

"You're gonna tell me exactly what he did to you" he starts and I shake my head but he cuts me off "No see, you will. You'll show me exactly what he did to you and I'm going to show you that I'll do it better. Remind you who you belong to" he says, taking off his belt and I continue to shake my head, letting my tears start to fall, silently begging for him to stop. 

"You think tears are gonna work on me? Don't you realize that that's exactly why I stay with you? Seeing you cry and beg for mercy even though you body is screaming for more. Watching the tears stream down your face while your makeup is fucked up beyond belief from it all. Fuck baby you're the reason I'm like this. You go around, purposefully getting in trouble and giving me a  reason to treat you like this" he says, caressing my face and giving me a disgusting grin while he watches my face as I fall apart. 

"I don't want this" I sob, begging for all of this to stop. "No see that's where you're wrong. You were so upset that we got interrupted that you went out and did something that you knew would make me want to hurt you because that's exactly what you wanted. You're a slut for pain and you love it when I do this to you" he says while grabbing onto my bicep and dragging me up by it, making me wince in pain. 

"Taehyung stop, please" I sob, "Taehyung stop" he mimics me in a high pitched voice, making fun of my cries for help. "All I hear when you say that is you begging me to go harder, you're begging me to use you like the worthless whore you are" he says while dragging me into our bedroom all while I'm pulling and pushing and fighting my way out of his hold.

Right before he throws me on the bed I'm able to break free and run into the bathroom, him chasing after me but right at the last second I'm able to close and lock it behind me. 

I take shallow breaths in and out, hyperventilating as he bangs on the door and screams for me to open in. I scream back and tell him to leave me alone but it only makes him furious. 

"I'll break this fucking door down you whiny bitch! Open up!" he yells as he throws his body up against the door, the wood slamming into the door frame and I pray to whatever higher power there is out there to send someone here to save me. 

As soon as I finish my prayer I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. Reaching for it I let out a sob when I realize it's Jungkook's email that he said he would send me and I click on the number right away, not bothering to read the message and hold my breath as I listen to it ring and ring and ring until I hear him pick up.

"Noo-" "Jungkook please, please come back please Taehyung's here and he-" I cut him off but before I'm able to get much more out Taehyung cuts me off as well with another one of his yells. "Who the fuck are you talking to in there? You better not be calling your little boyfriend you whor-" "Jungkook please" I whimper. 

"I'm already on my way I'll be there in 5 minutes, I just pulled out of The Blue Pearl and I'm at the light about to turn onto your street. Just stay on the phone with me okay? Do you have a spare key anywhere?" he asks, talking me through it all and assures me he'll be here soon. 

"It's under the mat" I let out, trying to keep my voice as low as I can so Taehyung doesn't know what's happening. "Okay where are you in the house?" he continues and I tell him exactly where I am and what's going on and he keeps me talking, making sure that Taehyung hasn't gotten a hold of me and that I'll be safe until he gets here. 

"Okay Noona I just pulled up, I'm parking my car, I'm running upstairs" he lists off  and while I hear the sounds that match his claims my breathing gets a little deeper with each word, calming me down and knowing that no matter what Jungkook will protect me with everything he's got. 

"I'm at the door and I'm grabbing the key, I'm turning the lock okay I'm inside" he says and hangs up the phone as soon as he starts walking down the hallway. 

"Who the fuck are you?" Taehyung yells out as soon as he notices Jungkook's form stalking towards him but the next thing I hear is the sound of Taehyung grunting in pain and feeling the thud of him hitting the floor. 

"What the fuck?" he yells out and at that sound I open the bathroom door. "Noona go back inside and lock the door" Jungkook says sternly, barely glancing at me as to keep his eyes on Taehyung to block any movement he might make to harm me.  "You know this guy?" Taehyung says, wiping the corner of his mouth and looking at the blood caused from his busted lip.

"I was the guy she went out with tonight" Jungkook say, throwing my friends argument right out the window. "Jungkook please" I say, my voice strained from the pressure Tae had put on my throat. "Noona go back inside and lock the door" he growls out again, balling up his fists and ready to throw another punch. 

"Maybe you should listen baby. Don't wanna watch while I beat up your little boyfriend here" Tae grits out and while Jungkook is still turned to face me he punches him straight in the jaw, leaving him stumbling back a few step but stays standing. "Jungkook!" I scream, rushing towards him to check on him but he ignores my efforts to do so and puts me behind his back to keep me out of reach.

"That's a bit cruel now isn't it? Worrying about him over your own husband? I guess you really are a slut" "You shut your mouth" Jungkook growls, squaring his shoulder and I can tell just from his back how he'd be willing to kill Taehyung if I asked him to. 

"Taehyung get out!" I say as loud as I can, the pain on my larynx worse than it's ever been before. If Jungkook hadn't gotten here I really think Taehyung would've gone too far this time.

"You heard her! Get the fuck out" Jungkook says getting ready to grab him but after Tae takes in Jungkook's figure he steps back and starts to leave on his own. "Fine, you can have her. She's worthless to me anyways" he says over his shoulder and I have to grab Jungkook by the arm to keep him from lunging at him again. 

"Jungkook please stop, just let him go" I say, holding on with all my might and at my voice he relaxes a bit but still keeps his guard up. "Keep your bitch on a leash y/n. We wouldn't want anyone to get hurt" is Tae's last sentiment and at that I let go of Jungkook, letting him do as he sees fit.

"What'd you fucking call me?" Jungkook asks, holding onto Taehyung's neck just like he had done to me and all Tae can do is claw at his hand and gasp for breath, letting out choked curses as he does. 

"Huh? Sorry? Didn't catch that" he says, squeezing even harder but I place my hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality again and at that he stares Taehyung down before letting go of his neck and shoving him out of the apartment. 

Before Tae is able to say another word Jungkook slams the door in his face locking it and putting on the chain lock in an effort to make sure he won't be able to get in too easily.

Jungkook leans his forehead against the door, hand rested against it in the form of a fist before he turns around and as soon as I try to say something he wraps his arms around my torso and holds me tight, wordlessly showing me that he's here and he will protect me from anything and everything if I let him. 

After a few minutes of standing like that I lean back and look at him, tracing my hand gently along the swollen area on his jaw. "I'm sorry" I choke back, letting the emotions of the moment hit me again. He brings his hand up just like I had, tracing it along my neck where the skin is red and showing signs of bruising that I'm sure will be there tomorrow. 

"Don't" is all he says as he runs his thumb along my lips, the bottom one spilt in the corner from where I had bitten it nervously at some point. 

"But I-" "No, don't. I knew what I was signing up for when I came here" he says, tucking my hair behind my ear and wiping away the tears that have started to fall. "I would've done a lot more if you hadn't stopped me" he says, studying my features before he pull back and assesses my body 

"Did he touch you anywhere else? Are you in any pain?" he starts, pestering me with more and more questions before I can even answer one and all I can do in response is smile, watching as his eyes dart all over me. "Jungkook I'm fine" I say but he scrunches his brows and tongues his cheek. "You're obviously not fine now tell me what he did to you" he says sternly, not backing down from this. 

I take in a shaky breath before relaying everything that happened and he pulls me in for a hug once I've finished, making sure to be a lot more gentle this time but still, no less full of comfort and promises of protection. 

Now sitting on the couch together he keep a hold of one of my hands, playing with my fingers as we sit there, neither of us knowing what to say. I look up at him and notice that he's been staring at me, waiting for me to say or not say anything, just wanting to show me that he's here and is focused solely on me. 

"Thank you for coming" I mumble and he smiles, nodding his head while he rubs circles into my palm. "I wish I could've been here under different circumstances but thank you for calling me and letting me be there for you" he says and I nod my head as well, both of us going back to sitting in a comfortable silence for a while.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up" I say, taking note of his busted lip and the blood that had started to drip down his chin. "What? This? This is nothing" he smile, making light of the subject but I nevertheless lead him into the bathroom. 

I close the lid of the toilet before having him sit down, him obeying and letting me take care of him with little to no protest.

"This might sting a little" I say before using some rubbing alcohol to clean up the surrounding area. He flinches and grabs my wrist in response, his eyes narrowed in pain from the sting. "I'm sorry" I apologize but he doesn't bother saying anything, his eyes now focused on my lips.

My eyes flitter down to his as well, feeling as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and before I can stop myself I'm already leaning down and kissing him. 

The kiss is soft, chased and so full of longing from the both of us but I pull away, scared that I might've crossed a line that he might want to keep drawn until we figure things out.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that" I say but before I have the chance to open my eyes he's pulling me in by my hips and guiding me down to kiss him again, a hand on my jaw trying to keep me close. 

We kiss for what feels like only moments but when we pull away all we can manage to do is try to stop our racing hearts as we slow our panting breaths. 

"Are you going to leave him" he lets out before taking in another breath, the patterns slowly going back to normal.

"I- What?" I ask, caught off guard from the straightforward question and it takes my brain a second to catch up. "Are you going to leave him? Because if we do this I don't think I'll be able to go back to what we were before" he says, his thumb rubbing circles against my hip as he still has me pulled in close. 

I look down at him for a moment, studying his features and notice his parted lips, now swollen from my doing. His brows pinched in concentration and just bellow are his eyes, pleading for me to say something, full of those same galaxies that continue to pull me in. 

"I'll leave him" I let out in a hushed tone, words that I had only hoped I would say one day. His eyes trace all of my features making sure that I truly mean what I say and as soon as he's satisfied with my answer he stands up, picks me up by my hips and places me on the bathroom counter, our roles reversed with him now towering above me. 

"If you want me to stop then tell me to stop" he says and I blink up at him for a second before nodding my head in response. "Use your words Noona" he says, caressing my cheek and my jaw drops before regaining composure seconds later. 

"I'll tell you" I respond and at that he leans in and kisses me, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter and wedging his knee between my parted legs, letting me use him if I want to. I place my arm around his neck and place my other hand on his jaw, keeping him close and wordlessly asking him for more. 

When he pulls away a bit I chase his lips, scooting closer to the edge and let out a breathy moan, getting friction when I wasn't expecting it yet. "Use me to get yourself off Noona" Jungkook says against my lips, pleading for me to keep going but letting me take control. 

I do as he say and chase after his lips while I throw both arms around his neck to anchor myself as I rock my hips back and forth, moaning at the feeling of my clit rubbing up against his thigh, my thin leggings and his jeans the only barriers between us. 

I pull away to catch a breath but my hips never stop as he's now holding onto them and guiding me, keeping the pace just right. I let out breathy moans, not being able to hold back enough to hide what this is doing to me.

"You make such pretty noises for me. So responsive" he says, pulling me further up his thigh and making me gasp at the feeling before letting out an unrestrained moan. 

"There we go, let me hear you. Let me know how good I'm making you feel" he rasps out in a deep voice before pressing his lips against mine, swallowing those noises he just asked for. 

I swear I could cum from just listening to him. 

"Shit Jungkook" I curse, pulling back and gasping for breath, so close to release already. "Tell me what you need" he says, hands still dragging my hips at a steady pace. "Fuck touch me please" I whine out, the sensations on a whole other level when he's the one doing this to me. 

"I am touching you" he taunts, forcing me to tell him exactly what I want. "I need your fingers. Please fuck" I groan out, feeling as he drags me harder along his thigh. 

"Noona wants my fingers yeah? You want them down here?" he pauses his motions, tracing the wet stain on my legging and I moan out a 'yes' before he slips his hand under my waistband and gently draws a stripe up between my folds with his middle finger before just barely ghosting it against my clit. 

"Jungkook please" I beg, my hips chasing after his hand. "Patience Noona. I promise I'll make you feel good" he whispers in my ear before pulling his hand out of my pants, wrapping my legs around his waist and carrying me to my bed. 

"Wanna eat you out" he says after making both of us fall on the bed. "Is that okay?" he questions and I nod my head before saying 'yes'. He kisses me for a little bit again, making my brain get even foggier than before, giving me that same fluttering feeling he always does but this time lower and accompanied by a pulsing need for his touch. 

He notices how I start to squirm and takes mercy on me, chuckling dryly as he pulls away and sits back, looking at my leggings and then up at me and when I try to take them off on my own he pulls my hands away and kisses my palms instead. 

"No this is about you. Let me take care of you yeah?" he asks and I nod my head, trying to keep myself from moaning at his words, his fiery gaze locked on me before placing my hands on either side of me and getting up off the bed while slowly sliding down my pants. 

"No panties huh? No wonder I could feel how wet you were" he teases and I cover my face in embarrassment when I look down and see the wet stain I caused on his jeans. "Don't hide from me" he says while he comes down to hover over me, making me want to do it even more. 

"Come on pretty, let me see you" he rasps out and at that I take my hands off my face, him not having used any pet names with me before leaving me caught off guard.

"There she is" he says with a crooked smile letting my jaw drop. He laughs and kisses my open mouth before trailing his lips down my neck, paying close attention to it, wanting to kiss away the pain. 

I hiss at the feeling of his middle finger drawing lazy patterns along my clit, caught off guard by the sudden touch. "You gonna let me take care of you?" he asks, his words dripping with promises of ecstasy and I only whimper in response, his finger now drawing circles around my entrance.

He watches my reactions as he dips it inside of me, feeling all my senses heightened from the sensation of being with someone other than my husband. Someone who truly wants to take his time with me. 

"You're already acting like this and I've only put in one finger. Let's see what kind of pretty noises you make when I add another huh?" he taunts, slowly dragging his finger out of me before adding another one. 

My hips buck up at the feeling, chasing his touch and he chuckles, enjoying the fact that my body is not ashamed in show my desire for him even if my mouth can't say it.

"Just like that, ride my fingers Noona, use me" he says and I moan at his word, something primal stirring up in me at the sound of them. My hips buck up into his hand without remorse and I gasp when he adds another one. 

He takes his hand away when he feels me tightening around his fingers and I groan at the loss of touch. "It's okay, I'm right here. Just want the first time you cum to be on my tongue" he says, leaning down to whisper it in my ear making me melt into the mattress, completely at his mercy. 

"Can you take this off for me?" he asks, playing with the hem of my shirt and I nod my head, sitting up and taking it off and as I go to take off my bra his eyes widen at the thin black lace wrapped perfectly around my breasts. "Keep it on" he husk out and I close my legs at the sound, needing some sort of friction but he pulls my legs apart thinking that I was trying to close myself off from him. 

"None of that" he says and takes time to really look at me, making eye contact before studying my features and taking in how fucked out I already look. "Lay down for me" he says, leaning in to kiss me and guiding me down on my back again. 

He takes his time kissing me, trailing his hands up and down my torso before replacing them with his lip, tongue and teeth, leaving no inch of skin untouched. "God you're so beautiful" he groans, taking time to worship my body, reminding me of how I'm meant to be loved. 

He pulls down on the lace covering my breast and latches his lips around my sensitive bud, hardening from the arousal coursing through my veins. He switches to the other one and gives it the same time and attention, his brows furrowed together in concentration, finding pleasure in this act as well.

"I can't get enough of you" he growls out, trailing his lips down my torso and kissing my waist, sucking marks into it as a reminder of what I let him do to me.

He looks up at me before focusing his gaze on my glistening folds and how I'm clenching around nothing, begging to be full. 

He leans in and licks a hard stripe from my entrance to my clit, sucking it in gently and moaning into me, making my hips buck into his face, chasing more of that sensation. 

"Fuck you taste like candy" he moans, making out with my cunt, leaving me grasping onto his locks with one hand to keep him close and placing the other over my mouth to hold back the moans I'm bound to let out. 

"Take your hand off your mouth or I'll stop" he commands, looking up at me with a fiery gaze that tells me he'll make good on his word. 

I lower my hand slowly and keep my eyes on him and watch as he become hungrier at the sight of my flushed cheeks and rising and falling of my chest. "You're such a good listener" he grins and before I'm able to say something in response I'm cut off by the moan I let out when he dips his tongue inside me. Now alternating between kissing, sucking and fucking me with his tongue, moaning into me all along. 

I can tell I'll never be able to find anyone as skilled as he is with his fucking mouth. 

I'm seeing stars already from the build up alone and I buck my hips up into him, begging for more. He pulls back and looks up at me, his chin glistening with my arousal and his eyes full of hunger, begging me to give him everything I have to offer. 

"You gonna cum Pretty?" and at that I arch my back, moaning and feeling so close to cumming like I knew I would. His fucking mouth making me weak for him in more ways than one. He grabs my hips and presses them down into the mattress to keep me in place for him. "Stay nice and still for me yeah?" he says, coaching me through it and making me hang onto every word. 

"Good girl" he says, kissing the inside of my thigh before going back to eating me out, going even harder and faster than before if even possible, never letting up on giving me anything and everything I need and all I can do is let out a slur of unintelligible moan and whimpers, motivation for him to keep going. 

Before I'm able to get anything out he takes his mouth off of me only for a second, looking up and savoring my reactions before growling out "Cum" leaving me cumming on his tongue, just like he said he wanted me to.

He continues his ministrations, licking and kissing and sucking up everything I've given him, slowing his pace but keeping his mouth on me still, obsessed with the way I taste. 

I try to pull back and wiggle my way away from him but he pulls me back in by my hips keeping me in place. "Stop running" he growls out and when I whine in overstimulation he looks up at me with a devilish glint in his eyes, telling me he's no where near done with me.

"I know you can give me another one" he taunts, kissing and sucking marks on the inside of my thigh and my vision goes blurry with lust, desire flooding my senses all over again and I nod my head before laying it back down on the pillow, him pulling away only to grab another one. 

"Lift your hips for me love" he says while caressing the outside of my thigh and I do as he says and he places a pillow under them, angling me just how he wants me and giving him a better angle this time. 

Fuck I'm in trouble...     

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Do you have any canon movie fics to recommend? (could be canon divergence too)

the best ones of course

Hi Anon,

It's impossible to define 'best ones' when it comes to fic as everyone has their own set of preferences but I'm happy to share some of my personal favourites. :D And this list barely scratches the surface of all the incredible fic we've been blessed with in this fandom so def. do your own search on ao3 and filter for your preferred tropes! Also, feel free to check out some of my previous fic recs posts on my blog for more options! Happy reading!

XMFC

never too late to be who you might have been by acetamide Erik wakes suddenly and takes a deep breath, and realises that there is nothing.

Replay by SlightWeasel (series) After Magneto of an X2-ish future succeeds in the unthinkable, Charles sends his consciousness back to 1962 to guide Erik away from the path that will lead to the genocide of the human race forty years hence.Charles knows that Erik has always loved him, and intends to use this knowledge + sex to seduce Erik away from his ideals in his youth.There’s no way this well-thought-out, sensible, debugged and 100% bulletproof plan can possibly go wrong.

When We Two Parted by nekosmuse At the end of X3, a still depowered Erik travels back in time to meet 1962 Charles. Cue angst, desperate kissing and happy endings for all. Written for the x-men kink meme.

Lucid Dreaming by listerinezero Magneto finds himself in 1962, on the morning they go to Cuba, in the bed of the young Charles who’d spent months letting him think they were in love before breaking his heart. But he is not the same man he was forty years earlier, and as he gets to know young Charles again, he discovers that things might not have been exactly the way he remembered them after all.

Time to Grow by zarah5 In which you'll find chess dates which aren't dates (or maybe Charles is wrong about that). -- Based on First Class, this turns (slightly) AU during the beach scene.

Not Half As Blinding by keire-ke Cuban beach AU. Charles discovers that death does, in fact, solve everything.

Blood and Steel and Miles Between by dreamlittleyo (Post-movie AU.) On a beach in Cuba, Charles manages to talk Erik down from the edge. But even after the missiles have been diverted, compromise is impossible. There are two different futures to build, and Erik and Charles will always be separated by their principles. But when Charles is kidnapped and the X-Men can't find him, Erik will get him back no matter the consequences.

Homecoming by nekosmuse Five years after they part ways on a beach in Cuba, Charles sends a telepathic message: We are under attack.. Erik drops everything to rush to Charles' side. In which battles are fought, war is avoided, a middle ground is found, and happily ever afters do exist.

how near to fairyland by ikeracity Since childhood, Charles has kept all the things he can't let go of in a beautiful room in his head. Cuba brings his precarious balancing act crashing down.

The Line in the Sand by ikeracity The CIA agents on the base are bullying the children, mocking them for their mutations. Charles will not tolerate it.

DOFP

Hope by daymarket  A near-decade of hatred can't be wiped out with a single summer, no matter how eventful that summer might be. When Erik shows up uninvited at the mansion, Charles is just barely civil enough to not throw him out, but that doesn't mean he'll let him stay.

Mile High by cygnaut There’s only so much time you can spend sublimating your emotions into chess.

Spark Me Up by blarfkey “This is Erik raw. This is Erik lost. This is Erik looking at Charles like he is the only piece of wreckage in a vast ocean. The only star in the sky.

And such a look does things to Charles.”

After ten years, they are both starving for each other.

XMA

third time's the charm by Gerec XMA ficlets and missing scenes

Regrets by SlightWeasel After Apocalypse, Charles and Erik sleep together—but it’s way too soon for Erik.

as it arcs towards the sun by pearl_o

night by night by pearl_o

things worth fearing by pearl_o

Dark Phoenix

After the End of the World (One Bad Day) by kianspo Set during and immediately after the events of X-Men: Dark Phoenix. Everyone deals with the aftermath of Jean's transformation and everything that comes with it in their own way. Could there be found a measure of peace and happiness after everything they've lost?

Never a Place by kianspo It takes some getting used to. Charles hasn’t seen Erik cheerful, actually cheerful without a homicidal intent of some sort in a very long time—perhaps never. Or. Charles takes Erik up on his offer while trying to process everything. Erik is remarkably patient until he isn't.

rue de la paix by Ireliss Post Dark Phoenix. Charles, Erik, and the winding road towards peace.

The First Move by TurtleTotem Charles and Erik live together now, in Genosha. They get up together, spend the day together. And then... go to sleep in their separate beds.

Charles is going quietly crazy.

[shelbydelrey]

Just Like A Soap Opera

pairing: Lucy Winters (OC) x Tommy Shelby

a/n: OC and story idea belong to the wonderful @mischievouslittlecreature I just ran with it 🤭Hope you like it, love 💙

"Mum?" She calls out, despite the pounding in her head.

"Oh, thank goodness you're awake," The woman approaches, eyes red and swollen; a sight too familiar to give Lucy ease, "Are you feeling any pain?"

"Ouch," Lucy blurts out once her mother's hand brushes over her forehead.

"I'll call the doctor," With a sorrowful gaze Genevieve retrieves her fingers and presses a button underneath the strange bed Lucy finds herself in.

"What happened?" She asks, deciding to verify before entering panic mode. The blurred peripheral vision and the constant thud inside her skull doesn't help though.

"Hey kiddo!" Someone shouts at the door, "You finally decided to come back to the world of the living?"

Genevieve must have seen her squint because she shushes the stranger and chastises them with a slap on the arm.

"Your sister is not feeling well."

A smile instinctively creeps up on Lucy's lips.

"Take it down a notch, will you? Kiddo."

"There she is," Teddy congratulates while handing his mother a cup of tea. He also has dark bags under his eyes and his hair resembles a bird's nest more than actual hair.

"Where's Thomas?" Their mother inquires.

"Heading back here with her stuff. You know, i told him to leave you in the snow but the fucker wouldn't listen to -"

Still fighting to crawl back to consciousness, Lucy interrupts Teddy.

"How bad is it?" She assumes that in the least she got a concussion, "Because i can't miss my finals plus i have an essay that's due for Professor Carn and you guys know how much he hates me."

"Finals?" Genevieve questions.

"Professor Carn?" Blurts Teddy.

Both of them have the same look of shock and confusion on their faces.

"Yes," Lucy replies in a high pitched tone, that sends another pang to her head, more to reassure herself than her family.

A man walks in carrying two briefcases.

“Hey, you’re up,” He says while smiling, revealing the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, “I almost couldn’t make it outside the house ‘cause Trouble wouldn’t let go of me. I think she thinks i got you in trouble.”

A deep frown forms on Lucy’s forehead. What is he talking about?

His beam dims until it completely disappears.

“Mum?” She calls but is Teddy who answers, pointing at the other man:

“Luce, who is that?”

“Should i know?”

She clutches the sheet as her breathing shortens. Looking at the stranger again, she recognises a mixture of hurt and worry in his features.

“Tommy, go fetch the doctor,” Genevieve interveins, blocking Lucy’s sight so she can’t see Tommy, whoever that is.

“Luce, what’s the last thing you remember?”

“Teddy, stop! Leave her alone,” Her mother hushes.

“She looked at him like she didn't know him!” Teddy screeches.

“You’re not making things any better.”

“Who is he?” Lucy requests. Tommy is his name, she knows that, but she needs more info so she can remember him and so that mum and Teddy can stop freaking out.

“Don’t-” Genevieve tries to stop her son but he gives out anyway:

“That’s your husband.”

“WHAT?”

Just Like A Soap Opera or the story of how Lucy will fall in love, again, with her husband.

[lvlyghost]

In the Midst of War

PAIRINGS: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Shadow!Reader

SUMMARY: Home is no longer where it used to be. Left with no one else you wonder who your friends and foes are.

WORD COUNT: 3.5k

TW: blood, angst. Description of wounds. self-doubt. Reader's callsign is Vesper. some background for reader too. medical inaccuracy and poorly written action. future +18 chapters so mdni!

A/N: it's quite embarrassing the amount of time it took me to get this out, but between work and just my personal life it was so hard to find the time to write. i'm excited to see how the next chapters will play out✨remember english is not my first language so corrections are appreciated💕comments and reblogs add years to my lifespan 🌸.

Masterlist✨Masterpost

"𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒏."

The amount of blood coming from your wounds is mortifying. Your body hits the dusty soil beneath you while you try to breathe in as much air as possible. The black hummer you stole from the headquarters refused to keep going, no matter how much you tried to get it to start again. Certainly you'd die out here, in a forgotten highway in the middle of nowhere of a foreign country, where the sky was starting to set on the horizon.

Was this your fate? To die alone in a god-forsaken desert, far from home; simply because you tried to do the right thing?

Blue eyes stare back at you as you try to press one of the wounds on your stomach. The disappointment in Phil's eyes when you confronted him about the whole situation. As much as an asshole he was, he cared for you in his own weird and twisted way.

You were his favorite amongst all of them. And if someone were to ask him about it, you were the closest thing he ever had to a friend.

Your stomach contracts violently fighting a wave of nausea. It won't take long until you pass out from blood loss and exhaustion, your throat constricts when the feeling finally settles in.

Are you crying? A lone tear slides down your right cheek.

"Yep-yep." You choke out dryly. "This is how it ends." A sad ending for a sad life.

From the moment you became a part of the shadow company, you thought you had found a family, something you no longer had back in the states; the old victorian house didn't count. Thought you belonged somewhere at last. Why was it that when something good happened to you couldn't last.

You were damned from the moment you came into this world. The moment of your first breath.

It's the sound of screeching tires behind you that brings you back to consciousness. Eyes barely opening when darkness threatens to consume you, pulling you down to the deep slumber you'd certainly never wake up from. Rocks creak beneath heavy boots approaching. If only you had the strength to reach down for your gun and defend yourself. You cough and more blood splutters out of your mouth, coating your lips and chin. This doesn't seem promising, the voice in your head whispers. The bullets must've hit a vital organ.

A radio crackling you hear, indistinct voices and then a deep voice.

"That her, Price?"

The voice is distorted, a sudden waft of air carries the words away; it's starting to get cold. Is it supposed to be this cold at this time in the south? Even in your dying state another wave of nausea fills your stomach, bile threatens to burn you from inside out.

Seconds later you're being scooped up by an unknown force, almost too big, almost too strong to be real.

This is it.

You try to reach up, to move your arm but it stays the same; why can't you open your eyes anymore? The person that carries you is walking as fast as possible, trying to not worsen the open wounds. Whoever these people are, they know you might not get to see another day.

But sleeping now is what you want to do the most, and at least you wouldn't die alone.

-

The conversations come and go just as your consciousness. Brain fogged and head heavy. Aching body. You fight when the darkness threatens to swallow you whole; you've endured the worst. You've been through hell and back.

The constant beeping of the machine next to your bed, the tears that spill from your eyes rolling down your cheeks. The soft and warm breeze that comes through the open window, softly moving the curtains. Birds that sing a distant song. It's painful, to even fully open your eyes to take in the surroundings; yet beautiful.

A small cozy country house with vintage furniture. A rocking chair in the far left corner. The painting of a white rose with a golden frame. With a shaky hand you take oxygen mask from your face, breathing is still a challenge, it's as if the bullet wounds on your stomach would reopen if you dared to breathe. The medication is doing wonders nonetheless. Keeping the pain at a minimum. Eyes slide further away from the rocking chair and to the other side of the room.

Pupils widen at the sight of a man leaning against the wall, brown orbs squinting when he realizes you're indeed awake.

He doesn't speak nor move. His strong arms are crossed over his broad chest, face hidden under a black balaclava painted in white on the lower half. Your breath catches in your throat at the terrible realization of who that is.

"You..." voice barely above a whisper. You cough, your dry throat hurts and you notice as he sighs and moves around to help you, a glass of water in hand. Slowly you swallow down feeling the liquid soothe your throat. "Thank you..." it's a low response to which he just gives curt nod and then retreats. "Am I a hostage... of the task force?" The man... you don't want to truly believe it but even you know who it is.

"No such thing, kid. I need to report this." You try to stand up, regretting it instantly, whimpering as the stitches around your abdomen threaten to reopen. The masked soldier hisses and darts forward to —and surprisingly— help you lay back with soft hands. "Stop that. It's not gonna help, you're still healing."

"Why... why do you care?" You ask him, lips pressed into a thin line. You were far from home or anyone you could call family. "Why didn't you just let me die?"

"Laswell would've killed us all if we didn't."

"Kate?" You stammered, dumbfounded.

The man shrugs seemingly annoyed that he has to answer or to even talk.

"Said it was important."

A moment passed where none of you say another word. You have so many questions, but you also have the feeling he won't answer them even if you asked.

"You're him." He gives you a blank stare. "The one they call Ghost."

Unfazed by your statement he turns to exit the room. You hear him walking around the living room, the wooden floor creaks beneath his combat boots, you wish you'd make out what he's saying but his voice is low so you just wait for him to come back. He has to, you think.

Ten minutes later he's entering the room, making it look smaller than it is with his sheer size. A silver tray in his hands.

"Doctors said you must eat." He approaches setting it down. "Sorry about this but let me help you sit down. Put your arms around me yeah?" You can tell by the way the corner of his eyes wrinkle that he's just as disgruntled as you by the whole situation. Lifting your arms you oblige. "One, two..." and the he lifts your upper body, careful enough for you to adjust, checking on you for any signs of discomfort. When you unwrap your arms he pulls back, his heavy hand rests on top of your shoulder for a short moment before he's sure you'll be alright. He places the tray in front of you. Chopped fruit, apple juice and a sandwich. Your mouth waters at the sight.

"Ghost." You try, your voice is barely above a whisper. He halts all of the sudden on his way back to the living room. "I'm sorry. For what was done." And it's true. You never wanted to be a part of all this mess, and in some ways Phil tried to shield you from it, until he couldn't anymore. His favorite. You don't think he'll answer, but when he looks over his shoulder and his gaze bounced from the walls to your eyes he leaves you speechless.

"I'm in disadvantage here." His deep voice echoes across the silent room and reaches your eardrums.

Your heart begins to race and cheeks blush so hard you're mortified he might notice. There's something about his presence...

"Vesper, sir."

-

"You there, Ghost? That was a big mistake brother... son of a bitch." You hear him curse when you walk past the threshold of the facility. Eyebrows furrowed and a racing heart. You had been off-duty at the mexican special forces base. Sleeping for a good 5 hours before the sound of bullets ricocheting echoed through all the hallways and walls. You rub your eyes with your hand on your pistol as you come outside, it's raining and the first thing you see is Alejandro's unconscious body on the ground. Blinking rapidly you crouch down.

"Is he alright?" You ask, none of your team members answers but rather chuckle and murmur things amongst them, not minding the bodies scattered around the floor; you suck in a sharp breath. "Phil?" You look up from the man to find his blue eyes already fixed on you. "Sir, what's...-"

"Let's get you inside." He grabs you by the arm dragging you back into the hall. Shadows carry Alejandro's body God knows where. He takes you to the main office, locking the door behind him; Phil takes off his combat vest. "Our orders have changed, Vesper." He announces coming close to you. "And I expect you to obey accordingly."

Shaking your head you laugh humorously.

"What does that have to do with Colonel Vargas... and the 141?" Annoyance glints in his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why couldn't you just trust him?

"Soldier, just fucking do as you're told. None of that." He stops you when you're about to say no. "Now go get geared up and wait for my signal. We need to find those bastards first. You're in charge until I get back." When you don't move, frozen in place at what you just heard he barks again. "You're dismissed!"

Blinking you turn on your heels making your way to the dorm and getting dressed, leaving your Captain staring at your back as you leave, sighing long and deep. You hadn't met these guys personally, Graves was the one with direct contact but you knew they were on your side, why were they suddenly the enemies? You dart to your laptop and log in. Fingers typing on the keyboard finding your most trusted contact. If Graves wasn't going to give you the answers you'd personally search them. She's quick to type back and as you chew on your lower lip you read her reply, heart racing and clammy hands ghosting over the keyboard. Swallowing hard you shut it down, grabbing your things you step out, the device that he confided to you feels heavy in your pocket. Your comrades are starting to line up at the entry door, Phil's eyes squint, lips going thin and he asks if everything's alright; it's in that moment that you think you can't recognize the man in front of you.

The rest of the night is quiet, a contrast to what's happening in your mind. Phil did not only have Colonel Vargas under arrest but all of his team. Upon speaking to your contact yet again and gaining more information as the night went by you decided to pay the man a quick visit. One that wouldn't alert the shadows that were left behind, even so you were in charge so it wouldn't raise suspicions if you went to check him.

"Colonel?" Two soft knocks on the metallic door should be sufficient. He doesn't answer at first so you open the small window on it. It's pitch dark inside, safe from the moonlight that shines through the small opening up above.

"What do you want?" His voice is raspy, defensive. You don't blame him.

You take a quick glance to the hallways. No one's around.

"I apologize sir, for all of this. I don't know what's gotten into Graves but...."

He scoffs standing to his full height and slowly but menacingly walking towards the door.

"I won't ask again. Qué chingados quieres?"

Inhaling deeply you shift your weight from one foot to another.

"Not all of us are bad."

His face remains the same, unbothered. He doesn't trust you and you think if you were in his place you'd do the same.

"Then I suggest you to stop talking and do something about it."

Chaos unfolds. A hellish night you would certainly remember. You meet them although from afar. Hiding in the far tower of the compound under Graves' commands.

"Let them fight. But I need you alive, don't engage. Retreat until I get back."

You're certain you would've died on your way to hide. Because he saw you through the shattered window, and you saw him.

A quick glance where the world slowed for a short moment. Maybe he was too occupied shooting the other shadows, you'll never know; but if he hadn't been distracted by the bullets firing his way he would've gone after you. A fight you were bound to lose.

'They're too good' you pondered.

It's not that you weren't you thought you were amazing at your job, but the display of power and force shown by the 141 had made you rethink everything.

Maybe I'm not as good as I believed.

Silence settles once again, birds chirping outside when your Captain comes to find you, motioning for you to follow him. You oblige, adjusting the cap on your head. Phil is furious. Reminds you of a child throwing a tantrum when he didn't get what he wanted.

"I have to be out there Phil." You say, his blue eyes snap to you. "I'm not gonna hide and guide them through a radio." His jaw clenches. He knows you're right. "You stay. And be our eyes."

He hesitates, fingers tapping on the surface of the desk, considering his options; he comes to realize that he doesn't have many. And there's no more time to wait.

"Alright, kid. You go out there and guide the shadows."

Inhaling deeply through your nose you nod your head. As soon as you walk out the door it may be the last time you see each other. Despite his complicated persona he was always someone you looked up to.

Like a big brother.

But not anymore.

"Yep-yep."

With one last look into his eyes you walk outside and tighten the grip on your rifle.

It ends today.

-

More often than not you found yourself wondering if you had taken the wrong decisions. Both in your personal life and your job.

If I had taken the right turn to go through the shortcut I wouldn't have crashed. If I had studied enough instead of escaping with your boyfriend i would've passed the exam for college. If I had been smart enough I would have made it to the medical school and have a different life. If I had waited enough time mom would've woken up from the coma. If I had been a good daughter, and look after dad he would've been fine. If I had checked on my sister regularly after the tragedy she wouldn't have taken her life.

Life was a series of unfortunate events.

It's a series of what if's.

And the biggest one today was: if I had left sooner maybe I wouldn't be in this position. Hiding behind a concrete wall were bullets flew and hit the soft flesh of my body.

But none of that happened and that's why you're in the midst of war. A war that wasn't yours to begin with yet you'd pay with your life.

You bolted, desperate to find the way out. It was your last chance. A bleeding arm firmly pressed to your body, legs limping, ragged breathing.

And three bullets lodged into your stomach. The truck you readied prior wasn't far but getting shot not only once but thrice had made things more difficult. By the time you open the door your head's spinning and the bullets are whizzing right past you, turning the keys you feel it jerk to life; one last look through the rear view mirror and the chaos that unfolds you say goodbye to your team and to the man who took you under his wing, trained you and gave you a sense of family of belonging. You truly wished it didn't end like this.

But it did.

-

You hiss when the nurse takes the IV out of your skin. The sting reminds you of all the wounds left to heal. She changes your bandages in silence merely answering questions you ask her here and there.

Ghost, true to his name stays out of your dorm, walking in only when needed. Until you ask him to help you stand.

"I need to go to the bathroom." You explain to which he plainly stares you down, eyes hard. "And I could use some fresh air." He sighs but moves closer, standing next to the bed.

"Just hold onto me. I'll carry you. Don't want to risk your stitches opening up. Nurse won't be coming for a few days." You do as he says, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders; he lifts you with ease as if he was picking up a leaf instead of your body. Mind traveling back in time when the shadows used to tell stories about the SAS lieutenant. A low grunt leaves your chapped lips as he readjusted your body. "You alright?" He asks, face heating up when you realize you're just too close to his face. From your position you can make the blond of his eyelashes and the way the corner of his eyes crinke.

"Yeah." You murmur. Ghost takes one last glance at you before walking towards the bathroom. "Should probably get a shower at some point you know?" He lowers your body with so much care it's astonishing.

"Might as well do it now that you're here. I'll bring you some clothes and wait outside."

He does as he says.

It's difficult to even lift your arms, to stand for five minutes under the hot water, leaning on the cool tile walls you shower as best as you can given your condition. It pains you that outside this place there's nothing no one waiting for you. When you finish, your eyes red and the tears have long dried. You find the clothes neatly folded on the bed. A simple black t-shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants you put on with great effort.

The indistinguishable voice of the man who's been your companion for the last few days filters through the door, muffled and quiet; curiosity wins over. So far you've gotten zero answers regarding your future so you walk to the living room his back is turned to you, hand tightening over the disposable device.

"You better come up with a bloody solution then Price. You know how I feel about babysitting." He snarls

Your heart drops, it's not because of what he said but the feeling that wormed its way to your heart. That's what you've been your whole life: a burden.

"Could've just left me to die then." Ghost tenses when he hears your hard voice behind him. Turning to face you he ends the call, despite the voice of his Captain calling his name.

"Supper's in the kitchen." He brushed off your comment. Part of you wondered if there's even a human behind that horrendous mask.

"I didn't ask for the fucking supper." You snap at him. His eyes widening for a small fraction before he glares daggers at you. "I know what you must think of me, that I'm a poor pathetic shadow girl who needs saving, well I don't. I did not ask for this, don't want your pity."

"I do not pity you, kid."

"Then stop looking at me like that." A delicate finger from your hand pointing at him. "I earned a spot on that team. I am strong, I for once tried to do the right thing and look where it got me. Just put me on the first plane and fly my ass back to the States." It gets harder to breathe you don't know how but you've kept the tears at bay.

"Can't do that." He simply responds

"And that's why?" You demand, raging inside.

He crosses the distance between the two in three long strides, you feel the heat that radiates off of him, you stand your ground nonetheless.

"Because the moment you set foot on American soil they'll arrest you and get you court-martialed for deserting. Does your brain understand that? Bloody fucking hell." He seethes.

There were moments in life when you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders; but hearing the words coming out from his mouth broke the last hopes you had to at least go back to the only place you knew, it didn't matter how painful the memories would be. Ghost's looking at you frantically, waiting for your answer, for you to retaliate. He's eager even, to get some sort of reaction.

Hit him, scream at him, but none of that happens. And then he sees himself in you.

In those eyes.

The spark that he saw the very first day flickered, until it burned away.

Part 2

[dam-halfblood]

I have this headcanon that when Nico went to get Bianca in the underworld to get her out but wasn't able to find her so he assumed she had chosen to be reborn and instead he got Hazel. Anyway, since Bianca was specifically the daughter of Hades too she was able to find her way out of the underworld herself before Nico came looking for her.

But when she came back to earth she was like a shadow, still a ghost, like Nico is when he shadow-travels too much and starts practically melting into shadows. She lives in this state, just kind of like existing as some spirit somewhere in the US. But after Gaea is defeated, slowly but surely Bianca starts getting more conscious, like being aware of things around her, and eventually starts to remember things. After some time she would start gaining her body back, going from a spirit back into a human. After a few months of her slipping out of consciousness for a few days, sometimes weeks, waking up more solid every time until she is finally able to move again.

(Also I'm new to fandom and haven't read toa yet so this will probably ignore things that happen in toa, especially Jason's death)

Anyway this headcanon takes place in my AU where the main character would be my oc, daughter of Neptune, who goes to camp half blood just because she finds it more interesting, and her dads live in New York so it's closer to her family. This oc, Cordelia, has a history, as she was abandoned by her mother at the age of two, who she doesn't remember. Short story, her mother knows about her father being Neptune (obviously) so she left Cordelia in the small boat and let the two year old down the river. (Yes, I know, crazy, but my brain got stuck on this and wouldn't come up with anything else) Just as Cordelia was about to reach a waterfall, even if nothing would have happened to her because of her parentage the poor toddler definitely didn't know this, but was saved just in time by some stray dogs.

The dogs turned out not to actually be strays after they led her to an old woman somewhere deep in woods next to a river. The woman was living in the cabin in the forest, and as Cordelia would only a lot later find out was a demigod, daughter of Demeter. The woman proceeded to raise Cordelia until she was five, but as women would mysteriously disappear over time, Cordelia was mostly raised by the forest, its plants and its animals who were never aggressive towards the little girl. She always felt like she could feel what animals thought or what they needed and could even speak to horses, and for a strange reason that even her parentage later won't be able to explain, snakes.

At the age of five, the girl was unfortunately found by a young teenage girl who brought her straight to the police. The police were unable to find the girl's mother, or even get anything about her father (considering gods have no DNA) so Cordelia was given up for adoption and in a relatively short period of time adopted by two young men ready to be fathers.

At the age 11 she was found by her classmate, Roger a satyr, at the same time as another boy, a year older, Harper. Trying to get two demigods to the camp, especially with one of them being a big three kid wasn't easy, considering it was Roger's first task anyway, even if it was just from the other side of New York. While making their way through the city the three stumble across a Manticore, who considering only Roger has a single celestial bronze weapon didn't come well for them. But to their luck after running away for a good 15 minutes they run into Apollo, who is delighted to show off to two new demigods by slaying the monster. Now, Cordelia is a very extroverted and straightforward, as well as what you would call awkwardly social, child who cannot live without music, so she likes Apollo immediately, who even let's her drive his Sun chariot and it went more smoothly than with Thalia Grace, to say at least. The two even share a taste in music as one of Apollo's songs comes on radio on their way and he is pleasantly surprised when Cordelia knows the lyrics. He quickly grew to like her that by the time they arrived (crushed) into camp half blood she was telling him how he wished he was her father and he has already made a reminder to himself to tell Will that this one can stay in his cabin until she gets sorted, cause she definitely won him over when she said he was a lot cooler than Artemis.

And as promised, Cordelia stayed at the Apollo cabin for two weeks, and was getting along with Apollo kids pretty well. Harper, a boy who came with her and Roger has already gotten claimed in two days by his father Dionysus. Easy for him to get claimed, with his father being the camp director. Cordelia was claimed after about two weeks, when a camper from cabin 16 (Nemesis) spilled a whole bucket of water on her head for calling him a coward in Capture the flag the day before. Instead of hitting her, the water just swirled around her before hitting the camper straight into the chest with full force, blasting him into the table behind so hard he broke it. And when the sign of trident shined over her head, silence followed, that was broken when everyone started kneeling while Percy applauded from Poseidon's table looking like a kid that was given a lollipop for breakfast. (A blue one for sure)

Now, while being Poseidon's child shouldn't have been too much of a surprise considering she could talk with horses, she never really could have guessed she was his by anything other than hair, eyes and that, as she was deathly afraid of drowning (childhood trauma) and never even tried swimming before. Also, getting used to having only a legendary Percy Jackson as a roommate, brother, was kinda hard after Apollo cabin, but eventually she got used to everything, from finding random blue candies all around the cabin, to trying to start up a conversation in the middle of the night after Percy woke up from a nightmare. Sure she was the younger one, for 7 years, but the guy really didn't look like he could deal with silence after waking her up with his screams. The first time it happened she didn't know what happened, and Percy kept trying to apologise for waking her up even if she could see he was trying to breathe just as hard. Then, she didn't know what to do, so she just told him to shut up, (okay, maybe yelled at him but the guy wouldn't stop apologising) and tried starting up a conversation to try to take his mind off of whatever it was on. So they just talked about random things, from favourite colour, to favourite dog breeds, or least favourite burger ingredient. It worked that first time, so now every time it happened Cordelia would just wait for her brother to calm down enough until he was at least ready to listen, and it became kind of routine. They were also the nights when she couldn't calm him down, but thankfully he had warned her before that in that case she needed to get Annabeth. She liked the girl, they get along pretty well, but she did feel awkward from time to time when she felt like she was spying on something personal when two were together in a cabin.

Anyway I got distracted and this ended up really long and I haven't even come to the point what this all has to do with the headcanon at the start. Sorry, I'm getting there, I'll make more posts about AU later if anyone is interested. Anyway, nearly two months later, after a bit of training at camp half blood, Cordelia decided to try to find her mother, or any sign of her, so she goes to the place where she grew up, the forest. Now many things happen in the forest but that's for another post, but after she finds the river she was saved from 10 years ago, the same one her mother dumped her in as a child, and left her with nothing but a golden necklace that had 9 ¾ engraved in the middle with words station, London and kings cross circling the number (you can see where I'm going, even if hp fandom won't be an important detail)

So Cordelia had decided to follow the river the whole way to try to find the place her mother had dumped her at, because even if she doesn't remember much she was pretty sure it was at least a village, or maybe even a small city. As she continued moving, passed one village that isn't it, fought a few monsters and some nasty karpoi she found herself in another forest. After walking through it for a while she found what seemed to be some kind of hide out, with nothing but a blanket and a few items under the branches that formed a tent for whoever might be there. After looking around and making sure there was no one around she went through the stuff there and only found some things like a light, duct tape, a water bottle, a hairbrush and similar. Just as she was about to turn around and leave a blade was pointed at her throat.

Trying to move her head as little as possible she tried to get a glimpse of her captor but from the size of their hands they couldn't be much older than her, but by now she had met Artemis, who looked like all of her hunters, just a teenage girl at around 13, but was, well, a goddess. I still haven't figured out how the whole interaction would go, but if you were unable to guess, the girl was Bianca. After Bianca let Cordelia go seeing that she is no harm, the other girl being stubborn as she is didn't want to leave, especially since this one looked so familiar. And even if Bianca won't tell her anything, no matter how much she bugs her, Cordelia still decides to stay at least the night, and instead of waiting for Bianca, starts telling the other girl about herself. Bianca seemingly got more nervous with every new information like that she was a daughter of Poseidon, or anything about Percy, but the way she froze and paled when Cordelia mentioned Nico, she immediately understood who the other girl looked like. So after revealing to Bianca that she knows who she is and that she is supposed to be dead, Bianca tells her what happened but makes her swear on river Styx she won't tell anyone until she is ready to go see her brother again. Cordelia is now delighted to help her cousin and after a night of not being able to sleep, she decides her quest to find her mother can wait, but she needs to help her cousin now, because however much of a brave face was Bianca putting on she was obviously struggling. Well, of course she would, Cordelia couldn't imagine everyone thinking you have moved on when now, suddenly, you are alive and in one piece, still 12 years old and trying to figure out how to just show up, especially with your younger brother older than you and trying to come up with an explanation as to why you don't want to be a hunter anymore.

She would stay with Bianca there for a few more days, before having to leave. She knew her dads would get worried, she already stayed longer than she was supposed to. So she left most of her supplies to Bianca who would definitely need them more, promised to come back soon and went back to New York, also while trying to figure out how she will be able to look Nico in the eyes now while she swore on river Styx not to tell him his sister is alive.

Well this ended up longer than I intended, and I haven't even said everything, but I will make more posts of this AU if anyone even wants, but until then thanks for listening to my blabber.

[misteria247]

How many times?

How many times until he and his brothers could finally rest?

He remembered things. Things that shouldn't be remembered. Memories that drift in and out of consciousness. Memories of a home that was familiar yet unfamiliar in so many ways. Memories of a father who was kind yet stern, of three older brothers who loved him dearly. Memories of a woman who was full of life and a man who was full of spirit.

Faces, faces that always changed each and every time. Vastly different from before, yet beneath them the same people he loved remained within. He remembered moments, moments that he never experienced personally himself, yet he knew them all too well. Moments that ranged from events to even he and his family's deaths.

A new life, a new beginning. A new face that stares at him in the mirror every day. A new gruesome ending for him and his family. He doesn't know how, but he can recall each life. Can recall them, both the good and the bad. Recall the lives, such as the first where he was carefree and with a deeper voice. In one life he was a champion of a battle royale, in another he was an entertainer for children. In one life he was small and covered in freckles, in another he was huge and wore strange clothing. There was one life where he was alone, dressed in black and old and bitter.

So many lives, so many memories. And he was the only one who recalled them. The only one who remembered any of it. No one else knew the things he knew, didn't understand what he was trying to say.

His current life he was once again small, covered in paints and spots. He had a gap in his teeth, and he was an entirely different turtle species. A box shell turtle in this life. The eyes, that in most of his past lives were blue, were now a light brown. He had mystic abilities, such as in the life when he'd been the nexus champion. Yet despite the vast difference in his appearance, despite the changes in each and every lifetime. There was a few things that were constant.

His family and his name.

And his name, the one that he's held for several lifetimes and in several deaths was-

"Earth to Michelangelo!"

Mikey blinked at the hand waving in front of his face. A bit startled by how close it was. Light brown hues locked onto dark brown ones. Donnie was giving him a small concerned look, his mouth pulled tightly into a thin line. Not too far behind him, Leo and Raph were watching them, concerned gazes of their own showing. The box shell mentally shook himself out of his head and gave his three older brothers a convincing smile.

"Sorry Dee, zoned out there for a minute! I'm with you guys again don't worry!"

The youngest chirped gap tooth peeking out in his smile. The soft shell gave him a searching look before finally nodding and continuing on with what he was saying before. Mikey listened, just as Leo and Raph did too. As his brothers got lost once again in the conversation, the youngest turtle looked at each brother. Flashes of the lives before with them playing in his head. Flashes of their deaths playing shortly after.

'I can't let them know. I can't tell them the things that I know. Because I'm not even sure if what I see is real or not.'

The teen thought, though deep down he knew down to his very bones that these memories were real. He didn't know how they were, but he knew that they happened.

For decades he's lived and died. For decades he's watched his brothers die.

And they never remembered it. Every new cycle they had a clean slate.

But not him.

How long?

How long does he have to endure this? This cycle of starting new, innocent and unknowing, only to have the memories come back eventually.

How long before he completely went insane?

He didn't know.

All he knew was that he was the only one who was given this knowledge, these memories that should have been locked away a long time ago. He had no idea if it was a blessing or a curse but he did know this.

He didn't want to do this anymore.

[blueorange123]

Reaction Post to Skittle Steve's Creation And First Time Meeting People

https://youtu.be/TmHD-GkKUpA?si=uUs6Dkb8nAl0Ph84

https://youtu.be/bdGhIEXW03E?si=U9IXw3PMlbmH0cuK (I know the whole story of The Steve Saga, but haven't even gotten close to seeing all of Origins, so I'm gonna watch this in timeline order.)

This reaction post format is inspired by @illusion-reality-steve, go read Stress's posts if you like The Steve Saga.

Hm, so Rainbow Steve is basically a last resort. Maybe even an act of desperation. Interesting.

So, Rainbow was created in this place, I don't see any hoppers or anything. Doesn't really look like a machine.

This part looks like a meeting room, and for some reason Rainbow Steve's "storage tank" leads right into it? Odd.

He apparently doesn't know what a table is? I mean I guess he has an excuse, having just obtained consciousness, but he knows what paintings are though?

He really does not like thunder, to be fair though, it is an indication of power here, so I guess that makes sense.

"Wait a second, who am I?", wasn't expecting that, he must have so many questions. "Why don't I remember anything? [...] I don't even know my name." Yep, here comes the emotional damage.

Interesting that Rainbow Steve expects someone else to be there, perhaps this ties into memories of the Elders that created him. Could he hold their memories, deep, deep down?

So, like, do steves... bleed or is this redstone? We see so little of this place it's hard to tell.

Rainbow Steve is out here avoiding that hallway and his problems like Neo from The Matrix. Also, yep, no redstone up here, how in the world did the Elders create this steve?

Not even RBS knows what the stuff on the floor is.

Okay, no, seriously, what is is this place? It's just on the side of a mountain.

Welp, guess he's RIPbow Steve now. (Also, he had so much time to avoid that.)

Wow, sure is convenient that Green was casually strolling through the area.

Rainbow Steve just casually starts catastrophizing, lol.

Ha, he tries to be intimidating, scares Green and immediately goes back on that idea. He's too nice /pos.

Rainbow seemed to have forgotten that he's only been one other place when he said he didn't recognize Green's house.

Nature rectangle man lives in a big ol' tree. That's genuinely pretty cool.

Ah, a Tree of Life, just like the Rainbow Tree of Life, but seemingly much smaller and made of actual wood. Wonder if we'll learn more about these.

That moment when Rainbow Steve is born knowing what chimneys are, but not tables.

Is "The Steve Realm" implying there's realms for other beings or is it just the overworld and then places like the Spirit Realm are the only others? I mean Sabre went through multiple servers before reaching the main one with Rainbow Steve.

And Rainbow Steve gets his name, ironically with the same thought process Sabre went through.

Rainbow Steve listed a bunch of possible steves, let's see what he got right:

Red Steve, yep

Blue Steve, yep, both part of the big 3.

Brown Steve, nope, would've been cool though.

Yellow Steve, yep

Purple Steve, yep

Orange Steve, not until the reboot buddy.

Red Steves just out here getting casually generalized as being aggressive.

The immediate realization Rainbow Steve has when saying Green can be a tree person is glorious.

He is here, if I hadn't already seen the first 4 episodes of this, I'd guess who "he" was (maybe I'd even think he was Reverse or Shadow), but since I have seen these first 4, I'll conclude the post here.

Have a nice day!

[miarage-art]

Shackles

(I apologize for the construction of phrases and formatting - English is not my native language)

(текст на русском языке vk.com/@mia_ra_ge-okovy)

Pain.

Burning pain engulfs his entire body, biting into red-hot needles everywhere at once. Penetrates through the skin to the very bones, without leaving behind a single coherent thought. From this pain, it reduces every muscle at the same time with aching pain that does not recede, and with sharp flashes point-by-point throughout the body.

Pain.

The sound of chains barely penetrates through the fog in his head, as if his ears are stuffed with cotton, but Leto knows it's not cotton wool. Blood is pulsing in his head, surging from another flash of pain. It is buzzing in his ears with a booming, rapid pulse, echoing with a dull ringing. The elf has been standing like this for many hours — on his knees, in shackles and with his arms twisted. The shoulder blades stopped hurting a long time ago — this pain is incomparable with the one that followed with the first singing spell of Danarius.

Beads of sweat trickle down his face, burning his cracked lips with an acrid unbearable itch. But that's nothing. Leto doesn't even notice this pain, just as he doesn't notice the burning sensation from the same droplets all over his body when they slip on fresh blue-white marks from lyrium and pure magic.

"Are you satisfied, Leto?" Danarius twirls in his fingers a strange device consisting of several needles and a flask with lyrium. "You sacrificed yourself for science, for my success! This will be talked about for centuries in every corner of Tevinter!"

"I'm not doing this… for your… experiments… master…" the elf gasps with a wheeze. He takes long pauses between words to breathe, and swallows saliva. It is thick and with a taste of iron, sticks to the tongue and throat, forming a lump. The breath squeezes again.

"Oh yeah!" the magister pretends to sigh. "Your sister and mother. Don't worry, my precious wolf cub, I'll keep my word. Now they are free and can go wherever they want and do whatever comes to their mind."

Danarius comes close to Leto. For a few minutes he looks at the elf crucified by chains, whose hair has turned white from pain and magic. A day ago, this hair was such a rich black color, as if there was an abyss between them. The Magister puts his hand to the back of Leto's head, buries his fingers in his hair. Gathering them into a strong tail, he pulls his hand and throws the elf's head back. Removes sweat-damp strands of bangs from the forehead.

"There are three tiny marks left to make on your stubborn forehead, Leto." the magister chuckles. "And it will all be over."

The pain pierces the whole body again. Crackling electricity wanders from the puncture site to every single mark that was already on the body. The skin on his forehead is stretched taut, Leto feels a vibration every time the needle pierces her. It seems to him that he feels the flow of the lyrium under the skin, as it penetrates into the vessels and veins, is absorbed into every cell. Burns them from the inside, invading like a parasite.

Not even a scream escapes from the throat — the voice is hopelessly torn off — but only wheezes and moans. Consciousness slips away, fades, but before a second passes, it flashes scarlet.

The ear catches the chanting spell with which the master completes the rite.

"What a pity you won't remember what happened before today, my dear Fenris. Now it will be your name." Danarius gives the tool to the servant.

The elf looks in front of him with a bleary gaze devoid of meaning. A thin trickle of blood flows from under the nose to the lips.

"As the master commands…" Fenris breathes hoarsely.

He doesn't remember who he is. Doesn't know where he is. Vague outlines of memories say only that he is a slave and belongs to this man.

But somewhere deep inside, a tiny spark is smoldering, pulsating in time with the pain that still pierces the body, even though the rite has been stopped.

Fenris hides this spark even deeper, but does not ignore it.

One day he will let it burn up.

One day he will remember.

[keepswingin]

"You're hurt."

"You pay too much attention to me."

"Funny," Johnny deadpans as he leans heavily on the doorframe. He nods towards the deep bruising of the other's arm. His voice takes on a note of concern. "What happened?"

Mark shakes his head, concealer smudging against the thumb he uses to rub it off. There was no point in lying when Johnny has so clearly caught him in the act, but he isn't one to give in easily, when it comes to something like this.

"Nothing serious," he starts, as nonchalantly as he can force himself to be. "Hit it against the railing during that one interview."

He's cursing himself as soon as the lie slips from his lips - it wasn't strong enough, didn't cover enough of the questions that could be asked.

Johnny was kind, but he wasn't stupid.

Mark catches his slow nod out of the corner of his eye, fingers ghosting across the purple of his skin self-consciously. It stretched too far, and the color was too dark to be from something so...simple. But maybe it would work. He could be clumsy, everyone could, if they were tired enough.

Johnny would understand, if he could do this right.

"Which interview?" he questions, letting himself in. He takes a seat on the far bed, but his eyes don't leave Mark's arm, tracing the outline of the bruise, like if he looks away it will no longer be there, or Mark himself would be halfway to ducking out of the room.

Mark tenses at the question. These were the questions he didn't need, the answers he didn't have. He tries to play off his silence with a fidget of his hands, a glance towards the moving screensaver on his computer.

Panic starts to twist at his stomach, the longer no right answer comes to him. Johnny is quietly patient, as always, but his stare is concentrated, and it sets Mark on edge.

It makes him nervous, even though he knows Johnny means no harm, naturally curious about something any sane person would be concerned about when it came to their friend.

Mark doesn't think he's been sane since all of this started. He wonders what's left of his sanity now, sitting in the same room as someone who could knock down every single wall he had in a matter of moments.

"I don't remember," he finally says, voice bouncing across the room. He shifts in his chair, opposite hand falling away from the bruise. "So much has been going on..." His voice trails off, leaving nothing but his lie lingering in the air.

Johnny leans back with a soft hum, weight resting on his arms. Mark turns away from his gaze with a swivel of the chair, uneasy.

"I know it's hard, but we're not...people can't just do whatever they want to us, you know?" His tone is quiet, and sad in a way that makes Mark feel like his lie has done nothing but fall through. Mark's eyes jump from the sticky notes on the corner of his monitor to the empty juice bottle he never got around to throwing away.

It all feels too far away for him to reach.

"We're all here for you, Mark. I'm here for you, if you need me." He can hear Johnny rise from the bed slowly, and then his hand is resting gently on his shoulder. Mark doesn't look up from where he's found an interest in the keyboard. "The thing about letting someone hurt you?"

Mark's world screeches to a halt, processing the words in horror. His mouth opens, attempting to stutter out some sort of excuse or objection, but before he can Johnny is squeezing at the bone of his shoulder, and pressing onwards.

"Is that they'll just keep coming back, and doing the same thing. Over and over and over." He pauses. His hand slips away, and Mark misses the contact immediately, stomach twisting, mind racing, mouth dry. Johnny has seen through all of it, in a matter of seconds, or maybe a matter of months, and Mark's left to pick up the pieces.

This is what it was leading to all along, wasn't it? No one could lie long enough, come up with enough excuses, heal enough bruises. Least of him, lacking enough breaks to collect all his thoughts into something resembling normalcy.

"I don't want to see you hurt Mark," he whispers, like he can keep a secret too, if it doesn't involve any more bruises. Like maybe he can help Mark fix this, if he cares enough, or tries enough, but the hole he's dug is already too deep.

Mark squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm not hurt, or - or hurting, hyung. I'm okay." He exhales. "Believe that I'm okay. Please."

The silence stretches, and stretches. And stretches some more. When Mark doesn't think he can stand it anymore, he finally turns around, another plead halfway to his lips.

But Johnny is already gone, leaving Mark alone with the secrets he keeps.

[alostcuttlefish]

He's 10 minutes behind when she exits the shuttle.

He's thought maybe she was going for the dummy target. He's not up to date on her intelligence. (He thinks. He forgets things, sometimes.) Maybe a 50% chance either way. He'd chosen. He'd chosen wrong.

10 minutes. He doesn't worry. He's been right behind her for years, what's 10 minutes? It won't change much. Oh, maybe she'll get away after he stops her doing whatever she's going to do, but he'll stop her either way. There's always next time.

It would be nice to have a next time, thinks a thought in the back of his head. Ten thousand years, but sometimes he can still hear her voice.

So he's 10 minutes behind when she exits the shuttle like a neon depth charge, and 10 minutes later he follows.

-----

It's hard to be here, hard to be in the place Anastasia build, hard to be in the place where John put her back in the ground.

I still think we should have done something about that. Silly thought. Foolish. Doesn't matter that he wanted to. He trusts John. Has to trust John. He's the only person left Gideon can trust, even his own judgment is suspect.

He catches up to her and the door of the tomb. She's crouched over a bio-storage unit, looking blank. Awake looks - tired. Haggered. Burning with passions, but turning to ash. She's holding a gun, but when is she not?

"What's that?"

"Fuck!" she hisses, and then the gun's pointing at his head. Well, that brings back memories.

"What's that?" he repeates when she doesn't say anything else.

"A girl," she says, and he doesn't get it.

-----

Pyrrha gets it. Maybe she wouldn't, anywhere else in the universe. But she remembers being here before, remembers clawing her way to the top when Anastasia's water broke, because Gideon was only going to panic, bless, and someone needed to keep their head. Someone's head.

She does the same now, breaking through the water of Gideon's consciousness and pushing him under, face down - even now, it's not safe to let him know. Not safe for either of them.

"Where the hell did you get a baby?" she chokes, thinking please no, please no, please YES.

"I made it. D.I.Y. Ha!"

"It's- mine? Ours?" A little girl. A little baby girl with Awake's face and Gideon's eyes. Pyrra's kid with Gideon's blood and-

"No." Awake shatter the dream with a derisive snort. "Not yours. Not his. Not your business." And quieter, softer, "You should leave, if you're smart. It's going to be messy."

"Sweetheart, when have you ever known me to make the smart choice?"

"Alright then." Awake says, and shoots her.

Tries to shoot her. Pyrrha knows by now the way her shoulder twitches when he's about to pull the trigger, and dodges. If it's herald bullets, they won't affect her, Awake tried that before, but it'll hurt like a sonofabitch and Gideon would be worried when he comes back.

She rolls to the right, feights towards the cover of a rock outcrop, dodges towards a different outcrop, and then doubles back behind the first right before a bullet hits the second. She tries to hear for Awake's movements, but all she can hear is furious, high-pitched wailing from the bio-storage box.

A baby. It's going to get messy. Would Awake kill a baby? Unequivocally yes. Would Awake kill her own baby? Maybe, if the payoff was good enough. And she'd come straight here, strait to the planet and straight to the door of the tomb. Does she think the thalagy burst would break her in? It wouldn't, but she might think it would.

(It wouldn't, would it? (Deep in the weird, blurry edges of her and Gideon, the bleeding gradient where sometimes thoughts happen that she isn't sure is either of them, that might be some sort of both of them, comes the thought: it might work, with the right baby. But it's not a helpful thought, so Pyrrha ignores it.)

OK. Fuck.

Mission Priority: Stop whatever Awake is doing becomes Mission Priority: Get the baby the hell away from Awake and the door (coincidentally, stopping whatever Awake is doing).

-----

Gideon sometimes forgets.

It's his worse secret, even worse than Awake. He's a Lyctor, but his mind cannot be trusted. It's episodic memory, thank god, no skill degradation, no cognitive deterioration. Not things he couldn't have hidden. And sometimes he knows things he doesn't remember, that he must have learned during the forgotten times.

But he'd always assumed it was just forgetting. That he was himself, and acted as himself, and then forgot. He could usually - given enough context - trace the path from forgetting to remembering. Work out what happened. It's now he's hidden it all these myriad.

He thought he knew how it worked.

But this time, as he blinks the saltwater out of his eyes, he cannot for the god damn life of him work out how he went from facing down Awake at the gate of the apocalypse to sitting on the floor of what appears to be a commandeered Ninth House shuttle, holding a baby, and a letter.

A letter signed Pyrrah.

Pyrrha and G1deon adopt baby Gideon AU anyone?