#let him be tired and gray and worn out

[thegaycondor]

ok finishing the shades of magic trilogy and the one thing i have to say about all the fan art i have seen so far is that holland doesn't look nearly tired enough. the man needs to look like he is a moment away from flinging himself into the sea. he needs to look like he's 5 minutes away from his next smoke break.

this is holland to me.

[abbotjack]

jack seems to be so composed in your writing, especially during sex. is there ever a scenario you could see him maybe losing control/composure during?

Oh, definitely—Jack’s composure isn’t just habit, it’s armor. But under the right pressure? He’ll break. And when he does, it won’t be loud or reckless—it’ll be raw. Quiet.

Here’s where I think he’d lose control—physically, emotionally, or both. 18+ ONLY. Do not interact if you’re a minor.

warnings/content: rough sex, deep emotional repression, emotionally charged confessions, unprotected sex, dom/sub energy without labels, messy pacing, loss of control, clingy post-sex silence

1. When He Thinks He’s Losing You

You shouldn’t be here.

Not after what you said. Not after the door slammed. Not after you’d spent the past few nights curled under someone else’s blanket on someone else’s couch, trying to forget how his voice sounded when he didn’t ask you to stay.

But it’s raining, and you’re here. And Jack opens the door like he knew you’d be on the other side.

Still, he doesn’t say anything. He just stares.

His gray curls were tousled, flattened at the sides like he’d been dragging a hand through them too many times. The shirt he’s wearing is soft, white, the collar stretched, the hem sitting uneven over a pair of sweats. He stood still, but not at ease—his weight angled slightly, one leg bearing just a little more than the other. The prosthetic stayed grounded, subtle in its silence, like something his body adjusted to without thinking—something you’d learned to notice only when he was this still.

He looks tired.

He looks like he hasn’t been able to stop thinking.

You speak first. Quiet. “Can I come in?”

He nods, barely. His jaw twitches like it pains him not to reach for you.

You toe off your shoes in the entryway. The house smells like coffee, antiseptic, and whatever candle you left half-burned in the kitchen—still faint in the air, like the memory of your warmth hasn’t fully left.

He closes the door behind you. Doesn’t move.

The silence between you presses down—thick and unfinished.

“I wasn’t sure you’d open the door,” you say first. Voice quiet. Uncertain.

Jack huffs through his nose. Not a laugh. Not quite. “I wasn’t sure I should.”

Your voice drops. “I didn’t come to keep fighting.”

“I didn’t think you did,” he says. Then, after a pause: “But you did leave.”

You nod, once. “I left. You shut down. Not that different.”

It lands. He doesn’t argue. Doesn’t deflect. Just stands there, still, eyes locked on yours like there’s more he wants to say but no good way to say it. He breathes out, sharp at the edges, and you know—it got through.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” he says.

You nod again. “Neither did I.”

It hangs there for a moment—we hurt each other. We didn’t mean to. But we did.

Then finally, you say it. Not softly, not dramatically. Just truthfully.

“I missed you.”

And that—that—is what breaks him.

His hand’s in your hair before you can breathe. His mouth finds yours—desperate, uneven, like the words he didn’t say are still stuck in his throat and this is the only way to let them out. Not polished. Not careful. Starving.

He's everywhere—your jaw, your waist, the small of your back—like he doesn’t know what to hold onto first. His body crowds into yours, chest to chest, thigh slipping between yours without finesse, without warning. It isn’t about sex. It’s about contact. Closeness. Like he’s trying to fit both of you back into the same breath.

“Jack,” you whisper, lips brushing his. “Hey—”

He kisses you harder.

“I can’t—” His voice breaks at your throat. “I can’t do that again. I can’t watch you leave and pretend it didn’t fucking gut me.”

Your hands find his chest first—flat against the worn fabric, fingers curling into it like you’re trying to steady both of you. He’s burning beneath it. You slip your palms beneath the hem, not tugging, just touching, just wanting—a wordless way to say me neither.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you breathe.

That’s when something in him gives.

He grabs the back of your shirt and pulls it off, fast and clumsy. His own shirt’s gone next—tossed to the floor. You catch a glimpse of the scar trailing along his ribs, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t slow.

His hands move to your waistband, not asking. Just moving. Just needing. He drags your pants down with both hands, catching your underwear with them, tugging hard until they’re off and forgotten on the floor. Then his hands are back on you—raking up your thighs, gripping the curve of your hips.

You start to reach for him, but he’s already gathering you into his arms—like instinct took over before thought could catch up. You cling to him without hesitation, arms winding around his shoulders, legs locking at his waist. He carries you down the hall without a word, without pause, like getting you to the bed is the only thing anchoring him now.

He lays you back on the bed and follows you down.

No teasing. No pause.

Just Jack—pressing into you, one hand bracing beside your head, the other guiding himself between your legs. You’re already wet. Already open. And when he pushes in—deep, slow, all at once—his breath leaves him in a broken exhale.

He stills.

Not to tease. Not to hold back.

Because it wrecks him.

He lowers his head, jaw clenched tight, arms shaking with restraint. You feel him tremble above you—one, sharp tremor—and then he starts to move.

Not rhythmically.

Not smoothly.

Just fucking desperate.

Every thrust is erratic, forceful, like he’s been holding this back for days, weeks. He can’t find a pace. He can’t breathe through it. He’s rutting into you like it’s the only way to stay grounded. Like it’s the only place he knows how to be.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders and he doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t slow down. He presses his forehead into your neck—sweat damp, teeth clenched. He makes no sound. But you feel it.

The unraveling. The shudder in his hips. The way he drives deeper, harder, chasing something even he doesn’t have words for.

And when he comes—he doesn’t curse. Doesn’t groan.

He just breaks.

Whole body locking up. A silent, shuddering gasp against your skin. Hands gripping too tight. Hips stuttering through the aftershock.

And then stillness.

He stays inside you.

Doesn’t move.

Just breathes—shallow and wrecked—his weight braced against your chest like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling further.

2. When You’re in Control—And He Didn't See It Coming

He’s lying on the bed, propped against the headboard. Bare chest rising slow and steady like he’s trying not to let the day get to him.

And then you crawl into his lap.

No warning. No words. Just your body over his, thighs straddling his hips, your skin barely covered by the oversized shirt he left folded on your side of the bed. His shirt. Still carrying his scent.

His hands move automatically—to your waist, to the back of your thigh—but you push them back. Gently. Firmly.

“Let me,” you whisper.

His brow lifts—only a little. The only sign of tension is the flicker in his jaw, the way his thigh shifts beneath you. But he doesn’t stop you.

You lean in, kiss his collarbone, run your hands over his chest, the scars and the muscle and the years of wear he never talks about. You don’t rush. You don’t ask. You just slide your hand lower—over his stomach, beneath the waistband of his sweats—and wrap your fingers around him.

That’s the moment he falters.

His head drops back against the headboard. His mouth falls open. One of his hands fists the sheet beside him, the other grips your hip—tight, like he needs something to hold onto. He bucks up into your hand once, twice, breath caught in his throat.

“Don’t—” he rasps. “Don’t tease.”

You do.

You stroke him slow, deliberate, watching the tension build in every part of him—his abs flexing, his breath shortening, the way his eyes shut like he’s fighting not to give in. You feel him throb against your palm, hot and heavy and helpless in your grip. He’s panting now, voice shredded when he tries to speak.

And when you finally slide down onto him?

He gasps—sharp and strangled. His hips jerk upward and he catches himself on instinct, trying not to lose it too fast. But you ride him with control, your hands braced on his chest, grinding down slow and deep until he’s twitching inside you, his voice stuck in his throat.

His hands fly to your hips again, gripping hard, trying to hold you still. You lean down, brush your mouth against his ear.

“Let go.”

And he does.

He flips you onto your back, his mouth crashing into yours, and drives into you with everything he’s been trying not to feel. No rhythm—just need. His voice is raw when he breaks, forehead pressed to yours, thrusting so deep you swear you’re going to come undone from the inside out.

“You wanted to see me lose it,” he growls, breathless. “Here.”

And he fucks you like it’s not just sex—it’s relinquishing. It’s him, undone.

3. After a Day That Nearly Broke Him

He doesn’t say a word when he comes in. Just shuts the door, tosses his keys somewhere near the counter, and disappears down the hallway like the house is too loud, even in silence. You hear the shower.

By the time the mattress dips behind you, you’re barely awake.

But then you feel it—his hand. Heavy. Flat against your thigh beneath the sheets. He doesn’t trail it up, doesn’t ask, just presses. Like he needs to know you’re warm. Real.

You shift toward him, barely murmuring his name—and he’s already on top of you. No words. No preamble. Just his body moving over yours like a weight he can’t hold anymore. His mouth finds your shoulder first—open, hot. Not a kiss. Just breath and teeth. Desperation.

His hands work fast. Pulling your sleep shorts down, dragging your legs apart with his palms wide on the inside of your thighs. Breath stuttering as he fits the head of his cock between your folds.

And then he pushes in.

Deep. All the way. In one solid thrust that stretches you wide and makes your whole body jolt. You gasp, clutching his forearms—but he doesn’t move. Not yet.

He just stays. Buried to the base, forehead resting against yours, his body trembling with restraint.

“Jack…” you whisper.

His jaw is clenched tight. Breath shaking. His hands grip your hips hard—too hard—but you don’t stop him. You don’t want to. You know this isn’t about rhythm or foreplay. This is him trying not to break.

And then he starts to move.

It’s not fast. Not sloppy. It’s intentional. Each thrust deep and full, grinding into you like he’s trying to anchor himself inside your body. You feel every inch of him dragging slow and thick through your cunt, your breath catching every time his hips meet yours.

His arms cage you in. His mouth is at your throat, hot and wet and lost. Not saying anything—just making small, broken sounds against your skin.

You moan his name again, and that’s what shatters him.

He pulls out almost all the way and slams back in, the sound obscene, wet, raw. You cry out. He doesn’t pause.

Again. Harder.

He’s shaking now—his abs tensing under your hands, his breath rasping in short, uneven bursts as he fucks you harder, deeper, wrecklessly, like something gave out inside him and there’s no pulling it back.

You feel him pulse inside you before you hear the sound he makes—low, guttural, broken. His whole body tightens, chest pressed to yours as he comes hard, buried deep, cock throbbing with each wave as he empties into you, mouth open against your collarbone, completely silent now.

He stays inside you. Breathing. Not moving. One hand slides up your side and stays there.

You don’t ask what happened at the hospital.

You just hold him like he’s still unraveling.

Because he is.

4. When You Break Him With Words

He’s already fucking you when it happens—slow, deep, focused. Jack above you, heavy with control, arms braced tight on either side of your head. His chest brushes yours with every roll of his hips, thick and steady, cock sliding in slow and hot with the kind of precision that only comes from someone who never lets himself get carried away.

He doesn’t talk much during sex. Just the occasional sharp breath, a low curse when you clench around him. Mostly silence. Measured. Like everything else he does.

His body covers yours completely—his weight, his warmth, the subtle difference in how he shifts to keep balance—but there’s nothing hesitant about the way he moves. He knows your body, knows how to make you fall apart. He just rarely lets himself need it.

Tonight’s no different.

Until you say it.

“I love the way you fuck me,” you breathe—first, casual. And he grunts, lips brushing your jaw, pace unchanging.

But then: “I love you.” “I mean it.” “I want all of you.”

That stops him.

Not entirely. His hips stall mid-thrust, chest tight against yours, his jaw locked so hard you feel it in the weight of his breath. His cock throbs inside you, thick and full and unmoving.

You cup the side of his face—fingers slow, tender—and say it again.

“I mean it, Jack. I want you. All of you. Not just this.”

He exhales through his nose—sharp. Controlled. Like he’s trying to fight the way that lands. You feel it in the way his arm flexes. In the way his cock twitches inside you, untouched and aching.

Then suddenly—he moves.

Faster. Rougher.

He drives into you like something cracked, like if he keeps fucking you hard enough, he can shake the words out of his head.

But it’s too late.

They’re already inside him.

He fucks you with his whole body—thrusts rough and deep, every stroke dragging moans from your throat as he hits you just right. Your thighs are hooked around his waist, back arching into him, nails raking down his shoulders as he starts to unravel.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he mutters, voice hoarse and close to ruined.

“I do,” you gasp, holding onto him tighter. “Jack, look at me.”

He does.

And his rhythm falters the second your eyes meet.

“I love you,” you whisper.

His whole body stutters.

He growls—actually growls, low and guttural—as he drives into you harder than before, pace snapping, control slipping completely. You feel him start to lose it—his hips jerking, cock throbbing so deep inside you it makes your vision go white. He’s there, on the edge, and trying not to be.

You dig your heels into his back and pull him closer. “Don’t hold it in.”

His eyes flutter shut. His mouth crushes to yours, desperate, brutal, all tongue and teeth. His thrusts go ragged—sloppy and devastated—until he buries himself fully and groans, deep and wrecked, as he comes inside you.

You feel every pulse, hot and thick, his cock twitching deep inside your cunt as his whole body jerks. His arms are shaking. His breath is gone.

And still—he doesn't move.

Just stays there, pressed full length against you, forehead buried in your neck like if he lifts his head, he’ll say something he can’t take back.

[harryspet]

the island program | r.cameron

[warnings] dark!gray!rafe cameron x addict!reader, billionaire!rafe, obsessive rafe, pogue!reader, sober!rafe, rafe has a private island, rafe and reader with established relationship, kidnapping, descriptions of s ubstance a buse & withdrawal, praise kink, dom/sub dynamic, mental health themes, stockholm syndrome, rafe controls everything, spanking, DUBCON

a/n: I really wanted to write Rafe taking you to his private island :)

divider credit: @/h-aewo

In which the cure for your cravings is a softer life, a secluded island, and Rafe’s personal brand of discipline.

word count: 5.9k

rafe cameron masterlist

Rafe hadn’t heard from you in three weeks. He completed his important meetings, signed million-dollar contracts, and immediately tried to get in contact with you. You were always on his mind even though he was never on yours. He’d texted you about fifty times. No reply.

He’d gotten you that expensive phone so you could call if you needed help but you’d never used it when it was an actual emergency. You didn’t call him when you needed to be bailed out. You didn’t call him when you needed a ride from the bar. So stubborn. You’d walk the eight miles back to your motel room in heels. He was starting to believe you were doing this to spite him. 

You did call him, however, when you needed money for drugs. Rafe went in circles with you. You’d shun him when he didn’t give in. When he offered you shelter and let you get high within the safety of his expensive condo, you stole from him. 

It wasn’t always like this. At one point, you actually wanted help. That’s how you and Rafe met. A narcotics anonymous meeting in a church basement that smelled like mildew and cigarettes. It took him two years to actually get clean and that was thanks to the meetings, his sponsors, and his determination to finally fulfill his father’s wishes for his future. He relapsed about three times but now he had been clean for an entire year.

He thrived now. Without the influence of mind-altering substances, he could actually make good business deals. He could make a real future for himself. He grew up lucky but he wouldn’t waste that privilege any longer. He had crawled out of the hole and hoped you would follow behind him. 

Except you didn’t grow up as lucky as Rafe. He thought he was good for you. He recognized the sadness in your eyes. He knew what it felt like when the world was against you. Rafe often took what he wanted but he took his time with you. You needed a sponsor but sponsoring someone required a lot of trust. If you were any other girl, he would’ve devoured you whole. Your soft skin. Big, beautiful, tired eyes. Plump and raspberry-colored lips. Long curls that defied gravity, never tamed by a hair tie. Your uniform usually consisted of a pair of jean shorts and a worn hoodie that swallowed your frame. 

The first time he actually talked to you was outside of the Marlin Mart, after filling up his truck with gas. He wandered into the store for soda and a pack of gum but walked into a chaotic scene. The gas station owner had you by your wrist, shouting curses at you, while you tried to pull away from him, “Hey, hey, hey,” Rafe intervened quickly, “Let her go, man!”

“She’s a thief!” You twisted in his grip, eyes wild, defiant, like a cornered animal ready to bite. “Let me see what's in your pockets!” 

“I don’t have anything, old perv! Let me go!” You shouted back. 

“Let her go,” Rafe said again, placing a strong hand on the man’s chest, commanding, pushing him back, “Calm down, I’m paying for her.”

The man argued, of course, but Rafe talked him off the ledge. When Rafe turned back to you, he gave you a warning look. C’mon, I’m helping you not get arrested, he wanted to say. You gave in a moment later. You emptied your pockets. A bag of skittles, potato chips, and a can of Modelo. Rafe took in a breath, taking the items in his hands, and walked over to the gas station counter. 

You spoke to him the first time when Rafe found you outside, leaning against a tall ice box, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

Rafe gave you your items, wondering you were hungry and this was your sad excuse for a meal, “I’m Rafe, I’ve seen you at a few meetings.” 

You didn’t give away whether you really recognized him or not. It didn’t matter, Rafe had already memorized the details of your face. You could brush him off but he’d find a way to talk to you again. He wanted to know you. 

“Hmm,” Was all you said. 

“If you want a real meal, I could take you to the Wreck. We could talk about the program, and you know, recovery.”

“I don’t put out for gas station food and burgers,” When you rolled your eyes, sticking your hands in your jacket pockets, Rafe’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

“I’m not – not trying to be shady. It’s just been awhile since I’ve met someone under the age of thirty who’s in recovery. Just trying to be nice. It’s on me, you don’t have to give me anything in return.”

You used to look at Rafe like he was an alien. Like no one from his side of the island had ever spoken a kind word to you. You didn’t trust him. Rafe wasn’t sure if you knew how to trust anyone. Later, the two of you talked over bowls of hot gumbo. Well, Rafe did most of the talking. He talked about how hard it’s been maintaining his sobriety, how much he’s grateful for the sponsor that practically saved his life, and how much more control he feels over his life. 

Rafe always like control. It just took him so long to realize how much chaos all of the alcohol and blow were bringing to his life. He saw something spark in your eyes, a glimmer of something real, but it went away quickly. 

At the end of the lunch, you leaned across the table, a wicked smile on your lips, “I bet you know where the Kooks like to party. I’ve never tried any expensive shit. Maybe we could get fucked up tonight.” 

You hadn’t been listening. Not really. But he understood why. He would help you get to the other side of your problems. You were too beautiful to leave to your own demons. Rafe could save you. 

He should’ve known that you’d disable your location services. It slowed him down but Rafe had prepared for this. He had informats. Other druggies that would keep eyes on you and snitch on the dealers who sold to you. Sheriff deputies that gave him a call whenever you got booked into the county jail. 

He tracked you down to a motel, someone had seen you enter a room with some lowlife guy last night. They were lucky to have disappeared before Rafe arrived. Rafe couldn’t even count on two hands how many sleazy guys had to injure to the point of hospilization because he found them on top of you while you were out of it or because they had sold you something. 

Rafe knew you were starting to hate him. He could take the hate. As long as you were alive. 

Surprisingly, you weren’t passed out when he found you. You opened the door when he knocked. He could smell that you were newly showered, your hair freshly washed, but Rafe quickly spotted the remnants of last nights “fun” sitting on the nightstand. You were wrapped in a robe, a mascara wand in your hand, your makeup half done. 

“Who paid for the room? I know it wasn’t you.”

An eye roll, of course, “I have more sugar daddies than you, Rafe.”

“I’m not–” He stopped himself from arguing, “What are you getting ready for?”

“None of your business,” You turned away, marching towards the bathroom, “You worry so much.”

Rafe followed, standing in the doorway. He watched the way your hands trembled as you tried to paint your eyelashes. The tremors were new. Things were getting bad. How were things getting worse when his leash had tightened so much?

“Y/N,” Rafe said, tired, exhausted, “I want to help you.”

“And I never asked for your fucking help,” You said although Rafe knew you didn’t mean it, “I’m going away for a while. Gonna get out of your hair.”

His fingers tightened around the wooden trim of the door frame, “With who?”

“Always with the questions,” Even now, you were beautiful. Even with bloodshot eyes and track marks on your skin, “You can’t stop me.”

“I can. I have before. I’ll tie you down to the bed and stop you from hurting yourself.”

“What if I told you I was going to get help?” You looked at him and Rafe knew you were lying. All you did was lie, “My friend knows about this new treatment program. I’ve done every program this entire state has to offer. She’s gonna drive me there.”

“And you need mascara for rehab?”

“Anyways, it’s in Florida. Gonna make it a little road trip. You should be happy for me. I’m finally listening to you.”

“If you go, you’ll probably get yourself killed in a few weeks.”

“Fuck you, Rafe.” The mascara hit the sink with a clatter. You turned, fists flying at his chest. He let you. When the hits got harder, more frantic, he caught your wrists, then your waist. You weighed less than the last time this happened. You always forgot to eat when you were using.

He sat you on the edge of the bed, pinning your thighs when you tried to kick. It was nothing. Rafe was all muscle, all control. You were all bones and smoke.

“Ugh,” you groaned, still struggling, “What do you want, huh? I can do this on my own.”

“You can’t,” Rafe said, feeling like a broken record, “Come home with me. I’ll take care of you.” 

Rafe felt some of the tension in your body melt away, your shoulders sagged, and you let out a breath. You were considering it, he thought. Maybe you’d finally grown exhausted too. He loosened his grip and fixed his blue eyes on yours, “Hey, I’m serious,” He continued, “You need sleep and an actual meal. I promise there will be no hospitals, no doctors, just you and me.”

“Rafe,” You whispered weakly. He saw a glimmer of that innocent side he knew was inside of you. A little girl begging to be taken care of and loved, “I see the way you look at me…”

“What way do I look at you?” Rafe noticed it though he didn’t give it away in his eyes. Your legs parted slightly, your head tilted to the side as you looked him over. Your eyes became playful. 

“Like you think I’m pretty …. even like this.”

“I do,” Rafe said, his voice deep and sure, “I think you’re beautiful, Y/N.” 

“You can have me. You can have it.”

“Y/N-“

“I know you want to. I’d play nice. I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

You smiled. Rafe’s heart was breaking in his chest. 

“And you’d want something in return,” Rafe spoke knowingly. You parted your lips to argue but Rafe continued. He stood tall, towering over your figure, “You think I couldn’t have already taken that from you if that’s all I wanted? It wouldn’t be hard even if you didn’t play nice. You’re weak. You’re fucked up every time I see you. Sad thing is, you’d probably let me do it over and over again if that meant you could score.” 

His voice hardened. The words landed like punches. And still, you didn’t look away.

“Stop,” That was all you managed. 

“That’s not all I want, Y/N. I want all of you. I want you safe. Clean. Sober. I want you to fucking listen to me not because you’re looking for your next fix. I want you to listen because I’m the one who gives a shit. Who’s going to give you everything you need. Guidance. Structure. Love. All of it.” 

You shook your head. You probably stopped listening in the middle of his rambling, “I don’t deserve that.”

“I’ll tell you what you deserve,” Rafe let out a breath. His rough hands nervously roamed over his shirt, buzzed hair, “Get your shit together. You’re not going to fucking Florida. If you don’t want me to have your friend arrested for possession then you’ll pack your shit and get in my truck.” 

You stood, shoulders squared like you wanted to fight, but you were shaking again. You’d burned through whatever energy you have left. You were hollow. Empty. Rafe could see it.

“You want to own me,” you spat, but the words lacked conviction. 

“I already have you, angel. That’s what I can’t get you to understand.”

That night, Rafe gave you another chance. Took you home. Let you put yourself together. Fed you until you were sick. It was routine. You relaxed, laughed a little, told him scraps of what you'd been through. You always smiled through the shame. You fell asleep against his chest during some movie neither of you were watching. He carried you upstairs. You probably hadn’t slept in three days.

The banging woke him up just after dawn. You were gone.

He moved downstairs, groggy and shirtless, drawstring pants hanging low on his hips. The banging was frantic. He opened the kitchen drawer and took out the syringe Barry gave him. He’d practiced. He was ready.

Rafe held the full syringe at his side as he approached the front door. There you were, wild and furious. “You locked me in? Open the door, Rafe! I’m serious, I can’t do this. Please,” Your eyes wandered down to his right hand, hanging by his side, “What’s that?”

Rafe slowly closed the distance between you. The rest had given you some of your strength back. Even as you scratched at his arms, Rafe kept you pinned to the door, “Rafe! Don’t! Please!” You screamed, tears in your eyes. 

He shushed you as the needle finally pricked the side of your neck. Your eyes were wide and sad, “It’s okay, baby. I got you,” Your eyelids started to droop and you pushed at him weakly. Rafe caught you when your legs finally gave out, “It’s okay, just sleep. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You sat up too quickly. You were going to be sick. Your seatbelt kept you in place. You squeezed at the soft, italian-leather of your seat. You tried to get your bearings. Your lips parted. You thought you were talking but your voice came out in a moan. 

You sat back, your body was weak, your head lolled to the side. A window. Clouds. A blue ocean. Your eyes fluttered until they were wide open, “Easy,” A familiar voice said. 

“What did you do?” Your voice cracked. You tugged at your seat but your fine motor skills were practically useless. You were so foggy. Not in the way you usually felt when you were coming down or withdrawing. That needle. He’d knocked you out. On purpose. “What the fuck did you do?”  

He was calm. Calmer than he’d ever been. 

“It was the only way. You were hysterical yesterday. And you haven’t been in your right mind for a long time,” You shook your head, “I made a decision. And you’re gonna hate me for awhile. But this is gonna be good for you. For us, too.”

You’d really done it this time. This was your fault. Why did you have to show the most unhinged side of yourself to him?

You were so angry at him. If you were honest with yourself, it wasn’t because you were sitting on his private jet, going to a foreign place. It wasn’t even because you actually hated him. It was because you knew that Rafe wasn’t going to let your skin touch another heroin needle, let your lips taste another sip of alcohol, or let you smoke another joint to mellow your withdrawal symptoms. 

Fuck, you thought. Fuck. Fuck. 

Despite the warnings from his business partners about the futility of the tiny island of Isla Brisas, five hundred miles from the Ecuadorian coast, Rafe had proved them all wrong. There was no long-lost treasure, but his plan had not led to Cameron Development's bankruptcy as they had predicted. Not only had his men found gold, but there was a good chance that the parts of the island that had yet to be explored would yield similar findings. 

His secret project. No one would ever disturb the two of you. No one would even be looking for you, he knew that. But he wanted you to feel like it was only the two of you in this world. No one on the island would consider helping you. The closest piece of civilization was thirty miles away on the Galapagos islands. 

The villa was tucked between a grove of palm trees. The backyard stretched into the soft slope of a green hillside. The front of the house had a winding, stone path that led to an infinity pool before a five-minute walk shaded by tropical trees took you to a private beach. White sand sparkled underneath the sun, kissed by turquoise waves.. 

There were no fences. No barbed wire. No obvious guards. But inside there were rooms with locks that clicked shut when he pleased. Windows that let in the sun during the day but provided blackout privacy at night. Staff that were local. Silent. Loyal. Bought. 

The first two weeks on the island happened in a blur. The bed was massive, the sheets always cool, even though your skin was often on fire. If you weren’t sleeping for hours at a time then you weren’t sleeping at all. You threw up everyday. Rafe was usually there, holding your hair, rubbing circles on your back. You begged him everyday to stop letting you suffer, to help you feel better. 

“I am making you better,” He’d always say. The only drugs he gave you helped your sleep and nausea, they didn’t get you high, and a week into the nightmare, he starting giving you something for the depression and anxiety. The depression was probably the worst symptom. 

He carried you from the bed, to the bathroom, and to the bathtub. He brushed your teeth, detangled your hair, and changed your clothes. You fought him in the ways that you could. It didn’t matter. Rafe did what he wanted. You kept trying to hate him.

One morning, you finally had the strength to pick yourself off the bed. You looked down at your hands and legs. Some of the bruising on your inner arms had started to fade, some had scarred. You could already tell there was more meat on your bones. Your stomach didn’t ache with hunger. You smoothed your hand down over your dress. The yellow night gown was light-weight, smooth and your fingers traced over the lacy floral designs that decorated it. It barely reached the middle of your thigh. And you were sure you’d never worn anything like this. You’d never worn anything this nice. Nothing so…delicate. 

You wobbled towards the master bathroom. It was so big that even your steps seemed to echo. You gasped when you saw your appearance. Tentatively, you touched the skin of your face, unsure that it was really yours. You looked brighter, your eyes were no longer sunken in, the darkness under your eyes had smoothed out. 

You looked away and wandered further into the bathroom. You took note of a modern soaking tub and a spacious shower with a rainfall shower head. You found the walk-in closet next, a heavy silence pressing against you. You were walking into someone else’s life, you were sure of that. It was neatly organized, large, and one side, from floor to ceiling, hung all of Rafe’s polished clothing.

On the other side was a stark contrast. Your fingers grazed over the soft fabric of a dress that was hanging at eye level. Silk, just like the one you were wearing, except this one would reach down past your knees. Soft hues of pink blush, pale golds, baby blues, and creamy whites filled the racks. More dresses. Skirts. Delicate. Frilly, even. The only pants you found were shorts and those were all silk as well. Pastel ribbons and lace. 

Your fists squeezed at your side. Did he expect you to feel happy? This wasn’t yours. This was the wardrobe of some island princess. Who did he think you were? You closed your eyes tight. God, you just wanted to get high. This would all be easier if you didn’t have to feel. You could handle this. You could pretend to be what he wanted if he just let you get high. 

You found Rafe on the balcony connected to the bedroom. Looking through the glass sliding door, you saw him leaning against the balcony’s railing, a phone pressed to his ear. The view behind him was dazzling. The sand was so white it was blinding. He wore board shorts and a cream-colored unbuttoned shirt. The conversation seemed tense. 

This was your chance. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step forward or to run. You took a step back but just as you did, his head turned. He said something into the phone that you couldn’t hear. You turned quickly, too fast, you felt a headache coming on. You hurried to the bedroom door anyways, padding over a soft carpet, before you tried to yank at the large, mahogany doors. They didn’t budge. Of course. 

You heard the glass doors slide open and the sound of crashing waves flooded your ears. 

“You’re out of bed,” He said. You turned, pressing your back against the door, and mentally cursed. Rafe looked different too. He looked happy, hopeful, “Look at you… you look so good–”

“Where is this place?”

“Far, far away.”

You pressed a hand to you forehead, “God, I feel like shit.”

“I know,” Rafe spoke, eyes understanding, “It’s gonna be a process. But you - you look better than you have in so long.”

“I don’t–”

“You really do,” Rafe took a step forward. He was so handsome. Sometimes you forgot. He was tall, commanding, and he seemed to be coming into his own even more as his business became more successful. You hadn’t even seen the rest of the house but you never understood until now how successful he’d become. It made your stomach twist,  “I love you like this.”

You shook your head defiantly, “At the detox clinic, they give you stuff to help with the cravings. Helps with the withdrawal. It’s too painful without. Just a small amount would help wean me off.”

“You’re not going to find a bottle of wine in this house. No pills. No stash under the sink. Best I can do is an ibuprofen.”

Your chest heaved and your eyes started to burn, “That’s not enough. You can’t just lock me up and expect me to raw dog my way through withdrawal.”

His expression didn’t change, even as your tears started to fall, “I hate to see you in pain. I’m here to take care of you but I need your cooperation. If you sit down on the bed, I’ll give you some pain medication.”

“I don’t want your fucking medicine!” Rafe’s jaw clenched, “Take me home!”

In a matter of seconds, he had you by your wrists, and was hauling you over to the bed, “You make this easier for yourself by listening. I’m done playing by your rules. I’m in control now. Do you hear me?” Rafe growled, pinning your arms above your head. His knees parted your legs and he pressed his weight onto you, “You are going to be obedient.”

“You can’t do this,” You whined, struggling beneath him, “You can’t fucking do this!”

“I can!” His deep voice rumbled across your skin, and for the first time, you were actually scared of him, “I’ve decided I’m not going to let you kill yourself. I’ve decided you’re going to live and this is the life I’m giving you. You’re going to do what I say, when I say it. You’re going to eat three meals a day, exercise, take your fucking vitamins, breathe fresh air, and you’re going to act like you’re happy until it starts to feel real.”

“Fine, okay – just let go – you’re hurting me–”

He scoffed. “Hurting you? After what you’ve done to yourself? After what you’ve let happen to you? I’m the one hurting you?”

And then his mouth was on yours. Crushing. Possessive. Final.

It felt like love. Even though all his weight was on top of you and he hadn’t asked for your permission. It felt like love because of how gentle and hot his kisses were against your lips, against your neck, and against your jaw. He squeezed you tightly but not to bruise. Not because he was getting off on your pain. 

It was a warm embrace. You tried to run from it. It was so overwhelming that he fit against you like a matching puzzle piece. Strong hips rocked against yours and it made you dizzy. It was perfect. Just what you needed. Your headache was gone, all you could feel was him, hard and heavy against you. 

He pushed the top of your nightgown to the side, took your nipples into his mouth, and sucked until your back was arching. “Please don’t,” You begged but the more you talked, the less you were able to hear yourself, “Rafe, I can’t.”

He sounded like an animal, a deep rumbling in this throat, vibrated against your skin. Like you’d denied him so long of his primal instincts. This was your fault. 

“So fucking beautiful,” It was out of your control. He’d decided that you were ready. He got you there easily. Rocking against your hips, grinding into you, making your juices soak through your lacy yellow panties. You were so ready that when he finally pushed inside of you, he met no resistance at all, “All mine.”

Your head tilted back just as a strong hand wrapped around your throat. You screamed but he didn’t stop. He went faster, thrusted deeper, “Look at you,” He spoke in a low rasp, “You’re gonna come already, aren’t you?”

You gritted your teeth. It was painful. You tried to push the pleasure away. He noticed and became relentless. You screamed again, “Fucking feel it,” he commanded, “Fuck, you’re fucking perfect. Made for me. You can take it. Fucking take it.”

Clenching around him, your body betrayed your mind. Reisting had made it worse. You convulsed around him and he tightened his grip around your throat. You expected a break, some sort of relief, when Rafe finally pulled out of you. Your muscles were still twitching, squeezing, your walls ached. You felt empty. 

He flipped your body easily. Your fingers clenched the sheets as he pulled your underwear down to your ankles. A series of spanks against your bare ass made you yelp but you kept still. He pressed his weight down on you again, sliding into your welcoming hole from behind. At this angle, he could go even deeper. He kissed above your ear, “Good girl,” Your lips formed a permanent “o”, “Stay like that. My good girl.”

You came again. This time because of the voice in your ear. It put you in a daze. You didn't know if you wanted to cry or to beg him to stop, but the words didn’t come. Only the sound of his praise, "Good girl," "You're perfect", each word tightening its hold on you, sinking deeper inside. Finally he softly said an, “I love you so much”. You hadn’t ever felt anything like this. Consumed and cared for. Used and loved. It was everything, all at once. 

Rafe didn’t sugar-coat his intentions. He was training you. You made the mistake of showing him that he could give you pleasure. That your mind melted when he was fucking you. He could make you chase after the orgasms. It was the only high he provided you. 

You ate all three meals provided to you and he’d bury his face between your legs on top of the kitchen table. You went out to the pool and swam with him instead of throwing vases, he fucked you hard against a lounge chair. You went a whole week without asking him for drugs and he’d fingered you until you lost your voice. You wore a bow in your hair, a pink mini dress he picked out, and sat in his lap while he worked in his office and you came for the first time with his finger in your ass. 

You’d replaced one addiction with another. You still thought about your old life almost every hour of every day but the pleasure took the edge off. 

The first time you’d seen another person other than a cleaning lady was when Barry, Rafe’s business partner, came to visit. He warned you to be on your best behavior. You saw it as a chance to be on Rafe’s good side for a long time. Maybe that meant you would be able to get away with more. Maybe that meant he’d do that thing again where he tied you down to the bed, put a vibrator on your clit, and made you cum over and over. 

They were out together, surveying whatever Rafe’s secret project was. He still kept all his business under wraps. All you knew was that there was gold involved. And you’d only heard that when you were eavesdropping on one of his calls. 

When they returned at dinnertime, you had dinner and a dessert ready. Grilled mahi-mahi and sweet potatoes for the entree and chocolate cake for dessert. You started early, knowing you might burn your first attempt. Luckily, you perfected the recipe on the second attempt. 

You chose a floral, white dress, one that was low-cut and showed off your ever developing breasts. You were slightly insecure about them but Rafe complimented your blossoming figure consisting. 

Rafe eyed you cautiously but Barry was more than impressed. You hugged Barry to greet him and you felt the man’s hands linger on your waist for a moment too long. 

You made conversation easily. Your tone was light, almost fake, but this was how Rafe wanted you. You smiled until it felt real. Barry thought all of his jokes were funny. You laughed politely. 

You served them both chocolate cake, leaning over each of them as you scooped a slice on to each of their plates. Rafe eyed you again, “After dessert, should we all get in the pool?” You asked, your eyes flirty and on Barry. He smiled, gold-tooth flashing. 

“That sounds–”

Rafe interrupted him, “You want a beer, Barry?”

Your heart pounded. Your lips parted, “A beer?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Barry responded, unaware of the tension between you and Rafe.

“Angel, could you get two beers for me and Barry from the fridge in the pantry? I had some flown in the other day,” You hid your hands behind your back, to hide how bad they’d started shaking. 

You hadn’t noticed any beers. Then again, you hadn’t looked in that fridge in awhile. What was he doing? Without another word, you turned on your heels and made your way to the pantry. To your surprise, and likely, your downfall, there was a pack of beers in the fridge. 

Shaking you picked up two. Just two. You stared down at them, cold, condensation dripping down the glasses. Fuck. You hadn’t chosen this. Rafe chose this. It was just beer. It wasn’t a hard drug. He didn’t have the right to do this. He was testing you. 

It took everything in you to walk back to the table and set them in front of each of the men, “Thanks, sweet thing.”

Still trembling, you sat back down in your seat. You were sweating. You watched both of them. Rafe’s strong hands twisted open his bottle. You sat eerily still as the men enjoyed their dessert and the alcohol. The conversation continued without you. 

You tuned back in when you heard Rafe say, “Why don’t you head out there, Barry, and we’ll join you in a second.”

Barry’s eyes flicked between you and Rafe, suspicious, before he said, “Sure.”

When the coast was clear, Rafe asked, “What are you trying to do?”

“What?” You asked though your attention was fixed on his glass. 

“You’re trying to get something,” Rafe said. Of course you were. All addicts do is use other people to get what they want. 

You didn’t move your eyes from the glass. 

“Hey, look at me,” And you did. It had become second nature. Do as your told, “You’re strong. You’ve been doing so good.”

“I’m not,” You disagreed.

Rafe tilted his head back, taking a sip, “You’re my good girl, right?”

“Yes,” You said quickly, “I’m trying. Maybe if I could just have a sip–”

“I know what you really want, Y/N, and you know I can’t give you that,” Rafe continued, voice steady, “You know what I can give you though.”

You nodded, “Okay,” You rubbed your hands nervously over your dress. Your palms were sweaty, “Can I have your cock, please? Can you make me cum?”

“Stand up, lift up your dress and bend over the table,” You did so quickly. You even made sure to pull down your panties. You were already wet. He didn’t need to warm you up. Sometimes you liked it better when he skipped the foreplay and went straight for what he wanted. You liked it. You had a purpose. You had love. 

He didn’t move immediately. He watched you. He took his time, finished his beer. 

“All this was because you wanted a reward, huh?”

“Yes, Rafe.”

His chair scraped against the marble floor as he stood. God, you were soaked. If he could just touch you –“You trying to manipulate me now? Use my friend to get what you want?”

“N-No–”

He spanked you so hard you screamed, one of your legs kicking up as you tried to fight through the pain, “Y-Yes, I-I’m sorry!”

“I know when you’re lying. I’ve always fucking known. You’re bad at it.”

“I’m sorry,” Another spank. You winced. 

“You’re not gonna have a sip of beer. You’re not gonna cum either, okay?”

“Rafe, please, I’ll be–” Five hard spanks. 

“Shut up, angel,” Five more spanks, “This is what this has all been about. Discipline. Not giving into temptation. You’re so close to getting it.”

Shame. You used to run from it. You were so ashamed of your life and your decisions that you wanted to feel nothing. With Rafe, you felt everything. Shame. Depression. Happiness. Pleasure. All of it. He didn’t let you run from it. 

He kept going until you were sobbing and your thighs were glistening with the need that had dripped down from your aching center. 

When he was done, he was out of breath. You were sorry. So sorry. He was right. You just needed more discipline, “Thank you,” You whispered, pulling your body from the table. Your body had grown stronger but you were still so much weaker than him. Part of you liked that, “Thank you, Rafe.”

You got down to you knees, “For what, angel?”

“For caring,” Your voice was so weak. You hugged his leg, rested your head against his knee, “Thank you for caring.”

He bent down, brushing a hand through your hair before trailing his fingers gently along your cheek. You leaned into his touch instinctively, eyes fluttering closed.

“I want you to go upstairs,” he murmured, “put on your swimsuit—the one-piece with the sunflowers. Then grab one of my belts and lay it on the bed and come back down.” 

“I’m going to spank you again tonight,” he continued, almost reverent. “And I want you to thank me again. Just like this. Just as perfect as you are right now.”

Your body obeyed before your mind could catch up. Trembling legs brought you up the stairs. You’d never felt like this before. You wanted Rafe to be proud of you.

Reblogs w/ your thoughts are the best way to support me! Please message me with drabble ideas for this au if you have any :)

[fanficgirl429]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Prompt: Y/N and Bucky are always arguing but underneath the arguing there is something more.

---

The safehouse was quiet, save for the scratch of Y/N’s boot across the floor as she paced in tight, agitated circles. Sam sat on the worn couch, nursing a coffee, watching her with an amused expression.

“You’re gonna wear a trench in the tile,” he said.

Y/N didn’t look up. “Then maybe someone will finally fix the plumbing while they’re at it.”

Before Sam could respond, the door opened with a low creak.

Heavy boots. A leather jacket. A glint of metal. Blue eyes. 

Y/N stopped pacing but her heart began to beat faster. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.

“Good to see you too,” Bucky Barnes said flatly, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. 

Y/N’s eyes swept over him before she could stop herself.

His hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen him, the scruffy length replaced by something neater, sharper—but it didn’t make him look any less like trouble. If anything, it made the angles of his face more striking, the steel in his eyes harder to ignore.

He wore a pair of dark blue jeans that fit him a little too well, paired with a simple gray t-shirt that stretched just enough across his chest to be distracting. Over it, the familiar dark leather jacket—worn at the edges, like it had seen more than its share of nights just like this one.

Still him. Still Bucky. A little more tired. A little more unreadable. Still ridiculously, unfairly good-looking.

Sam groaned, standing on the opposite side of the room, already knowing what was about to take place. “Here we go…”

Y/N crossed her arms, eyes narrowing like she’d just been handed a punishment rather than a mission. “I thought you were off brooding in Brooklyn or whatever it is you do when you’re not starting bar fights.”

“I got a call,” Bucky replied, jaw already tight like it physically pained him to be in the same room. “Didn’t realize you’d be here, or else I would’ve said no.”

Y/N blinked slowly, unamused. “Aw, and here I thought you missed glowering at me across the room.”

Sam raised both hands, already regretting life. “Okay. Ground rules—no stabbing, no sniping, no snide comments, no killing each other.”

Y/N and Bucky immediately replied, deadpan and in perfect sync: “Then they have to leave.”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “God, I miss Steve.”

Bucky smirked. “He wouldn’t have let her talk to me like that.”

“Oh, please,” Y/N shot back. “Steve was team me the second I showed him how to do a proper disarm.”

“You cheated” Bucky gritted. “You used pepper spray.”

“It was tactical.”

“It was petty.”

“It worked.”

Sam muttered under his breath, “I swear I’m too old for this.”

Y/N turned to him, innocent. “What? We’re just catching up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky added dryly. “You know, bonding.”

“If by bonding you mean barely tolerating each other’s existence,” Sam mumbled. “Sure. Great. Love that for us.”

Y/N smirked. “Oh, c’mon, Barnes. Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me.”

He shot her a look. “Like a rash.”

“Like an itch you can’t quite reach?” she teased, stepping just a little closer.

“Like a headache that talks back.”

Y/N clutched her chest dramatically. “You do care.”

“I’m praying for an excuse to leave.”

Sam muttered something about regretting all his life choices and walked into the kitchen, leaving Y/N and Bucky staring at each other, the tension in the room thick.

---

Later that day, the three of them were staking out a suspected Flag Smasher hideout—Bucky in the alley, Y/N on the rooftop, Sam above them both in the drone.

“Your comms are off again,” Y/N said through gritted teeth.

Bucky’s voice crackled back. “Maybe I just wanted some peace and quiet.”

She huffed. “God forbid someone try to help you.”

“I don’t need help.”

“You keep saying that. I keep not believing it.”

He sighed heavily. “Look, I’ve been doing this long before you started playing sidekick to Sam—”

“Excuse me?” she snapped.

“You heard me.”

There was a tense silence over the line before Y/N muttered, “You’re impossible.”

“And you never shut up.”

“You never smile.”

“You never stop talking long enough to make me want to,” Bucky snapped. 

Sam’s voice crackled in: “I swear to God, if you two don’t start flirting with less hostility, I’m going to crash this drone.”

---

There were moments—small, unspoken ones—that carried more weight than any argument ever could. Something neither Y/N nor Bucky dare speak of out loud. 

Like when Y/N stumbled during a chase, her footing lost for just a split second—and Bucky was already there. His hand on the small of her back like it belonged there, steady and sure. She stiffened, spine straightening as she glanced at him with a flicker of defiance. “I’m fine,” she said, brushing it off like it didn’t matter but in reality her heart was pounding. Not from almost falling but from the placement of his hand- afraid to admit she liked it. 

He didn’t move, not right away. His hand lingered—just long enough to say everything he didn’t. “I know,” he murmured, low and steady.

Or the night she’d fallen asleep at the table, exhaustion pulling her under while intel files lay all around her. Bucky had watched her for a moment, then eased the tablet from her fingers with more care than most people gave breakable things. He draped his jacket over her shoulders—soft, worn, and carrying the faint scent of him—without a word.

Then there was the time she caught him staring. She’d felt it first, like warmth on the back of her neck, and when she turned, there he was—blue eyes locked on her like she was something worth memorizing. He looked away too quickly, but it was too late.

She’d seen it and had already begun to feel the same way.

---

The tension between them finally snapped, unraveling in the aftermath of a mission gone sideways.

The safehouse was dim, still humming with adrenaline and silence too loud to ignore. The echo of gunfire clung to Y/N’s skin like smoke, and Bucky’s jacket was still spattered with dirt and blood that wasn’t his.

“You almost got yourself killed!” she exploded, her voice sharp as she began pacing, hands clenched at her sides. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I had it under control,” Bucky growled back, arms folded tightly across his chest. 

“No, you didn’t! You jumped in front of that guy like—like your life doesn’t matter!”

He stood slowly, deliberately, tension rippling through his shoulders. “And what? You care now?”

Y/N stopped mid-step. Her breath hitched.

“I see how you look at me,” he said, quieter now. “Like I’m a grenade that hasn’t gone off yet.”

She laughed, bitter and breathless. “You think that’s it? You think I argue with you because I’m scared of you?” Her voice cracked as she stepped closer to him. “You don’t scare me, Bucky. You never have.”

He froze, surprised—caught off guard by the softness buried beneath her anger.

“I argue with you,” she continued, more gently now, “because you make me insane. Because you throw yourself into danger like you’ve got nothing to lose. Because you act like you’re not allowed to matter to anyone.”

His jaw twitched. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“So what?” he asked finally, voice low, unsteady. “You’re saying you care about me now?”

“Yes!” she shouted, exasperated. “You stubborn, reckless idiot.”

Bucky just stared at her, stunned into silence.

She broke eye contact, running a hand through her hair with a shaky breath. “God, I didn’t want to feel anything for you. I told myself you were a headache, a pain in the ass, someone I had to put up with. But somewhere between the death glares and the brooding... I started to see you.”

Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And I realized I care. And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Bucky stepped forward, slow and cautious. 

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” he murmured. “Just… don’t take it back.”

Y/N met his eyes again. For once, she didn’t have a comeback. Just silence, and the distance between them—closing inch by inch.

Then, softly, Bucky said, “I care about you too.”

Y/N turned to him.

“I just... don’t always know how to show it,” he added.

She stepped closer. “Try.”

And he did.

---

The kiss wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t all heat and urgency or cinematic sparks.

It was something quieter—gentler. A moment that didn’t demand attention but deserved it, soft and grounding in all the ways neither of them expected.

His metal hand hovered just above her hip, uncertain, trembling with the weight of hesitation and history. Like he was afraid to touch something too good, too real.

But his other hand—his human one—was surer. It cradled her cheek with aching tenderness, calloused thumb brushing her skin.

She leaned into the touch before she could think better of it, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N smirked faintly. “That wasn’t terrible.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tugged upward. “You never shut up, do you?”

“Not unless you kiss me again.”

He did.

[heartcereql]

velvet crowbar

childhood friends torn apart as Viktor rises to the elite world of Piltover while you remain in Zaun, neglecting feelings out of fear.

cw: use of y/n, angst angst !!!, viktor acting like an ass out of pure fear and love ://

a/n: we're sooooo back hehe:)

The sky over Zaun always seemed to press down on you, a heavy blanket of gray smoke and the faintest glimmer of dying light. The city never slept, its heartbeat thrumming through the cracked streets and rusted pipes, a constant reminder of its pulse. Yet, despite all the noise, all the chaos, there was a quiet corner of your mind where the memories of him still lingered—of Viktor, the boy who once dreamed beside you, in a world where you both could be more than this.

But now, as you stood on the rooftop of your building, on the verge of collapsing, staring out toward Piltover, the city of metal and glass that seemed so far removed from everything you knew, it felt like a lifetime had passed since those dreams. You could see the lights beginning to twinkle in the distance, an endless sea of gold, cold and untouchable.

You had once imagined running to Piltover with him, escaping the smog and decay of Zaun, finding a place where dreams were not just for the rich, but for the willing. You had imagined standing beside him in the light, where he was the brilliant inventor, the genius, and you were... whatever he needed you to be.

But that was before.

Before the city had swallowed him whole. Before the distance between you had stretched out like the gap between the stars. Before Viktor became the man Piltover needed, and you were left with nothing but memories and an aching chest.

You hadn’t seen him in months, not properly. Letters had become few and far between, the words that used to come so easily now barely reaching the paper. And when they did, they felt distant, almost like he was writing from another world—one that didn’t have a place for you.

You tried not to let it bother you, tried to pretend that you didn’t still wait for his visits, for the sound of his voice. But the truth was, you missed him. You missed the boy who had been your anchor in this crumbling place, the one who used to say your name like it was the only thing that mattered.

Today, however, something was different. You didn’t know what it was at first—maybe it was the way the wind shifted, or the way the light in Piltover seemed to call to you, pulling your gaze towards it. Maybe it was just your heart, too tired of pretending that nothing had changed.

You heard him before you saw him. The soft shuffle of boots against stone, the quiet exhale of breath in the cool air, the metallic clink of his crutch against the pavement. And then, there he was, standing at the bottom of the steps that led to your rooftop.

Viktor.

For a moment, you just stood there, frozen, as you looked at him. His figure was taller now, his frame more angular, the clothes he wore no longer the worn fabrics of Zaun, but the fine, immaculate garments of a Piltover citizen. His face, still familiar but so different, looked as if it had been shaped by something far away from the world you both had once shared.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, just watching him, before you found your voice.

"Viktor," you whispered, as if the sound of his name could pull you both back to what you used to be.

He smiled, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was a smile of politeness, of formality—a smile that didn’t know you the way he once had.

"Have you been well?" His voice was smooth, but there was a distance to it, something colder than before.

You nodded, but your throat tightened. There were so many things you wanted to say—things that had festered in your chest for far too long. But you didn’t know where to begin.

You used to tell him everything. Now, you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask how he was.

"I’m managing," you said, your voice sounding weaker than you intended.

He stepped closer, but the space between you felt impossibly wide. Every step he took was a reminder of how far apart you had become. He wasn’t the boy who had climbed up here in the dead of night just to whisper dreams of a different life. He was Piltover’s Viktor now, and you were still here, in the shadow of Zaun, holding onto the remnants of a life you once shared.

"I’m sorry I haven’t visited sooner," he said, and for a moment, you thought you could hear the weight of guilt in his voice. But when you looked at him, all you saw was the stranger who had once been your closest friend.

The silence between you stretched, heavy with things unsaid, until he finally spoke again. "It’s just... things have been busy. There’s a lot I’ve had to focus on in Piltover."

You swallowed, trying to ignore the sting in your chest. You knew what he meant—Piltover had taken him. Taken him away from everything that had once been important to him.

And you had been left behind.

"Of course," you managed to say, even as your heart twisted. "You’re doing important things. I understand."

The air between you both felt thick with unspoken words as you both lingered in the quiet aftermath of your meeting. Viktor’s hand stayed close to his chest, his fingers twitching as though he wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

You swallowed hard, finding your voice again, though it trembled.

"What is it, Viktor? What’s going on? You've been so distant. I don’t— I don’t get it. You used to tell me everything." Your eyes searched his, desperate for a glimpse of the Viktor you once knew.

He shifted his weight, his gaze flickering down to the ground before meeting your eyes again. There was hesitation in his expression, something raw, like he was fighting with himself to say the right words.

"I’ve been... busy." He let out a long breath, and there was a heaviness in it, like explaining it to you wasn't something natural, but something to be elaborated. "I’ve been working on something important in Piltover. It's… something that could change everything, for both of us."

"Piltover?" The word left your lips before you could stop it, disbelief in your voice. "You're really living there now? You’re—you're working there?"

He nodded slowly, almost reluctantly, like the confession itself pained him.

"Yes. I’m working under a researcher—Jayce Talis. He... he and I are developing something that could revolutionize technology. It’s hard, Y/N. So hard. But it’s the only way forward." His words were heavy with the weight of his ambition, but something in his eyes betrayed him, a flicker of doubt, or maybe regret. "I wish I could have told you sooner."

Your heart twisted at the mention of Jayce, and the strange unfamiliarity of Viktor’s words lingered in the air. There was no more talk of your shared dreams, no more talk of Zaun, only Piltover’s cold steel and polished streets. The world he now belonged to felt so far from you—like something that could never belong to someone like you.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" You wanted to ask if he missed you, if he even thought about you anymore, but the words felt selfish, fragile. You felt small in this new space he had carved for himself.

"I didn’t want to drag you into it," Viktor said, his voice quiet, almost a whisper. "The people in Piltover… they’re not like us. They wouldn't understand. It’s complicated." He looked away, the distance between you both growing as he ran a hand through his hair, his breath ragged. "I didn’t want you to be caught up in it, Y/N. Not with everything that’s happening now. I—I thought it would be better this way."

You felt your chest tighten, the hurt festering behind your ribs.

"Better for who, Viktor?" You swallowed, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. "You think it’s better for me to be left in the dark? For you to pretend that nothing’s changed?"

His eyes softened, and he took a hesitant step forward.

"No, it’s not like that. It’s just… I can’t put you in danger. Not with how things are moving. I’ve seen how Piltover treats people like us." His words were raw, heavy with the weight of everything he had seen, everything he had become part of.

You shook your head, forcing back the wave of bitterness threatening to spill over. "So, what? You just want me to stay here and wait? Wait for you to get so far away that you forget who I am?"

"I could never forget you," he murmured, his voice a gentle plea. "But Y/N, you need to understand. This place, it’s changing me. It’s changing everything. And I need you to stay safe. That’s why I..." He stopped himself, the words falling short of the meaning you both needed.

You were silent for a long time, the air between you both thick and awkward. You could feel the cracks forming between you both, widening, pulling you apart with every unspoken word.

Finally, you spoke, though your voice was shaky, almost uncertain. "Where are you working? Piltover... I mean, you said you’re working with Jayce. I just... I need to see you, Viktor. Please. I need to understand."

For a moment, Viktor seemed to hesitate, his face creasing with the weight of what he was about to say. Then, with a sigh, he muttered, "I’m at the Hextech Labs now. It’s in the heart of Piltover. If you really want to understand, that’s where you’ll find me."

The words hung in the air between you like a challenge, like a door you could either step through or close. You clenched your fists, a strange resolve settling in your chest.

“I’ll come,” you said, your voice firmer now, despite the coldness creeping up your spine. “I’ll come to see for myself.”

Viktor’s eyes widened as if he hadn’t expected you to say that, and for a moment, there was panic in his gaze, a flicker of fear. But he didn’t stop you.

“Y/N, I don’t think you should—” he started, his voice tight with a warning.

But you were already turning away, the weight of your decision pressing down on you like the very world you were about to enter.

You’d never imagined Piltover would feel like this. Its gleaming towers, so pristine and far removed from the chaotic, gritty streets of Zaun, made you feel small. As you stood on the edge of the grandiose bridge that separated the two cities, the weight of your own breath felt louder than the bustling crowds around you. The air was too cold, too crisp. Too polished for someone like you.

But you were here.

You didn’t know what you expected to find when you crossed the bridge—perhaps an entirely different Viktor, one who had shed the layers of their shared past, a man too far gone into his new life. Maybe a part of you thought that if you came here, you could still see the boy who used to walk alongside you in the alleys of Zaun, whose hands you once held with reckless hope.

The Hextech Labs stood in front of you now, a towering monolith of glass and steel that seemed to radiate the ambitions of the city. You could see its grand entryways, the carefully crafted banners that fluttered above, the people walking in and out with an air of purpose, none of them even sparing you a second glance.

And there he was, inside. Viktor.

You took a step toward the door, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. This wasn’t just a visit anymore. This was the final step to understanding. Or, perhaps, to unraveling everything that had grown between you two in the silence.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since Viktor told you where to find him, but now that you were standing here, you couldn’t turn back.

The automatic doors opened with a faint hiss, and you stepped inside, blinking against the sterile brightness of the lobby. No one took notice of you as you walked through, a stranger to this world. But the path was clear, a hallway that led to the heart of the lab. Your footsteps echoed softly, each sound a reminder of the difference between you and the world you were entering.

You found Viktor just where he’d said he would be—standing near one of the Hextech machines, deep in conversation with a group of people in polished uniforms. The sight of him, now fully immersed in his new life, took your breath away. His lean on his crutch was firm, his hand moving as he explained something, his voice steady and authoritative. The Viktor you knew—who fumbled over his words in Zaun—was gone. In his place stood a man who carried the weight of Piltover’s expectations on his shoulders.

When he turned and saw you standing there, his expression flickered, just for a moment, before he masked it. He excused himself and dsimissed the other topsiders. The word burned in your thoughts.

His lips pressed together, and for a second, he looked like he might say something. Instead, he only took a hesitant step toward you, his brow furrowing as he took in your presence.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice colder than you remembered. “What are you doing here?”

You flinched, the sting of his words hitting you more than you’d expected. His tone wasn’t warm. It wasn’t affectionate, either. He sounded distant—almost as though you were an intrusion. His eyes, those familiar honey orbs, seemed to search you for an answer he already knew but wasn’t willing to accept.

“I—” You paused, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. “I came to see you, Viktor. I needed to understand.” Your voice shook, and the resolve you’d built up back at the entrance began to waver. “You said you were working here. I wanted to see... see where you’ve been. What you’re doing.”

Viktor’s gaze hardened, and he quickly glanced around the room, as though the walls themselves were listening. He took your hand and led you to a stark corner, hidden by all the machinery, dark and dusty.

Viktor’s eyes softened, but there was something restrained in the way he looked at you. He glanced over his shoulder, as though calculating something, before turning back to you. “I’m glad you came,” he said, though his words felt heavy, like they were forced out of him. “But you shouldn’t be here, not like this. It’s… it’s different here.”

The hesitation in his voice only made your heart ache more. You stepped closer, trying to reach him with your gaze.

“Different how? Viktor, I came all this way. I just want to see you. I just—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted, his words quieter now, but there was a slight urgency behind them. “This place, Piltover—it’s not like Zaun. It’s... it’s hard to explain. There are things here—things I didn’t expect that... I didn’t want you to see.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture you recognized. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N.”

You blinked, confusion mingling with the rising frustration in your chest. “Hurt? What are you talking about?”

His eyes darted away for a moment, as though searching for the right words.

“The judgment here... the way they look at people from Zaun.” He shook his head, looking at you as though seeing you for the first time in a new light. “I’ve endured so much to be here. They don't take it easy with us. I don’t want... I don’t want you to be part of that. It’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be involved with any of this.”

Your heart sank. “So, that’s it, then? You’re ashamed of me? Of where I come from?”

Viktor’s eyes widened slightly, and he stepped back, clearly shaken by your words.

“No, Y/N. That’s not it. It’s not about you, it’s about—about the risks. I can’t ask you to put yourself in that position. I... I care about you too much to let that happen.”

You felt the sting of those words hit harder than you expected, each one feeling like an unspoken apology, but still holding you at arm’s length.

“You care about me?” you echoed, a bitter laugh bubbling in your throat. “Then why won’t you let me be with you? Let me see the life you’ve built? You’ve kept me at a distance for so long, Viktor.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said quickly, stepping forward. But then he hesitated again, as if the distance between you felt like an insurmountable barrier. “But this is... this is bigger than us, Y/N. I need you to understand that.”

His words hung in the air, but you could hear the crack in his voice. Still, the weight of his protection felt like a cage.

You wanted to say more, to demand that he explain himself further, but instead, your body turned of its own accord. Without another word, you walked away from him, your footsteps heavy with the disappointment you couldn’t shake. It wasn’t the rejection that hurt the most, but the way he couldn’t see you—couldn’t see what you needed from him.

The journey back to Zaun was a blur. The twisting alleys and rusted walkways passed by in a haze, the familiar scents and sounds of the Undercity failing to ground you. All you could think about was the way Viktor had looked at you—the hesitation in his eyes, the tightness in his voice when he told you to leave.

This isn’t your world.

The words echoed in your mind, each one sharper than the last. You had always known that Viktor’s life in Piltover was different, that it wasn’t the same as the life you shared in Zaun. But you had never thought that difference would grow into a chasm, one wide enough to push you apart.

You sat down on a rusted bench near the bridge, your hands clenched into fists. The sting of his rejection burned hotter with each passing moment. It wasn’t just the fact that he had told you to leave—it was the way he had said it. As if you were a liability. As if you were something to be hidden, something to be ashamed of.

And yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from making excuses for him.

Maybe he really was trying to protect you. Maybe the people in Piltover were as judgmental as he said. But even if that were true, it didn’t explain why he had let their opinions matter more than yours. Why he hadn’t trusted you to decide for yourself.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. Viktor had always been your anchor, the one constant in your ever-changing world. And now, for the first time, you felt adrift.

You didn’t cry, not then. Not when his sharp words cut through the air, nor when the weight of his rejection sank deep into your chest. You refused to let yourself break while standing in his polished, lifeless world.

But later—when you reached the safety of your rooftop, its closeness to the sky wrapping around you like an old, tattered blanket—you let yourself unravel.

His words had replayed in your mind, over and over, like the static from a broken radio: “You shouldn’t have come.” The pain wasn’t just in what he said but in the way he said it. Quiet. Unyielding. Like a door closing in your face.

It didn’t make sense. He had always been proud of his roots—or so you thought. You’d seen the fire in his eyes when he spoke of the change he wanted to bring, of how Zaun deserved more than what it had been given. But when you stood there in his world, it was as if all of that had been erased, replaced by something cold and distant.

You couldn’t stop wondering: Was it me? Did I remind him of what he’s trying to leave behind?

Yet even as doubt gnawed at your resolve, another voice in your mind fought back.

This was Viktor. Your Viktor. The boy who used to stay up all night with you on the rooftops, whispering dreams of a better world into the dark. The boy who had limped to your door with bruises on his knuckles and a wild grin on his face, holding up a gadget he swore would make life better for everyone. The boy who had looked at you—really looked at you—in a way that made you feel like you weren’t just surviving. You were alive.

That boy couldn’t just be gone. Could he?

The lab was quieter than usual, save for the faint hum of the machines and the occasional clink of tools on metal. Viktor sat hunched over his workstation, his eyes fixed on a piece of Hextech equipment that had been giving him trouble all afternoon. Yet, for once, it wasn’t the device that occupied his thoughts.

It was you.

The memory of your face lingered in his mind, the hurt in your eyes when he had asked you to leave. He could still see you standing there, a stark contrast to the polished, sterile surroundings of his lab. You were a reminder of everything he had fought so hard to leave behind—and everything he couldn’t bear to lose.

He had wanted you to stay. More than anything, he had wanted you to stay.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

The thought of you being dragged into this world made his stomach twist. This cold, unfeeling place where everything was measured in worth and potential, where people like you were judged for where they came from rather than who they were. He had barely managed to claw his way into their circles, and even then, he wasn’t truly accepted. Not fully.

They whispered about him—about his accent, his limp, his strange inventions. He could feel their stares, their skepticism, every time he entered a room. And if they saw you, they wouldn’t just judge you. They would judge him.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. And yet, he couldn’t ignore it.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t afraid of how they would see you. He knew exactly what they would see: your resilience, your warmth, the fire in your eyes that refused to be extinguished. But he was afraid of how they would use you—how they would turn your presence into a weakness, a chink in his already fragile armor.

And more than that, he was afraid of how they would use him against you. He had seen it before—the way the topsiders wielded power, how they twisted vulnerabilities into leverage. If they decided you were a liability, if they decided you were expendable…

He closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m protecting her,” he murmured to himself, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

But deep down, he knew the truth was more tangled, more shameful.

He wasn’t just protecting you. He was protecting himself.

Because if you saw him through their eyes—if you saw him as less, as weak, as someone who didn’t belong—it would break him in ways he wasn’t sure he could endure.

He didn’t sleep that night.

The lab was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the occasional crackle of electricity. Normally, that sound was comforting—a reminder of the work waiting to be done. But tonight, it only grated against his nerves.

He should have gone after you. He knew that. The moment the words had left his mouth, he had known. But instead, he had stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as you walked away.

The way you had looked at him before you left... it haunted him.

Viktor leaned heavily on his cane, staring down at the blueprints spread out on the table before him. None of it made sense anymore. Not the equations, not the diagrams, not even the goals he had once clung to so fiercely.

He wanted to tell himself he had done the right thing, that pushing you away had been for your own good. Zaun and Piltover were two different worlds—worlds that didn’t belong together, no matter how much he wanted them to. No matter how much he wanted you.

But the truth he didn’t want to admit was far less noble. He hadn’t pushed you away just to protect you. He had done it because he was afraid.

Afraid of what it would mean if you stayed. Afraid of how they would see you. Afraid of how you would see him.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling in his chest. For all his intelligence, for all his inventions and ideas, he couldn’t figure out how to bridge the gap he had created.

But the thought of losing you completely? That was a problem he couldn’t solve.

The smog of Zaun had a way of clinging to your skin, a reminder of where you belonged—or at least, where the world thought you belonged. But you couldn’t shake the thought that there was more, that you deserved more. That he deserved more.

That’s why you found yourself on Piltover’s shining streets again, your resolve hardening with every step closer to the towering building where you knew Viktor would be. This wasn’t just about the words he had said, or even the ones he hadn’t. It was about answers. About understanding why the boy who once promised you everything now seemed intent on giving you nothing.

You didn’t announce yourself this time.

The lab doors slid open with a soft hiss, and you stepped inside, your presence breaking the sterile quiet. Viktor didn’t look up immediately, his focus pinned to the contraption in his hands—a sleek, glowing device you couldn’t begin to understand.

“Viktor,” you called, your voice firm yet trembling at the edges.

His head snapped up, the familiar amber of his eyes flickering with surprise, then something else you couldn’t place. Guilt, maybe.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone careful, as though the wrong inflection might shatter the fragile air between you.

You ignored his question, stepping further into the room. The scent of metal and ozone filled your nose, and you noted how starkly this world clashed with the smoke and grit of Zaun. “I needed to see you.”

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line, eyes avoiding yours. “I thought I made myself clear.”

“Clear?” you echoed, incredulous. “Viktor, you’ve been avoiding me. And then, when I came to you, you—you pushed me away like I was nothing. Do you have any idea how that felt?”

His fingers twitched against the cane, his weight shifting uncomfortably. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Why not?” you challenged, your voice rising. “Is it because I don’t fit into this perfect, shiny world of yours? Because I’m not one of them?”

“Stop,” he said sharply, and the word hit you like a slap. He drew in a shaky breath before continuing, softer this time. “You don’t understand.”

“Then make me understand, Viktor,” you shot back. “Because all I see is someone who’s ashamed of where he came from. Of who he left behind.”

His head dropped, his hair falling into his eyes as he exhaled a long, heavy breath. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he spoke, his voice low and laced with something raw.

“You think I left you behind?” He looked up, and there it was again—that guilt, etched into every line of his face. “I would never... you are the one part of Zaun I’ve never wanted to leave.”

“Then why?” you demanded. “Why push me away? Why say those things?”

He turned from you, limping toward the far table where his tools lay scattered. His grip on the cane was tight, knuckles white. “Because I am not proud of what I’ve become,” he admitted finally. “Not here, not in this world.”

“What are you talking about?” you pressed, your frustration giving way to confusion.

“I have fought for respect, for a chance to prove that people like us can be more than what they think. But they do not see me. Not truly. To them, I am a... novelty. A curiosity. And if they knew about you, about us...” He trailed off, his hand curling into a fist on the table. “They would see you the same way. Or worse.”

“Let them judge,” you said, taking a step closer. “Let them think what they want. I don’t care, Viktor. Why do you?”

“Because I do not want you to endure what I have endured,” he said fiercely, turning to face you. “You deserve better than this place. Better than me.”

The words hung between you, heavy and damning.

“Don’t you dare decide what I deserve,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You think I don’t know what this world is like? What people like them think of people like us? I do, Viktor. But I would endure it a hundred times over if it meant being with you. So why can’t you let me decide that for myself?”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the machinery around you.

Then, finally, he spoke. “Because I’m afraid,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Afraid of losing you. Afraid that... that if you stay too close to me, this world will crush you the way it has tried to crush me.”

You stopped, his words robbing you of your breath. The anger that had carried you here faltered, giving way to something softer, something more vulnerable. He wasn’t ashamed of you. He was afraid.

Though his words didn't extinguish all of the fire of your frustration, your gaze softened, and you stepped closer, close enough that you could see the slight tremor in his hands, the way his chest rose and fell as though each breath was a battle.

“Viktor,” you said gently, “I’m not afraid. Not of you, not of them. I’ve survived Zaun, haven’t I?”

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “Zaun may be harsh, but it is honest. Piltover... it is sharp in ways you cannot see. You do not know what it is to be dissected, to be dismissed with a smile. It is cruelty dressed in gold, and I—” He broke off, his voice catching. “I could not bear to see it touch you.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his hand where it rested on the table. He flinched, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you slipped your hand into his, squeezing gently.

“I’ve been through storms, Viktor,” you said softly. “I won’t shatter because someone here thinks less of me. You have to trust me.”

He met your gaze, the weight of his fears reflected in the golden depths of his eyes. And then, as though the dam had broken, he closed the distance between you, cupping your face with trembling hands.

“I have tried,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I have tried to keep you safe, to keep you away from all this. But I... I cannot. I cannot keep myself away from you.”

His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and desperate, as though he was pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken fear and hope, into that single moment. For a heartbeat, the world outside the lab fell away—Piltover’s gleaming towers, Zaun’s shadowed streets, the endless weight of their struggles. There was only him, only you.

You hesitated, your body frozen in the whirlwind of emotions. Then you felt it—his tears on your cheeks, warm and unyielding, as though they carried the weight of every burden he had shouldered alone. It was that touch, more than the kiss itself, that undid you.

For so long, you had built walls of your own, convincing yourself you could carry the unspoken love in silence, that it was enough to be near him. But in that moment, you knew: love demanded trust, not just from him, but from you. Trust in the man before you, in the bond you had forged through years of hardship and laughter, hope and pain.

You gave in, melting into him as your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Your lips moved against his, answering every plea with a promise of your own. The kiss deepened, your tears mingling with his as you surrendered to the love you had carried for him, quietly, always.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both trembling, breathless. His forehead rested against yours, his hand lingering at your cheek as if afraid to let go. His voice came as a whisper, raw and vulnerable.

“I was wrong to push you away,” he said, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I thought I could protect you, but I see now... I was only hurting us both.”

You searched his eyes, finding the weight of his apology there, but also something deeper—a glimmer of the man you had always known, the boy you had grown up beside. “You don’t have to carry everything alone, Viktor,” you murmured, your hand covering his. “You never did.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. “I just...” he began, his voice faltering. “I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

“You won’t,” you said firmly, your voice steady even as your heart ached for him. “Not to Piltover, not to your fears, not to anything. I’m here, Viktor. I always have been.”

His gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as if your words had pulled him back from the edge. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

“Then it’s a good thing love isn’t about deserving,” you replied, your own smile breaking through your tear-stained gaze.

For the first time in what felt like years, you saw hope in his expression—a fragile, flickering thing, but real nonetheless. And for the first time, you let yourself believe that the fractures between you could be healed, that together, you could weather the storms to come.

The lab was quiet again, but this time it felt like a sanctuary, a place where the past and future could finally meet.

“Come back to Zaun with me sometime,” you said after a while, your voice soft but carrying a playful edge. “Even if it’s just to remind yourself where you belong.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“I will,” he said, his voice steadier than before, “It's about time I stop running. And I start trying to make this right.”

© heartcereql, 2024 || thank you for reading ! 𓆩 ♱ 𓆪

[lolasangelz]

morning and night routine

wc: 1,537

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

the house was quiet in that dark hour before the sun fully broke over the hills, the kind of quiet that only came with early mornings and tired hearts.

rafe was already up.

he always was.

the soft click of the en suite door closing behind him, the low rush of water from the sink, the quiet weight of him moving through the bedroom. georgia stirred slightly, half-asleep still, one arm flung over the empty side of the bed.

he leaned over, kissed her temple, then her cheek, then lower, against her jaw.

“i’ve got that meeting downtown,” he murmured against her skin. “i’ll be late tonight.”

gigi nodded, barely awake, but her fingers curled around his wrist for just a second before letting go. she didn’t say anything. didn’t need to.

this was their rhythm now. imperfect and normal.

he left a moment later, the front door shutting quietly behind him.

and then—

chaos.

the baby monitor crackled to life with maggie’s soft cries, followed quickly by the thump of feet down the hallway and a very awake emerson pushing the door open with all the energy of a four-year-old who’d had dreams to tell and a sibling to tattle on.

“Mommy,” he whispered loudly, climbing into the bed, “maddie’s in my things again. she took my blue dinosaur. the fast one.”

gigi blinked up at him, hair thrown across her pillow, voice still thick with sleep. “what time is it?”

“Morning time,” he said, too confidently.

a cry joined in—grayson this time, followed by the soft babble of maddie talking to herself from her room.

gigi groaned and sat up, pressing a hand to her face. she missed rafe most in these moments. not for the help, necessarily. but for the stillness he carried. the way his hand on her lower back grounded her, even when neither of them said a word.

but the kids didn’t wait for longing.

she scooped up emerson with a sleepy grunt and carried him to the hallway, barefoot and already tired. the baby was fussing now—full-throated, hungry. maddie was singing to herself, loud and off-key, and grayson had somehow taken his pyjamas off again.

mornings were relentless.

she started with maggie, the tiniest, nestled warm and wriggling in her crib. gigi pulled her close, kissing her soft round cheeks, breathing her in.

“there’s my girl,” she whispered. “what’re we mad about this time, huh? did the world end between bottles?”

in the kitchen, emerson had climbed up on a stool and was pulling cereal boxes down, maddie trailing behind him in one of gigi’s old silk scarves, claiming it made her a princess-doctor. grayson ran by naked, shrieking with delight.

“pyjamas, gray!” gigi called after him. “we keep them on now, remember?”

he giggled and didn’t stop.

she fed maggie with one arm while pouring cereal with the other, catching a falling spoon mid-air and pulling a rubber dinosaur from the garbage disposal all before 7:00 a.m.

by the time they were dressed (mostly), fed (somewhat), and emerson’s lunch packed for pre-school, she caught her reflection in the hallway mirror and nearly laughed.

her hair was everywhere. there was spit-up on her shirt. mascara still slightly there from yesterday. and still—somehow—she didn’t look unhappy. just soft around the edges. worn in the way only mothers were.

emerson tugged at her hand.

“you forgot to do my hair again,” he pouted.

she crouched down, smoothing his blond curls with gentle fingers, brushing them out of his eyes. “no, i didn’t. this is a new style. messy chic. very cool.”

he gave her a skeptical look. she kissed his forehead anyway.

they were running late, of course. gigi threw her coat over her tank top, baby strapped to her chest, chasing down shoes and jackets, sippy cups and missing socks.

and as they all spilled out the door into the cool morning light, grayson still barefoot, maddie humming to herself and maggie hiccupping against her chest, gigi paused just long enough to glance back at the empty driveway.

she missed him.

even when she didn’t want to.

but this—this circus of routine and crumbs and sticky fingers—was hers. was theirs.

and tonight, she hoped he’d come home early enough to kiss her for real.

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

the house was warm with the scent of bathwater and vanilla shampoo.

gigi moved through the hallway in her socks, maggie on her hip, her other arm outstretched as grayson ran past half-dressed, water still dripping from his curls. maddie was behind him, clutching a washcloth like it was treasure, giggling when he shrieked as she chased him.

“stop running or someone’s going to crack their head open,” gigi warned, not for the first time that week, or that hour.

emerson was already in pyjamas, cross-legged on the couch with a picture book and an expression far too serious for a four-year-old. “mama, why are babies always so loud?”

maggie hiccuped in response.

“it’s her job,” georgia said, shifting the baby to her other hip and grabbing a towel from the banister. “some people are born loud. like your sister. or your father.”

she didn’t mean it with edge, not tonight. just that wistful, knowing softness that came when she said his name out loud and the house still felt full of him, even when he wasn’t there.

the day had worn her down. not in a dramatic way. just the quiet drain of keeping four small humans alive and clean and fed. her body ached. her brain was fuzzy. her shirt was still damp from bath splash and spit-up.

but the kids were laughing. the house was glowing with lamplight. and maggie was finally fed and drifting.

after grayson was wrangled into pyjamas and maddie’s hair detangled through much negotiation and one lollipop bribe, gigi dimmed the lights and called them all to the living room.

“books. ten minutes. then bed.”

maddie immediately climbed into her lap, emerson curled into her side, grayson tucked under her arm like a sleepy puppy. she held maggie in the crook of her arm, tiny and dozing. they read about bears and rainstorms and brave little foxes who always found their way home.

and for a moment, it was still. just the sound of her voice and the rise and fall of little breaths.

and then—

the front door.

soft click.

keys on the table.

she didn’t even turn. just said, “you missed bath time. grayson escaped three times. maddie stole your razor from the shower. emerson says maggie’s too loud. so basically... a normal night.”

rafe stepped into view, loosening his tie with one hand, exhaustion lining his face. but his eyes were soft.

“you look good,” he said.

gigi gave him a flat look. “i have glitter in my hair from maddie’s toothbrush cup.”

“still good.”

he came closer, crouched in front of her, brushing a hand over emerson’s curls and pressing a kiss to maggie’s head. then he looked up at gigi, eyes lingering on hers.

“i’m sorry i missed the show.”

she shrugged, shifting a bit to let grayson melt into his dad’s lap. “you didn’t miss it. it’s still going.”

he smiled at that. soft and tired. “can i help with bedtime?”

gigi leaned her head back against the couch. “you can carry gray. he’s like a sack of wet sand tonight.”

rafe scooped him up with practiced ease, whispering something into his ear that made the little boy snort half-asleep laughter. gigi carried maggie, rafe trailed with maddie and emerson, and they all shuffled up the stairs like a sleepy little parade.

twenty minutes later, the house was quiet again.

gigi stood in the doorway of maggie’s nursery, watching her chest rise and fall in that gentle, rhythmic way babies had. rafe came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, rested his chin on her shoulder.

“we made them,” he whispered, almost in awe. “somehow.”

“not sure how they’re all still alive,” she murmured, leaning into him.

he kissed her neck, then her shoulder, then lower, breath warm and slow. “you okay?”

she nodded. “tired. in that way where it feels like i’ll never be un-tired again.”

rafe turned her gently, hands on her hips, their bodies flush in the soft hallway light. “let me take care of you tonight. just a little. nothing big. just... you and me. the quiet kind.”

gigi didn’t speak. just reached up and curled her fingers into the front of his shirt.

they made it back to their bedroom, door closing behind them, and for once, there was no rush. no fire.

gigi sat on the edge of the bed while he undid the buttons of her shirt, kissed the hollow of her throat. his hands were steady, patient, like he wanted to memorize her all over again.

when they fell into bed, it wasn’t cinematic. it was better.

it was warmth and skin and whispered things like “you did so good today” and “i’m proud of you” and “you’re not alone in this.”

he kissed the tired right off her face, held her like he couldn’t believe she was real, and when she finally tucked herself against him, bare legs tangled with his, breath steady again—

he whispered it into her hair.

“angel.”

and georgia, half-asleep, whispered back.

“you too.”

ᵕᵕᵕ��୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

guys someone give me requests on this au i have limited imagination!!

[i2rizz]

Hey I have a suggestion please :3 bllk boys (rin and kaiser are my fav :3) with reader who goes non verbal a lot :3

Exams are frying me rn btw

The Way You Speak Without Words

Rin/Kaiser/Shidou/Isagi x Neurodivergent!Reader

Rin Itoshi

You don’t speak when you arrive at his apartment. Not out of rudeness—Rin knows better than that—but because today is one of those days.

You hang up your coat silently. To anyone else, it might look like you’re just quiet. To Rin, it’s a full sentence.

You're nonverbal.

He freezes in the kitchen, hand still halfway through opening a bottle of water. Something clenches in his chest—not panic, just... tightness. He hates when he doesn't know what to do.

You drop your bag on the floor. He watches you toe off your shoes with slow, careful movements, like every motion has weight.

"...Long day?" he mumbles.

No answer. Not even a nod.

You don’t make eye contact, but you walk over and gently lean against his side like a sunflower curling toward the sun.

He tenses. Only for a moment.

Then he exhales slowly and slides an arm around you. No questions, no awkward "should I…" thoughts—he just pulls you closer and lets you be.

You stay like that for a while, warm against his chest. Your fingers fidget with the sleeve of his hoodie. It’s your favorite one—oversized and worn at the cuffs—and he put it out earlier when he saw the weather turn gray.

Rin doesn’t ask why you’re quiet. He’s done that before. Got frustrated once, even. It ended with him feeling like a jackass and you overwhelmed.

He learned.

Now, he lets the silence talk.

He grabs the water, uncaps it, and holds it to your lips like it's the most natural thing in the world. You drink.

"Good" His voice is rough, but soft. "Sit. I’ll make that rice thing you like"

You sit. He cooks. You press your cheek to the table while it simmers.

When he sets the bowl in front of you, you look up at him, tired but grateful.

And Rin—stoic, cold, sharp-tongued Rin—softens just a little.

"Don’t gotta talk" he mutters, flicking your forehead lightly. "I still hear you"

And he means it.

Michael Kaiser

Kaiser thrives on reaction. Your laughter. Your fake annoyance. The way you roll your eyes when he says something outrageous, which is every five minutes.

So when you don’t say anything one morning—no kiss, no quip, not even a smirk—he short-circuits.

"You mad at me?" he jokes, pouring cereal like he doesn’t care. His smile is crooked, but his eyes flicker. He’s watching.

You blink once and shake your head.

No.

Then silence again.

You tug your hoodie sleeves over your hands and stare down at the bowl he placed in front of you. Kaiser sits across from you, arms crossed, leaning in.

He’s quiet for once.

You can feel him trying to decipher you like a puzzle.

"…Wait" he says suddenly, like a lightbulb exploded in his brain. "Is this that nonverbal thing again?"

You glance up, startled—not because he noticed, but because he said it so casually. Like it wasn’t weird. Like it was just another part of you.

He grins. "Hah. Knew it. You always get real twitchy when I talk too much. And I’m amazing at reading the vibes, shatz. It’s like a talent"

You snort softly.

Victory.

"That counts as a laugh, by the way. I’m counting it"

He slides your spoon closer and grabs his phone. You watch him open Notes and type in:

"Tuesday: won a laugh while girlfriend was mute. Still got it"

You smack his arm. Gently.

And he beams.

He doesn’t ask you to speak. Doesn’t get pouty. Just keeps the energy up like a one-man show, making dumb jokes and holding out your favorite fruit like it’s a peace offering.

When you finally curl up next to him on the couch and press your nose into his side, he slings an arm around you and whispers:

"I talk enough for both of us anyway"

And for once, the silence makes him feel comfortable.

Shidou Ryusei

"You’re quiet" he says.

No shit Sherlock.

You give him a look. He gives it right back.

"Like, quiet quiet" he adds, poking your cheek. "Usually you huff at me or throw a pillow or something. But now? Nothing. Zip. Nada. Zilch. Creepy"

You stick your tongue out.

"Oh thank god" he sighs dramatically, flopping onto the bed beside you. "I thought I broke you"

You turn your back to him, but he wriggles closer like a worm. His breath is warm against your shoulder.

"…You nonverbal again?"

You nod once.

He pauses.

Then: "That’s kinda sick"

You blink.

"Like—okay, no, wait, not sick like bad, sick like rad. It’s mysterious. It’s cool. It’s like you’re casting a spell or plotting my death silently. I respect the hustle”

You laugh silently.

Shidou slings an arm around your waist and squeezes. "Don’t need words anyway. You’ve got those shifty eyes. You’re like a sexy little mime"

You swat his hand. He cackles.

Then, after a moment of calm: "Hey. Seriously though. You good?"

You nod again. He taps twice on your forehead.

"Cool. Just gimme a signal if you need to bail or whatever. I’ll fight anyone who looks at you weird. With teeth"

You smile into the sheets.

Only Shidou could make nonverbal comfort feel like a rollercoaster at a rave. And yet… he gets it. In his own gremlin way, he always does.

Isagi Yoichi

You warned him early on: sometimes, you don’t talk. Not won’t—can’t.

Isagi nodded like it was normal. Then showed up the next day with a notebook and sticky notes labeled "Is this okay?" / "Want water?" / "Need a hug?"

You fell for him a little harder right then.

Today is one of those days.

You sit on the couch with your knees to your chest, zoning out. He enters, sees your face, and doesn’t say a word.

He just walks into the kitchen and comes back with tea.

Sets it down next to you. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask.

He sits beside you and opens his laptop, leaning lightly against your side. A calm weight.

After a while, he taps your knee and holds up a sticky note.

"Want me to put on a comfort movie?"

You nod.

He doesn’t ask which one—he already knows. The menu theme starts to play. Familiar. Soft.

You nuzzle into him, and his arm wraps around you gently.

"I love you" he murmurs. "You don’t have to say anything. I’ll still say it"

Your throat clenches—but in a good way.

You press a kiss to his shoulder in reply.

And it’s more than enough.

[asoftsighh]

°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊ joel miller x reader ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

joel helps you when you struggle to fall asleep

856 words

By the next time you shifted in bed, you were sure that sleep was far, far away. It wasn’t like you could move much, with the large man attached to your back, both arm and leg bracketing you into place. You still tried, as best as you could, squirming underneath his heavy arm. You must let out some sort of noise, a sigh or a groan, if you were to guess, because now Joel is the one shifting. You feel his arm tense, his hand tightening where it’s spread out against your stomach. Almost as if he’s making sure you’re still here, still safe. “Mmph -you doin’?” A low, muffled voice asks against the back of your neck , his warm breath sending a tickle down your spine. 

“Sorry,” you say quietly in return, swearing in your mind. Those decades of always being on high alert made it harder to keep things from Joel. Not that you want to lie to him, you just don’t want to see that thing he does with his brows, where a divot forms whenever he’s stressed or confused. Or see any more gray hairs that are already sprinkled throughout his temples. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He inhales, whether sighing inwardly or smelling you, you’re unsure. “You okay?” He asks now, his voice less muffled as you feel him lean deeper into his pillow, rather than your back. His movement takes you with him, and your body follows, now laying on your back. 

Your eyes move from the dark ceiling to the other side of the bed. Using the moonlight as a light source, you could just make out the browns of his eyes, that small frown on his lips. He truly was the most handsome man you’ve ever met, despite the years of killing and fighting, of experiencing loss over and over again. The indent at the bridge of his nose is visible, too, the one from his reading glasses (ones that you think make him look hot, despite his grumblings.) You must take too long to answer, because his squinting takes you out of your reverie.

You place a placating hand over his chest, his worn t-shirt soft beneath your palm. “I’m fine,” you say softly with a smile you hope is convincing. It must not, because, still under his stare, you add, “I just can’t sleep.”

He watches you for a moment, something you’ve learned over the years that means he’s trying to figure out whether you’re lying or not. He must come to some conclusion, because he flattens on his back, bringing his arm up and over your head. The way you move toward him is like two magnets, their positive and negative ends coming together with a pull nothing can resist. Your head settles above his collarbone gently, similar to the way his hand settles on your back. His fingers are spread wide, his palm warm enough to feel through your shirt.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” His breath is warm against your hairline, tickling the baby hairs there. He presses his lips in the same spot shortly after, too long to be casual.

You inhale deeply. His smell has always reminded you of the woods, like cedar. Woody, fresh, a little spicy. You sigh now, softly, like you’re not sure what to do with yourself. “Just can’t shut my mind off. Not very tired.” His responding hum is unconvincing. 

You’d be lying if you said you couldn’t already feel the dredges of sleep sneak into your mind. His hand on your back, moving up and down, up and down, was relaxing. Like a boat bobbing on a wave, or the feel of someone else’s deep breaths. What made it even more soothing, however, was the man behind the movement.

His voice is low and gruff when he speaks next, which must be a couple minutes after the last time. “Y’know, Sarah used to have a real hard time falling asleep. Must’ve been when she was.. 6 or 7 maybe.”

Your head perks up (not by much) in curiosity. “Really?”

If his face wasn’t buried in your hair, you’d still be able to hear, rather than feel, his smile. “Oh yeah. Would crawl into my bed, all pouty. She’d demand that I either braid her hair or give her some warm milk.” As he talks, his free hand crawls up the side of your neck, his thumb drawing the line of your jaw. With each touch, every rumbling in his chest as he talks, you fall closer and closer to the darkness of sleep. 

“And did you?” Your voice is groggy already. “Give her those things.”

His laugh is an exhale against your forehead. “Every damn time. Spoiled little brat.” There’s zero ounce of meanness in his voice, which sounds more like a mixture between grief and nostalgia. 

You must respond, because he says something back to you. The wisps of exhaustion cloud your mind, and you let yourself be pulled under; to the rocking of a boat, to the deep breaths of a man, to the back and forth of a warm hand. 

criticism is welcome as long as it’s kind ✮⋆˙

i’m very new to writing ✮⋆˙

[abiatackerman]

Hey! I love your oneshots and I was wondering if I could make a request. I was hoping you could write something where the reader (who is Levi’s girlfriend) gets injured in some way and ends up with a bunch of scars on her face, and she’s worried that he’s going to break up with her because of how she looks.

Hello sweetie! Thanks for requesting! Just to make sure, dear..... Levi would never fall for someone just because of their face or looks! If he's gonna love someone he's gonna love them because of "them"! Anyways I hope you'll enjoy!

What He Sees

⚔️Levi Ackerman X Female Reader⚔️

Captain Levi Ackerman X Injured Female Reader! A little bit of angst! Comforting words! Mentions of injuries and insecurities! 1.1k words!

Summary: After an injury leaves you scarred, you start to question your worth until Levi shows you what he truly sees in you.

Tags: @theremainsof @spouseofleviackerman @levisbrat25 @itsnathateasy @violentvaleska @dreamerofthewest @meowmewow7 @mikabella7 @ellakaiser @sugacor3 @darkstarlight82 @derealizationns @rubyrose2022

🩷If you wanna be tagged let me know🩷

✨Masterlist✨

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

The bandages come off slowly, piece by piece, revealing skin that doesn't feel like yours anymore. Angry red lines slash across your reflection—deep and raw. A scar stretches from the corner of your brow to your temple. Another curves along your jaw. You barely recognize the face staring back at you.

The healer says something, but you don't catch the words. All you hear is the rushing in your ears.

You used to be cute. People said that a lot. Bright eyes, a gentle smile—there was a softness in you that hadn't been worn down by the world yet. Even Levi, in his subtle way, used to stare like he couldn't believe someone like you existed in a world like this.

Now?

Now you can't even look at yourself.

You push the mirror away and murmur that you're tired, just to make the medic leave. What you really want is to disappear. To vanish into the walls of this cold, gray room and never come out.

You haven't let Levi see your scars properly since you've taken off the bandages. You've kept your door closed and avoided him as much as possible under the excuse of needing rest, but it's not just about healing. It's fear. Fear that he'll look at you differently. That he'll see the scars and think less of you.

That he'll leave.

You know Levi definitely isn't someone as horrible as that but you just can't shake away your fear... No matter how hard you're trying.

Levi hasn't pushed you though, he never does. But you feel the distance growing. You've stopped reaching for his hand. You turn away when he enters the room. You let your hair fall over the worst of it, and when his fingers brush your cheek like they used to, you flinch—just slightly, just enough for him to notice.

He does notice, and finally after reaching his breaking point Levi steps into your room, determined that he'll make you stop acting like this.

You're sitting on the bed, curled into yourself, pretending to read a book you haven't turned a page of in half an hour. And when Levi enters, his presence fills the space like a storm you've been avoiding.

"You think I haven't noticed?" he says, straight to business as usual

"I'm tired," you reply quietly, eyes still on the book.

"Lies" Levi says, his voice is low, calm, but there's an edge to it.

"You're avoiding me. You don't look me in the eye anymore."

Your chest tightens. You set the book aside, hands shaking slightly.

"I didn't want you to see me like this," you admit.

He doesn’l't speak right away. The silence stretches long enough that you wonder if he's angry—or worse, disappointed.

And then you feel the mattress dip beside you.

"Tell me the truth," he says. "What are you thinking?"

You hesitate but there's no point in hiding anymore. Not from him.

"I used to be… I don't know. Pretty," you whisper. "And now I see myself and it's like… I'm someone else. And you—you're still you. Still handsome. You could be with anyone, Levi. Someone who's not scarred. Someone who doesn't make people stare."

Levi exhales slowly, like he's trying to hold something in.

"You think I fell in love with you because you were pretty?" he says finally.

You immediately regret.

"I didn't mean that! It's just-"

"I didn't fall for a face," he says, stopping you. "I fell for YOU. The way you fight to hide your sadness behind your smile, the way you don't give up even when everything's falling apart, the way you love people and try to understand them. And of course the way you argue with me even when you're wrong and the way you're a pain in my ass."

That earns a faint smile from you, but it fades just as quickly.

"I just… I feel like I don't deserve you anymore."

Levi doesn't flinch at your words. He reaches out, gently brushing away the hair that's covering your face.

"You don't see what I see," he murmurs. "I see someone who fought bravely, who survived. These scars?" He says as he gently caresses his thumb over your scar. "They don't make you less. They prove you're still here. Alive and safe. And with me"

You blink, tears threaten to spill. "But you're—"

"What? Handsome?" His tone is dry. "I'm glad you think a midget like me is handsome But I've done things I can't forget. I have blood on my hands unlike you. You're innocent but I'm not-"

His voice softens.

"I'm not perfect. Not even close. But I have loved you and I'm not letting you go just because of a few scars."

You can't hold back anymore. A quiet sob escapes you as you lean into him. He catches you easily, arms wrapping around your waist, firm and steady.

"You're still you," he whispers. "And you're still mine."

You bury your face in his shoulder, clutching his shirt like it's the only solid thing in the world. And maybe, right now, it is.

"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs, eyes closed.

A warmth spreads through your chest—quiet and unfamiliar. The fear isn't gone, not completely. But it's quieter now. Manageable. Because the man beside you doesn't see the marks on your skin as something to hide from.

He sees them as part of the person he chose to love.

[vivelegalite]

dear dead boy detective (especially paynland) enjoyers: have you yet heard of the biggest gift bestowed upon the fandom so far, aka jayden's charles playlist? the one he mentioned in interviews? well, he dropped it on twitter at 19th of may. and man, do i have stuff to say about it.

there's a lot of 80's bangers, for sure, great to get into the mood and character, but some of the choices...

i'm gonna focus on a few of my favourites, songs that made me go insane when i saw them. honorable mentions: - category 1 (so devoted the lines blur): ain't no mountain high enough by marvin gaye and tammi terrell, there is a light that never goes out by the smiths, inkpot gods by the amazing devil - category 2 (family life): family line and summer child by conan gray, seventeen going under by sam fender, matilda by harry styles, father by the front bottoms - category 3 (being queer in the 80s): smalltown boy by bronski beat, boys don't cry by the cure - category 4 (there's no heterosexual explanation for this one): good luck, babe! by chappel roan, yellow by coldplay, fight or flight by conan gray (is this about monty? the cat king? i need answers!), the prophecy by taylor swift, arms tonite by mother mother, sweet by cigarettes after sex, head over heels by tears for fears

this list is by no means complete or comprehensive!

and now, the songs that made me go the craziest: (they're predominantly in charles' pov as it's his playlist)

found heaven by conan gray

the only reason this song made it into the list and not the honorable mentions instead of smalltown boy is that it makes almost the same point, just so much more explicitly. i don't think i have to say much about it, it's a story of a young person griping with their queerness, being forced to leave home, a common theme of the playlist. "you're in love, you found heaven" when he chose edwin over his own afterlife, heavily implied to be heaven, and built his heaven with him on the mortal plane? ouch! (and we see this same notion repeated in another bop from the playlist, heaven is a place on earth by belinda carlisle).

2. like real people do by hozier

"i miss kissing" charles rowland, 202X romantic meaning aside, the verses show a sort of a common understanding the boys have around the manner of their deaths and their lives before it. we already know from the show they don't really talk about it, with edwin not knowing about the severity of the abuse charles suffered. it feels like one of them saying "let the past be past, we're together now, yeah?". but also, jayden: can there ever be a platonic explanation for this? ghosts can't touch, can't feel, so they wish they could just kiss like "real" (alive?) people do?

3. flaws by bastille

not the most romantic song, but i absolutely love how well it fits their dynamic. despite his edwardian brand of repression, edwin truly is the one that's more open about his feelings (recognising of course that in this case, the bar is so low it's in hell. haha, get it). edwin has worn his flaws upon his sleeve, and charles has held them buried - eg. bottling up all of his anger and resentment towards his family and his own death. the song presents a very sweet outlook, in which their flaws are brought up to the surface (for example, charles' outburst against the night nurse in episode 4), but they learn to accept them as they are, an extension of themselves.

4. a pearl by mitski

you know it's gonna get intense if there's a mitski song in the mix.

the song is about a person who finds love in their partner, someone who treats them way better than they've ever been treated - and yet they cannot bring themselves to reciprocate the affection ("it's not that i don't want you, sorry i can't take your touch") despite reciprocating the feelings themselves because of the trauma. charles is known to bottle things up ("you're growing tired of me and all the things i don't talk about"). the person in the song recognises the love the other person holds for them ("you love me so hard and i still can't sleep"), which reminds me of charles' response to edwin's confession. not a "no", but a "maybe, as time passes".

5. fair by the amazing devil

this one made me genuinely gasp when i first delved into the lyrics. it's simply so sweet, such a genuine and domestic portrayal of love. at first i thought it was way too open about being a love song (normal text instead of the subtext i'd be used to) for jayden to choose it with edwin in mind, but... there's no one else it can really be about. it's far too domestic, too "established" to refer to crystal. refers to a relationship that's laster for a longer while.

the narrator in the first verse is a person deeply in love with the other person, someone who loves to make his lover laugh and simply drinks in their presence. the "he" in the song i believe is charles, while the "she" refers to edwin. edwin promises to fight off anyone - or any feelings pulling charles down (we can see this in the first episode: "you ever think... what if death did catch us? she'd force us to go to the afterlife and split up" "i will make sure this never happens."). charles feels left behind by the world (seeing as he clings to crystal at first, refering to her as "someone their age who's still alive") and believes edwin to be so much stronger than he's ever been. i'm not going to break down the song verse by verse, but if you read it yourself while subbing out "he" for charles and "she" for edwin you'll see just how sweet (and... strangely very in character?) the song is.

6. work song by hozier

if the previous song made me gasp when i saw the lyrics, this one made me go "NO WAY" out loud when i saw the title. the first one verse is just pure toothrotting sweetness, but the chorus is what i want to draw attention to:

when my time comes around lay me gently in the cold, dark earth no grave can hold my body down i'll crawl home to her

HELLO? charles, who keeps escaping death and afterlife to be able to stay with edwin? charles, as he literally takes his last breath with edwin right there, choosing to be by his side rather than move on? charles, who keeps choosing him despite night nurse's promises and threats? charles, who literally crawled through hell for him?

verse 2, to me, can be interpreted as referring to when charles died. edwin found him at his worst, and he "woke" up with his presence comforting him. he was shivering due to hypothermia and his injuries. edwin didn't ask him about what happened or pushed him, he simply listened. the lines "i didn't care much how long i lived, but I swear, i thought i dreamed her" are pretty self explanatory.

in verse 3 we still see the same attitude of "damn the afterlife, at least we have each other" as charles portrays througout the series. they're free, and heaven and hell are simply words to him.

7. orpheus by vincent lima

i literally have no words for this one. it fits too well. if you want commentary for this one, just... i don't know, rewatch the staircase scene.

8. francesca by hozier

(cracks knuckles) this is the big one. the album francesca is from, unreal unearth, is based on dante alighieri's divine comedy, a fourteenth century poem about a man venturing into hell, purgatory and eventually heaven. the eponymous francesca is one francesca di rimini, a woman who was politically married off to a man older than her, called giovanni malatesta. francesca didn't love him, and eventually fell deep in love with giovanni's younger brother, paolo. the two carried on with the affair for years, before being murdered by giovanni upon his finding out. francesca and paolo are mentioned in canto v of the first book, inferno, as two souls damned in the second circle of hell, lust. their punishment is to be permanently locked in a hurricane, swept away by the winds the moment they manage to get close enough to touch one another.

as opposed to their portrayal in the poem, the song is from the perspective of paolo, explaining that no matter the punishment, he wouldn't change anything about his life because he got to know, and love, francesca.

the first verse brings to mind the scenes in hell, especially on the staircase ("do you think I'd give up? that this might've shook the love from me? or that I was on the brink? how could you think, darlin', i'd scare so easily?" as an echo of charles' "sorry. no version of this where i didn't come get you"). "my life was a storm since i was born, how could i fear any hurricane?" could relate to charles' tumultuous family life, an assurance that nothing he has to deal with while by edwin's side will faze him given the things he's lived through. no, despite everything he's suffered through, charles wouldn't do anything differently - because his (admittedly shitty) life led him to edwin ("i'd tell them, put me back in"). we already know charles would choose him over heaven, willingly sacrificing his own afterlife to stay with a boy he's known for hours, someone kind enough to keep him company as he drew his final breath. all of it - his father's abuse, his schoolmates' bigotry, the pain of his own death, as well as everything he's gone through since - he'd do it all again, for edwin.

"for all that was said of where we'd end up at the end of it" could be taken as an allusion to the fate the boys would meet at "at the end of it", when they're finally caught by death and separated, or as more of a general "if you sin, you will go to hell when you die" (up to you to decide what the sin itself would be - an interpretation that would work with other songs on the playlist is that one such sin would be same sex attraction). then their hearts ceased, they never knew "peace", nor did they want to find it in death. their deaths were too soon, them being ripped away from life, but even though it would break his heart: charles would ask to do it all again.

the outro, i think, beautifully pulls it all together: heaven is not fit to house a love like theirs.

to wrap it all up:

jayden, what were you cooking in there? what do you know??

[whenyouhearthedoorcreak]

currently thinking about merlin and arthur and the royal crown again

the first time he placed the ornate gold crown atop arthur’s blond hair he felt so proud that arthur was king, that he was alive and ready to be the king he was meant to be, the worry still crept in at the edges but most of the image was filled with hope.

but months later as he placed it once again on arthur’s head he hates it, hates the way his shoulders push back and his face falls into a sheet, the way he steels himself against the harsh pressure of it

and that evening in arthur’s chambers lit by warm candles and the crackling fire merlin had snuck out of the council meeting to light before the king returned, with the cold november air bustling the windows, merlin follows arthur over towards the table. the king leans against it his head bowed and a heavy sigh leaving his chest, and slowly as if moved by the breeze outside, merlin steps forward towards him his hands gently cupping arthur’s jaw

“arthur-”

“merlin please, i know the speech already but please i don’t want it i don’t-” he stops speaking as he feels the younger man’s hand come up to his hair removing the crown from his pounding head

“no speech, just let go for a moment, just focus on this… focus on me” merlin’s voice is quiet and careful as he looks in arthur’s eyes

he’d always loved those eyes, the revealed the secrets of the kingdom if you looked long enough. merlin knows his own eyes are blue just like arthur’s but there’s something different in the kings. in the brightest and happiest days of summer they shine like an open sky, when he laughs no matter the time of day lighting around him they just Shine.

but when he is sad, tired and worn down like he is right now, those eyes are deep and bottomless as the sea, tossing and turning and they pull merlin down into their depths like a capsized ship,

it killed merlin to see him like this, he carefully rested himself back against the edge of the table, arthur sat tired in the chair before him

“your a great king arthur”

“did you not hear me say no speech?” arthur reproached

“your a better man though, a better friend”

“oh” arthur looked at his servant, his friend for all these years,

it had always been merlin who placed the crown on arthur’s head. ever since he was corronated the only person aside from himself allowed to touch the crown was merlin,

it was a strangely intimate experience that arthur had come to covet, the quiet moment in his chamber before he spoke to or hosted a feast or whatever other occasion called for the crown to be worn. merlin would pull the ornate box containing it from the locked cupboard and pull the crown from its cushioning, polishing the metal while arthur sat and waited in his chair, watching the careful work. when merlin had deemed it worthy he would look at arthur

“ready m’lord?”

arthur was used to honourifics, he never had much preference, sire was basically a nickname at this point in his life, but something about merlin calling him that had always felt like an anointing, saved for the moments when he wanted arthur to know his rank meant something to merlin.

“ready”

arthur would rise from his seat and move to the light cast by the windows near where merlin was, kneeling gently on the stone floor, looking at its gray facing before looking up at the man he had come to call his friend, merlin’s hands would place the crown on his head gently, like he was scared it would hurt him, arthur would rise and merlin would rest his hand at arthur’s jaw, looking at him for a moment.

the first time it had happened arthur was surprised, confused to say the least. but the terror he felt at having to wear the crown, to act as king in its full capacity seemed to ease slightly at the gesture, calm moved through arthur’s whole body starting from the place where merlin lay his hand.

now, tired and worn down by the weight of the crown, he was glad for merlin’s presence for the comfort of that hand in his cheek

“you don’t need to be a great king for us all to love you” merlin’s hand fell away before he spoke, he looked at the floor as if he were holding something else back

“i think perhaps if i up and left my kingdom without a ruler the people may not love me much anymore merlin” arthur jibbed, attempting humour

“not sure they’d notice to be honest, your not particularly memorable”

“oh right yes but i’m sure everyone would notice if you left”

“oh the whole kingdom would fall apart”

“of course i forgot, sorry should i just put the crown on you now?”

“don’t think it’d fit anymore, to stretched out from your big head”

“very funny merlin” arthur had always admired merlin’s negligence of authority, how arthur was seemingly nothing more than his friend in almost all moments. he could forget the weight of the crown for a moment, he supposed that was part of the reason why merlin being the one to adorn him with it meant so much. as if merlin were naming him worthy, like a symbolic gesture of the trust they shared.

“maybe you should have the crown” arthur was somewhat shocked by his own words, but more shocked to realize he meant them

“is that a proposal?” merlin was joking, arthur knew that, but he couldn’t help indulging himself in the image, merlin in fine clothes and the bejeweled crown of a king

“could be” arthur shrugged “queen title would suit you”

“your not getting me to wear a dress”

merlin had walked away now, began folding the laundry sittting near arthur’s bed

“merlin, if i did leave” he tried to focus on the room around the servant rather than the light on merlin’s cheeks or the gold glow around his messy hair “would you come with me?”

he’d always wondered, if merlin would willingly leave with him. a pent up longing in his check for merlin is say yes, to confirm that they weren’t only thrown together by fate but that they would choose this bond, this closeness, even if nothing forced it upon them.

saying it now out loud, asking it, felt like a kind of soul bearing.

“i’m sure any of your friends would” merlin

“merlin”

the servants hands stoped moving and he raised his eyes to meet arthur’s, the angles of the kings face casted ornately in the glowing light of the fire.

“your my friend arthur, id go wherever you go” the answer felt obvious, he’d thought about it more recently, with agravaine betraying them and arthur seeming more exhausted than ever he wished he could just leave.

“your a good friend merlin” arthur reached for something on the table, an old scroll in leather wrapping that needed stored away with the other trade agreements, trying to think. good friend wasn't enough for merlin anymore, the affection he felt for the other man was unquantifiable. attempting to label his feelings for merlin was as impossible and daunting as attempting to capture the night sky in a fishing net.

what he wanted was to find a way back to merlin standing in front of him with the other boys hand combing through his hair, but that was a rare thing. all touch was for arthur, it always had been.

…

if this gets notes i’ll finish it and post it to ao3 idk ive never written fic before

[arcanefox207]

See How She Rides

Pairing🔹 Joel Miller x f!reader Rating🔹 Explicit, 18+ MDNI Word Count🔹 4.4k [ AO3 ] Summary🔹  BoatMechanic!Joel Miller is just doing his job when you show up unannounced to soak up some summer sun.  Warning🔹 Reader age undefined. Joel is late 40’s. No Outbreak. I don’t want to ruin the plot but this one is mostly smut. Unprotected P in V. Oral. Infidelity. Sleazy behavior. Not beta'd!

F I C U P DA T E S 🔸 M A S T E R L I S T 🔸 A O 3

“S’cuse me, Ma’am.” The greasy boat mechanic says when he notices your shadow looming over him from the dock. “Didn’t know anyone was coming out today.” He leans back from the engine compartment to get a good look at you.

You are standing there in your skimpy bathing suit with a sheer coverup. A wide brim hat and worn flip flops. A canvas tote slung on one arm and your other hand holding a small cooler. 

To his point, it was mid-week and an unusual time to be at the marina. Your no-good husband had been on a ‘business trip’ and you were tired of spending the hottest days of summer cooped up at home.

You pull your sunglasses down slightly and look over them at the greasy mechanic in your husband's boat. 

Greasy and absurdly handsome. 

It was high noon and the sweltering sun rays were wearing him down. He looked wilted and totally done for. The deck of the boat was a mess of tools and oily rags. Clearly he was not expecting company.   

He grabs an oily cloth and wipes his hands on it. He looks up at you with scrunched eyes as the sunlight was facing him. 

“I’ll be another 10. You mind waiting?” He brings his hand to his brow to act as a visor so he can see you better. You notice how the sun catches the emerging gray streaks in his messy hair and how his weathered skin shows years of hard work. He was probably in his late 40’s if you had to guess. 

Not at all. You think to yourself. In fact, this was exactly the type of excitement you needed. After all, why shouldn’t you get to have some fun too. 

The soothing sounds of the water plopping against the side of the boat and the dock creaked under you. It made the pause seem extra dramatic and drawn out.

“Hurry up then.” You snap at him, with a hint of playfulness.  

He nods and tosses the nasty rag on the floor as he kneels on the backseat and lowers himself back over the engine area. He stretches his arms out long as he reaches to tighten something with a wrench. A sliver of his skin on his lower back peeks out at you and shows more and more the further he reaches. Sweaty and tanned by many hours in the sun.   

He was doing some sort of maintenance your husband probably requested they do. He cared more about that boat than he cared about you, that was for damn sure. 

You decide that standing on the dock and waiting wasn’t really your style, and you want a better view. You toss your canvas bag and cooler over the edge and step into the boat from the side dock. It shifts slightly with your weight and brings attention to your presence.

The mechanic turns around with a concerned look.

“Careful, ma’am” He reaches his filthy, oil-stained hand out to you as you step into the boat. You grab it, reluctantly, to help with your balance. With both feet firmly inside the boat, you look up at him. You are taken aback by his size. His wide shoulders and tapered waist sculpted perfectly as his sweat soaked t-shirt clings to his body for dear life.  

“Joel Miller.” He introduces as he gives your hand a squeeze with his massive paw and pulls it away after you share yours. The corner of his lip pulls up slightly and he eyes you up and down briefly. 

“Be outta’ your hair soon.” He turns back to the engine, but can’t help looking over his shoulder to steal one more look at you. 

Typical sleaze, but this one was charming. 

You let out a deep breath, not realizing you had been holding it. You wanted to tease him initially and have some innocent fun, but now you feel a heat bubble inside you. It was obvious to Joel, too.

You grab your things and kick off your sandals. You make your way to the front of the bow. 

This was your favorite part of the boat. The open bow had a lounger that wrapped along both sides and plenty of room to sit at the very front too. It was the perfect place to read a book and sunbathe. The perfect place to distract Joel.

You pull off your coverup and toss your hat to the side. Your hair falls loosely over your shoulders. Your royal blue bikini was an excellent choice for today. This one tied around your neck and made your boobs look fantastic. Your bottoms were strappy and high cut and accented your curves beautifully.  

You reach into your bag and grab your suntan lotion. You tie your hair up into a messy bun. 

You take your seat at the very front so that you are facing towards the back of the boat. Joel is bent over the lifted back seat where the engine was stored, and head first in there working. 

His jeans were tight on his ass when he was bent over. His meaty thighs sticking to the grungy denim. He looked hot and uncomfortable working in the heat, but damn he looked good. 

You slather yourself with the lotion while you watch him work, getting more turned on by the minute. When he backed out of the engine to grab a tool his biceps flexed and his sweat beaded on his brow as he met your eyes. He caught you looking.

You bend your knee on the lounger and rub the lotion slowly up the full length of your leg while you turn your eyes away from him. Pretending to be busy and uninterested. 

You can still feel his gaze on you as you spread your legs spanning between the two loungers and work on the other side. The minimal coverage from your suit leaves little to the imagination. 

Joel stands up with his back to you and his hands on his waist. He shakes his head like he is telling himself not to get involved and closes the engine compartment. His knee turned outward just slightly in a slutty stance as he waits for the hydraulics to finish lowering the lid. 

He pushes the top firmly to make sure it latches, and his arms flex as he puts his weight into it. He looked so strong. So capable. So competent. Masculine in every sense of the word. 

As he turns towards you he pulls the front of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face. His tanned and sweat slicked skin glistens. You can see his tastefully toned abdomen in all its glory. Your eyes can’t help but notice how his jeans hug his hips and a messy thatch of hair trails up his belly.

“Got a water on ya?” He interrupts your gawking. 

He wipes his face once more with the shirt before letting it fall back in place. He scrunched his eyes and his lips pursed while he waits for you to respond.

“Yeah. Sure.” You snap out of your daze and reach into your cooler for a water bottle and bring it over to him. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” 

The bottle crinkles under his grasp as he makes quick work of it.  

He hands it back to you, empty, and smirks when your fingers feather over his. 

He gathers his things and poorly wipes down his grease stains with the cleanest of his shop rags.  

The back of your boat looks recognizable again with a full length seat spanning the width of the boat and another padded lounge area above it. Your other favorite place to spread out in the sun.  

Joel tosses his things onto the dock. He turns around and leans on the edge of the boat. His fingers tap the sides and he is stalling his departure, maybe deciding if he is going to make a move or be on his way.

You are also wondering if you should just say goodbye and be done with it. It would be the right thing to do, after all. Even though your no-good husband was probably knee deep in his mistress at this very moment. You had little loyalty to him these days, and tolerated just enough to get by with your comfortable life.  

“She’s a real beauty.” He slides his hand along the fiberglass edge, slowly and intimately. He pushes himself back up to his feet. He is towering over you again. 

“Excuse me?” You know he isn’t really talking about the boat, but you play dumb. 

“Would love to see how she rides.” He eyes you up and down and has a deadly serious expression on his face. He chews the inside of his cheek while he waits for your reaction. 

You were done for now. 

“I’m sure my husband paid you well. Better check your work, and all. Be thorough.”

Joel’s serious expression tries to hold back a grin. His brow softens. 

“Alright, I’ll be thorough.” 

You bite your lip to hold back your smile and hand him the keys.

Joel goes into full captain mode and starts the boat up. He jumps onto the dock to unwind the ropes from the metal cleats. He was a sight to behold. Letting out a few grunts as he scooched down to the ropes. 

You make yourself comfortable on the passenger side lounger, knowing full well you will be in his line of sight while he drives. You grab yourself a wine cooler.  

“Listen to her purr.” He taps the steering wheel as he gets back on the boat. He stands at the wheel and moves the throttle just enough to ease out of the slip. He tunes the radio to something playing yacht rock.

It doesn’t take long to get through the channel. The lake is quiet today. 

When you finally reach open water Joel pushes the throttle and your sporty boat glides over the waves. The breeze is refreshing and the occasional mist from the waves when the boat catches them just right feels good. 

From his angle Joel has a perfect view of your cleavage. You bring your knees up and knock them to the side so he can get an eyeful of your entire body. The suntan lotion makes you shine in the sunlight and you smell tropical and delicious. Coconuts and vanilla. You let your hair down and it blows in the breeze as you cruise along. 

After a few minutes you are in the middle of the lake. There is little boat traffic and you are far enough from land on either side. You look like specs in a sea of water.

You reach your hands back and untie your top and let it fall to the floor. You lay back with your chin up and arms to your side, pretending to soak in the sun. All you have left is the tiny strip of fabric barely covering your mound. 

It makes you feel alive and rebellious. No one can see your naked chest. No one except for the one you are showing off for. 

You are not looking at him, but you know he is staring at your body. You know his jeans are getting uncomfortably tight. You know where this is going. 

“Goddamn.” You hear him mutter and out of the corner of your eye you see his arm move to rake through his hair. 

Joel slows down the boat and kills the engine. The radio continues to play softly, but the sounds of the waves clacking against the boat are much louder. 

“Does it bother you if I do this? I don’t want tan lines.” You innocently ask as you turn your head over your shoulder at him. 

Joel is eyeing you.  

“Bother aint the word for it, sugar.” He rakes his hand down his face and scratches his scruff. He crosses his arms in front of him and leans against the captain's chair. 

You puff your chest out as you adjust in your seat. 

“You gonna stop teasin’ and get over here already?” He asks. 

You drape your legs back properly to the floor and push yourself up, sliding your skimpy suit bottoms down. You saunter over to Joel, naked and confident.

He is still looking greasy and miserable, but considerably more refreshed. Your eyes go to the bulge in his denim and you reach out to grab his waistband. You want to climb him like a tree. 

“I will...” you hook your fingers over the top of his jeans. “.. if you keep this little boat ride between us.” You trail one of your hands lightly over his zipper.

Joel looks you straight in the eyes with a feral hunger. It sends a shiver down your spine.  

“Deal.” He enunciates it with finality. No more charades. 

He grabs your waist and pulls you into his lap as he sits back in the seat properly. Your legs are straddling him and you can feel his hardening cock grind against you. He presses his mouth into yours and roughly pushes his tongue into you. His hands roam your body. 

You break away for a moment and grab for his shirt. He pulls it over his head and lets it fall to the floor. You bring your hands to press flat against his chest. His skin is firm and his muscles are tense. He smells sweaty and metallic. It isn’t pleasant, but it brings out some animalistic lust inside you and you don’t want him any other way.  

His calloused hands find your tender breasts and he grabs at you. His rough fingertips brush over your nipples and he thumbs your hardening peaks. He is so rough, and it is exactly what you need. 

He breaks his mouth away from yours and nips at your jawline and the supple skin in your neck. His movements are ravenous. His hands travel further down your body until he has them firmly on your hips. 

He hoists you up so you are sitting on top of the steering wheel. You brace one arm on the side windshield of the boat and the other grabs onto Joel’s hair as he dives into your pussy. 

He licks a broad stroke from your asshole all the way up to your clit, taking pause to swirl his tongue when he reaches your most sensitive part. 

You let out a moan and buck into him, tangling your fingers in his mess of curls and holding on for dear life. His scruff scratches against your tender skin. 

Joel pushes further into you and puts your legs over his shoulders, giving himself more control. His nose nudges your clit while he presses his tongue inside you and laps at the wetness he is extruding from you.

You lay your head back and gasp for breath as he just goes at you deeper and with more ferocity. It is a good thing he is supporting you with his shoulders as your legs are becoming weak. He digs into your hips to pull you even closer into his face.  

“Joel! Oh my… god.” You can barely speak. He is devouring you and you can feel your insides surge with elation as he worships you. Your thighs start to clamp firmer on him as you feel the wave of pleasure building and building. 

He pulls away briefly and sneers up at you. 

“What a messy cunt she is.” His words are crude and vulgar. His mouth is as filthy as he looks. It makes you pulse even more. 

He resumes lapping at your folds and is relentless. Pressure is building inside you and you grind against him as he starts to pull away and deny your release. You whine a little, relishing the final brush from his scruff leaving your thigh. 

You were so close to coming. This was surely payback for teasing him.   

“Ain’t you a sight to see.” He sits upright in his chair and keeps you at arms length with his hands still firmly grabbing your hips and your legs slip off his shoulders. He eyes your swollen and needy cunt. “I got just the thing for you.” He brings a hand to his jeans and unzips. 

The audible moan you make when you see its size makes him smirk. He is already hard and leaking. His shaft is impossibly thick. Uncut and girthy. 

“You want this?” He strokes his full length and the head of his cock is swollen and seeping as he pumps himself. You have never seen such a beautiful dick. You feel like a feral cat, ready to beg for scraps. 

You let out a moan and slide yourself back into his lap. The heavy weight of his cock slaps against your belly. You try to rut up against the underside of his shaft. Anything for some friction. He denies you contact and takes it back into his hand.

“Gonna’ have to ask real nice, sweetheart.”  

“Joel. Please.” You beg. 

“Please what?” 

“Fuck me.”

Joel shifts under you and gets up from his seat, pulling you up with him. One arm finds the small of your back and pulls you up close to him, and the other he snakes between you. He brushes two fingers up and down the length of your slit until they are wet. He thumbs at your clit and plunges his two fingers deep inside you. 

The stretch is a lot to take so suddenly but you are primed and begging to have any part of him inside you. His fingers were thick. If you weren’t soaking wet for him you might shudder at how gritty and filthy they were. 

He can feel your walls flutter around him as he thrusts his fingers deep, finding that perfect spot inside that makes you come undone.

“There she is.” He smirks as he looks over his nose and down to you and watches your eyes go wide when he touches you just right. Writhing by his hand.     

He fucks you until you come, soaking his fingers with your release and breathlessly moaning his name.  

He pulls his fingers from you and licks them clean with his tongue. Savoring your sweetness. Pleased with his handiwork.  

While you are looking fucked out but still wanting more he doesn’t give you time to recover. 

“Oh, did you want a taste, sugar?” He doesn’t wait for you to respond and presses his mouth into yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue. Under normal circumstances you may have found that revolting, but he had a way of making you feral for any contact with him. 

You moan as he wraps his tongue around yours. His taste mixed with yours is intoxicating. He reluctantly bites at your lip when you find the strength to pull away. 

As much as you enjoy being pleasured by his touch, your mind is clouded by desire to have his cock inside you. Under the baking sun, nothing could quench your thirst more than having his cum spilling into your throat. 

“Your turn.” You bite your tongue as you hold back a wicked smile and press away from him. You tug at his jeans and boxers enough that they slide down him. He hastily kicks off his work boots and steps out of them fully. 

You take in his perfectly sculpted body. Under all that filth he really was a sight for sore eyes.   

You drag your hand down his chest and your fingers trace over his thick happy trail. You step towards him and back him to the edge of the boat while your hand wraps around his shaft. Your delicate, soft fingers are laughable in contrast to his size. You slide a finger down his full length, tracing his pulsing vein. You tease his sensitive tip with a feather touch. He is ready to burst and you don’t want to wait another moment. 

He widens his stance and groans softly as you drop to your knees and take him in your mouth. Your hands hold him at the base while you swirl your tongue around him and lick the underside of his cock. 

His fingers tangle in your hair as he firmly holds onto you.  

You bob your head slowly as you take in more and more of him and he bucks into you. You move your hands to wrap around the back of his thighs as you take him deeper. 

You can feel his restraint to take it slow and gentle but it is waning the longer you have him in your throat. Your eyes swell with tears as you try to relax and let him fuck your mouth.    

“Look at you. Taking me so well.” He rests his head back and grunts as you pull back and suck on his tip. The salty taste of his precum invigorating you to suck harder as you hollow your cheeks. You feel his cock twitch and pulse and he is so close to bursting inside you.     

He suddenly pulls you off of him with a rough grip in your hair. Your swollen lips and open mouth looking pitiful as it loses contact from him.   

“Not yet.” He groans. “Gonna make that pussy mine first.” His words fire out through clenched teeth and his eyes are blown out and dark. He pulls you up by your hair. You gasp at the audacity and his roughness.

You stumble over your words of protest and excitement as he pushes you over to the back seat. Even if it’s morally fucked up, you do want him to claim you. 

He bends you over the back seat so your knees are perched on the seat and your body is splayed over the back. He pushes his body up against you and nudges you with his cock as he leans over you to speak into your ear.     

“Look.” He sighs, picking up that you are having some concerns about this behavior. “Seen him fuck more than one woman on this boat. He’s a loser.”

“Don’t I know it.” You nod in agreement. 

He presses his cock against your ass and has you pinned down under his weight. He slides a hand up the side of your thigh and around your front to make a little room between you and the seat. He gently grazes your clit and lets his middle finger dip into you to gather some of your slick. There is no hiding how wet you are for Joel Miller.    

“I’m gonna fuck you right, f’this is what you want.” He kisses you in the crook of your neck as you push back against his cock. 

You want him inside you. You need him inside you.  

“Fuck me, Joel.” He drags his free hand down your spine as he stands upright. You arch your back as he slinks his hand between your legs to press them open.

His cock is still wet from your saliva and he rubs your slick over it for good measure.

“Alright, sugar.” He pushes the head of his cock into you and you claw at the seat under you. His fingers were a lot but they paled in comparison to this. He grunts as he pushes in deeper, taking it slow and letting his cock drag heavy against your walls. 

“Goddamn you’re tight.” He picks up the pace and digs his nails into your sides as he pulls you hard against him. 

The stretch from him hurts so good. With each thrust he makes more room for himself inside you and you welcome him in eagerly.   

He grabs a fistfull of your ass and slaps you hard. You wince at the sudden sting. He claws his fingers back into your sides and holds you tight. He has to be close to finishing. He has been painfully hard for too long to hold out much longer. You are almost there yourself. Filled to the brim by his thick cock.

He lifts one leg onto the seat for more leverage as he pounds into you. He pulls you up so your back is flush with his chest and furiously grabs at your breasts. Each plunge of his cock goes deeper and harder. His hands grab desperately at anything to hold onto, pinching at your skin.

You are teetering on the edge of release. Screaming his name loudly where no one can hear but him. It's cathartic. 

He pushes you back down roughly and comes undone inside you. Snarling and panting as he unloads his hot cum deep inside you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck.” He pants. 

You moan and milk his cock as you ride out your shared climax.

As your breathing slows he plants his foot back down and eases out of you slowly. His spend drips out of you and down your leg. You feel like a slut. Joel’s slut.  

You crawl down into the seat and lay on your back, with the biggest smile on your face. You have never felt more alive. 

You both take a much needed dip in the lake before ending your boat ride. It is refreshing and intimate floating with Joel. For a greasy boat mechanic, he was good company. 

When you get back to the marina and Joel parks the boat the moment is bittersweet. You know this can’t happen again and you know you will never stop wanting it to. 

“She rides good.” Joel teases as he peels himself away from the captain's chair and goes to step off the boat. “Hope my works’ to your satisfaction, ma’am.”

“Joel?” You bite your lip as you smile at him. 

“Mmm?” He looks at you from the dock.

You smile, shyly, struggling to find the words. Joel makes a zipper motion across his lips. He knows exactly what you are trying to say. 

“Between you and me, sweetheart.” 

With a wink he turns and disappears down the dock. 

You resume your leisuring in the sun, plotting when you can do this again. 

As always love to my sluts 🧡 @magpiepills @legendary-pink-dot @exquisiteserotonin @for-a-longlongtime @pink-whiskey-woman

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And tagging friends who I hope will enjoy this one too. Love you all, thank you for supporting my shenanigans 🧡

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[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Alliances are built while minds crumble. An unexpected guest appears. The end draws near.

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

[Part one]  [Ao3]  [17] [19]

18 * Mirage [11.5k]

"Got a job got money got a place to be, Run though the desert trying to find me, me, me."

White on white - FIDLAR

        Markus was used to making split second decisions. He could rush to hide you, but then Mohawk, who had the same speedy perception as him, would see. Get pissed, know he was trying to hide you. Or he could let Mohawk see you, risk letting the unpredictable freak inside the building where you'd clearly just got done fucking Tracksuit. Both seemed like bad ideas. 

        Markus turned but didn't move from the doorway. Body blocking your frame.

        "Hey." Mohawk didn't seem to notice how strange Markus's positioning is. His dark eyes were wild and unfocused. He'd gone weeks without water, surviving off blood which only shriveled his brain. "You hear any of that," he pointed to the dull colored sky, "up there."

        Markus's eyes flicked to Gray who was also weighing the options of quickly hiding you versus hoping Mohawk just didn't spot you.

        "No." He'd been too busy scolding you and Tracksuit. Both standing behind him now. Listening. Wild cards he couldn't control. You weren't sure what you wanted to do, what this was about. They told you Mohawk had been in contact with them, but unreliable, unpredictable and insistent on staying alone. 

        Mohawk huffed out his nose. "Where's the others? Don't wanna relay this shit a billion times."

        Tracksuit didn't look at you as he put his mask back on, moving out the other busted window, lounging on it to block his view of you. "Right here, guy."

        "What about the gay one?"

        "I can hear you." Maskless floated over from the tent. Relieved to hear something that wasn't moaning or bickering.

        Mohawk nodded to himself, "Okay, okay, good, awesome, yeah." He didn't notice how weird it was three of the Marks blocked his view into the building. Too distracted by his pounding headache, the heat, and the gnawing fear. "We gotta move or like form defensive maneuvers or something or-" He swayed on his feet, holding his aching head a moment before continuing, "Assholes gonna come for you. Kill ya, take one of ya hostage and replace that pussy loser." His head lolled against his shoulder, hair drooping sad against his head. Suit ripped, exposing his arms just past the shoulders, shoving off slivers of his thighs. So tired. So worn. He just wanted to lay down and rest but there was never anywhere cool, safe, with water or with the thing he craved the most- you.

        You knew who the 'assholes' were, you needed to know about the other, your stomach twisting as you spoke without thinking, "Pussy loser?"

        Mohawk snapped upright. Unsure what he'd just heard. He'd been hearing a lot of things in the quiet desert lately. Mainly your voice or his fathers whispering over his shoulder or in his blank dreams. 

        Sand shifted softly inside the building. The Marks in the windows tensed but stayed silent. Hoping you'd just stay inside, let Mohawk believe it was a heat mirage, but you needed to know. You pushed at Seb's back, "Move." He did. Unsure if that was the best idea but feeling like he owed you some pliancy. 

        Mohawk had to be hallucinating. There was no way a human like you could still be alive out here. But there you were despite him rubbing his eyes. The sun reflected gold on your sweat-slicked skin, shoulders unburdened with stress in the sweet afterglow of sex. He didn't feel himself step forward, couldn't stop his arms from reaching out for your skin to make sure it was real, you were real. "(Y/n)?"

        Gray floated into his path, "You can speak to her after we've-" Mohawk grabbed him by the arm and flung him away with shocking force. He rushed forward, half-expecting his arms to go straight through you but his hug lands home, wrapping around your body. He nuzzled his stubbly jaw into your (hair/scalp) inhaling deep. You smelled terrible but unmistakably like yourself. You groaned in his grip, ribs on the verge of bruising. He chuckled an apology, holding back tears as he looked into your face. Thumbs coming to your cheeks, poking and stretching, making double sure.

        Squished lips part, "You can quit it now." You grunted, not knowing how much your voice was a melody to him.

        He didn't think about the others, the repercussions, he just kissed you. Pressing his lips hurriedly to your forehead, your cheeks and finally your mouth. Teeth meeting your forcibly puckered lips. Worming his tongue past your surprised defenses, tasting you, tasting meat, tasting...

        Markus tore him off, "You're hurting her." 

        You stumbled back against the concrete building. Mohawk's eyes wide, set on you, not even acknowledging Markus' hand on his shoulder. "Who the fuck was that?"

        You violently rubbed at your mouth now infected with the taste of stale blood, "What?" 

        All preconceived notions were out the window. He wasn't thinking right. Relieved. Scared. Pissed. Dehydrated. "Who the fuck were you just kissing?" 

        Behind Mohawk, Markus fixed you with a look. One that made you want to rebel against daddy but you knew he knew better. Don't tell him. Don't rub anything in his face right now. He's dangerous.

        You'd play along. Bitch out Markus later. "I'm not your girlfriend, dude. I'm not gonna taste the same."

        "If you look and sound the same, you're not gonna taste different. Who?" His gaze slid to Seb. "Was it you?" His hiss was venomous, completely murderous. 

         Seb held up his hands, "Haven't seen you in forever but I still believe in bro code, man."

        Mohawk nodded to himself like it wasn't the most obvious lie ever. He turned to Markus.

        "Must've been you." Partly true but he didn't need to know that. "Did you make her call you Daddy or something? Huh? You sick f-"

        Gray was a flash. "Enough." Suddenly they were both yards away. He had him on the ground before you could even process, Gray's boot pressed to Mohawk's neck. "This is unimportant to the issue at hand. Where are they now? Are we in immediate danger?"

        "I don't have a fuckin' GPS on them you," Mohawk grabbed him by the ankle, tried shoving him off with an, "idiot." This time Gray was expecting the attack, budged but not far, foot pinning him back into the sand. Mohawk choked, sinking into the soft ground. "I'm not the one you should be worried about. Like I told you, they're coming to-" Mohawk shifted, tried to dislodge Gray with a kick to the side but Gray was unmoved, sustained by food and water where Mohawk was not. "-kill you!"

        Gray didn't let up. For one, it was a good idea to keep crazy in check. For two, Mohawk had forced himself on you so openly, then had to audacity to be angrier than he was at the situation. What a silly, stupid man he was. Gray could not wait to be rid of him.

        "Let him up." 

        Gray's foot didn't release. Your control bounced off him like a rubber bullet. You tried, "Please?" Not expecting it to work.

        He barely lifted his foot, lost his focus to look at you, but it was enough for Mohawk to slip away on his back. Huffing and shaking off sand as he hovered above the ground.

        Mohawk eyed him darkly, "Was it you?"

        A nasty human part of him was tempted to tell Mohawk you'd sucked his dick, to upset him. The Viltrumite half of him overruled- but only barely. "As I said it's inconsequential."

        That seemed good enough for Mohawk. So dazed he couldn't detect double-speak. He made no move to choke you out in another hug so Gray made no move to pin him down. Annoyed as he was that you didn't want Mohawk on the ground where Gray felt he belonged. 

        You pointed at Mohawk, "By pussy bitch you mean Phantom, right?" Mohawk nodded stupidly, just happy to hear your voice now, to have your attention. "He's alive?" Another nod.

        "Those shitheads have been eatin' 'im alive." Mohawk doesn't tell you he's been eating him too. Though you already had a pretty good idea of the situation based on the taste lingering on your tongue.

        Markus can see the idea before it's even a twinkle in your eye. "Don't make him take you on a suicide mission. He's weak. You'll both die."

        "I'm not weak." Mohawk snarled as if he wasn't about to wilt in the sun.

        "Then we all go!" You snapped. "There's two of them, six of us! They have no chance."

        The truth of that rolled through the group like the hot wind on the dunes. It wouldn't be a hard fight. It'd be over fast. There'd be at least two bodies worth of Mark jerky to eat. Except none of them trusted each other and they all knew it. Had felt it when you were gone, there was nothing holding them together without you. There was no guarantee everyone would survive the fight, especially you in your fragile human body. A worse alternative, if you didn't go, somebody could be on the verge of death and cry out, 'Stop, I'll tell you where (Y/n) is if you don't kill me!' No Mark Grayson took defeat gracefully. 

        They had no synergy in battle, hadn't trained since landing here. When the fight was done, one of them could be hurt, easy to kill, and the others just might converge in for extra meat and another Mark off the competition roster. Markus and Seb shouldn't exactly be on a battlefield together at the moment.

        None of them say it. All of them hope the others aren't thinking it, but they are. Nobody trusts the others enough. Cocky in their strength but worried the others would dog pile when they were down.

        "I have a better plan." Gray said. 

        Mohawk watched the sky, eyes erratic. "Can we maybe talk about it somewhere less out in the open, shithead?"

        ***

        The cave was lit by a sunbeam, traveling miles upon miles down, a reminder you weren't trapped anymore. You stood on the spotlight's edge, it was far as you'd go into the cave. They needed to relocate, had to gather supplies for a journey, it was the only good option for the moment, and Gray insisted on going to collect food. You thought he meant any lingering bugs, maybe the fungal garden he'd talked about digging up. But you were mostly dwelling on the fact you felt no sense of closure being here again. When they said you had to come with them, you didn't fight. Wanted to see this place one last time and say goodbye to it on your terms. 

        Most of the cave had filled with sand, the Queen's pool was polluted with the stuff. Mohawk dove into the water without a second thought, drinking until he almost threw it all up, but all you could think about was Mark kissing you in the clear water, the sound of chittering bugs surrounding you. You could no longer hear them, the Queen's body and the thousands of dead decomposing eggs filled the cavern with the scent of rot. The Marks moved efficiently around you like the bugs used to. Somehow with your kingdom crumbled, you still rule. 

        Seb fashioned pieces of the Queen's shell into vases to hold as much water as possible. Maskless stayed above ground, keeping constant vigilant guard for the alleged incoming threat. Markus stood behind you, offering, "I can take you up if it's too much."

        Your eyes scanned the sand for Mark's body but found nothing. Maskless had told you he was buried. Good, he deserved that much. But you still felt sick seeing the cave and not him. Not knowing what he did to himself, what you did to him.

        "I'm still pissed at you." You said. He didn't argue because he didn't agree with your frustration, wasn't sorry for getting upset. You did something stupid, childish and now you were trying to act like you hadn't made a mistake. Like you weren't shaking, feeling the heavy guilt deep in your gut for fucking Seb then coming back to Mark's grave. It'd do your marriage no good to rub your nose in it, so Markus let you feel what he'd been trying to protect you from. 

        He knew you were crying though your back was to him. Could tell by the set of your shoulders and stuttered breaths. He watched you while you stared at the sand pile, trying not to dive into it. Neither of you watching the other two in the smoke filled hamster hut. 

        Gray didn't apologize for attacking and Mohawk didn't attack. The truce was glass-brittle, but they worked together silently. Gray was using the sheet of your worn cot as a sack to store the smoked meats inside while Mohawk tore off pieces of a Mark ribeye with his teeth. Occasionally moving a piece into the sack for Gray.

        He'd relay the plan to the others later but for now he wanted to hammer home it's importance with Mohawk, who was clearly a loose cannon.

        He spoke as he pulled long stripes of dried thigh off the makeshift wrack. "You must understand why we don't want her around them."

        "I'm not stupid," Mohawk said with a mouthful of meat. 

       Gray didn't agree, but kept talking. "(Y/n) thinks she wants to fight, but what she really wants is Phantom dead."

        Mohawk remembered the fight. The suspicion of Phantom. The confirmation of Scars and Lensless questioning him everyday and you not being with them, dead or alive. He knew the freak was involved but not the extent. The memory made him angry nonetheless, "Knew I should've killed that emo fuck."

        Gray shook his head. Mohawk had reported his condition while you all flew over. You seemed partly enthused, partly annoyed by the news. Wished you could've done it yourself.

        Gray said, "It'd be best for us to remove Phantom from the equation quietly, but (Y/n) wouldn't like that. She's smart for a human, she'd find a way to make us confess." He knew most of the others wouldn't be able to withstand your mental control- those who could would fall prey to your more manipulative tactics. He wasn't sure he could hide anything if you touched him again. "We have to bring him to us, let her kill him herself. That way, she won't have any reason to walk into immediate danger and those two will wear themselves down without food or entertainment."

        Mohawk quirked a brow, mind returning to him more with every chew and swallow. "We can't trust him you know."

        "We won't keep him alive long. Just enough for him to tell us more about the others condition and talk to (Y/n). I'm eighty percent sure she will want answers for what transpired here." Gray tested lifting the sack. Heavy and straining, but it could take a few more pounds. 

        "What'd he do?" 

        "(Y/n) hasn't fully divulged." As if Gray would tell him if he knew. 

        Mohawk grunted into another bite. "And what if I wanna kill those assholes myself?"

        Gray leveled him with a stare. Eyes near black unlike Mohawk's chocolaty rich hue. "They'll kill each other for us, they're unstable as is. No risk on our part." Mohawk opened his mouth to argue, but Gray doubled down, "You want to live to be with (Y/n), correct?" His mouth shut. Gray didn't like the idea of keeping Mohawk around, but knew there was strength in numbers. Despite how things hashed out when you went missing, he wouldn't let it happen again. "Then we are agreed."

       ***

       Seb dragged the impromptu pots over. One in each hand. Huge and sloshing.

        "There's some left," Seb reported, "But I don't wanna risk spilling so we can come back for the rest later."

         Markus nodded but made no move to help. He thought Seb would do well to struggle and think about what he'd done, and more importantly Markus was planning to carry you to safety, across the new threshold wherever they decided to hunker down. He looked to the sky above the cave, found Maskless floating still. No signs of danger yet but still the others should, "Hurry up."

        Just then Mohawk and Gray exited the hamster hut. A rugged sack slung over Gray's shoulder, hanging heavy with smoked meat. The smell penetrated through the rot and punched you in the gut. You knew all at once what was in that bag. You wanted to hurt Gray for holding it. Wanted to force them all to tell you who'd done the processing, but all of them had probably helped- all of them kept this from you. Except for one.

        There was no time to lash out. Not with the impending threat.

        You turned to Mohawk, trailing behind Gray, gait much steadier than it'd been before but nowhere as healthy as his companion. "Wherever we're going, you're flying me." You didn't need powers to make him do it. 

        A wry smile slid across his cracked lips. "Was jus' gon ask, baby." He trotted to your side, took you into his arms like you belonged there. He was much gentler this time, even asked, "This good?" You nodded and he beamed. Tired, sunburned, feeling butterflies. 

        "(Y/n)-" Markus started.

        "Don't talk to me." 

        ***

        The rock was cool. Retaining the heat from the day but not baking you alive. Gray spotted the slab of stone after an hour of flying low and slow. After scouting the area and deeming it Lensless and Scars free, construction began. Construction being Gray spinning like a drill and hollowing the thing out. Only leaving a narrow hidden hole at the bottom to get in and out of. You refused to go inside until there were more exits. Tiny punched holes in the roof for slits of light so you could remember- you weren't back in the cave.

        He obliged with curt nods. Never once talking to you. Not under control but respecting your wishes. You'd need time to process and he was okay with that. He was just happy you hadn't yelled at him like you had Markus on the flight over. While he worked, the others gathered scraps from the wastes. Always with an eye on the sky. Wondering if they were going to spot Scars and Lensless. Wondering if the momentary peace was going to shatter. You stayed outside while the work was done, trying to make yourself a bed. 

        "Piece of shit." You hissed as the garbage disintegrated in your hands. You'd been trying to make a place to sleep for the past half-hour with what little you had to zero success. Just a birds nest of useless crap.

        As it turned out, Mohawk was right. Scars and Lensless were on the prowl. When Maskless and Seb went back to the camp to grab supplies after convincing Gray they'd be careful. They got dangerously close to camp before spotting Scars' torn cape. They hid behind a dune, watching, calculating if this was a fight they could win, two on two. Seb thought yes, Maskless thought no. When Seb shifted to fight, Maskless held him back shaking his head. 

        They watched as the duo raided camp. Tore the tent apart. Turned the concrete ruins into rubble, calling out, "Come out, come out wherever you are!"

        They didn't move. Waited until they got bored and left, heading in the opposite direction of the new camp to their relief. They took what they could from camp, but it wasn't much. The cots were shredded and Lensless stole Seb's beloved hammock for himself. Asshole.

        They returned in a sweaty panic. Explaining everything as Gray swept the remnants of the rock dust outside. Gray insisted scouting end for the day, that everyone come inside at once. Nobody argued. Even you, whose body prickled from being in an enclosed space again. So soon after returning to that cave and the memories it brought back. You had to remind yourself over and over of the hidden exits. The light filtering through the roof in tiny dots. 

        The boys talked shop. The threat level, how safe it was here, how they were going to parse out food, when and if they should attack first. On the other hand, you stayed alone in a corner. Given up on the cot. Idly sticking a sharp piece of metal through scraps of cloth to make... you don't even know. You just needed something to do with your hands.

        Night fell. The first in this new palace of stone. You pushed off Markus's quiet offer of cuddling. Refused Gray's offer of a patchwork blanket he'd made in a matter of minutes. You curled alone by the fire, shoved into the corner away from the exits. Ceiling holes patched for the night with cloth so no fire light escaped. The floor was freezing even so close to the fire. Nothing was comfortable. The smoke smell reminds you of Mark's meat sat across the base, hidden behind a stack of rocks. As if you not seeing it would hide the truth of what they'd done.

        Bugs crawled between your fingers. The last handful alive had found you hours after leaving the queen's chamber. Came chattering along, carapaces milky with age. They'd all die soon. You could go back to the cave, pick through the rubble and eat the dead, but you were sure they were decomposed by now. There was only one option left and you knew it. Hated it, but had trouble admitting to yourself- it was probably the right move. Still, you turned around when Gray looked at you. Ignored Markus when he tried to talk to you. Shoved off Seb's jokes. Maskless didn't acknowledge you and for that, you were thankful. He had always been the most understanding when it came to your time in the cave. 

        "Wanna share body heat?" Mohawk stood over you, watching you shiver.

        The last time you saw him, he rifled through your phone and pissed you off so bad Mark thought it'd be a great idea to take you into the caves he killed himself in. You fixed him with a glare. "We're not friends."

        He bit back the urge to say, 'We're more.' He was worn, but not emotionally stunted.

        He sat heavily by your feet, voice soft, "Heard you went through hell."

        "I don't want to talk to you." Ouch but at least you were speaking to him. At least you hated those other guys right now, not him. 

        He laid himself behind you. All too aware of the others watching him. "Don't gotta talk to be warm." He held his arm over your waist, waiting for approval to bring it down.

        "I have the fire." You grunted.

        That wasn't a no. His arm draped over your waist, pulled your back flush to his warm front. The floor was still freezing but Mohawk was like a furnace. You didn't relax into him but you let it happen, took the comfort you desperately needed. Markus's discomfort, palpable from across the room, was a plus. 

        ***

        You counted the days as they passed. One, two, seven, nine. The first few were wrought with tension. Everyone but Mohawk, who had no idea, was pissed at Seb. You both were annoyed by Markus though you didn't share this with Seb. He'd kept the jerky from you too so right now you weren't feeling very buddy-buddy.

        You ate the last of the bugs as they died of old ages skittering in your palms. There'd been a few close calls where Scars and Lensless flew overhead. The worst happened one morning when they landed on the bases roof. Everyone went still. Prayed to God they wouldn't hear the surge of heartbeats through the rock and fabric covered holes.

        They only touched down a second. Lensless heaving and telling Scars to, "Slow down."        

        "No." Scars snapped. "This is survival, we can't just slow down."

        "We should still conserve energy." Lensless huffed. "Dunno when we'll run into those weaselly assholes."

        Scars made a noncommittal noise before his boots left the roof. "Come on."

        Lensless sighed. Debris rained as they took off.       

         Nobody moved for minutes until Mohawk snapped, "Are we all just a bunch'a pussies? They were right there!"

        "Keep your voice down," Maskless said.

        "You didn't make a move either." Markus said.

        Mohawk reeled on him, "Because I know you pussies wouldn't back me up." 

        None of them object. You do, "I would. We can still go." 

        Mohawk was a strange case. He was obnoxious, always ready to bite someone's head off, but he didn't turn your boyfriend into jerky. He backed you up on arguments with Markus he had nothing to do with. He kept you warm at night. He told Gray to stop fucking you with his eyes so much. 

        You weren't quite friends like you and Seb were, even closer post-fuck with lots of time to talk about nothing (when you momentarily forgot you were mad at him and got lonely) but you didn't exactly hate Mohawk either. You wouldn't die for him, but you were more than okay with the idea of helping him kill those fuckers. 

        "No, you're not," Markus said like he was judge, jury, and executioner. Intent on protecting you though you'd been snappish and cold toward him for days.

        "You can't stop me." You said knowing he could. Knowing despite your fully healed leg you couldn't control Markus. You thought you had in Japan when you first met but you saw it now- he was just placating his wife. You added, "I can make the others stop you from keeping me here."

        His eyes darkened. "You can barley control those two at the same time." 

        Seb barked out a, "Hey!"

        Maskless rolled his eyes. Hating that he was your personal training dummy. "We're not having this conversation again. Nobody's letting (Y/n) leave because you idiots won't admit she's a valuable asset who could make sure those freaks don't move while we lop their heads off. This wouldn't be a hard decision if you weren't all selfish assholes."

        Mohawk narrowed his eyes on Maskless. "Why do you care all of a sudden?" Nobody had fessed up to whose spit was on your breath days ago. For all Mohawk knew, Maskless switched teams. 

        Maskless looked exasperated. "I don't. I just know if I was alone in the desert, you would've killed me already. The only reason you haven't is because I'm the one who found her." It was a truth they'd all been dancing around. Maskless wasn't part of the wider universal play involving you, he'd fallen to the wayside. No one but Seb would care if he died. Once the jerky dried up, he was next.

        "Why would we do that?" Markus snapped though they all knew why. A Mark alone was a sitting duck waiting to be eaten by the duo. The only reason Mohawk hadn't been was he was fast. Avoidant. 

        You vaguely recalled Maskless pulling you out of the cave. The hours after him splinting your leg. You should've said it days ago, "Thanks for that by the way, even if you just did it to keep yourself alive."

        He rolled his eyes but said nothing. He felt a bit guilty about you knowing, but it was the truth. 

        Markus didn't like where this was going. "She's not a survival totem."

        Maskless threw up his arms, "She literally is! The only reason we have food and water is because of her." The bugs and the Mark meat. "Those two want her, she could be bait and we could sneak up on them or something. Anything's better than just sitting here doing nothing."

        Mohawk bobbed his head along. "Gay one's got a point."

        Maskless's lips thinned. Gray's expression gave no tells. "It's too dangerous to use her at bait." A few weeks ago he'd think differently but now all he saw when he looked at you was pleasure unclaimed. Too rare to give up.

        Maskless didn't care. He just needed the quiet part they'd all been avoiding to be said, "She already is bait to you people. The only reason you assholes haven't killed each other yet is you don't want to die in the fight and not be the last guy standing who gets to fuck her till you both die." He turned to you, "I'm sure you're great and all but this macho bullshit is insane. Can't we just take care of the problem now so it's not one later?"

        "No." Markus wasn't listening to the greater point, just digging in his heels like he always did.

        This could go on forever. You stood, "I'm going to bed."

        You went to warmest corner you could and curled into a shivering ball. Peace and almost quiet, until Seb came over. Gray and Markus watched him as they bickered on. 

        "You look like you need this more than me." He said as you uncurled.         

        You cringed at the fabric. It used to be white, but it'd since gone gray with sweat and sand stains. His tank top, the only thing worthwhile him and Maskless recovered from camp. He hadn't worn it for a long while. The sight of it made you remember it's absence during your encounter. His bare chest. A dull heat lit in your stomach.

        "Didn't think we were at the sharing clothes stage." You mumbled as you took it, slipped it over your head and let it come around you like a terrible smelling blanket. 

        He huffed out his nose, flopping down beside you. Mask pushed back into his hair. He'd worn it a lot less since then too. Only worn under the sun to protect his face going tomato red and peely. The others saw his face, so what was the point in hiding what they all knew was there anyway? 

        He gave you a look like you didn't make him cum twice. "Seriously?"

        You shrugged, his shirt pressing in, thin and barely retaining your heat. "Never did that with any of mine." You keep the words vague, watching Mohawk's back. Thinking of the first Mark who broke your heart. Accidentally wearing his sweaty socks the morning after, his boxers too loose under your pants. You hadn't done that with anyone else. 

        "I mean, me neither but-" He paused when Markus turned to him a mildly murderous look. "Yeesh." Seb threw out his voice for the whole room to hear, "Don't mind us being normal and well adjusted over here."

        Heads turn, faces are made. It's Maskless who speaks, "Cool, yeah, just step outside the conversation about our survival, guys."

        Seb rose a middle finger with a lazy smile. Maskless chuffed but said nothing else. Turning back to the others to bitch them out. "See that?" Seb said.

        "What?"

        "Asshole didn't attack me cuz we're cool." They had to be, trapped in the desert alone together for to weeks. Maskless knew Seb cared, knew Seb was just as stressed and was better than him- able to step away for a breather. "We're like, totally buddies now."

        "No, we're not." Maskless said mid-argument with Markus before getting right back to it.

        "He doesn't mean that." Seb whispered.

        "Yes I do."

        "He doesn't." 

        Maskless dropped it. Seb grinned, lighting a new feeling in your stomach, jealousy. They had a bond you didn't have with anyone. It'd been a week out in the new hideout but you'd been dismissive and avoidant of anything longer than a five minute conversation. If you wanted that, you'd have to engage. Come out of the mental cave Mark trapped you in. You were going to die out here, you'd accepted that in the cave. Why not make more friends? Why not try to be happy? You had nothing but time with them, no rent, no quota to reach for Machine Head, you were more free than you had ever been. It wasn't like you'd had to try very hard for them to care about you and plus, if they did care about you- they just might take you to Phantom. With him gone you could put Mark to rest.

        You closed your eyes and focused on the crackling fire.

        The argument went in hotel-revolving-door circles while you slept. 

        That daddy-loving freak never gave. He said you should always be protected, always be safe, but how could you be with the assholes prowling the desert?  Mohawk argued until he couldn't hold it in, he needed to hit something but daddy-wannabe dearest would whine about the attention it'd draw. So he left, flying into the atmosphere hoping the thinning air would help him think.

        Of course he didn't want those freaks to kill you, but he wanted to see you murder those freaks at the same time. He wanted to see you get revenge- God the idea of you pissed and bloody got him going. But he couldn't relish the moment if he was busy holding off Scars and Lensless if only-

        He almost didn't hear the flap of fabric. Mohawk spun, fist reeled back, ready to bash Scars head in.

        Gray hovered in the black night. Arms tucked behind his back. "You watched them for a time, yes?"        

        Mohawk paused but didn't unwind. High above the camp, where no one could see or hear them fighting- perfect grounds for an ambush killing. "Yeah." 

        "Where are they usually at this time of night?"

        "Sleeping or eating parts of that other guy."

        Gray nodded. "And how long do they usually do that for?"        

        ***

       Mohawk looked over the dunes. Camp a spot in the distance. Early day sun beating on his skin. "You really think they won't hear?" 

        "They will." Gray said evenly, "They'll most likely come to investigate as well. We'll tell them if they do."

        Mohawk blinked at the other man. The two of them hovered feet over the sand. Well, three of them technically, but Phantom wasn't floating, he was laying on Mohawk's back. Seeping blood and drool into his torn suit. 

        "I thought you said we wouldnt tell any-"

        Gray didn't wait for him to finish. He dove into the rock they'd found jutting out of the ground. Impact a firework crack in the dawn. Surely picked up by everyone at camp, considering they were only a mile away. Gray was back at his side, dust and rocks already spun off his nearly pristine uniform before Mohawk could curse him out. "I said we wouldn't tell (Y/n) for some time." 

        Mohawk's nostrils flared but he lowered into the freshly dug cavern. Entrance hidden under a small rocky ledge. "So you just conveniently left out the part where everyone else finds out and is pissed at us- mostly me because your slimy ass is gonna lie and say you weren't involved."

        "Lying is not productive." Gray followed him inside. Watched as Mohawk threw Phantom down. He landed in a slumped seat, unreacting and pale. Obtaining Phantom wasn't the hard part, it was making sure Scars and Lensless were far enough away to get in and out. Gray was sure they were weak- human flesh and blood dehydrated the body, clouded the mind. But they seemed surprisingly lucid, leaving their camp lightning quick just as the sun was rising. As though eating Phantom's limbs raw had made them better. Maybe it had. They'd waited for hours, scooped Phantom up and flew fast and hard until they were sure they hadn't been seen. 

        "What's your plan then?" Mohawk appreciated Gray's attitude, but was wary. Gray's eyes seemed to glaze over him- like he'd already decided he was an afterthought just like dad had. Mohawk proved dad wrong, dead wrong. Was itching to do the same thing to Gray if need be.

        Gray lowered to his haunches, pulling a vial from his waistband. "(Y/n) wants revenge. She'll get it but-" he paused to unwrap Phantom's gauze, exposing hot, throbbing wounds, reeking with infection, "-she'll have to wait."

        Mohawk watched him work the liquid into the red stumps. "Why not just let him hurt?"

        Gray didn't stop. "He's hours from death and (Y/n) isn't ready to see him. She'll kill him on sight and live to regret not getting answers. He has to be lucid. If it makes you feel better, its a healing accelerant not a pain killer."

        Markus couldn't have come at a better time. Leaving the other two to watch (Y/n) while he investigated that sudden noise outside. He didn't need to ask any questions to know what was going on. The secret hideout, the wound-healing-accelerator on Phantom's stumps, everything he overheard. He'd thought of it too, bringing the revenge to (Y/n) but he wasn't sure- Gray was. He could admire that.

        He could feel Mohawk's apprehension, waiting for the scolding he associated with Markus.

        "How long until he's stable?" Markus asked.

        "Few days." Gray said. "A week at most, the infection is in his blood."

        Mohawk hovered by the exit. Anxious to see (Y/n), ring burning in his pocket. "Stable but not able to hurt her right?"

        "Theoretically he could still kill her in this state." Gray finished, hands bloodied. He made a note to bring rags and a small basin of water. "But he won't." 

        "You can see the future now or what?" Mohawk said.

        "I spoke with Maskless." Gray said holding back a smile. He liked the little nicknamed you'd given them all very much. They were helpful and personal and made him happy. "He claimed Phantom talked about working extensively with the human government-"

        Mohawk clicked his tongue, "Yeah, so did I, doesn't mean anything."

        "I did as well." Markus said, and knew working alongside the GDA did not mean you were a good person. 

        Gray didn't know why he was surprised by this. They just seemed so... sure of themselves, like they didn't need someone in there ear telling them what to do- like Gray had all his life.

        "Ah." He rose, moving his hands so fast the blood flung off of them and painted the walls. He could make a hideout for Phantom but never promised a good one, he didn't deserve it. "Maskless also reported his (Y/n) was killed by his father, not by him." It was said without emotion, yet Markus and Mohawk felt like they'd been hit with a bowling ball. Phantom was pathetic, desperate, but in one singular way, better than them both.

        Mohawk prowled forward, fists balled. "Don't act like you're better than me-"

        Gray watched him come, saying evenly, "I mean nothing by it. I killed her of my own volition."

        That gave Mohawk pause, "Well, I didn't." He spat, almost feeling like the bigger man. Knowing he wasn't. He could've controlled himself better. He thought part of him gutted her on purpose. Sometimes he wondered if she survived if he would've killed her anyway.

        "She is dead." Gray said matter-of-factly before nodding his head in the direction of camp, "She is not. You came for a second chance, so did he. We must trust he won't ruin it." He moved around Mohawk and flew quietly back to camp. 

        ***

        Lensless's back hit the wall, which shattered around them. They struggled against one another until they fell heavy down into the sand. Scars atop him, hands fisted in his collar. "Where is he!?"

        Lensless who had just gotten home from a day of fruitless scouting, blinked up stupidly at Scars- before the fist came cracking up under his chin.

        He was reeling but laughed as he said, "What are you talking about, dude?"

        Thinking this was some game, some kind of roleplay scenario Scars made to fight. Fine by Lensless. He hadn't been able to properly flex his muscles in weeks. He missed fighting, missed killing more.

        "He's gone!" Scars lunged. 

        Lensless narrowly dodged, feeling a gust of wind slap across his face. "No way. He has one leg and can't talk. There's no way he got away."

        Scars pivoted midair. "That's what I thought until I realized- the only person would could've taken him was you." He was coming again. Faster than Lensless could dodge. Fist pushing up into his solar plexus, sending him shooting into the air, blood spewing from his dry lips.

        "I didn't!" Lensless whined as he put on the brakes. Launching himself toward Scars rather than waiting. 

        "You knew we'd run out of him eventually. You hid him from me to have all the meat to yourself!"

        They met. Fist to hand, holding each other off with straining muscles and scowls. "Is it so hard to believe someone could've rescued him?" Lensless half-snarled, half-grinned.

        "We haven't seen anyone else in weeks!" Scars knee came up and kissed Lensless's crotch. He doubled over, opening his back for Scars elbow to come down. 

        Lensless landed in the hot uncaring sand. A cloud formed around him, sucking particles into his lungs with every breath. Scars landed hard, one foot on Lensless's chest ready to push down, break it open, pierce his heart on a rib. Lensless grabbed his ankle bruisingly hard, bearing teeth as he said, "We haven't seen bones either, bro." 

        ***

        Mohawk's hair brushed against the cave roof. "Come on, babe, you gotta try harder than that if you want it back." 

        You had been trying for the better part of five minutes to get him to come down. At first you were able to make him float down, nearly land, but soon as your single stolen boot was in reach, the control would wane and he'd snap back to the ceiling. Taunting you again. 

        Day fourteen with these assholes in the new base. Things weren't bad. You'd been trying to loosen up which was hard when you'd been so tightly wound these last few years. Not holding grudges was something you were unaccustomed to. Often you had to look to Seb for inspiration on how to be easy going. Conversation flowed from him in spigots despite how angry everyone was at him two weeks ago. He didn't seem to care, always sharing a story that related to something. Always funny or fucked up but relatable, endearing. 

        Markus made a point to never laugh at his jokes, but you swore you saw him half smile whenever you did. He hovered around you an annoying amount. After a few days you stopped batting him away as hard. You hadn't forgiven him, but it was better to not stay bitter- a habit that was difficult to grow out of. He never held anything against you, even when you were shitty. It made the idea of talking to him, messing with him a little more appealing- fun. Your affections cast like bait he always bit at and the more time went on, the more you liked the bite. Markus liked to act tough, but when you talked to him, were sweeter on him than you had been in weeks, he melted like wax. Relaxed those broad shoulders and chiding tone. 

        Then there was Gray. With stories of his own that were mildly terrifying with how dystopian they were. He hovered, nowhere nearly often as Markus, always off somewhere doing something for hours on end. You thought he was scavenging so you never thought to ask. He helped you build beds and a terrible storage bin that collapsed in on itself every two days, but you always came together to rebuild it. Hoping it'd hold but it never did. You swore Gray sabotaged it on purpose.

        Maskless watched the romcom bullshit from the sidelines. Most often found with Seb talking about nothing. Hands always busy breaking down kindling or sewing Seb a hammock or air boxing. The idea of sparring had been thrown around too many times to count but Markus always shot it down, seconded by Gray everytime. It'd attract attention. 

        Meanwhile, you trained here and there. Working with your latest, very willing test subject, Mohawk. Who you kept trying to goad into taking you to kill Phantom. He'd just smile and say, "When you don't suck," and steal something of yours in hopes you could control him into giving it back.

        At first, you could make him give it back. But after days of no food only water, your strength was starting to wane. The others had busted out the Mark meat not long ago. You always left when they did, sitting on the other end of the cave. His smell stuck inside your nose as you tried not to imagine how his flesh would melt in your mouth. The more days went by, the less you vividly you could remember him. It'd only been thirteen days after all. You spent more time with this group than him by now. And you wondered why you were still holding on. You felt silly for it. But you still hadn't eaten. It showed in how Mohawk barely moved when you said, "Get your ass down here."

        Hands on his narrow hips he hummed, "I don't think I will!"

        His cocky grin made your guts flip. It reminded you of Mark. The before Mark. The pre cave crazy Mark. It wasn't fair he was hot. Fine, two could play at that game. "I'll hold your hand."

        He cackled, "You think I'm gonna go easy on you to hold your hand?"

        "For a whole minute. Won't move away or nothin'," you waved at him, "this baby is all yours." It was a push and pull game, the flirting. Once you started you couldn't stop, finding that leaning into affection felt better than leaning away. It helped you forget. Replace the bad memories, shitty as it made you feel.

        Heels hit the ground so hard they cracked rock. Mohawk snatched your hand from the air, held one between two, staring at it like a precious diamond. You actually didn't think it'd work. Didn't think holding your hand would mean that much to anybody. Thought at least, you'd have to barter to a kiss on the cheek or something more intimate- or that he wouldn't take the deal at all. Training was a good idea but you hit a wall without eating anything. You wouldn't eat Mark. Not yet. 

        Markus didn't look up from the water he was boiling. "That's not training."

        "I think making the ruler of a powerful empire do what I say is something but you do you." 

        Mohawk batted his lashes at you, squeezing your hand between his, "You think my empire is powerful?"

        "No shit, it's an empire."

        He grinned and interlaced your fingers. Without a timer and without a care, the touch lingered longer than a minute.

        ***

        They stood in the remains. Broken down in their fight that lasted too long. Energy wasted on bickering when they should've been looking for Phantom. They sifted through the rubble, looking for dried brown trails, sniffing for blood so hard they were lightheaded. Except they'd been lightheaded for weeks. Surviving on blood had crossed some wires, fried the others, left them perpetually achy and brain fogged. 

        Which was probably why it took them so long to realize they weren't betraying each other. 

        Lensless chucked another piece of rubble that looked just like the rest. "He's definitely not in here."

        "No shit." Scars said.

        Lensless kicked another piece. "Definitely not anywhere. Just gone. Disappeared like the rest of them."

        Scars was quiet a moment, trying to envision that day you'd gone missing, to see the other versions of him. "How many of us were there when we first came?"

        Lensless thought hard, pressing on his eyes. "I don't remember."

        ***

        "Just eat it." Easy enough for Seb to say, chewing a piece down to the juices in his cheek. "Tastes way better than the bugs."

        You swallowed. Looked down at the piece of red-brown meat in your palms. A handful of ounces had never felt so heavy. Day sixteen in the new base, almost a week of no food. You'd boiled the shells of the bugs, tried to convince yourself it tasted like broth, but your powers had gone completely. You needed to eat. 

        Gray watched you, leaning forward on his knees, trying to catch your eyes, "If you want revenge-"

        He'd said this already.

        "I have to eat, I know." You finished for him. "I just-" You looked up, locking eyes with him. Swallowing, throat dry despite recently sipping boiled cave water. You'd been letting details of your time with Mark slip out of you in a slow drip. 

        Another drip escapes you now. Partly because of the crack that'd formed inside you as the hunger consumed you, partly because you hoped a sob story would make them give in to what you wanted. "He told me about his dad throwing him in prison." The words make Gray go stiff, the idea so out there for him he didn't know what to say. "It ruined him, he was so different from all of you because of that one thing his dad did. I keep thinking about what I'd do if I met his dad, but I literally have. I had dinner with Mister Grayson a few times before everything went to piss. He scared the shit out of me just as some suburban dad and I think- what could I do against that? Could I have even changed what happened to him?"

        "Nothing." Gray said. "Father is one of the most promising solders in the empire." 

        You frowned at the meat. Why were you frowning? Had he said the wrong thing? That's why you were starting the conversation, correct? That his father, that Viltrum was impossible to resist? God, he didn't understand humans at all.

        Mohawk cackled over the fire crackle. "Are you kidding? I murdered the fuck outta dad when I was like sixteen."

        Now that got your mind off of things, a possibility no Mark had ever told you about, "Seriously?"

        Mohawk's back straightened at your attention. In his world, he was showered with praise and attention at all times, but the only thing that mattered through all the politics and conquering was beginning and ending his day with you. Out here, you attention was always split between different versions of himself. He was subject to watch as you grew closer to shittier versions of himself. He could share, really, he wasn't as immature as he acted, but not in these wastes. Not when he was so starved of things to think about. He wanted you all the time, none of the other distractions. 

        Whatever. He could think about murder and double crossing later. Right now, he had your attention. "Yeah, it wasn't even that hard."

        ***

        Mohawk's head was partly split open. Oozing brains over his brow and hairline. Hurt like a motherfucker but that was fine. Everything was hunky-dorey-okey-dokey-artichoke-y because dad was finally dead. Beat brainless into the side of Mount Fuji. 

        "Should've," huff, "told," huff, "me," huff, "earlier," huff, "dipshit."

        Dad's broken jaw doesn't twitch. No more lectures. No more holier than thou bullshit.

        A fat shadow encompassed the mountain. Mohawk looked up and saw his ride. His future stretched ahead of him, deceptively straight forward.

        ***

        "So yeah, babe, with me around you ain't gotta worry about no dad." Mohawk said.

        "She was literally talking about the prisoner's Nolan." Maskless nibbled one of the dryer sticks of meat.

        You looked down at your own stick of meat. Wishing it was Mark's dad, it would've made things so much easier. You felt sick now. Knowing in another life Mark could've defended himself, killed Nolan. Your Mark lived, didn't go to prison but he threw you in it. This shit wasn't fair. 

          "Nolan was the most powerful man on Earth, he worked with powerful people. He had resources. How did he never look into me? I wasn't very good at hiding what I was doing when I first started working with Machine Head. We talked on unsecure lines. He didn't have anyone watching his son's girlfriend? Did he just not care? No cameras, no tails, no nothing?"

        Seb tapped at your side with his shoe. "Where are you going with this?" 

        "I never worried about him, but the more you guys talk about him the more I think I should have. I saw on the news after. He was there when I fought Mark." Machine Head's office was fucked, of course there were people recording the high rise. And who did they catch hovering hundreds of feet above the building? Omni Man. "I didn't know Invincible was Omni-Man's son, I didn't even know Mark was Invincible. He hid it from me. I wonder if Nolan was surprised to see me in there or just thought yeah, that makes sense."

       Seb poked you again. "You gonna eat that or just keep babbling?" 

        Markus gave him a look but spoke to you, "Knowing my father, he knew and he didn't care."

        Seb snorted, "Knowing mine, he didn't even know Mark had a girlfriend."

        "They were close in my world. I wonder what he said after Mark broke up with me." You wanted to slap a hand over your mouth soon as you said it. Cat's out the bag. Mohawk already hit the nail on the head but saying it outright was something else. Weight both off and on your shoulders. You test it, saying, "I tried to stop him. It didn't work."

        Blood shot out of your nose. Headache like a hammer to your temple. You on the ground. Machine Head's hired grunts unconscious around you. Mark's eyes were wild on you, "Did you- Did you just-!?"

        You had tried to make him forget while he ranted and raved about what you'd done. Instead you found the ceiling of your powers. The way he looked at you like shit on his shoe made your heart ache. You felt sick, you had no fight left.

        "Yeah." You breathed, "Yeah I did."

        "You can't just control me like that! Have you done that before?!"

        "No." You wiped the blood rolling from your nose. "I'd never do it unless I had to Mark- I love you. I don't want to lose you!"

        He laughed. Actually laughed. Mean and angry. You heard that sound every night in your dreams for the next few years as your life circled the drain. "You don't love me."

        Mohawk doesn't laugh this time. Today he's not bitter. Today is he soft and malleable and maybe if you gave enough of yourself away, he'd take you to Phantom and let you kill him.

        "Fuck him." Mohawk sounded genuinely angry. "Fuck him, like actually. That's the most romantic shit I've ever heard done by someone who isn't me."

        Seb rose a brow at him. "What'd you do Romeo?"

        "What didn't I do." Mohawk looked and sounded far away before his eyes re-focused on you. "He didn't deserve you, fucking asshole."

        "I know." You half smile before getting back to your train of thought, "I tried to stop Mark too." Because you don't think they get it, you add, "In the caves. He was freaking out and I tried to calm him down and he just-" Your hands burned. You realized you were gripping the meat hard, so hard your knuckles were pale. At least you weren't crying. 

        "He killed himself." Gray watched your hands but didn't move, willing them to open, willing the pain to leave your face.

        "I know." You grit out.

        "You misunderstand me. He did that to himself of his own volition."

        Your hands opened, you could see the outline of where the meat was pressing into your palm. "His own volition." You echoed, "My powers are based in interpretation. Whatever you think they mean, you do. He thought stop meant kill himself so he did it- because of me. He didn't want to do anything, he thought I wanted him dead." 

        "Oh, come the fuck on!" Mohawk threw his hands up, "So what? He was weak and stupid! You've said you want us all dead! Who cares! Do you know how many of us would've loved to be trapped in a cave alone with you? I wouldn't have gone apeshit, that's for sure. Apeshit on that-"

        "You're not helping." Markus said.

        "He knew what he was getting into." Gray said. For once, actually saying the right thing.

        He did know. He gave you a grand tour. Knew Phantom was in on it. Let it all happen knowing he wouldn't be able to handle it. For taking you down there to love you, to die, you start to hate him. 

        Still you hesitate to bring the meat to your lips. Mohawk said with too much confidence, "If he was as pussy-whipped as you make him out to be, he'd want you to eat him. I know I would."

        You bring the meat closer. Stomach churning. Lips opening. "I wouldn't want any of you to eat me."

        You're about to bite down when Mohawk nudges his head into your arm. Nuzzling. "I know babe, you want all of us dead. Which totally isn't happening but if I do die before you, take a cut out my shlong, yeah? That thing's gonna one juicy sausage. Mama mia."

        "That's not funny." You're laughing and cringing as you bite down.

        ***

        Scars dragged his head above the water that dripped near black grime off his face. It'd been a stroke of luck that him and Lensless had found this place. The both of them gone crazy from months without any water when they were so used to having it a short flight away. They'd tried to soothe their throats with blood, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd dranken Phantom's blood. He should've savored it- but that didn't matter now. He had water again.

        The cave hadn't been there before. They shoved dried bug carcasses into their mouths. Guzzling water from the queen's throne whenever they were slightly thirsty, which was all the time. They wandered the cave, finding cave ins that smelled of meat and smoke and most importantly- you. 

        For all they knew, this was the only water source left on the plant. For all they knew, someone would come for it and the abandoned shelter. For all they knew, there was no one left at all.

        Days pass.

        The smell dissipates. The remaining bugs, corpses and living, are eaten. Hunger they were unused to gnaws at their psyche. They drool over the queen's pool thinking of raw flesh. They watch the hole to the ceiling from dark corners, waiting to ambush. Day turns to night to day. Nobody comes. They search and find no caves or bodies or people wandering the waste. 

        They begin to wonder if any of it was real at all.

        ***

        Day seventeen in the new hideout.

        Laughter is more common. Jaws are looser. Friendship is an open current passing between you all. Even Maskless who swears up and down he hates you all, has waning venom in his tone. Despite the summer camp attitude, the threat looming in the wastes was still real. Last night Scars and Lensless roamed nearby dunes, screaming into the night. 

        "Is anybody there?"

        "Helllllooooooooo?"       

        You thought they were trying to lure you out. Trying to find a replacement for Phantom because he was near death or dead. You tried to convince any of them to let you outside. To make them and their fried brains to take you to Phantom. To kill the whole lot of them easy peasy. 

        You opened your mouth to command someone, anyone to remove Markus from blocking the fucking exit when he said it.

        "I'll take you soon." Gray is behind you. So close he nearly boxes you into Markus's waiting chest. "You have to be patient."        

        "When is soon?"

        "Soon." 

        That night Gray stayed the night in the tiny hovel. Monitoring Phantom's progress. Willing him to wake, to speak. Gray was a patient man but it was wearing thin. He needed your praise for a job well done. Desired it. Had wet dreams about it. 

        Again, Phantom didn't wake in the night.

        ***

        Another day of training. This time your mentee was Gray. Seb had excused himself not long after Gray returned. Said he was going to look for supplies. They'd been doing that an awful lot the past few days. Searching in shifts. You thought little of it. You assumed it was better if only one person left at a time to minimize risk of being spotted by the crazies.

        You sat on stools of cool rock facing each other. You hurled commands at Gray. Fed and watered, expecting easy compliance. You get a battle.

        "Stand up."

        He stayed seated.

        "Get up."

       He did not.

        "Move!"

        Nothing.

        "Tell me why you're so hard to control."

        "The Mark of your world never joined the Empire, correct?" His voice is like a godsend. Finally you got him to do something. Eagerly, you nod. "Was there anyone sent from the Empire to coerce him into doing so?" You wrack your brain but simply don't know. Mark faught so many aliens on the news all the time, you tried to avoid the stories entirely. Gray hums, "You wouldn't know him then- my mentor."

        You lean forward. High on control. "Who was that?"

        "Conquest." He said. 

        You blink. "Like the concept or?"

        "Be advised you are not controlling me and I'm giving up this information of my own volition." The words are like a slap to each each cheek. You never felt the connection, never felt his mind in your grasp, you'd just been too excited to notice. Motherfucker. "He's the best of us. My mother was worried he'd kill me in training but I survived."

        You dropped the training ball, curious now. "How's hitting shit make you resistant to me?" 

        His brows rose. "Mental fortitude is important in battle." 

        That... Made a lot of sense. Markus seemed plenty mentally steely and you couldn't get him to raise a finger.

        "Hm." Learn something new everyday but you didn't quite like the taste of defeat. You go for the jugular, which always seemed so exposed with these men when it came to you, "Kiss me."

        Heads turn right as Gray practically lunged out of his seat. Hands still tucked behind his back while his lips met yours. Kiss so hard, your lips were pressed to your teeth. As soon as it was happened, he was pulling himself away pink cheeked.

        "Hey!" Mohawk was across the cave at ready to punch his throat, "What the fuck!?"

        "Congratulations." Gray slid back into his chair. "You controlled me."

        Mohawk's fist paused. "Wait- hey- why'd you tell him to do that?"

        You shrug, "Thought it'd be worth a shot and it was. I win." Except you knew Gray was lying and had lying in wait hoping you'd pull a desperate move. Clever. 

        "Your control didn't last long." Gray said, eyes intense. He was practically begging you to ask him again. His slowly growing erection was also begging. He shifted, hiding it under the fabric. 

        You know what his shifting legs means, had seen it plenty since your encounter. You smirked, knowing a distracted target was an easy one. "Spin around."

        Gray hovered and did a stiff about face. Throwing off the control after a spin and a half but looking mildly perturbed. "You-" 

        "That's two for two." You remind him of the lie you were mutually spinning.

        He swallowed, wiping the surprise off his face quick as it appeared. "You're getting better but we must pursue training to ensure you can hold onto a target longer than a second." He sat again, crossing his legs. 

        "Me next." Mohawk insisted. "Me!"

        You give him a look that isn't withering, "You'd do that anyways." 

        He ignored Gray, ignored the lesson at hand to lean into your personal space. Smelling of sweat, breath spray, and cologne he hastily applied once he thought you were open to make out. Sure, he was jealous but Gray could be dealt with later. What mattered more now was you. "That such a bad thing?"        

        You hum pretending to consider. "What'll you give me in return?"

        "Best orgasm of your life." His voice was teasing but his face was serious. 

        Heat suddenly sparked in your core. You swallowed down the fluttering in your chest, "I can DIY that one, thanks." Though honestly? You were tempted. You hadn't been able to get your rocks off in weeks, not since Seb, who seemed content not pursuing things again if it meant no one was mad at him. You knew you'd have to find a replacement sooner or later. Like Mohawk who was offering, even if he was a dick. "What else you got?"

        Seb rushed into the room then, wide eyed, mouth open. Words die on his tongue when he sees you. "Uhm- uh- the thing is- yeah."

        They spoke cryptically for a few moments, as you watched. Gray said he had something to show you. Mohawk said not to freak out. They took you outside. Flew over the dunes a half second before taking you inside a boulder.

        Your mouth was agape, nose burning with the smell of days old blood. The heat prickled at your skin despite the shade.

        It was hard not to when the reason for Mark dying was right there. Leaning sweaty and pathetic against the wall. Hair shaven from his scalp. Five o'clock shadow gone into a full midnight, the stubbly beard longer than the hair on his head. His suit was torn and abused, exposing peeling skin. Most disconcerting was the glaringly obvious lack of limbs on one side of his body. Stumps pink with newly grown skin and blisters. 

        Despite the hell he'd been through, his glassy blue eyes were looking at you like you were an angel sent from above to bring him salvation. You were anything but.

        ***

        Across universes, across dimensions, Angstrom Levy was nearly finished paying off his debts to the Technitions. Daydreaming constantly about the revenge he'd enact on one Mark Grayson. 

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of injury, poor writing, ooc writing,

Part 15: skimming the surface…

🔹🔹🔹

“what happened.”

your voice nearly snaps out as you stare in at Bruce, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest Under the covers. Why is he here at his manor if he was in a car wreck?

Alfred shifts beside you, angling his head to stare at you with a morose expression, his eyes scarce meeting yours. “It was a car accident, Master Wayne. Just as I explained on the way home.”

You glance at him with a raised brow, challenging his stare for once. “I know the why, I'm asking how the wreck happened. Driving under the influence? Texting and driving? Avoiding a jaywalker? Cars don't just wreck themselves, Alfred.”

He looks away, head tilting just slightly as his hands tuck behind his back and his stance squares, deceit? You sense a lie coming before he so much as opens his mouth.

“He was on the way to a lunch break when his driver was cut off, apparently his executives wanted to continue their meeting over tea.” He meets your eye again, eyes narrowing as he studies you just as intently as you study him.

“Considering the recent happenings, could it be targeted.” Your voice is steady as you speak, unblinking as he reacts, turning more fully to face you. “I doubt the attackers from last night are responsible for a little fender bender, what makes you say that?”

His expression relaxes a touch, brows raising in curiosity as he glances in at Bruce and back at you.

“the timing is just…. Odd. what are the odds of this happening the day after an attack, right when the CEO of a company leaving a meeting where there was concern about said company's property being targeted? I'd look into whoever the other party was if I were the investigator.”

You glance in at Bruce as well, watching him breathe deeply and slowly, whatever he's on seems to have him in a deep sleep, oblivious to the conversation happening in his doorway, unless he's just a heavy sleeper. The hint of bandages peeking out from under his gray tee confuses you, just why isn't he in a hospital?

“…. You make a good enough case, I'll have a word with the insurance investigator about your concerns.” He nods to himself as if confirming something, he's slowly but surely letting his guard down around you. You're not sure how to feel about it. “Good, that's….Good.”

You look away from them both before you say something foolish, are you so bored that you're giving yourself more paranoia? Looking for things to be wrong so you can rip everything apart at the seams, pretend you're not the only one hiding things?

Alfred nods his head as he gives Bruce a final glance, he straightens up and rests a hand on the doorknob, a silent end of the discussion for now. “Yes, now I'm certain you're tired after therapy so…. I'll call for you when dinners ready, master Wayne.”

And without waiting for a reply, he shuts the door with a soft click and turns away, shoulders sagging slightly as he shuffles off, he looks tired and worn…

You take the hint and pad towards your own room, like hell you're just gonna sleep though.

🔹🔹🔹

First thing that ticks you off is the lack of news, you lounge on top of the dark covers with the debugged phone in hand as you go through multiple media outlets, no news about Bruce Wayne, or Wayne enterprises, or anything about an unnamed rich man getting hit by a car. Even in the wake of last night's attack you know damn well that something like that would be reported on, especially mid day? Presumably in the city for anyone to see? People love to talk about the famous. Thrive on watching them through their screens. It makes you suspicious.

It takes a while to tap the GCPD police scanners, this phone is surprisingly hardy for all the programs you're shoving in it, still nothing. No reports or chatter about the billionaire at all, you knew Alfred was full of it, but making up a wreck? What's the old man playing at here.

You drop the phone on the pillow beside you and stare up at the ceiling, eyes narrowing as you ponder everything. The fires looked bad, too big and too quick to just have been normal alcohol fires. Maybe a fuel based starter? But who'd be stupid enough to put that in glass bottles and hold it in their hands? The kids were already squirrelly by the time you woke up, maybe afraid to go to school, but they should've been comfort seeking then. The body language was wrong there too…..how much do they know? Damn it all, too many theories and nothing to work with. you want answers and it seems you’re gonna have to work harder for them.

The kids are gone be the time dinners served, it's just you and Alfred again eating in tense silence while you both avoid the elephant in the room. he keeps his focus on his plate almost stubbornly so, body language closed off and uninviting.

“so where is everyone else tonight?” you give him a curious look as you set your fork down, trying to prompt him to answer as you casually lean forward on your elbows.

he sighs almost imperceptibly as he glances at you, picking up his teacup and slowly swirls the hot liquid inside. “the same places they usually go, master wayne. the kids have practice, friends, responsibilities, and i believe you know where master bruce is.” he takes a long sip of his tea after speaking, glancing at you over his cup.

you tilt your head questioningly, brows raising as your fingers tap on the tabletop rhythmatically. “do you think it’s safe?” he mimics your expression, confusion dancing across his face as he leans back in his chair. “how do you mean?”

“i mean there was just an attack on the city, quick arrest or not i doubt it’s safe to be going out this late.” is this just an elite thing? surely bruce wouldn’t let his underage kids out on the town right now of all times. right?

alfred gives you an odd look, looking you up and down scrutinizingly. “….you’re very paranoid about things today.”

“should i not be.” your fingers pause, palm flattening against the table as you meet his stare.

an awkward silence stretches over the kitchenette, you and alfred staring at each other waiting for one to crack, the tension builds until…the notification system dings, someone’s at the door.

alfred tenses and stands slowly, attention clearly shifting as he quietly excuses himself from the table. you want to bang your head on the table, why the hell is everyone so weird here? it’s like trying to wrestle information out of yelena.

you’re picking at your food when alfred shuffles back in the room, as soon as you glance at him you freeze, all the hair on your arms standing as air moves just behind you and you swing a butterknife on pure instinct.

your heart leaps up in your throat when something grabs you as soon as you even turned, what the fu-

“oop sorry about that! didn’t mean to sneak up on ya.” a Midwestern accent apologizes beside you as the hand quickly loosens from your elbow, a dark haired man stands behind you with an apologetic expression on his face as he rubs at the back of his neck, he’s maybe Bruce's height, possibly a bit taller. broad as a barn and half as heavy. yet you didn’t hear a single step, a single shift. it’s as if the big guy phased in the room behind you like vision.

trying to hide how startled you are you turn towards him and offer him a small smile. “wow you’re a quiet one, gonna give bat-man a run for his money haha.” you force a chuckle out, your heartbeat all the way in your throat, you haven’t been snuck up on like that in a while…

“sorry, sorry. sometimes i forget how people don’t…anyways are you okay?”

his eyes flick to the butterknife in your grasp, you force yourself to quickly drop it on the table.

“i’m good, just a bit jumpy i guess….who’re you?” his brows pinch together in confusion for a second before realization flicks across his face, he holds a hand out for you to shake. “wow i totally forgot about that, please forgive me….again, i’m clark. i’m bruce and yours friend.” you take his hand.

he smiles at you just as alfred shuffles over, extra teacup in hand and a confused look on his face as he glances between the both of you.

you ignore Alfred's judgement as your hand drops in your lap, this guy somehow avoided making a single sound with cleated boots on, even a widow would struggle on this flooring. something in the back of your mind is screaming at you to stay alert around him, like base animal instinct screaming there’s a predator near…he also reminds you of captain rogers for some reason, the fidgeting of the hands and sincere whispered apologies reads just like the captain when he fucks up. you didn’t think you’d miss the annoyingly endearing awkward politeness, but here you are.. “it’s fine i’m getting used to it, nice to meet you again clark.”

“nice to meet you again too, it's good to see you up and moving. I'm sorry I could only make it here when Bruce is down for the count. i’ve been out of the country for a bit…” Alfred clears his throat, interrupting your question before you could even ask, he moves to pull Clark aside, talking about refreshments and offering him a plate of food as if that was worth interrupting you for, even clark looks confused as the butler pulls him away, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment before the older man grabs his attention.

Frustration bubbles up on you once more when it feels like you're being kept out of the loop again, what does Clark know that you're not supposed to? Something akin to tempered rage clenches your fists and grinds your jaw like a spring pulled too hard, ready to snap back into place. When Alfred mentions taking a plate of food to Bruce you interrupt him.

“I'll bring it to him.” You're already standing up before you finish speaking, pushing your chair into the table as Alfred and Clark both glance at you with differing expressions.

“You haven't finished your food yet, master Wayne….” You don't even look at your plate as you step around the table, brushing past both men to grab the tray.

“I'm fine, my therapist said it's good for me to flex my motor skills as often as possible at home. I wanna check in on Bruce anyways, see how he's doing if he's up.” Alfred starts to speak but Clark drops a hand on his shoulder, giving him a small smile.

“I've been meaning to drop something off with you anyways Alfred….”

You miss the rest of his sentence as you stride out of the room, maybe it's time you question your husband.

🔹🔹🔹

“you awake?”

You rap your knuckles on the heavy door as you softly call out, the food tray balanced on one hand. For a moment you hear absolutely nothing within the room, maybe he's still passed out?

You're about knock again when the door pulls open, Bruce blinking blearily at you with a major case of bed head. You'd laugh if you weren't suddenly face to face with him, who's not wearing any pants….

“Hey….” He mumbles dumbly, staring at you for a moment in a seeming daze. “Hey. Can I come in?” You gesture to the food tray with your chin while shifting your hold on it.

“Hmm?…. Oh, yeah come on….” He steps aside as you wordlessly step in, casually kicking the door shut with your foot while he gives you a confused look. You'd like some privacy right now.

You set the tray down on the bedside table before turning your head to glance over at him.

“You feeling okay? Heard you had a wild day…” that'd sound funny out of context, he just follows you to the bed and slowly sits on the edge with a grunt, eyes never quite leaving your form. “not great, could be better I think…. How long was I knocked out for?” he awkwardly runs a hand through his hair while shuffling closer to where your standing, you pass him a plate while trying to ignore his state of dress.

“dunno, how about you tell me.” Your hand grabs the edge of the table as you put on your most innocent look, you don't miss how he regards you when you lean down towards him a bit.

“What's that mean?” His eyes flick over you the briefest bit before he looks down at his plate, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallows.

“nothing, just wanted to know when you went down the stairs I guess….I think I've got the whole getting injured thing covered, you shouldn't try to give me a run for it.” You smile sweetly at him as you sit down beside him, his body language shifts again, leaning into you just slightly as you press close enough that your thighs touch. Just what you wanted.

“this morning maybe? It's a bit of a blur…. The kids thought it was so funny.” He sighs exasperatedly as he runs a hand through his hair again, messing up his bed head even more.

“i can see why.” When he gives you a sour look you snort, briefly leaning over him to grab at the thermos on the tray so you could steal some of his tea.

“oh you're so funny now, a real comedian.” He sounds exasperated but you're not fooled.

“Mhmm, at least mine was better than tumbling down the stairs like a slinky.”

“This isn't the pain Olympics you know, not my fault I'm very fragile.” He huffs again and turns his head to hide a small smile, then he slowly sets his hand just behind you on the bed, not quite pulling you in but definitely making moves to be close to you. Guess he likes being softcore bullied by you?

“well you should still watch your damn step, there's enough brain damage going around as is.” You sneak a glance at the bandage under his sleeve, you're certain that's professionally applied. He rolls his eyes and chuckles quietly to himself while shaking his head.

“it's sweet how you're going soft on me…..I missed seeing you like this.”

His tone gives you pause, that same saccharine tone full of affection just like in the hospital, it makes something resembling guilt curl behind your ribs and settle there. “…like what?”

“…relaxed. I know I kinda put you in an odd position when I brought you home to all…. I'm just happy to see you laughing. Even if it's while mocking my pain.” he snorts at his own words and looks up at the ceiling, there's something kinda odd about seeing the reserved man act so…. Light-hearted, you expected to have to work harder here…. Maybe it's the pain meds he's on?

Your take a long swig of the hot tea to give yourself a moments pause, how do you even respond to that? Even with all the deceit and close-door happenings his words and body language are honest. you've already confirmed what you wanted to know so why are you still here? “Your…our Friend’s here to see you.”

His eyes fall to meet yours again with no small amount of disappointment in them, he knows you're yet again denying an intimate moment, verbally retreating from him, he's slowly getting used to it.

“oh yeah?” the smile slowly returns as he tries to keep things light for you, even in his slightly dazed state he’s trying to be considerate of you, it’s uncomfortable.

You slowly stand up from the bed and stretch, looking away to hide a small smirk as you hand him the thermos that was technically supposed to be his. “Mhmm, Clark's here. He said he's sorry you're so bad at walking on your own two feet.”

He scoffs loudly as he takes it from your grasp, eyes never leaving your form as he slowly raises it to his lips. “I have such a nice support system, I'm truly blessed. I'll hobble my way down there in a few.”

you nod as you glance around one last time, pretending not to notice the bottle of lidocaine gel on the dresser as you turn away and shuffle towards the door.

“Oh, and one more thing Bruce?” you glance over your shoulder at him from the doorway, hand resting on the wood frame just above your head as you smile sweetly at his unsuspecting figure.

his eyes meet yours as he pauses eating, fork halfway to his mouth as he addresses you. “yes?”

“You might wanna throw some pants on before you leave this room.” you have to suppress a snort as he quickly glances down at himself while you leave.

the smile slowly slips from your face as you stroll down the hallway towards your room instead of going back to the kitchenette, you know one thing without a doubt now, bruce and alfred are very good liars.

🔹🔹🔹

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A/n: wow this one got away from me a bit, I think this is my longest chapter yet 😓 hope y'all like it and it was worth the wait. Hope y'all have an amazing day/night!

Taglist: @cxcilla @mercuryathens @dind1n @redsakura101 @ninihrtss @let-me-dance @ladykamos @one-piecelover @cuntiesweet @omnivirgo @shirp-collector-of-fixations @spidermanluvr444 @br33zy-blizzardz @4rachn3

[maxdibert]

Severus Snape sitting on the dusty curb of Spinner’s End during the summer between his fifth and sixth year, thinking he really has nothing and no one left, smoking a cigarette while the sound of his parents screaming serves as the soundtrack to his bleak and decaying view of a neighborhood falling apart, with people growing more tired, more fed up, dirtier, and more scarred. Severus Snape in his worn-out muggle clothes because the little he has goes toward buying things that might be useful in the wizarding world, but his father won’t let him walk around dressed like a “clown” because he doesn’t want his muggle acquaintances saying anything about that weird son of his. Severus Snape with his anxious teenager’s dark circles under his eyes, his weary gaze, and his sixteen-year-old wish to just die already, thinking that this summer doesn’t even have the small consolation of calling Lily to hang out from time to time, because Lily doesn’t speak to him anymore. And the screaming continues in the background, and the gray people pass in front of him, and he doesn’t want to go back inside, but he also doesn’t want the holidays to end because he doesn’t see much point in continuing at that school. And maybe the only reason he does is because, among his peers, they’ve told him there’s a way to send everyone to hell. To stop hearing the screaming and living in the filth and being surrounded by muggles who all seem on the verge of collapse. A way to leave it all behind. A way to make everyone go screw themselves, and, well, given how little of a future he sees for himself, he doesn’t really understand why he shouldn’t give it a try.

[teddybeartoji]

my last little thirst for you mickey <3

wolf! toji, that hunts down pretty little bunny! reader because he got the smallest whiff of your sweet scent and needed to track you down.

when he finally catches up to you, he pins you down into the forest ground, finally getting a chance to truly take in thay saccharine scent that he'sbeen practically fiending over. (he could've easily caught you in just a few minutes, but he can he say? he enjoys the hunt)

next thing you know- wolf! toji is biting into your nape while rapidly pounding into you, wanting to knot you, pump you full of his pups, and claim you as his own.

he still isn't finished, even after wolf! toji made sure that you were filled to the brim with his seed. He steadied himself over your pliant body and sprayed all over you, making sure every inch of your worn-out body was covered in his piss.

Now you were his- inside and out <3

OH WOLF!TOJI LOVES CHASING YOU DOWN SOOOO MUCH. IT GETS HIM GOING SO FUCKING FAST GRAY HOOLY FUCKING SHIT.

he's not even running or anything at first... he knows he's gonna catch you, he has your scent and he won't lose it; he let's you run and run, he's letting you tire yourself out. he loves seeing all riled up and panting, your eyes twitching ever-so-lightly when he finally finds you.

he loves to get you dirty, he loves to push you into the ground. he likes to see the smallest little scratches and the smallest little bruises that form under his rough hands. he licks at your neck with a mean grin as you shiver in his hold, and he loves to listen to your racing heartbeat. it's all just so, so much. it feels so fucking good.

he's gonna pump you full and he won't let you waste a drip of it. he's gonna plug you with his thick knot and he's gonna hold you to his chest as he does so. he takes in all of the sharp breaths and the little mewls that keep slipping from his tiny bunny. he hisses at the tightness, but he doesn't allow himself to get too distracted. he toys with your nipples and gently nips at your ear, determined to make you cum on his knot aswell.

you're so fucked out, eyes hidden in the back of your head and your tongue lolling out - he loves it. so fucking much. he loves the mess of it all. your slick is running down his heavy balls and your saliva trickles down your own chin. he presses a haste, sloppy kiss to your temple as he works you through your third orgasm.

"nasty little bunny, hm?"