#i can feel my soul leaving my body it's. so good. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oldsoul007 · 3 days ago

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crawling back to you

joel miller x reader

summary: you haven’t seen joel since he let you leave boston with tommy, until…

a/n: grumpy joel, angsty and fluffy

joel miller masterlist

The last thing I remember was the blinding midday sun and the crackling of the dried leaves beneath my boots. I’d been walking for hours—too many hours—with no food, no water, and no sign of a single soul. The world was too quiet, and when the dizziness hit, I knew I’d pushed too far.

I hadn’t seen the raiders coming. Not until it was too late. They burst out from the tree line, shouting, armed, and I’d tried to run. But my body betrayed me. My knees gave out before I could process what was happening, and the hard, cracked asphalt of the road rushed up to meet me as they closed in.

Then darkness.

For a while, there was nothing but a foggy void, until I felt something. A jolt of awareness. The weight of the world slowly pressed back on me: the ache in my limbs, the sting in my throat, and the cold chill of shade falling over my skin.

Voices.

“You think she’s alive?”

The words floated into my consciousness, sharp and clear. My heart raced. The raiders—had they caught me? I wanted to open my eyes, but my body wasn’t listening.

“How the hell should I know, Ellie?”

That voice was rough and edged like the bark of an old tree. Deep. Grumpy. Close. Familiar.

“She looks alive. Kinda.”

“Kinda doesn’t cut it, kid.” A sigh, heavy and annoyed. “She’s breathing, so that’s a good sign. Or bad, depending on how you wanna look at it.”

The ground beneath me was rough gravel digging into my side. Someone must’ve moved me. My knife. My hands twitched instinctively for it, but I didn’t feel the familiar weight at my belt.

“She’s got a backpack,” the girl—Ellie—said. “Maybe she’s got something useful on her.”

“Don’t even think about it,” the man snapped.

“Relax, I was just saying!”

They didn’t sound like raiders. But I wasn’t taking chances. Slowly, I forced my eyelids to lift, but it was like peeling back layers of lead. The light stung, and all I could make out at first was a blurred silhouette looming above me.

“She’s moving!” Ellie’s voice jumped an octave.

“Yeah, I can see that,” the man grumbled.

The shapes above me sharpened: a man with graying hair and a perpetual scowl crouched close, while a girl with curious, wide eyes hovered just behind him. Bottoms of their faces covered with a bandana. My muscles tensed, and instinct screamed one thing: fight.

I surged up, lashing out before I could think. My body felt sluggish, weak, but adrenaline drove me forward.

“Whoa!” Ellie yelped, stumbling back.

He moved faster than I expected. In one fluid motion, he grabbed both of my wrists and shoved me back down onto the ground, pinning me there with a strength I had no hope of matching.

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. His face was inches from mine, his grip like iron.

“Get off me!” I spat, twisting against him, but it was useless.

“You wanna try that again?” he snapped, glaring down at me. “Because I guarantee it won’t go how you think.”

“Joel, should I—” Ellie’s voice cut through the wind, and I glanced up to see her pointing a gun at me.

“Hold on,” the man—Joel—said. His voice made something in my chest clench, though I couldn’t place why.

He shifted, one hand leaving my wrist to yank the bandana down from my face. The cold stung my skin as it was exposed to the biting wind, but all I could focus on was his face.

Joel froze. His eyes widened as he stared down at me, his grip slackening just enough for me to shove at his chest.

“Y/n?”

Hearing my name in that voice—his voice—hit me like a gut punch. I blinked up at him, snowflakes catching on my lashes as my brain struggled to catch up.

“Joel?” I rasped, disbelief and anger warring inside me.

He let go of my wrists, sitting back slightly, but I wasn’t done. With a grunt, I shoved him hard enough to make him stumble.

“Get off me, asshole!” I snapped, scrambling to my feet.

Ellie lowered her gun, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, you know her?”

Joel stood slowly, brushing snow off his jacket, his eyes never leaving mine. “Yeah… I know her.”

“Know me?” I barked, crossing my arms against the cold. “That’s all you’ve got to say after years?”

“Not now,” he said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “We need to move. It’s not safe out here.”

“Oh, now you care about safety,” I shot back, but the storm was picking up again, and as much as I hated to admit it, I couldn’t stay out here alone.

Ellie glanced between us, still holding the gun loosely. “So… are we just letting her come with us?”

“She’s coming with us,” Joel said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I snorted, pulling my scarf back up. “Like hell I am.”

“Fine,” Joel said, stepping closer until he was towering over me. “Then freeze out here on your own.”

We locked eyes, the familiar stubbornness in his gaze making my blood boil. Finally, I sighed, muttering under my breath. “Fine. But if you pull something like that again, I’m putting a bullet in your knee.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Joel smirked—barely, but I caught it. “Good to see you haven’t changed.”

I looked around us.

“Where—” My voice cracked, my throat dry. “Where are they?”

“The raiders?” Joel asked, his tone clipped. “Dead. You’re welcome.”

Ellie shot him a look. “You don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

Joel ignored her, turning to scan the horizon like he was already regretting stopping to help.

Ellie turned back to me, her tone gentler. “You need water? Food? You look like you’re about to keel over.”

I swallowed hard, forcing out a hoarse whisper. “Water…”

Ellie looked at Joel expectantly. “She needs water.”

Joel sighed heavily, like this was the biggest inconvenience in the world, and dug a bottle out of his pack. He shoved it toward me without a word, his scowl deepening.

“Don’t drink too fast,” he muttered. “You’ll puke.”

I took the bottle with shaking hands, sipping carefully.

Ellie gave me a small smile. “See? He’s grumpy, but he’s not so bad., but i’m guessing you knew that already. I’m Ellie, by the way. What’s your name again?”

“Y/n,” I croaked.

“Well, y/n,” she said, leaning back on her heels. “Looks like you’re stuck with us for now.”

Joel shot her a glare, but she just smiled sweetly at him.

As I sipped the water, trying not to choke, I couldn’t help but wonder why Ellie seemed so eager to help me—and why Joel seemed so reluctant to.

The pain in my thigh hit me like a freight train the moment I tried to stand. It was sharp and hot, radiating up my leg with every twitch of movement. I glanced down and saw the blood, dark and sticky, soaking through a jagged tear in my jeans. My stomach turned.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, dropping back to the ground.

Joel and Ellie were still nearby, Joel pacing with his rifle slung low, Ellie crouched by the fire, poking at it absentmindedly. I pressed my hand against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t doing much good.

“You okay?” Ellie asked, looking up.

“Fine,” I lied, my voice tight.

“Yeah, sure you are,” Joel muttered without even glancing my way.

I glared at him but focused back on my leg. I needed to stop the bleeding, clean it—do something before it got worse. My hands fumbled as I tried to tear a strip from the already-ruined part of my jeans, but my fingers were shaking too much to get a good grip.

“Dammit,” I hissed, tugging harder.

Joel finally turned, watching me struggle with an expression that screamed irritation. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I can handle it,” I snapped, not looking at him.

“Yeah, sure looks like it,” he said dryly, crossing the distance in a few long strides. Before I could protest, he crouched down in front of me and grabbed my leg.

“Hey!” I yelped, jerking back.

“Hold still,” he growled, yanking my jeans up over the wound to get a better look.

“What are you—”

“Helping,” he said sharply, cutting me off. “Because you clearly can’t do this yourself.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need you bleeding out and slowing us down,” he shot back, his hands already pulling a small bottle of alcohol from his pack.

I froze when I saw it. “Wait—wait.”

He didn’t stop, just uncapped the bottle and dumped it onto the wound in one swift motion.

Pain exploded through my thigh, white-hot and searing. I couldn’t stop the scream that ripped out of me, my whole body jerking away from him.

“Goddammit!” I shouted, clutching at my leg. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“Stop moving,” Joel barked, his hand clamping down on my leg to keep it still. “You’re just making it worse.”

“You could’ve warned me!”

“I did,” he said flatly, grabbing a clean cloth and pressing it firmly against the cut.

“Yeah, great warning!” I hissed, still trying to recover from the burn.

Ellie was sitting nearby, watching the whole thing with wide eyes. “Uh, yeah, he’s not exactly the most… delicate, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Joel ignored her, wrapping the bandage tightly around my thigh with the kind of practiced efficiency that made me wonder how many times he’d done this before.

“Can you walk?” he asked once he was done, standing and offering me a hand.

I stared at it for a second, then grudgingly took it. He hauled me up, steadying me when my leg wobbled.

“I’m fine,” I muttered, even though I wasn’t.

“Sure you are,” he said, his tone making it clear he didn’t believe me.

Later that night, we camped near a small fire Joel had built, the warmth of the flames doing little to ease the tension between us. Ellie sat across from me, poking at the fire with a stick, while Joel leaned against a nearby tree, his arms crossed and his rifle within easy reach.

“So,” I said after a long silence, my voice cutting through the crackle of the fire. “Where are you two headed?”

Ellie perked up immediately, her mouth opening before she could stop herself. “We’re going to—”

“We’re going to the Fireflies,” Joel interrupted, his voice steady and sure.

Ellie froze, her eyes darting between the two of us. “Joel!?” she hissed, clearly caught off guard by his honesty.

I frowned, looking between them. “The Fireflies? Why?” I could tell there was something they weren’t saying, something important.

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Because Ellie’s immune,” he said, his voice calm but carrying the weight of what those words meant. “And they’re working on a cure.”

I blinked, my mind racing to catch up. “Immune?” I repeated, glancing at Ellie.

Ellie shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to someone new knowing. “Yeah,” she mumbled, shrugging. “I got bit. Didn’t turn. That was, like, forever ago.”

I stared at her, processing what Joel had just admitted. “And you’re taking her to the Fireflies,” I said slowly. “Because they think they can use her immunity to make a cure.”

“That’s the idea,” Joel said, his tone neutral. “Whether it’ll work or not, that’s anyone’s guess.”

I leaned back, crossing my arms as I studied him. Joel wasn’t the type to trust anyone with this kind of information lightly. The fact that he was telling me now said a lot.

“And you’re okay with me knowing all this?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

Joel held my gaze, his expression unreadable. “I wouldn’t’ve said anything if I didn’t trust you.”

That hit harder than I expected. For a moment, I couldn’t find the words. Joel and I had history—messy, complicated history—but this… this was something else.

After a long pause, I finally spoke. “Where are the Fireflies at?” I glanced at Joel, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Salt Lake City,” he replied, his tone flat, as if that was the only answer he had to offer.

I nodded, thinking for a moment. “That’s a hell of a trip.”

Joel didn’t respond to that, so I let the silence stretch a bit longer, watching the flickering flames. The crackle of the fire was the only thing filling the space between us.

I shifted slightly, the weight of the night starting to press on me. “I was with a group,” I said after a beat, keeping my voice low, like the words might break something if I said them too loud. “Good people. Or… they were. Got separated after some raiders hit us a couple days back. Didn’t have much of a choice but to run.” I paused, my gaze flicking to Ellie, who was staring at the fire, her expression unreadable. “I wasn’t planning on being out here alone.”

Joel watched me for a long time, and I could tell he was taking in every word, sizing up what I said, probably weighing if it added up. “You got a place to go?” he asked.

I swallowed, hesitant. I hadn’t told him much about Jackson yet. The thought of it felt like a fleeting memory, a piece of the past I wasn’t sure I could go back to. But the truth was, it might be the safest place for all of us, at least for a while.

“Yeah,” I finally said, my voice steady. “I got a home back in Jackson. It’s… safe there. Got supplies, people. It’s not perfect, but it’s the closest thing to normal I’ve seen in years.”

Ellie looked up then, her brow furrowed. “Jackson? You mean, like, an actual town?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Walled-in, secure. We’ve got farms, housing, everything you’d need. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than out here.”

Joel’s face darkened slightly, though I couldn’t tell if it was from hope or suspicion. I felt the weight of the unspoken questions hanging in the air between us. I had to bite back the words that wanted to spill out—about Tommy, about how he was safe and well in Jackson. But I stopped myself. Ellie was sitting there, and I didn’t know how she’d react if Joel found out his brother was there.

Instead, I kept my tone even. “If you’re heading to Salt Lake City, we can stop there first. Restock on supplies, maybe grab a decent meal. Then you can keep moving.”

Joel turned his gaze toward me, his eyes narrowing a little, his jaw clenched. “You sure it’s safe?”

I nodded, my voice firm. “It is. Safer than out here, anyway.”

Ellie, still quiet, looked from Joel to me. After a moment, she shrugged, but her gaze lingered on me for a second too long. “I mean… doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

Joel looked at her, then back at me. He hesitated for a moment, and I saw the conflict flicker in his eyes. Finally, he gave a small nod. “All right. We’ll stop there. But just for supplies. Ain’t got time to waste.”

I nodded, a small relief washing over me. We’d do this. I’d help them, guide them, and maybe even find a moment to tell Joel about Tommy—if I could. The fire crackled between us, the sounds of the night closing in as we all settled back into the quiet.

Joel leaned back against a log, his eyes flicking upward to the stars, while Ellie poked the fire again, lost in her own thoughts. I wrapped my coat tighter around myself, feeling the weight of the journey ahead pressing down.

I wasn’t sure what would come next, but I was going to get them to Jackson first. Maybe, after that, I could finally tell Joel the truth.

Joel didn’t say anything else, just turned his attention back to the fire. But the tension between us felt lighter now, the weight of unspoken things settling into something almost comfortable.

Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for sure: Joel trusted me enough to tell me the truth. And that, in this world, meant everything.

The three of us sat around the small campfire, its glow casting flickering light onto the trees surrounding us. The temperature had dropped as the sun set, and I was grateful for the warmth of the flames and the smell of something vaguely edible Joel was cooking over them.

Ellie sat cross-legged on her sleeping bag, fiddling with the pages of her battered joke book. She had already gone through a handful of them today, and each time Joel looked like he was about ready to roll his eyes out of his head.

“Okay, okay,” Ellie announced, holding up a hand as though commanding our attention. “This one’s a classic. You ready?” She cleared her throat dramatically, glancing between me and Joel. “What do you call an alligator in a vest?”

I stifled a laugh already, knowing she was probably more excited about the punchline than the joke itself.

Joel, stirring the pan of food, gave her a sideways look. “Do I even wanna know?”

“An investigator!” Ellie exclaimed, cackling as if it were the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

I couldn’t help but chuckle along with her, more at her reaction than the joke. Joel just shook his head and sighed heavily, setting the pan down on a flat rock by the fire.

“She’s been doin’ this since we left Boston,” he muttered, as though he were lamenting some great burden he’d been forced to bear.

“Damn right I have!” Ellie said, puffing out her chest with mock pride. “You know you love it, Joel.”

He gave her a look that was somewhere between amused and exasperated. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, kid.”

Ellie smirked, flipping through the pages of the book again. “Oh, I’m not done. I’ve got more where that came from.”

“God help us,” Joel said under his breath, but there was a ghost of a smile on his face.

I leaned back, my hands stretched out toward the fire, watching the two of them. “You know,” I said, grinning, “I think it’s impressive she’s been carrying that book all this way. Priorities.”

Ellie nodded vigorously, pointing at me. “Exactly! See, y/n gets it. I’m spreading joy in the apocalypse. That’s a valuable service.”

Joel snorted. “Sure. That’s what it is.”

Ellie stuck her tongue out at him before turning to me. “Okay, y/n, this one’s for you: Why couldn’t the bicycle stand up by itself?”

I thought for a second, but before I could even guess, she blurted out, “Because it was two tired!”

Her laughter was contagious, and I found myself laughing right along with her. Even Joel let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe this was his life now.

“Two tired,” I repeated, grinning. “That’s actually not bad.”

“Thank you!” Ellie said, pretending to tip an invisible hat. “I’ll be here all week. Or, you know, as long as it takes us to get to Jackson.”

Joel let out a long sigh, but there was no missing the warmth in his expression as he looked at her. “You’re somethin’ else, kid.”

Ellie beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Damn right I am.”

And in that moment, as the fire crackled and Ellie started flipping through her book for another gem, I couldn’t help but think that even in a world like this, there was still room for laughter. And that was worth holding onto.

The fire crackled softly, its warmth flickering in the cool night air. Ellie was asleep, her body curled up tightly in her sleeping bag, breathing steady and slow. Joel sat across from me, his figure dark against the firelight, eyes distant as usual. There was a heaviness in the air, a silence that weighed on both of us.

I’d been toying with whether or not to tell him, but after today, I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. It was something Joel needed to know, something that would either ease his mind or make the road ahead even harder.

“Joel,” I said softly, not wanting to disturb Ellie’s sleep.

His head turned slightly, his eyes catching mine in the dim firelight. He didn’t say anything, just waited for me to speak.

“I’ve been thinking about Jackson,” I began, feeling the weight of the words before they even left my mouth. “And… there’s something you need to know.”

Joel gave a slight nod, signaling me to go on. I hesitated for a moment, gathering the courage.

“Tommy’s there,” I said, keeping my voice low but steady.

The moment the words left my lips, I saw the shift in him. His face didn’t betray much, but his posture stiffened. He didn’t react right away, though I could feel the tension building in his body. His jaw tightened, and for a long beat, he was silent, staring into the fire.

I let the words settle in the air. I could see him thinking, piecing together the years of separation, the anger, the hurt.

“You didn’t know, did you?” I asked quietly, already knowing the answer.

Joel’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, the weight of his past with Tommy hanging between us. “No,” he said, his voice rough, like the realization had hit him harder than he expected. “I thought… I thought he was dead.”

I swallowed, knowing how much those words meant. Joel had carried the guilt of losing Tommy for so long, thinking the worst, even when he didn’t want to believe it. I hadn’t expected the reaction I got—gratitude in his eyes, mixed with that edge of disbelief.

“Tommy’s alive, Joel,” I repeated, my voice softer now. “And he’s at Jackson. He’s been there, rebuilding, trying to make a life. I thought you should know.”

For a long moment, Joel didn’t speak. He just stared at the fire, his brow furrowed, a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes.

Finally, he exhaled a long, steady breath, as if the news had knocked the wind out of him. “I thought… I thought I’d lost him for good,” he said, almost to himself.

His words trailed off, but the gratefulness in his voice was clear, almost as if he’d been holding onto the idea of Tommy being gone as a way to shield himself from hope. It had been easier to live with the belief that Tommy was lost than to think he might have been alive all this time, somewhere out there.

I watched him carefully, feeling the rawness of the moment between us. “Maybe he’s been waiting for you,” I said quietly, not wanting to push, but knowing the door was now open. “Maybe he’s been hoping you’d find your way back to him.”

Joel didn’t respond right away, his face unreadable. He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of the past catching up with him.

I could see the turmoil in him, the complex mix of emotions he’d buried deep for so long.“You don’t have to decide anything now. But I wanted you to know.”

Joel finally looked up at me, the hardness in his eyes softened by something else—relief, maybe. Or maybe just the shock of knowing his brother wasn’t lost to him after all.

“‘preciate you tellin’ me,” he said quietly, his voice rough with something I couldn’t quite name.

There was a silence, thick with all the things left unsaid. Joel turned back to the fire, but this time, I didn’t sense the same tension in him. The news had cracked something open, a small window of possibility where before there had only been despair.

And as the night stretched on, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the first step in bringing Joel and Tommy back together—or if the past would remain an insurmountable wall between them. But one thing was clear: the hope he’d long buried was alive again.

The snow crunched softly beneath our boots as we trekked through the wilderness on the way to Jackson. The cold bit at my nose and cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of Joel and Ellie’s banter ahead of me.

Joel led the way, his rifle slung over one shoulder, his other hand gesturing as he explained something to Ellie. She hung onto his every word as usual, peppering him with questions about the terrain and wildlife.

“Do you think we’ll see any bears?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Nope,” Joel replied gruffly. “Too cold for ‘em right now. They’re holed up for the winter.”

Ellie groaned in disappointment. “Lame. What about wolves?”

“Let’s hope not,” Joel muttered, throwing a glance over his shoulder. “You don’t wanna see wolves, trust me.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ellie grumbled, kicking at a chunk of ice. “I think wolves are badass.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I brought up the rear. Ellie’s energy was infectious, even if Joel often acted like he was too old to keep up.

We rounded a bend in the trail, and that’s when we saw it.

An elk.

It stood in the middle of the clearing, its tall, proud antlers stark against the white of the snow-covered forest. Its coat gleamed in the weak winter sunlight, steam rising from its breath as it exhaled into the cold air.

Ellie gasped audibly, her mouth falling open. “Whoa. No way.”

Joel stopped in his tracks, holding out an arm to keep her from running ahead. “Stay still,” he warned softly.

Ellie ignored him completely, taking a careful step forward. “Oh my god, it’s huge. It’s so cool.”

The elk’s ears twitched, swiveling toward us, and for a moment, I thought it might bolt. But instead, it let out a low, guttural bugle—a deep sound that echoed through the trees.

Ellie froze, her eyes going even wider. “Did you hear that? Holy shit, it talked to us!”

Joel chuckled under his breath, his shoulders relaxing as he watched her excitement. “That’s not talkin’, kid. Just elk bein’ elk.”

But Ellie wasn’t listening. She took another step forward, her hands lifted slightly as if to beckon the creature closer. “Hey, buddy,” she said in a soft, awestruck voice. “You don’t have to go. We’re cool, I promise.”

The elk snorted, its breath visible in the cold air, and then—with a graceful bound—it leapt into the trees, disappearing from sight.

Ellie whirled around to face us, practically vibrating with excitement. “Did you see that? That was the most amazing thing ever! Did you hear it? That noise was insane!”

Joel shook his head, but there was a small, fond smile on his face. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

“I’m serious! That was so badass!” She turned to me, her grin so big it lit up her entire face. “Y/n, tell me you got how cool that was.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I adjusted my pack. “I got it, Ellie. You’re right—it was pretty incredible.”

Ellie groaned dramatically. “Pretty incredible? That thing was, like, majestic as hell.”

We started walking again, Ellie skipping along beside us as she reenacted the elk’s bugle. Joel shook his head at her impression, and I felt a warm glow in my chest as I watched them together.

The world outside was cold, dangerous, and unforgiving, but moments like this reminded me why we kept going. For Ellie’s wonder. For Joel’s quiet, steady presence. For the strange, beautiful family we’d become.

The cold cut deep as we trudged through the snow, the wind howling like it wanted to drive us into the ground. My leg throbbed with every step, the makeshift bandage Joel had wrapped around it holding tight but doing little to ease the pain. I wasn’t about to complain, though. Not after they saved me from those raiders.

Ellie walked beside me, her steps crunching in the snow as she glanced over. “You sure you’re okay?” she asked for the third time since we started walking.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice was tight. The truth was, I wasn’t fine. But what mattered was getting all of us somewhere safe, and Jackson was the only place I could think of.

Joel walked ahead, his rifle slung low but ready, his eyes scanning the horizon. Always the same—guarded and alert, like danger was lurking just around every corner. In this world, it usually was.

I’d agreed to help them get to Jackson. It was the least I could do after everything they’d done for me. And Jackson? It was my home now. A place that, for all its faults, still stood strong in a broken world.

“Not much farther now,” I said, though the storm had made it hard to tell. “If we keep moving, we’ll make it before dark.”

Ellie gave a tired nod, pulling her coat tighter around her. “Good, ‘cause I don’t think my toes are gonna make it.”

Joel glanced back at her, his expression softening for just a moment. “You’ll be fine. Just keep moving.”

We’d just crested a small hill when the sound of horses cut through the wind. My heart leapt into my throat as I turned to see them—figures on horseback emerging from the blinding snow, their weapons drawn.

“Joel,” I hissed, grabbing his arm.

He saw them too, his posture tensing as he stepped in front of Ellie and raised his rifle. “Stay behind me,” he muttered, his voice low and firm.

The riders spread out, circling us. There were at least six of them, their horses pawing at the snow as the riders aimed shotguns and rifles in our direction. My stomach churned as I recognized one of the voices calling out through the storm.

“Drop your weapons!” Maria shouted, her voice carrying over the wind.

“Maria!” I called back, stepping forward despite Joel’s arm shooting out to stop me. “It’s me—y/n!”

The tension in the air crackled like static. For a moment, no one moved. Then Maria urged her horse forward, squinting through the snow until recognition crossed her face.

“Y/n?” she said, lowering her shotgun slightly. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“It’s a long story,” I said, relief flooding through me. “But these two—” I motioned to Joel and Ellie, who were still frozen in place. “They’re with me. They saved my life.”

Maria’s gaze shifted to Joel, her eyes narrowing. “That him?”

I blinked, confused, until realization dawned. Of course, Tommy must’ve mentioned Joel before.

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “It’s him. And this is Ellie. They’re just passing through. Please, Maria, lower the guns.”

Maria hesitated, her gaze flicking between me, Joel, and Ellie. Then she gave a sharp whistle, and the other riders lowered their weapons.

“Alright,” she said, her tone cautious but less hostile. “Let’s get back to Jackson. You look like hell.”

I almost laughed. “You have no idea.”

The ride back was quiet, the tension between Joel and Maria palpable. Ellie, for once, didn’t say much, her gaze fixed on the snowy landscape as we made our way through the storm.

When the gates of Jackson finally came into view, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The sight of the sturdy walls, the faint glow of firelight beyond—it was the first time in a long while that I felt like things might actually be okay.

The gates of Jackson creaked open as the group rode in, the heavy snowfall outside muffled by the sturdy wooden walls of the settlement. Inside, the warmth of fires and the sound of distant chatter greeted us. It was like stepping into another world—one where life hadn’t completely crumbled. The bustling streets, people moving with purpose, children playing—it was overwhelming after days of cold, silence, and death.

Joel dismounted his horse slowly, his eyes scanning the settlement as if it were a mirage. His rifle hung loosely on his shoulder, his posture stiff, as if he wasn’t quite ready to believe this place was real. Ellie stuck close to him, her eyes wide with curiosity as she took in the sight of people—families—living normal lives, or as close to normal as you could get these days.

Maria swung off her horse, handing the reins to a stablehand. “Y/n, go with Ethan and get checked out. You’re in no condition to be walking around on that leg,” she said, but her gaze flicked to Joel.

Then Tommy appeared.

Tommy was working on some construction, the sound of hammering and the distant clatter of tools filling the air. As we walked closer, I could see a few men working, their backs turned to us as they focused on their tasks. The moment I saw Tommy, though, my breath caught in my throat.

He was hard at work, his back bent as he nailed some boards into place, completely unaware of our approach. I could feel the tension rising in Joel beside me, the anticipation thick in the air.

And then, without warning, Joel’s voice broke through the stillness, loud and commanding:

“Tommy!”

The sound of his name cut through the air like a crack of thunder. The men working nearby stopped what they were doing, and for a brief moment, it felt like the entire world went still.

Tommy froze, his back still to us, and I watched as his shoulders stiffened. He slowly turned, his eyes scanning the area, before they landed on Joel. His face went slack for a moment—an unreadable mix of disbelief, relief, and confusion. The moment seemed to stretch on, as though neither of them quite believed what was happening.

Then, Tommy blinked, and before I knew it, he was striding across the ground, closing the distance between them. He didn’t say a word at first, just reached Joel in two quick strides and pulled him into a tight, almost desperate hug.

The sound of it—the weight of all that lost time between them—was deafening. The hard lines in Joel’s face softened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he let out a deep breath, like something inside him had been released. They stood there for a moment, holding onto each other like nothing else mattered.

Tommy pulled back first, his hand gripping Joel’s arm, his voice gruff as he spoke, almost too soft for me to hear. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Joel looked at him, his eyes full of that familiar pain but also something else—something deeper. “Thought you were dead, Tommy.”

Tommy’s face softened, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of the brotherly bond they once shared. “Guess I got a bit tired of waitin’ around, but I’m here now, Joel.”

The silence between them spoke louder than any words could. It wasn’t just a reunion—it was a reckoning. Years of pain, of choices that had torn them apart, now coming to a head.

They pulled back, Tommy’s hands gripping Joel’s shoulders as he looked him over, his eyes scanning every line, every scar. “You look like hell,” he said with a half-smile, though his voice wavered.

Joel gave a faint huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… it’s been a long road.”

Tommy’s gaze shifted, landing on Ellie, who was standing just behind Joel, watching the reunion with quiet curiosity. “And this must be…?”

“Yeah,” Joel said, stepping slightly to the side so Ellie could step forward. “This is Ellie.”

Ellie gave a small wave, clearly unsure of what to say. “Uh, hi.”

Tommy chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “Well, any friend of Joel’s is welcome here.”

For the first time in a long time, the weight Joel carried seemed to ease, if only slightly. It wasn’t just Jackson that felt like a safe haven—it was the connection, the bond that hadn’t been broken, even after all this time.

And for a moment, it felt like the world wasn’t so heavy after all.

Joel walked slowly down the stairs, the creaking of the wooden steps the only sound in the quiet house. The dim light of the living room pooled on the floor, where I sat curled up on the couch, my eyes fixed on him as he approached. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with the weight of everything that had just transpired. His steps faltered slightly, the heaviness of the fight with Ellie still weighing on him.

I didn’t say anything at first, just watched him with an unreadable expression, the flickering light casting shadows across her face. He rubbed his hand over his face, feeling the exhaustion in his bones. The world felt quieter in moments like this, like it was holding its breath.

“You really think that’s the answer, huh?” I said, my tone biting but not cruel.

Joel didn’t meet my gaze right away, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

He huffed out a bitter laugh, the kind that wasn’t funny at all. “Don’t start with me. You don’t know the half of it.”

“Don’t I?” I finally spun around to face him, my voice rising with the heat of my anger. “You think I haven’t been watching this slow-motion train wreck of yours? You think I don’t know what you’re doing—pushing her away before she can leave you?”

His face darkened, the shadows casting sharp lines across his features. “This ain’t about me and Ellie. Don’t twist it. This is about you always thinkin’ you know better.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” I stepped closer, my hands trembling with fury. “You don’t get to stand here and act like you’re the only one who’s been hurt. You let me leave, Joel! You stood there and let me walk out of Boston like I was nothing to you. You never even tried to stop me.”

His silence hit harder than his words ever could. I saw his throat work, his jaw tightening as he stared at me like he was trying to break me down with his gaze alone.

“You wanted to leave,” he finally said, his voice quieter but no less cutting. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Beg? You made your choice.”

“Because you didn’t give me a reason to stay!” My voice cracked, the words laced with all the pain I’d kept buried for far too long. “Do you know what it was like, leaving behind everything—leaving you—because I thought I wasn’t enough? That I’d never be enough for you?”

The firelight flickered in his eyes, and for the first time, I saw it—the guilt, the regret. He took a step closer, his broad shoulders sagging under the weight of unspoken words.

“Y/n…” He said my name like it hurt to say it. “I thought I was doin’ right by you. You deserved better than what I could give you. Still do.”

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head as tears threatened to spill. “You’re such a goddamn coward, Joel. Always thinking you know what’s best for everyone else. You don’t get to decide what I deserve. You don’t get to—”

But before I could finish, he closed the distance between us in one sudden, desperate motion. His hands came up to cup my face, rough palms trembling against my skin. His breath was warm, ragged as it ghosted over my lips.

“I ain’t a coward,” he murmured, his voice raw.

I opened my mouth to argue, to push him away like I had every right to, but the words caught in my throat. His eyes burned into mine, and in that moment, everything else—the fight, the years of distance, the pain—faded into nothing.

He kissed me like a man starved, like he was afraid I might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough. My hands found their way to his chest, gripping the worn fabric of his flannel as I kissed him back with all the anger and longing I’d been too afraid to admit.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was years of unspoken feelings, of missed chances and buried love, all colliding in one explosive moment.

When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. His hands lingered on my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I hadn’t realized had fallen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “For Boston. For everything.”

I closed my eyes, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Me too,” I whispered back, my voice trembling.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of our breathing and the crackle of the fire. And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel so alone.

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noxturnalmoth · 3 days ago

Text

Repentance

Summary: Repentance: n. the action of repenting, sincere regret or remorse.

Hurt, overworking and miserable, two souls find one another and fates intertwine even when they are worlds apart. How can one deal with the guilt of wanting something they cannot have? And why does going against the very principles you have imposed upon yourself feel so good?

Warnings: violence, crude language, themes of guilt, suicidal ideation, depression

Word Count: 5, 793

Masterlist: here

Chapter 1 - Erring in the City of Iron and Glass

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

"Go! Leave!"

"I can't! We stay together!"

"Just fucking leave! You'll end up dead!"

"I'm not leaving without you!"

Your voice screams, the is air scarlet and heavy with smoke, the sky is painted with burning flames as the stone beneath your feet is stained blood red.

Littered with corpses.

Children, men, women. It didn't matter to Piltover, Zaun and its people didn't matter to Piltover.

You never did.

You run after Hekarim, your older brother, your only family. But he is so much faster and your strides could only hope to match his as he marches into the fray like a Noxian soldier into a battlefield.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

The smell is enough to make you heave, burning flesh, gunpowder and chemicals, the smell of death.

"Don't leave me!"

"I need to, they need me!"

"You'll die! I don't want to be alone! Mom and dad said-"

He turns around, tears carving through the soot and blood marring his face. "Mom and dad are dead! They're gone! They have been for so long now!"

"You're all I have left! Please don't do this!" You cry out, finally catching up to him as he slows down, your knees giving up from under you as you hold him.

His arms wrap tightly around you, shielding you from the world crumbling around you. "If I don't fight for our freedom, then I don't fight for you. And I'll be damned if I can't strive for a better life, if not for me, if not for Zaun, then at least for you. Our people are fighting out there, and I can help, I need to do this little bird."

"I'm old enough Heka, I can fight!"

"If you don't survive, then I'd have fought for nothing. We finally have a chance at making a difference, I can't let it go to waste. As a Zaunite and as your brother."

Your shoulders shake, his do too. His hands cradle your face softly, his eyes raking over you as if to ingrain the sight in his memory before his forehead gently touches against yours.

The Zaunite symbol for love, a kiss shared to those you love most.

A goodbye.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

You claw at him as he leaves but your body is too weak for you to rush after him like before, the smoke erasing his silhouette all too soon as you crawl. Bile rises in your throat as you scream for him, shadows of your people falling like flies illuminated by the flaming bridge.

The bodies are piling up, surrounding you in a grotesque painting of mangled body parts and broken spirits. Yells echo in the air, yours, theirs, the enforcers', all swirling into an unintelligible cacophony of hatred, pain, fear, disgust and..hope.

Hope for a better future for Zaun.

Hope for a better life.

"Please!" Your people echo. "We are as deserving of a good life as any of you!"

Yet the pleas of Zaunite souls are ignored by the gods, the deities looking down, mocking your pitiful attempt at fighting for freedom.

Your legs shake, your balance all too troubled by the overwhelming scenery.

There it was, the proof that the lords above didn't care.

No, they didn't give a shit about any of you.

Neither did Piltover.

Neither did the rest of Runeterra.

Zaun was alone in its fight.

And you are now alone too. The last of your family taken in a conflict that should have never been, in a situation that could have been avoided if not for the greed of those in blue and gold.

You are terrified and all you can do is stand straight as you quiver in fear, watching the massacre happen.

Yet a noise you don't recognize resounds in the loudness of the battle, your own. A war cry, choked by tears, making its way out of your throat, ripping it to shreds as you rip a metal pole from a brethren's corpse.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

You run into the fray.

Fire burns your lungs, licks at your skin, and the blood covering you becomes wet again. The dried metallic essence fueled with life again as you bash an enforcer about to hurt a child.

"Run!"

And she does, her pink haired companion nodding at you in thanks.

You're gonna find your brother.

And if I don't then damn it all, I'll die here fighting too.

The gods don't hear you, they haven't for a long time. So you'll take the matter into your own hands and make them hear, make them see.

Bullets fly by you, piercing you with crimson lances of white hot pain, batons strike your young body, leaving trails of indigo while you soldier on. And you bash and bash, hiding behind the Piltovan forces before you skewer them, hiding between corpses so you can crack their skulls open, rage blinding your vision while you roar again. As loud and as hot as the flames that seemed to come from the river itself.

You have to.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

This pain is nothing, it's nothing compared to what you're about to lose, compared too all that Zaun has lost at the hands of the ones topside.

As if hell had opened itself up and you were about to be swallowed.

It's unfair! Why? Why? Why? Why?

Why?!

Bomb explode as your eyes watch a life drain because of you. You're a murderer now, you haven been since you entered the fray to fight for your people.

But so were they. Them in their ivory towers, them in their navy uniforms, them from the other side of the river. Them, them, them.

It's all their fault.

The loud bangs sound closer, yet so move forward. Only stopping at the sight of your brother, the man that raised you for most of your life after your parents died in the god forsaken mines Piltover has caged many of your people in.

It seems as if he's dancing, dancing the dance of your people. A dance of rage, of hurt, of hope. Yet you know he's fighting, not for his own life but for your own.

So your dead vocal chords cant help but let out a pathetic sound as the enforcers surrounding him beat him into submission. His body crumples yet he remains straight, even when brought down to his knees.

"Hekarim!"

His head turns and his look of horror turns turns wide eyes as a bullet is shot through his head.

Please gods above, don't take him away from me too.

Please lords above stop this massacre, let my people live, haven't we gone through enough?

Then his body hits the ground, like many others around you. It ragdolls with a thud, crumpling to the ground lifeless.

Yet instead of the chaos you've been in for god knows how long since the revolt began, everything stops. Noises muffled, sight blurry and draining itself of every color. Every one of their eyes trail to you. Their filthy eyes, soulless and angry.

Then it all hits at once.

Kha nas xera.

I hate them. I hate them all.

Your throat doesn't make any noise when you yell and cry, stumbling over yourself as your rage moves your body like a puppeteer, pushing you to rush forward and attack. It doesn't make a sound as you're punched and kicked, as you claw at the men in navy blue.

It doesn't make a sound when they set off a grenade next to you.

Neither when your body is projected onto the stone fences bordering the bridge.

But your bones do.

A sickening crack overpowering every other unbearable noise when your back hits takes the blunt of the shock, a sharp breath burning your lungs with the flames surrounding you. Your mouth tasting blood, smoke and salty tears as you slump down with the other corpses.

You're gonna die. You're gonna die alone and you couldn't do anything else.

Hekarim had been right.

He'd fought for you and you've still gone and fucked it all up.

And now you'll be swallowed by the gaping maws of hell while the gods above get their entertainment.

You've been foolish, stupid, reckless.

You've been foolish and now you're paying the price.

"Wait for me in the abyss, Heka." Your soul calls out to one that has been long gone. "Mama, papa, I'm coming." One last tear escapes your eyes, the loud screeches surrounding you rolling over you one last time before they're drowned by the sound of your slowing heart while your eyes close.

Please gods above, take me away too.

But I beg of you let my people live.

"-llo?"

Janna, is that you?

"-ello?"

Have you finally come to protect us? After you've abandoned us to pain and misery?

"Hello?"

Wait, you're not-

____

"Hello! Runeterra to the bartender, anybody home?"

Your head snaps up.

You rub your blurry eyes, the first thing coming into view being a familiar mop of magenta hair, powder blue eyes concerned and gentle as you emerge from your thoughts. Warmth seeping through your shirt from the person's hand shaking your shoulder hurriedly.

Then comes in the cozy dark green wallpaper and mahogany hardwood floors that you've grown used to these past few years, scarlet curtains framing small booths carved into the walls. Chairs and tables arranged in a way you've memorized, carved in your mind's eye after years, and a cold, scratched, oak counter top beneath your arms contrasting with the warm touch nudging you awake. Next to the pink haired girl stands dark brown haired woman, her tan skin looking soft in the warm lights of the bar as her grey eyes observe you with worry.

Finally come in the rest, the smell of leather and alcohol, tobacco lingering at the forefront of it all. The sound of music emanating from a jukebox in the corner of the room.

"You're good, kiddo?"

A low feminine voice attributed to the older woman rings as you blink away the last of tears you haven't noticed were flowing freely from your eyes like rain from the heavens.

"Yeah, you've been staring at the wall, crying for the past ten minutes."

Only ten?

It felt like an eternity.

But then again, time is different in hell.

You shake your head with a drawn out sigh as your hands wipe at your face hurriedly, getting rid of the last of your daydream and its traces on your face.

"Oh yeah, my bad girls. What were we talking about again?"

"Oh hell no, we're not skimming past that dude." You groan at the scolding.

"Vi, really, I'm good. C'mon, you're gonna get on my ass for being distracted now Miss Darcy. I'm just a bit tired is all."

The girl looks at you unimpressed, her famous "shut up" look craving through her face like a chisel through marble. Yeah, she wasn't taking any of your usual deflection today. And Sevika neither by the looks of it.

"Really, I just think I've been working a little too much lately. I just need to rest."

"Bullshit, we both know you won't." Grumbles the taller lady, slipping behind the bar counter, next to you, before she cages you against the counter top.

"And that you're lying about being just a little tired."

Back groaning at standing for so long, hunched over in an uncomfortable position, you slump against the corner in resignation, grunting as your two friends corner you and hound you with care.

Undeserved.

Too much.

Yet always appreciated.

You've been working with them at The Last Drop for years, Violet recognizing you even years after the bridge "incident", as the Pilties called it, and offering you a spot at her godfather and uncle's bar. Not only to "repay a debt", which you insisted was non-existent in the first place, but also for friendship, wanting more people around her age in her life.

You didn't blame her, you were grateful in fact.

You were grateful to Sevika too, who endorsed Vi in her quest to get you in the staff due to seeing your teen self rushing into the fray thirteen years ago. Admiring your courage and scolding your foolishness, forcing you to promise never to put yourself in such danger ever again.

Back then you let out a bitter laugh, the promise easy enough to make from the traces the battle left for you.

Parts of your spine were broken to such an extent that you'd have to wear a brace for the rest of your life, limiting movement and straining you until the day you died.

Since that day you've been alone. Working shitty job after shitty job to sustain yourself while the Pilties seemed to go back to their peaceful lives. Your spine screaming louder after years of slaving away for your own safety and a life that was worth living.

Yet you persevered.

Clawed your way out of the pit that topside has dug for all of the children they ripped families away from.

And now here you are, working two jobs, having your small shoddy apartment and two friends you wonder if you truly deserve. They tell you that you do, yet it's hard to believe when every night is plagued with the same visions. Ghosts that seem to never want to let go of you, now even throughout the day. Clawing at you from the inside and screaming in your head, filling your eyes with sceneries straight from hell. Yet you know it to be far from the truth. Or hell is on Runeterra, and it likes your pain enough to rip you apart day after day.

You'd think you would have grown accustomed to them. Yet if anything, the constant reminders only make you grow more weary each day that passes.

"What's your schedule been like?" Violet slides next to you, her shoulder nudging yours softly to snap you out of your reverie.

"The usual? I don't know, I don't feel much has changed."

When you turn pain bites at your upper back and your hands grip the bar top, nails biting into the wood while you set your jaw to stop any noise of pain to escape you. Vi looks at you with the same expression she always has in moments like this, sisterly love. For being five years your junior, the girl surely know how to make you feel younger with her affections.

"Tell us, or we're gonna have to tell Silco and Vander about it."

"Yeah, can't have our bartender keeling over one night." Sevika sets herself on your other side and slides your stool under you, reserved for when your back gets too much. You nod your thanks and let out a groaned out breath at the feeling of your body not needing to hold itself up anymore.

"Just nine to five at the library and the usual seven to two in at night for the bar. Same as always."

"Same as always. Well seems like this isn't sustainable for you anymore. I don't even think it ever has been. You do know that working yourself to death is not gonna fix anything, right?"

"Have you been-"

"I have been, Vi. I've been journaling, I've been drinking less, I've been trying to get more than three hours of sleep per night. But I can't, nothing clears my head, I can't even afford a good therapist because they're so rare in Zaun it's like trying to find a unicorn, and like hell I'm going topside because they'll only extort me until I have nothing left."

The women at your sides nod in understanding. They've been trying to help yet nothing seems to soothe the storm of your soul, forever raging, ever restless, screaming from the depths of your very being and haunting you at every moment. Their support means the world to you though, and you feel like you never know how to show just how deeply important their presences are within the nightmare of your life. You feel like you're not grateful enough for all that they've done for you, not deserving enough. Like you're-

"You're not a lost case, Maestro."

You chuckle bitterly at the nickname, your two friends having nicknamed you as such because you were the "drink virtuoso" of The Last Drop. The young bartender that knew people's tastes like the back of her hand at first glance and who always knew which buttons to push to get clients to buy something more expensive if they could afford it.

"Sevika's right. She's doing better, Silco and Vander too, not to forget Powder and I. You'll make it. We just have to find the right coping mechanism, the right…thing."

Violet mumbles, cursing at herself for being bad with words compared to her more "proper" girlfriend Caitlyn, a Piltover enforcer born in one of the gilded city's most noble families.

"I know but I've tried so much. Many options I don't have the time for, others are too expensive, the rest just doesn't work. You two are keeping me afloat but I wonder if I'm just rotten work, like trying to help me or even simply being around me is just gonna end up wearing you down in the end."

The women chuckle and eye one another with a smile, one of their arms wrapping around your back in two half hugs.

"You? Wear us down? Now aren't you underestimating us?"

"I think you forgot who you're talking to so let's remind you. We're your best friends, and if you think you'll ever get rid of us because you're a mopey little shit then you clearly are overestimating yourself."

"Sev's right, you're a cocky bitch if you think you're so cool that you'll be able to push us away in any way, shape or form. We're the dirt under your nails, Maestro. Don't you dare forget that."

"Oh fuck off you two."

You chuckle along, the burning flames of the bridge cooled by the laughter of the women holding you.

"You know we're right."

"Yeah yeah, now stop being gay and help me cleaning. Butch one you take the booths, Butch two you take the floor. I'll take the tables and bar."

"Shut your trap, kid."

"Aye aye captain."

Are chuckled out as your two friends leave your side to get started on tidying up the bar, the soft notes of the jukebox rhythming the cleaning and softening the heaviness in the air while you stretch. Getting out of the stool feels like a ton of lead has been dropped onto your shoulders and pain fires through you like electrical current but you still pick up your rag, a bottle of cleaning product and make your way to the tables.

It's comfortably silent between the three of you from then on. Humming coming from your throat as you bend over, scrubbing away at the traces of alcohol and crumbs left by patrons on every table, placing the chairs upside down on each and every one of them after wiping them down too.

Vi taps your ass with the broom while passing by you and you slap her arm, the girl acting hurt and falling to the ground at the ministration.

"How could you hurt me so, dear friend?"

"You already got a fine piece of ass at home, don't be greedy Darcy."

And you offer your hand and Violet refuses before you grab hers anyways and drag her up, your body shaking in pain as you pick your friend from the floor. She pinches your hips with a softly scolding look before going back to cleaning the floor.

Time passes and the bar top is the last surface that needs cleaning, Sevika and Violet try to get you to stop but you push them away.

"My bar, my responsibility."

"Technically it's Vander and Silco's-"

"I'll rip your tits off Sev."

"Bite me."

"Nah, you'd like that. You whore." She barks out a laugh at that, "touché" escaping her painted lips as she gets out her pack of cigarettes, two little cylinders are pulled out from it and she places both in her mouth to light them. The flick of her lighter echoing through the now silent room before she gives you one of the smoking tubes.

You inhale, the smoke filling your lungs in an all too familiar way and nicotine rushing through you while you slump over the spotless oak with your arms crossed, your eyes softly closing to enjoy the taste of tobacco and the presence of the two women at your side.

Just a normal night, after a very usual day. You dread to think about your weekend, having nothing to do killed you a little every time it happened, the silence of your apartment too loud and only serving to fuel the maelstrom of feelings swirling within you at any moment. Anytime you try to sleep those days off you wake up sweaty and screaming like every night, unable and unwilling to fall back asleep.

Life for Zaun has gotten better, sure. Access to topside was not as restrained, the city was given sovereignty after the complete hecatomb that happened thirteen years ago opened the eyes of many to the destiny of most Zaunites under Piltover's rule. It took about seven years for the gilded city to surrender Zaun and accept it as an equal, since then business had been booming, general health and education got much more advanced yet a lot was still a work in progress.

Progress that was not achieved with much help from Piltover, no, but by the blood, sweat and tears of the people from the Undercity. Who worked hard to make living here much more comfortable with the new influx of income and trades from all around the world.

And you were proud of your brethren for making it this far, you were proud to be part of such an enterprise to make Zaun a better place.

Yet no matter how much you worked then, how much you work now, how much you fought and still fight, you still can't find it within yourself to find forgiveness. Not after witnessing what you had, feeling what you did. Even if Vi's girlfriend was a kind girl and very involved with her family to help Zaun, the actions of one still didn't make the bile rising in your throat when thinking about Piltover subside.

You didn't necessarily hate everyone topside. The targets of your rage were their police force and their politicians who, for three hundred and fifteen years, cultivated a mentality of elitism and classism that was the flail used to whip your people into submission. To make Zaun into their own colony, providing for their every whims while they stood behind you, twiddling their thumbs and laughing at your misery. So you still had a hard time feeling comfortable or peaceful with the people that persecuted your own, directly or by proxy, many had let this happen even if they knew it was wrong and that was something else you could not forgive.

None of the rage you direct towards Piltover can truly fill the hole within you, though.

A hole that had been dug since you were born, the intrinsic Zaunite anger at the unfairness of others' treatments towards you ingrained within every part of your DNA. A hole that became a fissure, similar to those trencher miners would die in, when your parents died in a crumbling mine that was left operating even with the dangers its state was dismal. A fissure that became an unspeakable abyss the day of the bridge revolt when you lost Hekarim and so many of your own, nearly meeting your maker as well in the process.

An abyss that you've tried to fill with anger, with so much work that your body would crumble the second you reached your small apartment, with your two friends' presence that although helped you, never filled the tear in your soul. No, the abyss grew with time, no matter how many books you read, how much music you listened to, how many hobbies or coping mechanisms you tried.

It grew.

And grew.

And although you've ignored it, you're becoming unable to. The exhaustion. Setting deep within your bones from the sleepless nights, from the overworking, the constant reminders of vision's you'd rather forget. It's like no matter what you try, your symptoms only become worse.

And you feel so much guilt.

At not feeling well, at not being able to appreciate the simple pleasures of life, at not seeing how far you've come, at your friends not being nearly enough to fix the broken, ugly mess that you are.

You feel guilt for losing faith at everything in life that pertained to you. You are on survival mode, and you can't flip the switch off. But there's only so much you can do on survival mode before you shutdown.

And right now you were going down that slide at immense speed.

One where your thoughts would drag you to commit something that would never be able to be taken back.

And you hoped that if it ever came to that, you'd at least be missed.

snap

Your eyes swiftly get to Sevika who's snapping her fingers at you, her other hand holding the ashtray under the cigarette currently burning away between your lips.

"Yeah no, we're not taking I'm fine for an answer."

"Sev, c'mon."

"No, girl, c'mon. You're not okay."

"Vi." You whine, taking a deep inhale from your cigarette, the smoke escaping your nose in two streams. "Really, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl I can take it, you know me."

"Not anymore it seems." Inhale, Sevika gazes at you with a knowing look shining through her steel tinted eyes.

"You're trying to do all of this by yourself. And we get it, we really do, but you're just pulling yourself deeper." Exhale, Vi brushes her hand on your arm comfortingly.

"We love you, and all we want is your good health and for you to finally be able to rid yourself of whatever's going on in there. You don't tell us because you want us safe, yet what about you?" Inhale.

"We've thought of something, and we know you'll vehemently refuse at first, but it's free and many people find comfort in it. Especially here in Zaun."

You tilt your head, smoke held in your lungs as you look at your two friends inquisitively.

"So, would you be willing to go to church?" Exhale.

Stub.

"No."

They look at one another in a way you knew all too well. They knew of your stubborn streak, to anything related to Piltover. And to faith.

You had prayed everyday for your parents' safety. They died, alone, in the dark and ripped to shreds by rubble.

You had prayed everyday for your people's freedom. They kept on dying unjust deaths by the hand of their greedy, self-important jailers.

You had prayed for your brother to be alive that day. He was ripped away from you before your very eyes.

You had prayed for your own death, to stop the pain, to stop you from losing everything when nothing was left anymore. Yet you lived.

The lords above didn't exist.

And if they did they had abandoned Zaun.

And me.

So like hell you'd go to a place of worship to any one of them. That day you abandoned them just like they did you, mockingly watching from above as meaningless deaths happened beneath their almighty gazes once more.

"Listen. We know. But would you listen to us?"

You look at Violet with expectant eyes, exhaustion pulling your lids down into a glare that has been carved into your face, never to be erased.

"Powder has a tutor, she has for a while now, and turns out he's a priest for the local Jan'ahremite church. He seems like a good man and maybe he'd know how to help, it's his job to lead those who are lost and all that. You could go to mass, test the waters, you could even confess! It's like therapy, but free."

You exhale a sharp breath.

"Vi's right, but there's also the fact that you'd be surrounded by a community. It would do you good, go at least twice. Please? We know it's far from what you want but it could be what you need. You don't need to believe, just to be there."

"What do you have to lose, right?"

You pull away, slowly making your way to your coat hung behind the bottle filled shelves, your back screaming at you for rest as you cover yourself, slipping one arm after the other in the long sleeves. You pass by the counter where your two friends are, stopping at their level as Sevika calls out for you.

"You can't keep on going like this, kiddo. We may not know what's going on in that head of yours, but we know it's far from pretty. Everyone needs something to believe in, and as is, we know your faith is in nothing but your own fall."

You scoff. "Understatement of the century Sev."

"Even more of a reason to try! We don't ask you to pray, to beg for whatever god may listen, only to see if it'd help. I'd be more than reluctant to step a foot in a church myself, and I know that Sevika too." The older woman scoffs as she nods at Vi's words. "But we know that wherever your mind's headed right now could potentially take you from us, and we can't imagine Zaun without you. Neither can little man or Powder."

"Hell, Vander and Silco would hate to lose you too, every patron around here and everyone at the library too."

"You're worth so much more than you can imagine to so many of us. So, please, at the very least if not for yourself, do this for us."

Your hands grip tightly at the counter top, a lump forming in your throat at the very thought of stepping into a god's space. Wanting nothing more than spit and yell in rage at their pictures and statues, never to be vulnerable for them ever again.

"I'll think about it."

Is all you can manage to let out.

"And that's all we ask."

You nod, the three of you leaving the building and locking up behind yourselves and Vi nudging her forehead to yours as a loving goodbye before she hops on her motorcycle.

"Kid, you know we love you, right?"

You purse your lips, eyes looking down as your heart drops to your stomach. Feeling all too undeserving of the words.

"Yeah, I know Sev." Your gaze reaches hers, and you know she understands what you mean with it.

I love you too.

You sigh and softly place your forehead on hers.

"See you on Monday, kid." She ruffles your hair lightly and walks away, her body illuminated by the kaleidoscope of Zaun's neon signs.

You get in your car, the music not loud enough to drown your thoughts, the words and melodies jumbling in and all too familiar self-deprecating dance as you arrive home.

Your body drags and you step foot within the threshold of the building, it slumps against the elevator's walls as you wait for your floor and it drops onto your bed as you arrive at your bed.

Your phone is put to charge, your clothes and brace are taken off for the night and you refuse to get up for any food or water. The comfort of your mattress pulling you in like quicksand in the deserts of Shurima even if your mouth is pasty and your stomach grumbles.

Your eyes trail to your ceiling, tears rolling down like a waterfall before you even realize what's happening. No sob escapes you, you believe you've exhausted your capacity for them since hell opened its gaping maw and presented you what it had to offer.

Exhaustion, bone deep, was eating away at you like water erodes stone. Your soul was rotting and although you could always keep yourself together it seemed like your willpower was abandoning you.

Just like everything and everyone always did.

Were Violet and Sevika right? Could going to this place of worship work, even with your hatred of those sitting on their golden thrones up above? Could this be it, the one last thing that could help you from drowning further in the dark tar possessing every inch of your heart?

I don't think so.

Yet as much as the thought of standing before the eyes of a deity makes you sick, you make yourself sicker. A hateful, pained and pathetic little thing you are, filled to the brim with so much sadness that no good can truly reach you and pull away the black veil blinding your soul. A disappointment, a failure.

And yet your two friends still remained by you.

You could wallow all you want, but bile rises in your throat at the thought of hurting the girls that stand by your side even after everything.

Even if respite in death is all you crave now.

Maybe you could try one last time. To make them proud more than to save yourself. Although if the latter came with the former you would accept it with open arms.

Yet I still find myself unable to believe that the broken mess that I am can be fixed.

I am beyond saving.

But for them you'll try. Your final attempt at piecing yourself back together.

Your eyes close, the last of your tears contained beneath the dam of your lids. Images quickly flickering from the bridge to Sevika and Violet standing next to a grave, their gazes a storm of regret and pain as they cry and call out to you softly. Praising you even after you took the cowardly way out, even after you abandoned them.

"If not for yourself, do it for us."

Yes, for them you'll try anything.

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nottswitch · 2 hours ago

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⋆˙⟡ you give cult leader!theo a blowjob during a sermon

hello, hi. here i am, with probably my favourite and the most challenging to write au. hoping that y’all will match my freak with this one.

warnings: 18+ mdni, cult dynamics (duh), power imbalance, religious terminology, public blowjob, mentions of gagging, praise

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; theo m.list ; cult leader!theo

the whole main area of the temple is taut with anticipation as soon as teacher theodore walks onto his podium. he sits down onto his black leather chair, raising his hand to silence everyone, although it’s already pretty quiet – but now even the smallest of whispers die down. his calm gaze slowly drifts over the room, making every single one of your fellow believers shiver, and you’re no exception. you watch with awe as the man scans the room, and eventually, his fascinating blue eyes land on you.

"you, my dear," he drawls, his voice enveloping you like the warmest blanket and simultaneously igniting a fire inside your body that not a single soul can put out except for him. "come here."

excitement nearly bubbles over in your stomach as you stand up from the floor, trying to keep your legs from trembling – you have to show him that his choice tonight is worth it, that you’re worth the grace he’s shown you. as you approach him, you can feel the stares of others burning into your back, but you don’t mind them, you barely even notice – your entire being is filled with theodore, him, him, him.

your reverent eyes never leave his face as you kneel between his spread legs and kiss the back of his hand, your hands obediently resting on your thighs as you wait for your cue. you can’t help clutching the fabric of your white robe just a little as you feel the heat starting to spread in your stomach – but it’s all about him right now, and it always is.

theodore looks down at you, his gaze lingering on your awestruck face, and nods. giving your best to staying collected, you nod in return and lift your hands up to unbuckle the belt of his trousers. theodore watches you for a moment longer, and then his attention shifts to the room filled with the rest of the disciples. his soothing voice begins to waft through the air like silk and honest combined, and you try not to get completely lost in it. you have to focus. you have a task.

as quietly as you can, you pull the zipper down, then his trousers and briefs. his cock is already half-hard, which makes you simultaneously salivate, and your chest fill with pride – usually, the other girls and guys have to work a bit to get him to this state. you don’t know if it’s your luck, but you wouldn’t dream of questioning it; it’s your first time being picked for the pleasure purpose, and you’re determined to make a good impression in hopes of becoming a new favourite.

you lean in, your breath ghosting over theodore’s skin, and notice his cock twitch at the sensation. even the smallest movement makes you preen, but you try not to get lost to your selfishness. your hand comes up to grab him at the base, and you feel him harden more, his cock now standing straight in your hold. he’s so big – you’ve been dying to get a taste ever since you first saw it, but have been patently waiting for your turn until now.

your tongue sticks out to lick a wet stripe up to the tip, where your lips wrap around it. you give an almost tentative swirl, knowing that you can’t rush – the sermon can last up to an hour, and you have to draw it out until the very end. you don’t want to disappoint the teacher. you starts sucking in the tip, and your mind fills with the overwhelming sense of adoration – you still can’t believe that you’re the one given the honor of pleasing theodore tonight.

you fail to register the words he’s saying, which makes your cheeks heat up with shame – just because you’ve been chosen doesn’t excuse you from taking in the preachings. yet you can’t help yourself – his cock fits too good in your mouth, like it was made to slide right in and out. as you take him deeper, the tip hot and pulsating against the roof of your mouth, a wave of tingles washes over your belly. your hand itches to drop down between your legs, but you’re fully aware it’s not allowed. if you’re good and lucky enough, teacher theodore will give you release after the sermon is over. until then, he’s the center of your world.

as the minutes pass, your jaw starts to hurt a little from being stretched to its absolute limit around theodore’s thickness. your head slowly bobs up and down, the slick sounds of your saliva coating his cock quiet enough not to disturb the sermon, yet you’re sure the entire temple can hear them. this knowledge makes you proud of yourself yet again – they know, they should know that you’re the one making theodore feel good at this moment. you know you shouldn’t feel possessive of your teacher, yet you allow yourself the weakness, even if only deep inside your soul.

when theodore’s hand lands on the top of your head, you know it’s a sign. the sermon is close to an end, which means you have to speed up. a bit too excited, you take him in fully, making the tip of his cock suddenly hit the back of your throat. you gag, immediately knowing that you shouldn’t have – your eyes flicker up, meeting theodore’s ocean blue ones, and his eyebrow is raised. you’re unsure if it’s a sign of disapproval or amusement, for his expression is usually hard to read. you can’t apologize – you’re filled with him to the brim, but when his attention shifts back to the crowd behind you, you take it as a sign to continue.

you taste the saltiness of precum soon enough, and you can only hope that the timing is right. theodore’s hand tightens a bit in your hair, signifying the fact that he’s close – and he doesn’t stop you, meaning you’re doing a good job. your pace picks up, saliva dripping out of the corners of your mouth as his length disappears into the tightness of your mouth over and over again. you gag again, yet at this point it doesn’t really matter – theodore’s cock starts throbbing, and the warmth of his seed coats the walls of your throat. his voice never falters above you, but you can feel the way his fingers dig into your scalp, and it’s the most pleasant sting you have ever felt on your body.

as you lick him through the orgasm, throughly cleaning him up, theodore closes the sermon, dismissing everyone with a wave of his hand. you don’t dare to pull away until he tugs at your hair, his other hand softly caressing your chin, lifting up your face. you look up, your eyes filled with endless devotion. theodore takes in the sight of your swollen lips, your jaw which hands slack due to being open for so long, your glassy eyes that are nearly tearing up, and his gaze softens.

"you did well, darling. very well," he murmurs, and your heart grows a few sizes too big for your chest. you did well. his praise is all you could ask for yet could never dream of.

"meet me in my room in ten minutes. you deserve a reward, my dear."

if you weren’t on your knees already, they would surely buckle. you nod, accepting his invitation for what it is; you know the others will notice you heading to his house on the grounds later, and it fills you with a sense of accomplishment. it’s rare to earn yourself an honor of getting a reward from the teacher, and it certainly feels like a win. maybe, just maybe you could become a new favourite, after all.

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tldrthor · 1 day ago

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Homecoming | steve rogers

Summary: the key in the door is his favourite sound // established relationship hurt-comfort fluff, fem!reader, no use of (y/n), minor description of minor injuries // word count: 1.3k

enjoyed? please like/reblog! you can find my masterlist here <3

The key in the door was one of his favourite sounds. It's melodic, jingling tone reverberated through the quiet, empty halls of their home and he found himself on his feet through muscle memory alone.

The old door squeaked open — shit, he had forgotten to oil the hinges again — and there you were. In all your sweaty, dirty, bloody glory.

"Stevie." You breathed, feeling your shoulders relax at the sight of him. Your feet ached and the cut on your forehead throbbed with every pulse of blood. Before you could even say hello, he had enveloped you in his arms, the warmth of his body melting away the tension in your body.

He sighed "I missed you." His hands made their way from your shoulders to your head, and concern softened his eyes as he smoothed your crusted hair away from the gash on your forehead. He frowned, the pads of his fingers gentle as he traced the wound. You winced, and he immediately muttered a soft apology.

"Sorry, sweetheart." He whispered, barely audible. "Let's get you cleaned up — you kind of stink." He chuckled, a teasing glint in his eyes.

You couldn't help but smile, despite the ache that pulsed through your body. He placed his broad hands on your shoulders and steered you to the bathroom, placing a kiss on your cheek, and then your neck as he undid the many zips, clips and buttons of your tac suit.

Upon the reveal of several more gashes and a couple of still-appearing bruises, he tsked, his concern deepening. "I thought the mission was supposed to be an easy one?"

You stepped out of the suit fully, shivering as the cool air met your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "It was more complicated than we thought," you answered, voice heavy with exhaustion. "The base had about double the amount of men than intel had indicated. Ended up being a firefight."

He nodded, quietly, eyes flicking over the damage. He quickly asked; "Everyone else good?"

"Yeah, Sam's got a pretty decent shiner over his right eye, but we all made it out with only minor injuries."

He nodded in response, still in that familiar quiet, protective state, as he moved away from you to turn on the shower. This was like clockwork, now. Someone came home from a long mission, the other took care of their wounds, helped them shower, and then it was snacks and movies under the sanctuary of the duvet.

It was the only time Steve let you eat in bed, the poor soul hating crumbs enough for it to be one of the very few sacred rules in the house. But you could get away with it when you had been apart for a while, and he didn't care at all whether there were crumbs in the bed, as long as you were there too.

He moved deftly through the often-used first aid cabinet, finding the antiseptic and cotton pads with a well-practiced ease.

"It's gonna sting." He held up the cotton pad, and you frowned at him in resignation. "I know, you hate it. But it's important." He raised his eyebrow, tilting his head to tell you that it was going to happen whether you liked it or not.

You scowled, but moved your hair out of the way for him to get into the gash. "There we go, I'll be gentle."

His touch was gentle as he wiped over the cut, but you couldn't help but whine as the alcohol burned through the encrusted blood, your fingers curling around Steve's strong bicep for comfort. He murmured gentle reassurances at you through the whole thing; soft, lilting tones of nearly there, sweetheart, you're doing so well.

"All done." He kissed your forehead just next to the cut, and then one more kiss over your eye for good measure. "Come on, get in the shower."

You peeled off the rest of your clothes, each piece revealing more bruises, more injuries. Your body ached for warmth, and when the water hit your skin, it felt like you could finally exhale. You sighed in contentment as you felt human again for the first time since you left for the mission, a week ago.

"Better?" He asked, his voice soft, as he watched from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms folded, just to be there with you.

You watched the pink-stained water spiral down the drain, as your body finally relaxed under the near-massage level pressure. "Much better," you responded. "thank you."

He smiled a tender, slow smile. "You don't need to thank me, angel."

You stayed there a little while longer, eyes closed, the gentle din of the water hitting the tiled floor all the background noise you needed.

Eventually, when the water was all but running clear and you finally felt clean again, you turned off the shower. As you turned off the water, you turned around to see him already standing with your towels prepared.

"Fresh out the dryer, just the way you like them." He said with a wink.

You hadn't even seen him leave, wrapped up in the bliss of the hot shower. You stepped out, and he wrapped you in the towels, almost as if he were swaddling you. The softness of the fabric was a comfort beyond words, and you almost melted into his embrace.

He gently dried your shoulders, taking care with each motion, his hands moving with practiced ease. "Stay warm," he murmured, his voice low and comforting. "I’ll be back."

You heard him scrambling around in the other room for a few moments, before his footsteps receded. A beat later, he returned, a smile already playing at his lips.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, his voice playful.

You obeyed, still wrapped in the warm, fluffy towels. "Okay?" you giggled.

You heard him moving around, and then the smile was clear in his voice as he called, "Open them!"

When you did, your laughter bubbled up immediately, uncontrollable. He was holding up a onesie, the kind of ridiculous outfit that could only come from Steve. You couldn’t help it — your laugh filled the room.

"Is it… a onesie?" you asked, barely able to speak through your giggles.

He unfolded it with a flourish, holding it up against his chest as though it fit him perfectly, despite the fact it would never in a million years. The Captain America design was unmistakable, complete with wings on the hood and the bright white 'A' proudly displayed in the center.

"I love it," you said, your voice dripping with humor as you peeled your towel off and slipped into the ridiculously warm, thoughtful gift. "But where's yours?" you teased, still laughing.

"Well, that's the best part," he said, his grin wide and utterly shameless. He pulled a second, larger onesie from behind his back, and you nearly lost it. The absurdity of it was too much — the familiar green hue, the faux straps that looked nothing like your actual tac suit, and the look of pure mischief in his eyes. Tears sprang to your eyes from laughing so hard.

"Oh my god, Steve," you gasped, clutching your stomach as your sides ached from both your injuries and the laughter. "Is that supposed to be my tac suit?"

With a sheepish laugh, he quickly pulled off his sweats and wriggled into the onesie, spinning dramatically for you.

"How do I look?" he asked, giving you a full view of the poor imitation of your high-tech gear.

"You look amazing," you joked, barely able to breathe through the laughter. "You might actually suit it more than I do."

He pulled you into a hug, the wings of your onesie tickling his face as he squeezed you tight. "I could never do that, sweetheart."

He pulled you to the bedroom, where he had already brought through the snacks for your traditional homecoming movie night. He laid you down in the freshly made bed, tucking you in carefully with the plush duvet.

"Steven, you didn’t have to do all this," you said, your voice soft with appreciation, though the warmth in your chest was undeniable.

He gently pushed you back into the bed, settling beside you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Angel, I’ll do this for you for the rest of our lives."

He grabbed the remote and pressed it into your hands. "Pick a movie— nothing scary," he said with a pointed look. "I’ll get the tea brewing."

You glanced up at him, already feeling the soft glow of contentment settle over you as you whispered, "Steve? I love you."

As he turned, his face flushed, even though you’d said it a hundred times before. "Not as much as I love you, sweetheart."

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #avengers x reader #fem!reader #f!reader #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers #reader insert #avengers #captain america x reader #fluff #established relationship #hurt comfort

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izzymissii · 3 days ago

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Alcina x FemReader HCS SFW/ (kinda) NSFW

found this on my drafts from some months ago

❤ Her love language is devotion, demonstrated in the way she anticipates your every need. From ensuring your favorite wine is always on hand to draping her luxurious coat over your shoulders on chilly evenings, she takes pride in caring for you”

❤ Alcina adores the chase, relishing every flustered glance and stolen moment of tension. But when you finally surrender, she takes her time, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face and saying, “You’re mine now, draga mea, body and soul.”

❤ Despite her dominant nature, she has a soft spot for pampering you. She’ll press a kiss to the back of your hand and ask with a mischievous smile, “Do you enjoy being spoiled, my little treasure? Because I intend to do so endlessly.”

❤ Seeing you wear anything she’s gifted—especially her pearls or one of her luxurious robes—makes her chest swell with pride. She’ll pull you close and purr, “You look exquisite. Almost too tempting for your own good.”

❤ Her romantic gestures are grand and deliberate: a hand-written letter sealed with her crest, a bouquet of rare flowers from her garden, or a candlelit dinner in her opulent dining hall, where she watches you with an intensity that leaves you breathless.

❤ Her kisses are intoxicating, slow and lingering, as if savoring every second. Afterward, she brushes her thumb across your swollen lips and purrs, “You wear my love so beautifully, my darling.”

❤ She never misses an opportunity to remind you how deeply you are loved. “You are my heart,” she says one night, her voice as soft as the silk of her dress. “And I would burn the world to keep you safe.”

❤ Even her jealousy is seductive, her eyes narrowing as she pulls you closer and murmurs, “Do not forget who you belong to, dragă mea. I’ll remind you, if necessary.”

NSFW

❤ The bedroom is where her dominance shines most brightly, her every movement deliberate and commanding. “Lie back,” she instructs, her crimson lips curving into a slow smile. “Let me show you how a goddess loves

❤ She delights in your flustered reactions, her sharp eyes watching every twitch of your lips or flush of your cheeks. “Ah, there it is,” she teases, her sultry tone wrapping around you like velvet. “The look that tells me you’re utterly helpless under my gaze.”

❤ Alcina loves to hear you moan her name. She’ll tease you endlessly, her mouth and fingers working in perfect harmony until you’re crying out, her voice dripping with satisfaction as she says, “That’s it, my love. Let me hear how good I make you feel.”

❤ She’s insatiable when it comes to you, often waking you in the middle of the night with her lips trailing down your body. “I couldn’t wait until morning,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with need.

❤ Alcina dominance is never cruel, but she loves pushing you to your limits. “One more,” she whispers, her lips brushing against your ear. “You can give me one more, can’t you, my darling?

❤ Alcina takes immense pleasure in watching you squirm under her touch. She’ll run her gloved hand between your legs, her voice low and sultry as she asks, “You’re already this wet for me? How delightfully needy.”

❤ Her bite isn’t just for show. She loves leaving marks on your neck, shoulders, and thighs, whispering against your skin, “I want everyone to see you’re mine.”

❤ Alcina control is absolute; even when you try to take charge, she effortlessly flips you back beneath her, pinning your wrists with one hand as she smirks. “Did you think you could dominate me, little one? How adorable.”

❤ Afterward, she takes great pride in tending to you. She’ll pull you into her arms, her fingers gently stroking your hair as she whispers, “You’re so perfect, my treasure. Rest now—you’ve pleased me immensely.”

#resident evil village #re8 village #alcina x female reader #alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x female reader #re8 lady dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu

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candyswirls · 10 hours ago

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Garm Pt 5

Previous - Next - Master Post

Summary: Leman knows something is up. His instincts say so. He goes out to check and hears screams that ignite his parental instincts.

I posted a chapter yesterday too if you missed it.

It’s Garm’s gender reveal party(jk)! They still will use they/them pronouns interchangeably.

TW: injury, broken bone, blood, scared and hurt child, disregard for servitors

“We need to reach out to the other chapters,” Leman said. “We’ll absorb them into the space wolves. If they wish to keep current markings then it will be a company related item. This is the best course of action but all my sons will be with me. Just as it was during the crusade. I need all then wolves I can get.”

He glanced around.

“Where is Garm?” He asked.

“Taking a nap my lord,” one wolf answered. “The serfs and some guards are outside their door.”

Leman hummed.

“The Mooneaters are the ones closest and are currently on their way,” Grimnar informed his Primarch.

“Good,” the Primarch muttered as he lifted his mug. He didn’t take a drink though. He wasn’t really… feeling it.

“Everything alright my Lord?” Arjac asked.

Leman stared forward, slowly sloshing the drink.

Within the ranks of the Space Wolves you trusted your instincts over logic.

“Something is wrong,” he said alloud.

He stood tall, looking around, smelling the air. What was bothering him so much??

“Arjac,” he ordered. “Go check on Garm. Make sure no one enters or leaves the room.”

The champion nodded and left quickly, a few others joining him.

Leman left the hall looking for… he wasn’t sure. He let his instincts guide him throughout the ship till he was in the loading bay.

Servitors followed their duties and ships were ready for departure at any notice.

Why was he so on edge? What was worrying him? Was it the fact that Garm wasn’t with him? They were always together. Perhaps that was it?

His council had followed him.

“What are you thinking of my Russ?” Grimnar inquired.

Leman sighed and tried to shake off the feeling.

He began,”I fear it is just parental anxiety since-“

Across the bay frantic screaming started up.

His blood turned ice cold and he felt his soul leave himself. He watched his body operate on full adrenaline fueled instinct. His mind refused to believe what was happening but it also refused to allow it be a reality.

He trampled servitors and a few admech as he raced towards the terrified and pain filled shrieks.

He was on the other side of the loading bay in a matter of seconds. Ad mech and serfs who had rushed towards the screaming jumped out of the way of the Primarch.

He slid to where a tank named after him, parked near the corner and saw behind it.

His hearts stopped as tore the tank away, throwing it into a ship. He did not care. He dove next to Garm who continued screaming and crying. A hydraulic maintenance claw had clamped around their arm with full strength.

He didn’t think, he just acted, grabbing it with his teeth and hands. Tearing it and pulling it apart.

As soon as it broke and Garm was free he caught them. They still shrieked in pain, a steady flow of tears. Their arm was covered in blood and bent at an odd angle.

Russ snarled at those who tried to approach. He leapt up and sprinted to the apothecarium. Anyone in the hallways had better hope and pray they heard him coming and had the common sense to get out of the way because he was not stopping.

He didn’t wait for the door to open, he bashed it down and yelled.

“Priests!” He barked. “Help now!!”

The priests rushed forward to assist with Garm who hadn’t stopped wailing. They writhed and tried to bite or kick anyone who touched them.

He felt frozen as they were suddenly taken from his arms and his sons were pulling him back. He resisted, staring at his pup.

His pup! His sweet little puppy! His Garm! So young and little! He should have been with them! He needed to stay near!

He snarled as Garm screamed louder and the wolf priests tried to hold them down.

More of his sons restrained him as he tried to charge forward.

Grimnar was suddenly in front of him.

“My Lord!” He called. “They will help them! Please!”

Leman froze as Garm stopped screaming and started to go silent and limp.

“GARM!!!”

None of his sons could hold him back any longer, he was next to the toddler in an instant. Their eyes drooped and they grew weak.

“Stay with me!” He begged.

“They’re sedated!” One priest said quickly. “They’re fine. Just a light sedative to help with the process. Keep them calmer.”

Leman could breathe again and ran his fingers down the sides of Garms face.

They whimpered and he pressed a kiss to their forehead.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “I’m right here. We’ll get you all better.”

Garm tried to squirm as more tears spilled down their cheeks then they began hiccuping.

“There, there,” the priest assured. “Just need to scan this.”

Leman sighed, “I’m so sorry I let this happen, Garm. I’m so sorry, puppy.”

Anger boiled over in his chest.

He turned to Grimnar, “Find out what happened. I want to know how this came to pass, why they were alone, and why no one followed them when they woke or informed me.”

Grimnar nodded and began delegating tasks.

“Hold them down,” the priest ordered. “Need to test the pain threshold.”

Leman laid his arms across Garm and the other priests assisted.

Garm yelped, growled, and tried to bite. More tears followed till the priest was done.

“We’ll have to have them unconscious,” The Priest deduced. “Bone was shattered but they’re healing fast. We need to ensure it sets properly then put it in a cast.”

Leman nodded, “Do what you must.”

As the priest pulled more equipment over, Garm sleepily looked up at their father, scared. They cried more especially as an oxygen mask was placed over them.

“I will be right here with you,” he whispered. “You’ll fall asleep and wake up good as new. Then you can eat all the food on the feast table and we’ll play chase.”

Their lip trembled but they didn’t notice the extra dose of sedative, the IVs, or the anesthesia.

At first they panicked at the sudden feeling but soon relaxed and closed their eyes.

“Sleep well, Garm,” Leman told them.

He stayed right there the entire procedure, running fingers through their hair. They didn’t stir at all. Not even at the sounds of the medical tools.

The priests finished the cast and began cleaning up. The main surgeon came forward.

“They’ll be fine,” he said. “No doubt they’ll make a full recovery. They’re strong.”

Leman nodded, not looking up from his child.

“There is some good news to this” the priest said as he began to remove bloody clothes. “They’ve never been this still and they will not wake up at being moved which means we can finally check their gender.”

Leman let out a chuckle, “By the wolf mother. Light scent so warp creatures could not hunt them; fluffy fur to keep them warm, and never ending energy to keep up. Each something to aid them but it has hidden a part of their identity from me. All these years of not knowing and it takes them getting severely hurt to find out. Sometimes I wondered if I wanted to know. Fearful it would change my perception of them somehow. But Garm will still be Garm. They will not act any different.”

“SHE will not act any different,” the apothecary corrected with a smile as he tucked a blanket around Garm and took their bloody clothes away.

Leman laughed and nodded as tears pricked his eyes. He leaned over his child. His daughter. He had a daughter. Ten thousand years of sons and he now had a daughter. A daughter! First granddaughter of the emperor. Figured he’d be the first of his brothers not only to produce a child, granted there were mysteries with that, but he’d be the first to have a girl. How jealous would his brothers be to learn he had a daughter. They all had sons, plenty of them, but only he had a girl.

He smiled, “Acts like a proper wolf princess. Like she owns the place. Listens to no one and does her own thing. Just like her grandmother.”

He pulled the pelt of his wolf mother off and laid it over her.

He rubbed Garm’s stomach as they rested.

“I cannot imagine her in any of those… lavish and pompous dresses those high ladies wear,” he commented.

“Couldn’t imagine her in what the high lords wear either,” the apothecary laughed. “Her current opinion on clothes says she doesn’t care for them at all. They’re just another toy.”

Leman snorted, “She’ll be a great warrior. They’re very headstrong. My abdomen and groin have had to deal with full force tackling from her. You’re lucky you’re all wearing full armor all the time. Especially as they run without regard for anyone.”

He took bits of her hair and began braiding it.

“I never had an inkling of if they were a boy or a girl but girl suits them,” he commented. “Probably because she is one but I can’t imagine them any other way. They’re still Garm.”

He paused as he pondered the revelation.

“There are idiots like that rogue trader in this galaxy,” he muttered. “Didn’t even know Garm and tried to get them THAT atrocity upon the eyes. There are those that foolishly judge one upon genetic identities. They’ll judge her for being a she. Already Garm will deal with being the child of a Primarch.”

He rubbed his thumbs across their cheeks.

“I want a new order,” he finally said. “We already have the order that knowledge of Garm is to be limited. Them being a girl is to be limited even more so. We’ll continue to refer to them as they/them. Few will know. She can decide what is to be known when they’re old enough.”

The apothecaries and remaining council members nodded.

Leman added, “Also I don’t think she’ll care. Once they wake up they’ll want food. Have a serf bring their pajamas.”

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thebirdandhersong · 3 months ago

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???? something something deep discomfort with body image is it generational?????????

#does your soul ever leave your body when your mom says something and youre like a) Ah. thats where this specific pain comes from #and b) not for anything would i perpetuate this to my own daughter should God bless me with one #anyway mother casually dropped mid conv that i ought to weigh myself once a week just to make sure i was eating right #and by Right she means not too much and not too much of what she considers Junk #also my soul left my BODY when i told her what i was wearing to the date tmr #(red pinafore mini dress with tights and a cute little cardigan situation that i actually feel GOOD in)#and she was like is your stomach bloated right now? if it is dont wear it #(the word she used can be bloated swollen or big in chinese)#MA'AM??????????#anyway im glad theres been fortifying work done in my heart bc this wouldve devastated me last year. absolutely CRUSHED me.#but im like okay........ well i look cute and im at a healthy weight. and im starting to eat better. and i only feel nauseous #thinking abt food occasionally. and i dont weigh and measure myself daily anymore. so thats progress.#also i personally think i look cute in that outfit so i think i SHALL wear it tmr.#anyway. thoughts!!!!!

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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years ago

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...

#if u r curious abt following the saga that is my life:#i did finally accept an official offer from a school this afternoon. which is a huge relief and really exciting #and for once i think i did something that will b good for me in mind and body lol bc i think i could b happy with any of the places i #applied to but this program is most geared to my interests and its in a place where i think i can have fun due to the accessibility #of nature and the mountains haha. like at rutgers i think i could have got a good education and had a lot of opportunities but i think it #would have crushed my soul a lil bc it would b more high pressure and in the city. ya kno? so i hopefully i dont regret the choice lol #i still have to wait on the offical acceptance stuff but now at least i can allow myself to get excited abt the potential project and start #researching. which i mean ill have 5yrs of a phd for that but idk im excited and my life feels so empty and meaningless rn ive gotta take #the excitement where i can haha #anyway housing is gonna b a bitch bc there arent a lot of places available in grad student price ranges in the city to the point where they #said so in the official offer rip. and i have to decide when im leaving the southwest bc i could stay til August or leave in july and take #like a whole almost 2 months to just not b doing anything for a sec. and my dad was like !!! u could go to the crazy state parks #or drive out to the pacific northwest! and that would b amazing but also that sounds so scary to do on my own lol #like i dont wanna b missing and murdered as a youngish non guy traveling alone #but i could do it if i tried im sure. anyway i just wanted to let yall kno #bc im so doom and gloom on here all the time but a transition period is looming so im only stuck here for a few more months #and hopefully itll b a page turn into a happier place haha #watch out yellowstone cyanobacteria. im coming for u >:-]#knock on wood. ya kno. just in case #hhhh at least i can breathe a lil better now i have a direction #unrelated

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velvetcrimsonkisses · 8 months ago

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COCKWARMING W/ JJK MEN

cw: smut

Gojo Satoru

Such a whiny boy. He's sooo confident that he can have you sit on his cock for hours and he won’t budge and even says that you won’t last. But he’s all talk. Once you sit on his pretty cock he’s fucked out. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, a thin layer of sweat covering his body and his hips bucking up into you. Pleading to his pretty girlfriend to let him cum because he can’t take it anymore. He needs you.

“Please, please baby, f-fuck.” he whines as he keeps a solid grip on your hips sure to leave his hand prints.

“Wait, toru… not yet baby,” you coo into his ear as you continue to meet his desperate thrusts.

“Can I cum now? Please baby…” his lips attack your neck, pressing sloppy wet kisses into it causing you to throw your head back from the immense pleasure this man knew how to give you just from mere kisses, let alone the fact he was so deep inside you about to burst.

And he does. He fills you so good. Mouth slightly agape, eyes shut close as you feel him twitch inside you.

“Fuck, so good” he smirks at you watching his cum drip down your thighs.

Geto Suguru

His cock is so deliciously thick but you hate (not really) cockwarming this man because of how much of a tease he is. He’s holding you down as you slowly sink down onto him.

“C’mon babe… can your poor pussy take all of it?” his hand comes up to wipe the tear forming on the side of your eye.

“Y-yes, i can” you nod as you finally bottom out on his cock.

He brings you in for a hot kiss, the shift causing you to arch your back. Good thing he’s holding onto you so tight that he won’t let you escape, ever. Both of you carry on making out, tongues swirling around exploring each other's mouths. His hands slide up to your ass to give it a squeeze as your hands tangle in his long raven locks. Finally ending the kiss, a string of saliva connecting you both as you try to breathe.

“I’m so fucking deep inside you,” Geto’s hand comes to your lower tummy, pointing out the slight bulge there that his cock is making. A grin appearing on his perfect face.

Wasn’t long after, he was fucking into you. Purple orbs set on watching how you take his cock so well, over and over again.

Nanami Kento

Nanami who lets you cockwarm him when he’s had a long day and he’s just about to be done with work. Having his pretty wife sit down on his cock while he finishes some annoying paperwork, but you just can’t help but start moving your hips up and down on him. Desperate to tease you oh-so handsome husband.

“Don’t be naughty honey,” he utters softly into your ear. His voice like music to your ears. “Gonna give you my cock right now.” He presses a kiss to your temple.

“Can’t wait no more Ken,” you sigh as you begin peppering tender kisses on his neck. “Need you so bad…”

Nanami knows so well he can’t resist his wife when she is so needy for him. He throws his back at the feeling of your kisses, eyes shut tight trying to enjoy all the attention you were giving him. Honestly overwhelming the man to the point, he instinctively wraps his large arms around your waist and pumps his entire length into your cunt at a rapid pace. Not slowing down until you are filled to the brim with his cum.

“This what you wanted honey?” He murmurs coming to kiss your cheek.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji loves cockwarming after he fucks the living soul out of you. Holding you in a mating press as he cums inside you, he wants to make sure it stays inside so he doesn’t pull out. Instead he fucks into you painfully slow after your orgasm, leaving you with no words besides desperate whines only for his ears. Taking pride in leaving you a babbling mess, he watches you with a smirk that only makes his scar that much more attractive and prominent. Green eyes piercing into yours as he takes your hand and presses soft delicate kisses on it because in his words “it helps ease the pain” of his fat cock drilling into you.

“Fuck… so pretty f’me” He grunts as he thrusts into you deep one more time before coming down to lay on your chest.

“You aren’t gonna pull out?” you ask him obviously still trying to catch your breath. Your hand comes up to push his strayed hair out of his face.

“Nah, wanna sleep like this.” he mumbles.

And just like that, he's out cold. But don’t be surprised if you’re woken up in your sleep by him fucking into you once again because he always gets hard around his pretty baby.

Choso Kamo

You needed to explain what cockwarming was to Choso and even after you did, he wasn’t so fond of the idea. He loved being inside you so much that he didn’t believe in himself that he wouldn’t be able to just absolutely destroy your cunt once he slipped in.

And he was right.

“No baby… I can’t,” he whines as you're still trying to take him inside completely.

“Cho… you aren’t even fully inside yet,” you reiterate to him, almost scolding him.

All he can do is shake his head before he turns you over so he's fully onto top of you. A string of curses leaving his lips as he sinks himself all the way into your silky walls. Once Choso is inside you, he’s a lost cause and no one can pull him out until he makes you cum again and again until you’re both satisfied. It was worth a shot you think to yourself before he begins fucking into you at an animalistic pace.

“Never doing that again,” he enunciates with every thrust.

“You didn’t even try Cho,” you manage to say as he presses into you deeper.

“I’ll let you sit on my face later… to make up for it,” you feel him smirking into your neck.

A soft laugh echoes through the room as you nod, accepting his compromise.

Sukuna Ryomen

“You want to do what?” He scoffs as he watches you with a displeased look.

“I want to sit on your cock… for a while” You try not to make contact with the curse.

After explaining what cockwarming was to Sukuna, he was intrigued. Letting you do most of the work since it was your idea. He watches you attentively as you lube and prep yourself for him.

“You gonna keep watching me or are you gonna help?” you give him an almost annoyed look.

“Such a needy brat. Just come sit on it already.” He demands, staring daggers at you.

You do just as he says and Sukuna derives immense joy from seeing you in such pain taking his monstrous cock. Lazily holding you up with one of his four arms and he watches you take him inch by inch, pain and pleasure mixing divinely.

“Why are you crying little thing?” He asks in a worrisome tone but the stupid smirk plastered all over his face says otherwise. “I haven’t even fucking moved, yet.”

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buckyalpine · 23 days ago

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2025, lets GO. 18+ Minors dni. A teaser of my thots. Don’t know what's wrong with me and tbh I don’t think we’ll ever find out. But I can’t stop thinking about this man’s cock. Such a pretty, pretty, super soldier cock. In the most descriptive way imaginable. Imagine a touched starved menace Bucky. The way he’d want to be touched, how fucking good it feels when your lips wander to his most sensitive areas. Getting him so horny, he’s telling you every damn thing his cock is feeling without holding back because he’s so desperate.

“Suck the tip angel, please” The last word nearly melts into a sob because you’ve been teasing him for far too long and you know exactly where he wants you.

“Yeah? Why should I baby?” You coo, rubbing the sides of his thighs, “What’s so special about that, m’already sucking you here” Your lips drag up his shaft, letting your tongue lave up and down, ignoring the little mess he’s making with precum dripping from his slit.

It’s torture.

Beautiful, delicious torture.

“C’mon, please, don’t make me beg doll, it’s swollen n’sensitive there, just suck it a little, m’so hard” You love the way his thighs squirm on the bed, spreading wider for you because he needs to much more.

“Poor baby, you like it when I suck your cock?

“Y-yeah baby, fuck yes” His head is thrown back on the pillow while he chest heaves when you move down to take one of his balls in your mouth, his soft sack throbbing each time you toy with him. They’re so full, he has no idea what to do with himself.

He’s fucking aching because there you are, worshipping him in places he’d doesn’t expose to just anyone. His length stands tall and proud, a sheen of sweat covering his body because each time a drop of precum slips out, you tap your index finger against his slit to collect it, just to lick it with your fingers.

“Angel, just-please-mph-” He cut himself off when you brush over his frenulum with your tongue, he didn’t even know he was capable of making such a sound when he whines for more. He was being such a needy thing, you give into his pleading, taking that plush tip between your lips, the cry he lets out makes you drip. “Is it right there, baby? That’s where you wanted me to suck you?”

“Right-fuck, right there, don’t-don’t stop, don’t fuckin’ stop, please angel, please-shit-” The rest of his voice dies into a series of whimpers when you begin to nurse on him and he swears his soul leaves his body. He looks down to find your eyes looking up at him, your mouth so full, the veins along his length pulsating. “I can feel it fuckin’ swelling in your mouth, it’s so hard, fuck it’s never been this hard”

You start to take more of him in, letting his tip hit your throat, suppressing a gag and that really sets him off, he’d never been this mouthy before, to be fair he’d also never gotten head like this before, also he considered himself a gentleman but God you made it so difficult with the way you sucked his soul-

“Just like that baby, sucking my cock so good, so fucking good, my balls are so full of cum for you, m’so full n’hard-”

“Don’t stop-don’t-st-stop, mph, yeah, yeah-” his eyes struggle to stay open, those pretty nipples hard, his muscles tensed when you move faster, “I can’t-need to be inside you-fuck”

Before you can do anything, he pulls you off his cock and manhandles you onto your back, spreading your legs apart and tossing them over his shoulders. He can smell how fucking soaked you are, slamming his cock in all the way with a brutal pace.

“FUCK J-JAMES” Your nails dig into his skin to hold on for dear life with the way he’s selfishly taking, his voice muffled with the way his lips have found their way to your neck, needly sucking between rambling about how good you feel-

“Say my name again, fuck-again doll, need it, wanna hear my name on your lips with my cock in you, s’all for you, fuckin’ hard n’aching for you baby, say it-

“JAMES-Oh god- I”

“Fuck, m’already making a mess” His hips work faster already feeling his orgam ready to blow, “You make my cock so fuckin’ leaky, can feel it squirting out of you-y/n, I can’t-gonna cum, m’gonna cum so fuckin’ much-

His hands come to lace with yours, his full body weight dropping while he start to grind into your cunt, burying himself as far as he could go. He doesn’t pull away from your neck hiding away, his breath panting against your skin.

“M-cu-fuck, m’cumming-shit” He makes the most obscene moan you’ve ever heard, his body stilling with his cock bursting with streams of his seed. You can feel him twitch inside you, the sensation alone enough to make you squeeze around him, clinging onto him as you cum with him, “Oh God baby I can feel you -milking my dick,-gonna-oh fuck m’cumming again!!” His hand slams the mattress, giving you a few harsh sloppy thrusts, slamming into you fully unload every bit of him into your pussy.

Now, don’t get me started on how this man spends the night pumping you full, only pulling out (reluctantly) when he’s soft. He’s used to having clothes on by now so he’s a little self conscious when your eyes drift down to his no longer hard length covered in a mix of you and him. His cheeks warm at the way you look at him, he’d about to cover until you lick him clean, he’s so fucking sensitive but it feels too good, he’s still leaking, his very pink, silky an soft cockhead continuously making a wet mess and if he hadn’t died before, he definitely did now-

So this was in the drafts for years months. I have so many more that I have to finish but one at a time. Also, I really need to post a life upate.

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joelsgoldrush · 3 months ago

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“you can use my skin to bury secrets in” | 6.8k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his brain. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?” OR Logan had always known your generosity would get him in trouble. WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. pining. mentions of alcohol. dirty talk. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). logan’s POV. angst/self-deprecation (he just needs a little loving). religious imagery. feelings. petnames. chauffeur!logan. oral sex (m receiving, tiny bit of f receiving). sort of dom!logan. doggy style. unprotected p in v. creampie. A/N: i could say i'm sorry for this, but i'm not. love love love this old man (#needthat). heavily inspired by the song "i know" by fiona apple. @lubdubology my partner in crime who keeps putting up with me, tysm!!! hope you all enjoy it <3

The line between being a good and bad person is thin. So thin, in fact, that Logan finds himself stepping back and forth across it constantly.

Rescuing a kitten from a tree? Good.

Punching a guy at a bar because he didn’t feel like being acknowledged? Bad.

Saving countless lives from mass destruction? Good—heroic, even.

But killing others to do it? Bad—condemnable, scum of the earth.

Where does that leave him? Which side has laid claim to his soul? He’s long accepted he’ll never see the pearly gates.

When the day comes that his body can no longer take it, and he only grows wearier, he’s pretty sure there’s a special place in hell with his name on it, etched in some grave awaiting to be filled.

Maybe Satan’s already counting down the days until he shows up at his door, who knows?

Yet, the more time passes by, the less afraid he is of what lies beneath the surface. He’s learned to coexist with the darkness, with the kind of pain and loneliness that would crush most men.

He doesn’t know how, but he survives it—the agony, the memories, the solitude that hits him from time to time.

And still, he doesn't lose himself entirely. He’s tempted, of course, to linger in the past—it’s always easier to drown there.

If he could go back, he knows he wouldn’t be alone in choosing that path. Some days, it feels like the only option.

But there’s no you in his past.

Logan inhales sharply when your tongue teases his slit, lapping at the precum pooling there. You hum at the taste, your hand resting on his bare thigh, fingers pressing into his skin. Your other hand lazily strokes the length of him, working the inches your mouth can’t take.

It’s clear you’re enjoying this. He can tell from the way your lashes flutter each time he thrusts a little deeper into your slick warmth. A win-win situation.

Letting a girl like you do this to him? That’s bad. Very bad. Red flags all around.

He meets you when he least expects it.

It’s a night like any other. He’s been driving for God knows how long. His joints ache from being in the same position for hours, and a part of his left knee he didn’t even know could hurt begins to throb.

It takes everything in him not to call it quits for the night, not to turn around and head home like a coward.

When exactly his life fell into this monotonous cycle, he’s not entirely sure, but it happened somewhere along the way. Now, it’s all the same: taking care of Charles during the day, catching an hour or two of sleep, then gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity, driving through endless stretches of road, resisting any attempts at small talk from the passengers he chauffeurs around.

They all try—every single one of them. They think if they can crack his harsh and bitter exterior, he’ll open up, reveal something, anything to make their eyes go wide.

But why? Why do they insist on breaking through his shell? What do they hope to discover?

No one really cares what’s going on in his mind. They just want to feel good about themselves—like they’ve been kind, amiable, empaths intending to fill some empty and obscure corner of their own lives.

Logan refuses to be the person who grants them that satisfaction.

You slip into the backseat of his limo, closing the door with a soft click. The night clings to you, the scent of the bar still lingering on your clothes. The music is loud enough for him to hear from outside, and he sees the people lined up at the door, willing to cause a fight if it means securing a good time.

There's a slight frown tugging at your features, your lips pulled downward, though your voice is still polite when you blurt out your address.

Five minutes into the drive and you haven’t said a word. Internally, he’s savoring the silence, so happy he could jump on one foot.

This kind of peace is rare. He’d grown unaccustomed to it. The tension in his shoulders eases as the city lights blur past.

But, all good things come to an end, because—

“How’s your night going?” you ask, fiddling with the seatbelt to have something between your fingers. Logan glances at you through the mirror, his eyes catching yours just for a moment, long enough to see the faint, apologetic smile you offer him. He allows himself a heartbeat more to take you in before focusing back on the road.

You click your tongue, a soft sound of disapproval ringing in his ears. “Well, thank you.”

He lets out a quiet huff, grinding his teeth together. “I’d prefer if we stayed like we were before,” he mutters, his voice rough and gravelly. His attention flickers between the passing cars and the occasional glimpses of you that startle him every time he searches for the mirror. Cars. You. Cars. You. You. You. “Y’know, not talking.”

“But that’s no fun at all,” you retort, sliding more to your left, nearly positioning yourself in the middle of the backseat. It gives him a better view of you—whether intentional or not, he can’t say.

The lipstick on your lips is still flawless. A sparkly necklace glints just above the neckline of your dress, and matching earrings dangle from your ears. Wrapped in a leather jacket, you look effortlessly alluring.

This entire sequence is enough to confirm that by no means is he going to heaven. Straight to hell, he thinks, allowing his gaze to trace over each detail of your frame. Straight to hell.

You don’t give up. “Your aura is off.”

That prompts a crooked smirk from him, a shake of his head as he mumbles under his breath: “M’sorry, my what’s off?”

“Your aura,” you clarify, motioning toward him with a light jingle from the many bracelets adorning your wrist. “It’s the energy that surrounds you.”

Logan snorts, amused for a brief second. “Well, you weren’t exactly a beacon of life when you got in either.”

You chuckle softly, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. “I’m much better now.” A pause before you continue, your tone shifting, losing strength. “My date stood me up. Last-minute cancellation.”

It’s not anger, nor is it disappointment, that laces your words. You seem more resigned than anything else. He’d have expected you to sound at least a bit more conflicted.

“I should’ve seen it coming. He’d been asking to move it forward for a while.”

Does he look like the type of driver who doubles as a therapist? He wishes he could understand why you're telling him all this.

“That sucks,” he still responds, because even though he hasn’t gone out with a woman in what feels like centuries, he understands that sensation all too well. “First time meeting him?”

Listen up, everyone—he’s genuinely engaging in conversation with another soul. This doesn’t happen often.

He hears you hum, eyes still trained on the outside world. You sigh, crossing your arms over your torso. “Would you mind rolling your window up? I’m kind of freezing here.”

“I’d mind that very much,” he says, his voice carrying its usual gruff edge. He fights the urge to grin, but then you unbuckle your seatbelt, leaning in closer to him. Your body is wedged between his seat and the passenger’s, and he perceives your stare boring into his side profile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

“You’re fucking with me.” Your finger taps his shoulder once, twice. “First, I get all dolled up for an idiot who bails on me, and now you have the nerve to make fun of me? Give me a break.”

Your eyes stay on him, a smile plastered on your face, anticipating any possible answer.

Crack, crack, crack—you intend to break through his shell, watching him from the front row, waiting for the moment it gives way.

Before you can say more, he cuts you off. “Seatbelt.”

It’s a command, an instruction, and you comply without hesitation.

Warmth pools and stirs low in his gut as he notes how quickly you obey him.

Would you still look at him like that if you knew the blood he’s scrubbed off his hands? The flesh that his claws have shredded? The names of the lives he’s taken?

Would your warm gaze turn cold, filled with dread instead of curiosity?

Maybe this is hell. Are you the Devil in disguise, tempting him to cross a line he won’t be able to come back from?

A few minutes later, he pulls up to your building. A really nice one, he notes. You announce you live on the sixth floor. He doesn’t need to know that, does he? Why would you tell him that? Why give that piece of information to a complete stranger?

You linger in the backseat, as though you’re expecting him to turn and look at you. And he does, though not for the reason you might expect. “You got everything?”

Eager and full of life, you nod, clutching your purse to your chest. You avert your gaze to read his ID tag, the one that contains his personal details. “James?”

“Glad you can read,” he utters, pulling out a small bottle of liquor from under the seat. He drains it all in one go, savoring the fleeting burn as it slides down his throat, which is enough to keep him going. “C’mon, kid. I already charged you.”

“You drink while you drive?”

“Keeps me entertained,” he says dryly. It’s the only thing he knows how to do. Raising the empty bottle in your direction, he arches a brow. “Goodnight, darlin’. Leave me a good review on your way out.”

You roll your eyes at him, silent as you exit the vehicle, closing the door behind you. While fumbling for your keys, four words escape your mouth. Casual yet devastating, they ruin him: “I’ll see you around.”

For a couple of days, you don’t bother him again. Bother—notice the implication of the verb in question.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think of you after that drive. Each time his phone buzzes, a small, restless part of him hopes it’s you, asking for his services, wanting him to be the one you seek out.

And it happens. The best things seem to occur when the moon hangs high and bright.

You: Hi.

He stares at the message, recognition washing over him. He knows it’s you; he can see the other texts you exchanged that night he took you home.

You: Are you working tonight?

You’ve got to be kidding him.

Logan: Why are you texting me?

He types the words with frustration, his thumb hovering over the screen longer than usual.

You: Why are you answering me?

Oh, you’re smart.

Logan: Take my advice. Talk to a guy your own age.

You: Damn. Already jumping to conclusions. I was just going to ask you if you wanted to have a drink with me.

Logan: I’m busy.

You: Well, what time do you get off?

Logan: I work all night.

You: Can’t even make a quick stop? I swear it won’t take you more than twenty minutes.

An impulse to throw his phone out the window surges within him, but he manages to restrain himself.

Then, as if on cue, the device vibrates again—of course, it’s you.

You: The drinks are on me. Let me know if you change your mind.

Do you think he’s going to let you pay for him? Absolutely not.

What surprises him more than the message is how easily he remembers your address. It appears to be ingrained in his mind.

He cancels his next trip, scheduled for ten minutes from now, his new destination being your building.

Once he pulls up, he does what feels most natural: he honks. Multiple times. Maybe he’s lucky and you’ll tell him to fuck off.

But you don’t. You’re laughing as you make your way over to the limo, sliding into the backseat in the same way you did a week ago. Your plan had succeeded—you had him exactly where you wanted.

Far from hiding it, you make it evident, obvious. Your heartbeat thrums in the air, and Logan can hear it loud and clear, like the bass in one of those funky songs he likes.

There’s no room for mistakes. He won’t deny it. Even if the feeling is mutual, he can’t shake the idea that he’s doing something wrong.

In his eyes, you’re the forbidden fruit—irresistible, the ultimate temptation known to humankind, camouflaged in the fur of a pretty woman.

You, his paradise on earth, could only lead to one thing: a longing for a chance with you, which he should never be granted in the first place.

He’s diving headfirst into disgrace, and the more he realizes it, the worse it feels. If he were to be scolded like a child, maybe he’d feel relieved, but he’s no kid. He’s a grown-ass man who should be able to resist.

Yet, self-restraint is like sand slipping through his fingers—never lasting long enough.

“You came.” Astonishment. Uncertainty. Amusement. Blinking your eyes at him, you sit very upright, and you don't even bother fastening your seatbelt. “Honestly? I thought you were going to block me.”

I can’t, he thinks. I wouldn’t be able to. I’m not that strong.

“What happened this time? Another failed date?” he inquires, still not starting the car. A look of perplexity appears on your features, puzzled about why he’s not moving. “Ain’t you forgetting something?” He tugs on his own seatbelt for emphasis, the fabric snapping back into place against his coat.

Once again, you follow his lead. “I don’t need to get stood up to want to see you,” you say, placing your hand on his shoulder for balance—or so he tells himself. It takes him all his willpower not to collapse right then and there. “Besides, I’m not bad company. I’ve been told I can be pretty funny.”

“I see…” he trails off, catching your gaze through the rearview mirror, not shocked in the slightest to find you waiting for him to look back. “Where to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you should. You invited me.”

How easy it is to make your chest rumble with laughter, the genuine sound bubbling up, pure and unrestrained. He feels like some amateur comedian who has just realized his real passion is to cause this type of response in others.

Except, it’s not just anyone’s laughter he insists on provoking—it’s yours, and yours alone.

An unsettling sensation envelops him the second you retrieve your hand, not before squeezing his shoulder in a friendly manner. “There’s a bar I go to with my friends sometimes,” you suggest after a beat, shoving your phone in the pocket of your jacket. “We could try that one.”

The moment he steps inside, regret washes over him. Why is everyone here under forty? He feels ancient, like fucking Fred Flintstone.

A fossil out of place, meant to dwell in the shadows, not in a scene like this.

When he freezes in the middle of the bar, your fingers intertwine with his, tugging him along, and he follows after you like a lost puppy. The only thing he’s missing is the leash.

You’re met with his quirked eyebrows as you peer into his eyes over your shoulder, a toothy grin threatening to shake the floor beneath his feet. “You know, people usually sit down before they start getting shit-faced.”

“I’m not getting drunk tonight.” Logan exhales a deep breath, trying to hide his discomfort, his eyes scanning the room. “And neither are you,” he practically yells in your ear trying to make himself heard above the pounding music and incessant chatter. He wonders if you even hear him at all.

The two of you eventually settle at the counter, drinking in silence. Logan half-expects one of your comments to pierce through the quiet, but you delight in proving him wrong.

Instead, your head sways gently to the rhythm of the song playing in the background, and you take a trial sip of your beer.

He’s acutely aware of the stares from the rest of the patrons. He can pretend to be oblivious, but the weight of several pairs of eyes burning holes into the back of his neck doesn’t go unnoticed.

Being watched has never been his favorite pastime, and somehow, it feels even more uncomfortable with you by his side.

He knows what those looks imply, can nearly taste the hidden implications behind each fleeting glance.

What’s a girl like you doing with a man like him? A question that makes no sense.

Does he have money? A well-endowed reputation? Did he recently inherit any properties?

Are you truly that desperate for human contact?

Is your bed so cold that you decide to go for the first guy who can string ten words together?

Logan doubts whether this whole experiment is part of the community service you must be doing. Maybe he should look up your name online to see if any criminal records come to the surface.

Now that he takes a moment to ponder it, you certainly fit the mold of the criminal type. The kind who gets what she wants when she wants it, leaving a trail of intrigue on her wake.

His fingers circle the glass so tightly he fears it might shatter into a million shards. You notice his tension, nudging his arm with yours, aiming to meet his eyes.

When you do (because, as he said, criminals have their own ways), you smile, and he internalizes that gesture as something familiar, something he feels he’s grown used to. Something rankled in his memory.

It’s as if he’s known you for a lifetime.

“Thank you for coming,” you say softly, and he may be going down the path of hallucinations, but your attention remains a little too long on his lips. Then, just as quickly, it flickers back to the rest of his face, and you lean back to drink from your beer once more.

Straight to hell, he thinks, tasting the remnants of whiskey on his tongue, for ever daring to believe himself worthy of even a moment of your precious time.

You’re probably the first person to have his full, undivided attention. And that’s… well, that’s saying something.

Most days, you’re pretty talkative, a steady stream of conversation, your words pouring out in an endless flow.

You tell him about your family, your career, that pet of yours that died when you were six years old. You mention a friend you no longer speak to, and the events that led to the downfall of your friendship.

There’s also that dish from your all-time favorite restaurant, the one you buy at least once a week because it never fails to comfort you.

Nonstop, you talk and talk, and Logan doesn’t mind one bit. Soon, he finds himself becoming an active listener—asking follow-up questions, chuckling at your jokes, even when they’re not funny at all.

He sincerely cares about what you have to say.

This whole situation with you is beyond his comprehension. Before he realizes it, you start wanting to spend more time with him.

Sometimes, you ride along in the passenger seat while he drives aimlessly through the city.

Sometimes, you invite him over, cook a meal, and he always takes the leftovers with him, as if a part of you goes with him when he leaves.

Sometimes, you come over to his place, and the roles reverse—you’re the one with the mic, asking the questions, fully aware that you’re treading on holy ground.

Logan’s got a sign on his forehead that reads ‘Stop: do not enter.’ It’s rough around the edges, hardened by the years, all capital letters in stark blank ink. But in the end, you just take the sign and set it aside.

He never goes into too much detail. Not because he doesn’t trust you—it’s just that there’s too much to unpack, and you don’t need to know all of it. You’ll be better off not carrying the garbage he does.

Yet, you’ve got him by the throat, encouraging him to cough up disjoined pieces of his life, bits of his day, his thoughts, his feelings. It sounds stupid to him, but you make him feel alive.

You never judge him, never flinch when he brings up stories from his past. As he sits at your table one afternoon, you look at his hands, his claws fully extended, and you don’t shy away. You rub the pad of your thumb across the rough skin of his knuckles, right where the adamantium tears through his flesh.

You don’t care that he’s a mutant, that he’s killed people. You don’t try to deny who he is or what he’s done. Oddly enough, you just wish to be by his side, staring off into the void with him.

“But why?” he asks, partly flattered, partly frustrated. This could be compared to learning a new sport from scratch—he can’t figure you out, can’t understand why you haven’t run the other way yet.

He likes your company, though he’s always bracing himself for the inevitable day you find a better hobby and leave.

Your reasoning defies logic, and he’s afraid that at any moment, you’ll grasp the gravity of your choices.

Almost as if you could feel the turmoil brewing in his mind, you simply say: “You’re nice to be around.”

Nice. Nice. Nice. He’d cackle if he were alone. That word reverberates through him. When was the last time someone called him nice?

Bad-tempered, sure.

A pain in the ass? Definitely.

But nice? Not a term people employed to describe him.

It’s a quality reserved for you, with your endless charisma and kind heart, but not for a man of his kind.

He’s nothing more than a chauffeur, a driver, someone who does and says what’s necessary to survive. Does that make him nice?

When he tells you he’s probably going to hell, you don’t try to make him feel better. Anyone else in your position might try to soothe him, to offer some hollow reassurance.

Your intention isn’t to change him, for him to pretend to be something he’s not. “Then I’ll meet you there,” you mutter, your shiny eyes searing into his. Under the table, your hand finds his, tender fingers grazing over his knuckles, and for once, he doesn’t pull away.

Could it be that an afterlife catching fire doesn’t sound so bad after all?

As much as he likes to admit how easily you can shift his mood, today is not one of those days.

He’s had a nightmare—nothing new, but this one had been… different. The empty bottle on the nightstand hadn’t been of any help; it never does when they visit him in his sleep.

The ghosts of those who used to be his friends, his family, tiptoe around his dreams in the form of shadows.

Blood. Screams. Shouts of his name. He can’t save them all. Walking through the wreckage, he dodges the bodies of those he couldn’t protect, the knot in his throat tightening with every step, not allowing him to breathe.

Wherever he turns, there’s death, destruction. Sadness. Did he save them all?

It’s always the same routine. He wakes up, screaming, chest aching from the effort. His lungs burn, and he has to remind himself that the limbs attached to him are his own and not the remnants of an immobile corpse.

Sweat clings to his skin, pooling at his temples and nape. He wipes it away with the back of his hand, rubbing at the soreness in his neck.

His phone rings somewhere in the distance, pulling him from his dizzy state. He scrambles to his feet, accepting the call just before it hits voicemail.

It's you. Despite it being late, he swears he feels the gentle kiss of the sun over his brow. Your sweet voice chases away the lingering shadows of his dreams, replacing the bitter taste in his mouth with something real—a reason to get up, to start moving.

He holds onto every second of the brief call, replaying those thirty seconds in his head as he steps into the shower. When the cold water shocks his system, it pulls him fully back to consciousness. He has to get ready.

Even though you insist on getting a taxi, he refuses. He doesn’t mind the drive. His gas tank does, his wallet maybe, but Logan? He just doesn’t.

At the end of the day, he’s protective by nature, and who knows what kind of men are roaming the streets at night?

God forbid they’re anything like him—eager to prompt a smile from you, trying too hard to impress you. He arrives at the conclusion that he’d rather lose fuel and money if it means orbiting around you for longer.

You make him feel better, and tonight, he needs it more than ever. He needs you.

(Now he’s driving. He honks five times when he pulls up to your building. You get on the limo, giggling as you say: “My neighbors must hate you.” He grins. You kiss him on the cheek. Subtle. Not the first time. Still, it doesn’t get old. He feels the faint residue of lip gloss on his skin. He doesn’t wipe it off.)

Not in the mood to cook, you declare as you step into his place. The mouth-watering aroma of the Chinese food you bought fills the air, but when he reaches for the bags, you insist that he sit and relax.

Sure, he can take a seat. But to expect him to relax with you around, playing this intricate game? That’s simply impossible. You’re asking for too much. He’s a player at heart, drawn to the thrill of the chase, and he will play along.

What seems inconceivable is the expectation that he can act as if nothing is happening between these four walls.

His attempts to focus on you are futile, as his mind betrays him tonight. All he hears spilling from your lips is pure and plain gibberish. Your very presence is no longer enough to anchor him.

Already immune to your charm, Logan eats his noodles, occasionally nodding when your voice rises at the end of a sentence, indicating a question.

But he nearly chokes on his drink the moment he registers your serious expression, having never witnessed you like this before.

“Are you even here?” you ask, shoving your food aside with a swift motion of your wrist.

What should he answer? What is it that you want to hear? Of course! I’m here, listening to you. It’s a delightful night. Should I start by telling you about my most recent nightmare? Quite the entertainment!

There’s a shake of his head as he lowers his gaze, escaping your concerned expression. “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” You tug your chair forward, claiming a piece of his personal space. You know he doesn’t mind. “Want to talk about it? Did something happen?”

“My brain is just… off today.”

“Many thoughts at the same time.” Not a question. Have you completely figured him out?

“Yeah.”

He remains still, dragging his plastic fork across the now-cold steamed veggies, which have lost their appeal.

How amusing—your knees bump against his, drawing his attention. “Can I help you?” It’s new, the breathy tone you’re using, a whisper of agitation weaving through your calm demeanor.

“Can you erase my memory?” he shoots back, attempting to smirk through the wave of memories that flash behind his eyelids. When he looks into your eyes, the siren in his head blares.

Your pupils are dilated, blown wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweaty palms that you wipe on your jeans. Tongue darting out to lick your lips. Your heartbeat accelerates, drumming wildly like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings.

He hasn’t been with a woman in ages, but he knows how they react when they see something they like—or, in this case, someone.

“Logan.” His name rolls off your tongue once more, tinged with an unmistakable need. The thought of checking his temperature dances through his mind, but the heaviness in his limbs roots him in place. He feels feverish. “I want to help you.”

Oh, no. No, no, no, no—

“What—what are you on, sweetheart?” Get up. Find your keys. Drive her home. “You don’t even know what you’re sayin’.”

Saliva floods his mouth as you rise to your feet, looking down at him from above. Gracefully angelic, and yet— “I know what I’m asking for,” you continue, your voice descending to a low murmur that scratches pleasantly against some dark and remote corner of his head. Then you lower yourself onto his lap, your thighs bracketing his waist. You repeat your question: “Can I help you?”

He’s no longer in control of his actions. His right hand crawls up your knee, palming the fabric of your pants. It’s numbing: a lapful of you, your rich smell, your quickened pulse.

Tempting. So fucking tempted to take you right now, just like this, without the need for words. Your bodies can communicate in a language of their own, one that transcends spoken phrases.

I want you, he lets you know through the way he gropes your breasts over your shirt, squeezing them together. He’s always been good with his hands. But what the hell am I supposed to do with a sweet thing like you?

His patience teeters on the edge of a precipice. “Tell me what you want.”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re gonna pretend you don’t know the answer?” He thrusts into the air, grinding against your clothed core, and you close your eyes. He’s rock hard beneath you, the bulge in his jeans shockingly obscene, bordering on grotesque. “We both know what I want, but I’m no telepath, baby. Need you to speak up.”

Twisting the locks of hair at his nape, you press your lips to his neck. “I want to make you forget, to focus on this moment. I want you to live in the present, Logan.” A bite on his earlobe sends shivers down his spine, and he grips your hips with a primal growl. “I can do whatever you want. Just tell me. Tell me, and I’ll do it, please.”

Please? He’s spiraling. Please? That’s it—he’s doing it. He’ll grant you your plea, which aligns perfectly with his own desires.

Once his back meets the mattress in his room, you get to work. With delicate precision, you pull down his pants, sliding his boxers off until only his thick thighs and the crown of short curls adorning his cock remain in sight. Your fingers tremble slightly before you wrap them loosely around his length, and it springs to life in your grasp.

Your gaze pierces into his, mirroring the intensity of his own. But something holds you back, prompting you to reach for his hand.

At that moment, it all clicks into place. Logan urges your head down onto him, and he’s welcomed by the slick warmth you provide.

Indeed, he’s very much alive.

“That’s it. That’s—fuck. There you go.”

His fingers dig into the mattress, clutching the cotton sheets, stopping himself from thrusting into your mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to—God, he does—but tonight, he’s on his best behavior.

He wipes the trail of drool from your chin, smearing it gently across your cheek, his thumb lingering as he watches your nostrils flare with a strained, muffled gasp.

Bringing his thumb to his mouth, he tastes the wetness on it the same way you’re sucking him: greedily, without any trace of mercy.

This proves I’m going to hell, he thinks, enraptured by the sight of his cock disappearing between your parted lips. Straight to hell.

You draw him back to the present, nuzzling your face against his thigh, your humid breath teasing his thick shaft, pulling him from a deep reverie. Your glossy eyes roam, exploring until they find his, and you gift him an authentic smile. Wrecked and blissed out, it’s as if the lights are on, but no one’s truly home.

He would’ve never guessed how much you reveled in sucking cock, radiating enthusiasm with each of your movements.

“Am I doing it okay?” you wonder aloud, hovering over the tip, swirling your tongue around the velvety head. He’s no fool, and neither are you; deep down, you know you’re doing more than just okay. Actually, you’re giving him the best blowjob of his long, long life.

Each panting, airy praise he huffs fuels your eagerness, making you even more receptive to his desires as the words slip past his lips.

“Fuckin’ amazing, honey. Got me so hard, y’see?” His tone is heavily charged with carnality, gripping himself and smacking the tip against your mouth, the wet sound echoing like music to his ears.

He pulses against your tongue, and you seize the opportunity to trace the thin veins scattered along his length. Gulping, with his gaze fixed on you, Logan notices how you’re still wearing your clothes, wiggling your hips against the mattress, rubbing your thighs together to get something in return. “Are you wet?”

Humming against him, you suck in shaky breath.

“Words.”

“I’m—I’m wet,” you rasp, voice hoarse. You try to guide him into your mouth and fail miserably, because his grip only tightens, stroking himself instead. “Logan,” you keen, stretching your neck in a silent plea, “don’t be mean.”

“Not mean. Just enjoyin’ myself,” he replies, pulling the foreskin back to expose the head, arching his eyebrows. His fingers curl around your chin, drawing your face nearer to his girth, fascinated by how your eyes flutter shut the more you surrender to the pleasure. “C’mon. Be polite.”

Blame him for it—he believes he’ll never get tired of this game.

“Please.” You whisper, returning to your begging while tenderly rolling his balls, staring at him through your lashes. And then you say it again: “Please.”

Your gaze burns a hole through his crumpled heart. He lets you have it, eager to give whatever you may ask him for. You dive back into it, engulfing his length and bobbing your head up and down with fervor. Hushed whines escape your lips, savoring another bead of his precum.

Logan almost loses it as you hollow your cheeks, instinctively cradling the back of your head. “Easy, baby. M’not going anywhere. Take your time.”

Whenever he feels himself approaching that long-awaited release, he forces his mind to conjure thoughts that will stall his impending orgasm.

The water stains from flooding on the walls.

The supermarket list.

The rising price of gas.

The—

“Fuck. Slow down,” he groans, utterly captivated by the way you point your tongue to draw imaginary patterns along his cock, seemingly memorizing every detail. “Don’t go too hard on me, remember?”

You mumble something under your breath, and at first, he can’t quite make it out. “What is it?”

“I said I want you to fuck me.”

Under no circumstances is he surviving this night.

“Really, doll?” Logan seeks the reassurance he desperately needs, fearing that this is all a dream from which he’ll awaken the moment he properly touches you. “You sure you want this old man to fuck you?”

You’re a rambling mess, murmuring Yes, Logan, please, until he maneuvers you to lie on his chest, his glistening cock sliding against your clothes, leaving a trail of dark spots. A whimper dies on your tongue as you brush your lips together, your hot breath enveloping him. “Give me a kiss at least.”

Tilting your head up, he connects his mouth to yours, growling as he detects the dull, sour tang of what must be him. He sucks your bottom lip, hardly aware of what his hands are doing until he shifts your positions, pinning you down.

Logan tugs at your clothes, peeling them away with urgency, his fingers dancing over your nipples until you’re grinding against his thigh, quivering beneath him. With a nip at your damp skin, his eyes flutter open as he studies your expression, casting you a glance that seeks your permission.

A ripple of desire courses through him when you dutifully turn over beneath him, pressing your face further into the pillow. He runs his knuckles along the curve of your ass, his throat going dry as you follow after his touch, arching your body in response.

Unable to resist the temptation any longer, he licks a long, slow stripe up your wet folds, keeping his tongue flat against your clit for a brief moment. Your arms give out and you stumble forward, stuttering as you mewl his name, fully consumed by the feeling.

So he does it again, and again, and again, flicking the sensitive bud, even though you’re already beyond soaked. It’s a pleasure he indulges in simply because he can.

Straight to hell, he thinks, coating his length with your arousal, teasing your entrance while pushing in only the tip. That motion alone is enough to make him draw a trembling breath before he continues, gradually feeding you his cock, inch by inch.

Straight to hell, the voice in his head utters as he buries himself to the hilt deep within your body, his heavy balls resting against your ass.

Like an intruder in your territory, he’s free to do as he pleases, and you let him have his way with you.

If only this moment could stretch into infinity—he longs for time to relent and never draw to a close.

What will happen after? Will you spend the night? Does he—

“L-Logan,” you mumble, having adjusted to his size. You rock back into him, impaling yourself even more on his cock. “Please, move.”

The pace he establishes is brutal. Your warm, inner walls exquisitely massage him, and the earth as he knows it stops spinning. Fire pools low in his abdomen, his hands holding you by the flesh of your hips to keep you anchored, each thrust driving you closer to the headboard with an intoxicating urgency.

“You wanted it from the very start, didn’t you?” He doesn’t know if a response will ever come, but these kinds of thoughts are impossible to contain. He’s just a simple man, powerless against the allure of a tight cunt. “Just got in my car and knew it would end like this?”

His next thrust punches a whine out of your lungs. Even as you clench around him, stuffed and filled to the brim, you beg for him to fuck you harder. He would’ve laughed at you were he able to catch his breath.

With a more deliberate rhythm, he rolls his hips, jackhammering your most sensitive spot, pulling you closer as he wraps an arm around you. When his fingers find your clit, drawing slippery circles, a cry escapes you, and your body merges with the mattress under you.

Your release takes him by surprise, urging him to continue as you reach back, encouraging him to chase his own climax. He knows all too well the struggle of bringing you to this point without succumbing to his pleasure too soon. Your nails graze along his thigh, leaving delicate marks in their wake, and somehow, the passion and bliss he’s been nurturing ignites into a fiery crescendo.

Shortly after, he goes completely rigid inside you, pressing his forehead against your back as he bites down on your shoulder to muffle his groans. His hand squeezes your breast tightly, riding out his high, blood buzzing in his ears, continuing to spill into you. You spam around him, milking him until the last drop of his seed, his release painting your insides with his warmth.

Logan tucks you under his chin as his vision returns to clarity. You nose his jaw, your fingers softly tracing the contours of his beard. He pulls you closer into his chest, gliding his hands up and down your back.

Half a minute of dreadful silence, then: “Can I stay?”

Oh, yes—pillow talk. He’s not great at this either. Despite that, his eyes soften, snapping to your face.

Logan pauses for a moment. “Sure,” he retorts, dragging his fingers along your shoulder blades. He’s a one-word kind of guy. Just perfect.

Tell her you like her. Tell her you don’t want this to be a casual fling. Tell her it’s more than just sex for you.

Or maybe don’t. Get ahold of yourself, will you?

“Logan?” you ask, resting your palm against his heart.

“What is it?”

“I know.”

You do?

Try as he might, he can’t deny it. He might care about you more than he ever realized.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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sleepymarimo · 1 year ago

Text

𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕣!

summary: the first time you make their heart skip a beat, w/ monster trio + law! pairing(s): luffy x gn!reader, zoro x gn!reader, sanji x gn!reader, law x gn!reader cw: none! an: ahhhh idk how to feel about this one but i hope you enjoy :') 👐

luffy

there are a lot of things that get luffy's heart racing.

a good meal. a cool looking fish. a killer party. all of it makes this captain happy, because he revels in the adventure. he lives for the moment. he feels deeply and strongly, a trait that acts as a double edged sword.

like now, as a torrent of anger and worry swirl in his chest and weigh him down. he's running through some dense woods, bursting through trees and falling down hills, a look of determination on his face.

an enemy had managed to sneak up on the crew.

what's worse? they ran off. with you.

luffy doesn't think twice. he pushes through anything in his way for the sake of finding you before things got too rough. as he runs, he finds the enemy's actions cowardly. someone using you to draw him out makes him irritate. he doesn't care if he's falling into some trap; he'd deal with whatever was put in front of him so long as he could rescue you.

he's worried for your well being, of course he is. even though he can't see you, he can feel you. his observation haki lets him know how frightened you are, a fact that makes him all the more angry.

then finally, in the distance, he catches sight of you.

you're in a clearing, the enemy looming over you. they're raising a weapon in your direction, much too close.

luffy feels his blood boil. he grabs ahold of some trees, running backwards and preparing to launch himself in your direction as fast as he can. his rubber arms grow taut as he stretches, his mind set on rescuing you.

an annoyed huff leaves him when he hears the enemy taunting you, threatening your life and mocking your ambitions. it has luffy's anger rising, because there was no way he'd let your dreams get made fun of. by anyone.

his thoughts become hazy, his strong feelings taking hold of his actions.

then, luffy hears it. it's like a melody, absolute music to his ears.

your laugh.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his head clears.

he can feel a big smile curling at his lips. his grin is all teeth, his eyes shining with equal parts pride and mischief. it's like a fire has been lit in his soul, like he's a toy that's just been wound up to the max.

even in your current predicament, even when you're utterly terrified, you have faith in yourself. in him.

if you can laugh, then so can he.

finally, he yells out his signature move, launching himself at the enemy and landing a punch so hard that it makes the air itself tremble.

"luffy!" you call with some tears prickling in your eyes, your limbs still shaky from the adrenaline. your smile falters at the edges, relief flooding your body. "you made it!"

your captain comes to life upon seeing your smile up close, his heart beating like a drum. his rubber arms wrap around you and he squeezes you to his chest, his laughter ringing in your ears.

"of course i did!" he grins, grabbing you by the hand and urging you to run with him to the ship. his grip on you is tight and secure. glancing back at you, he can't help but feel grateful to have you with him on this journey.

he snickers, letting emotion run through him without restriction. "you made my heart feel funny!"

zoro

after another victory, the straw hat pirates found themselves reveling in drinks, food and company.

for a while, the swordsman finds himself amidst the other heavy drinkers. he grins and knocks back bottle after bottle, content with listening to the animated conversations around him and observing the party.

eventually though, he craves some solitude. and so, he heads off towards a less occupied area where he can drink in peace.

he basks in isolation, until you manage to find your way to him. a big grin is on your face and he can't help but reciprocate with a small smirk when he notices your inebriated state. unceremoniously, you plop down next to him at a respectable distance.

“hey zo', gimme some!” you nod towards the large bottle he holds, completely immersed in the light, upbeat atmosphere. one of your hands even reaches out, making a sort of grabbing motion.

he possessively tightens his grip on the bottle, his expression hardening slightly as his brows furrowed. "hah? this is mine, go grab your own bottle."

"i don't wanna full drink, jus' need a little more and i'll be good." you answer, well aware of your limits. your tone becomes pleading as you look up at him with puppy dog eyes. "one sip. please?"

with a groan, he relents. he grumbles something about you being lucky that he's in such a good mood, before extending the bottle in your direction.

yet, it appears that you have some more tricks up your sleeve.

instead of grabbing the bottle, you simply tilt your head back and let your mouth hang open. you make an 'ah' sound, waiting for him to bestow you with the gift of alcohol.

he's a little taken aback at first. seriously? you wanted him to pour it for you? ugh, fine...

he rolls his eye and uses his free hand to firmly hold your jaw steady and open, bringing the bottle up and pouring the sake into your mouth.

your hand rests on his, your fingers absentmindedly tracing over his knuckles.

it's all fine at first, until his eyes lock with yours. in that moment, he seems to acknowledge the intimacy of the act, something primal stirring in his gut as he looked down at you. his cheeks redden.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his muscles tense and he goes almost still. he gets so distracted that his hand moves upwards, effectively drowning your face with sake. your head snaps back into its natural position and you start to cough, the alcohol burning your nostrils.

you give the swordsman an incredulous look, wiping the excess sake from your face. “what the hell was that for?”

“you’re the one that moved!” he sharply replies, even though he knows damn well that you were sitting good and still for him.

focusing inward, he seems pleased to feel that his heart is once again thumping steadily. unwavering. what an odd feeling it was, to have his strong heart skip a beat.

i'll deal with that later. he thinks, not at all wanting to open that can of worms.

so, he takes another swig from the bottle and uses one of his large hands to pat you on the back as you continued to cough up sake.

“oi, don’t waste good booze.”

sanji

the cook wasn't used to being spoiled. he's always been a giver, someone who provides and never takes.

he basked in the smiles that formed on the faces of his crew mates, his family, whenever he made them a good meal or protected them. he never asks for anything in return. however, that doesn’t mean that he shouldn’t be shown appreciation every now and then.

currently, he's on night watch.

a thick blanket is wrapped around his shoulders, the cold wind nipping at his cheeks and painting them a reddish color. a cigarette hangs from his lips, his breaths coming out as white puffs against the dark sky.

out of the corner of his eye, he can see light pouring out from the kitchen window. how long has that been on? his brows furrow in suspicion as he makes his way over, half-expecting to see luffy attempting to crack open the pantry.

yet when he opens the door, his posture immediately relaxes and he practically melts as he sees you. you're in your pajamas, hunched over the stove with a focused expression. he takes note of the cookbook laid out on the counter, guiding you as you prepared a dish.

he calls your name, his limbs turning to mush as he approached you. "what are you doing here so late? if you're hungry, i'll make you some-"

his nose twitches as he catches the scent of what you're making.

he knows it well because it happens to be one of his favorite dishes. coincidentally, it was one of your least favorites, the scent of it rather unbearable to you.

"you're... you're making..." his cigarette threatens to tumble out of his lips as he gives you a bewildered expression.

he can see your nose briefly scrunch up before you give him a smile, one of your hands holding a wooden spoon and mixing up ingredients on a pan. "yeah. i hope i'm making it right. i mean, it won't be as good as yours anyway, but still."

"mon amour, you shouldn't. i know how much you can't stand the smell of it." he tries to usher you away, placing a hand on yours and insisting that he didn't want you to be queasy. "why're you making this, mon amour? did someone ask you to?"

you shrug and keep a firm hold on the wooden spoon, replying like the answer was obvious. "because i thought it'd make you happy."

ba-dum! ba-dum!

his cigarette does fall to the floor. the hand that's over yours tightens, perhaps his way of grounding himself. he's speechless for a moment, something shaking him down to his very center.

he could almost cry.

"sanji?" you ask, a little concerned for the chef as his eyes seemed to glaze over.

the blond snaps out of it, giving you a smile that's so warm it makes you wonder if the sun had just come up. there's none of that surface level attraction or lust in his gaze, only an authentic appreciation.

thank you. he thinks, feeling light. thank you for caring.

his eyes close as he once again takes in the scent of the dish you're preparing. "it smells great, mon amour. better than anything i've ever made, i’m sure of it."

"i doubt that." you laugh, downplaying his compliment. with a nod, you resume cooking. "it'll be finished by the time you're done with your watch. i can handle it."

sanji thanks you once more, his heart feeling full. returning to his post, he allows you to do something kind for him. he allows himself to take, without worrying about having to repay you.

he quells any lingering thoughts of insecurity and self-doubt, focusing instead on the meal that's sure to be waiting for him in the morning.

law

it was a couple weeks ago that law made the decision to educate the crew a bit more on medical practices.

the surgeon knew that he couldn’t always be around to provide assistance to the crew, so it was only logical that he trained everyone in basic first aid, including you. day after day, he trained everyone, one at a time.

was it a lot? yes. however, law liked to be prepared and felt comfort in being thorough with his teachings, regardless of how tedious it was.

so, finally it was your day to be trained under his watchful eye.

you could tell how passionate he was about his work, how knowledgeable. if you had any questions or wanted to know more about a topic, he took the time to explain it to you properly.

he was quite patient, something you were thankful for since you knew he could sometimes grow frustrated.

when it's all said and done, he quizzes you. he sits atop the exam table, his expression apathetic.

"i'm a patient suffering from shortness of breath, chest pain and dizziness." he flatly says, watching your every move. "what comes to mind? what do you check first?"

you bite at your lip, your head scrambling to come up with any ideas of what your 'patient' could be suffering from. "arrhythmia?" you answer, uncertain. he gives you a pressing look, urging you to continue. "and i... check your heartbeat?"

"good." with a nod of his head, he gestures towards the stethoscope. "go ahead, then. check it and let's see if you get the reading right."

pushing past your initial hesitance, you grab the stethoscope and put it on, gently holding the bell in your hand. placing it on his clothed chest, your expression turns frustrated as you struggle to hear a beat.

he rolls his eyes and calls your name lightly. "you can't place it over fabric. it needs to go directly on the skin."

oh yeah, you needed to place it directly on his chest.

you click your tongue, embarrassed by your slight error. "yeah, yeah, i got it."

with that, your hand slips under the hem of his shirt.

however, instead of holding up his shirt and and placing the stethoscope directly over his heart, your hand slides upward from his abdomen and all the way to his chest.

your fingers inadvertently graze along his skin, tracing a warm path from his navel to his heart.

you're too focused on your task to notice his widening eyes and how his breath hitches.

a content smile forms on your face when you catch the sound of his heartbeat.

ba-dum! ba-dum!

you look up at him, slightly concerned. “i think there's something weird-"

"you're hearing things." he's quick to say, placing a hand over yours and promptly removing it from his person. standing from the exam table, he adjusts his shirt and takes a step back to put some much needed distance between the two of you. "good job today, you did well."

he turns in the opposite direction, not wanting to let his cracked composure show. steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and shakes off any residual feelings of unease.

it was just a fluke. he's quick to think, wanting to be rational.

in the end, he looks over his shoulder and gives you a nod before heading to his study.

#roronoa zoro x reader #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #sanji x reader #black leg sanji x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #one piece fluff

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