#sighs. this isn’t sustainable

[moontropy]

journal or wtv idk

[gristlegrinder]

waugh just did something i kind of didn’t want to do

[ohimsummer]

GIRL, I NEED A TASTE ft. PUPPYBOY! SATORU

— minors dni, needy + lovesick + puppyboy! satoru x fem! reader, tít sucking, subby! satoru, humping (dryhumping??), breeding + creampie mentions

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ i went a little overboard writing this <//3 strongest ‘puppy-dog eyes’ user everyone

wc 1.4k

you give puppyboy! satoru an inch, and he will take several miles.

he’s ready to pounce on you 24/7: when you wake up, when you return home, when you’re fresh out of the shower, when you come back from a 5 minute bathroom break during movie night. it’s insane the way, if it were up to him, your pussy would never know peace.

in satoru’s “defense”, he can’t help wanting to stuff you full of himself all the time. he loves you, he’s in love with you and, in his eyes, what better way to show it than the overwhelming amounts of euphoria he could put you both through? satoru loves to give, give, give to you; his heart, his attention, his affections, and his cum at the end of it all.

you suppose his reasoning is understandable, more so from satoru’s point of view, but fucking every minute of every day isn’t sustainable—it’s only fair you tell him ‘no’ sometimes. and that’s when satoru brings out the theatrics: whining, crying, whimpering and complaining about how he’s “sooo harddd” and he’ll “be super quick”. fluttering snowy white lashes to beg with those woeful, blue, puppy-dog eyes, glistening with tears that he seems to be able to summon on a dime.

satoru flashes you the cutest pout as he presses himself up against you, grinding his bulge against your ass as he nuzzles and nips at your cheek. slow, impatient sways of a fluffy tail, the perk of those twitching, adorable ears whenever you cast him even a glance. satoru whispers a hopeful “pretty pretty please…just once?” as he licks at the shell of your ear, raising goosebumps from your neck to spine.

it doesn’t matter, really. he can do it all for as long as his heart desires, because in the end…

…it’ll get satoru exactly what he wants every time.

the movie you put on isn’t nearly as immersive as you’d hoped. and even if it was, satoru keeps pulling your attention away with every nip and lick to your thighs.

“toru.”, you deadpan, and he instantly weaponizes those wide, doe-like eyes of his. paired with a slight wag of his tail, a friendly gesture which he aims to placate with, and satoru has easily dodged your annoyance once more.

you brush off his bad habit with a sigh before your attention returns to the screen in front of you. and then, not even five minutes later, the sharp poke of his fangs sinks back into the fat of your thigh. it’s always steady and deliberate; satoru wants to see just how much you’ll allow before jabbing an irritated finger to his forehead in disdain. meanwhile, once he’s satisfied with the depth of his teeth, he sucks harshly at the skin, glancing between you and the newfound hickey now blooming. then he goes in again, quicker but that’s only because he’s expecting a sure-fire dose of your wrath this time.

“satoru—“

“look!” he interrupts, tail wagging eagerly. “bit ya in the shape of a heart, because i love you.” technically not a lie, but not the full truth, either.

and you’re so distracted with looking at satoru’s little sign of affection, which is indeed adorably heart-shaped, you forget altogether your reasoning for addressing him in the first place: to chide him again on biting you so hard—which is all part of his plan.

it takes no time before satoru has squeezed way more out of you than you meant to give. when you stopped warning him about the biting, he readjusted to “cuddle” you. his head is on your chest like always, hands on your hips, but they quickly dip underneath the hem of your shirt to knead at your waist. and then they’re slithering up further, grazing at your underboob before finally squeezing one of your breasts.

“satoru.” he cowers under the angry heat of your stare. “if i have to tell you one more time…”

his tongue darts out to lap at your exposed neck, causing you to wriggle at the needy gesture. “ ‘m sorry, they’re like my little stress balls. can I touch, please?”

and you shouldn’t have relented and said yes. of course you shouldn’t have, you knew that. if you agree to this, he knows now that you’ll agree to pretty much anything. but satoru stares at you with those dreamy eyes, gleaming with stars to whisk you away to a bad decision. it takes a single, pleading blink as he gives you a small squeeze, and you have fallen victim to his spell once again.

your shirt is pushed up hastily to expose your tits, leaving them subject to satoru’s merciless greed. he pinches, pulls, and tugs with both hands and mouth, sinking fangs into every inch of your breasts since he cannot stand to not see signs of himself on them. because he thinks you’re pretty, duh, but he thinks you’re prettier when your body is spotted up with the marks he loves to leave.

not long after, he’s shed you of your pants, tossed somewhere over the edge of the bed. what started off as a slow grind has turned to satoru’s bare cock humping your thigh, searing and sticky as he leaks a mess of precum all over your skin. just the sensation of it sends an aching rhythm of throbs to your core, your painfully empty hole sporadically fluttering around nothing.

in your mind—buried beneath thoughts of this dreadful movie and the excruciating desire to have satoru’s cock battering your insides—are the very last remnants of willpower you cling to. you can visualize clearly the smug look sure to grace his face if you whine a single plea about satoru fucking you. after all, you’re the one who was all ‘no sex right now, ‘toru’. if you can’t keep your word for even one night, you might be just as sex-crazed as he is.

there is a nonstop background noise of his tail thumping and sweeping against the bed. satoru’s wags haven’t let up since you gave your first yes, and only grow stronger with each new whimpered plea you yield to. they pick up with the pace of his thrusts, a beat to harmonize with the sinful song of his desperate whimpers right before gojo reaches another high—he lets loose a muffled cry into your chest, still pathetically humping your leg like a lovesick mutt as he gushes yet another pool of cum to coat your thighs and panties. after that, his wags ease up to a slow, easygoing thud, now overpowered by the raspy heaves of air he sucks into his lungs.

and it’s the same song and dance every time. satoru takes a few minutes to catch his breath, and then he’s ready for another round. from the corner of your eye, you notice those teary blues have locked on to you. he tests the waters, gradually rutting against you again, mouthing at your breasts to see if you’ll tell him ‘that’s enough, ‘toru’. he is pleased when the words never come, and his actions only grow bolder the longer you let it go on; he licks at your jawline, down your neck before placing a few nips here and there. tweaks your sore nipples between his thumb and index, plunging his dick harder and faster along your thigh for another repeat of the last few hours.

with each daring action over the course of the night, satoru has dragged you a little closer towards the edge with him. first it was pushing your top up, next, it was taking off your shorts. then, it was a bold move of pawing at your clothed pussy, which almost turned into his hand in your panties if you hadn’t pinched his ear and told him no. though, he could just as easily get you to let him anyway if he asks in that very sweet voice of his, the one he always uses when he longs for something from you.

“can I take off your panties?”, satoru finally asks, tilting his head to stare you right in the face.

you won’t meet his eye, and he knows you won’t. because both of you know if you do, he will quickly shred that last bit of self-control at the tips of your fingers. a single bat of his lashes and you’ll be nodding your head, raising your hips so he can tear away your underwear. and then it will only be a matter of time before satoru’s pinning you down to stuff his cock in your walls as deep as you can take. it’s all he wants, all he craves. but as long as you avoid looking into his alluring eyes, you may hold off satoru and his contagious desires for just a little longer.

tagz: @blkkizzat @teddybeartoji @lxnarphase @hellkaiserinphoenix @cinnamoneve @satoruxsc @rosso-seta @sapphireandange @starlightanyaaa @manyno @sugu-love @leilalilox @sataraxia @apatauaia @luvvforliaa @purplegemadventures @v0ctin @kissesfrombelle @babytoshiii @biscuitsngravie @neptuneblue @staryukis ( HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN LOGANNNNNN😼😼‼️‼️💚🩵💛💚🩵💛💚🩵💛💚🩵)

[tsuvvy]

Reader is injured during a fight with Bane and they refuse to seek medical attention. They hide their wounds from their batfamily and try to heal on their own. However, their condition worsens and they collapse in front of the batfamily. (Reader is the youngest tooo??)

Needing Help Isn’t a Weakness

Pairing: Platonic Batfamily x youngest adopted reader (A little more focus on Damian cause I want to be his little sibling so badly)

Warnings: Mentions of harm, violence, blood, passing out/fainting/collapsing, like one cuss word close to the end

Bane was a nightmare. An idiotic, annoying, nightmare. The guy basically threw you around like a ragdoll. You’d think he had it out for you the way he seemingly targeted specifically you. You’d sustained quite a few injuries by time the fight with the villain was over.

You were leaning over, your hands on your knees to support you. You almost felt what you thought might be your heart seemingly dropping to your stomach at the sight of the gash on your side. You hadn’t even noticed it. You must have been in shock, because the realization of even having it made it start to hurt. You could feel the blood seeping from the wound.

“Hey, are you okay?” Tim asks worriedly, coming to your side after having seen the heavy hits you had been taking in the battle against Bane.

You moved your cape, hiding your side in a way you usually liked to do, even when not injured. “I’m good,” You told him non-chalantly. You were lucky for the habit with the cape, cause Tim might have had a moment of wanting to continue prying on if you were okay, but he left it be.

You’d lied to everyone that asked if you were okay, giving them thumbs ups and ‘I’m okay’s. You rushed to your room, saying you were so tuckered out from the fighting and could do with a good nights rest. You were a little surprised that the family full of masked vigilante detectives didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. But that was until you got to just shy of maybe 7 or 10 steps away from your room.

“What’s your problem?” Damian spoke from behind you, his arms crossed over his chest, his tone accusatory and suspicious. You could almost feel how his gaze narrow on you from behind.

He had seen how you had clutched your side for a moment before letting your arm fall when you heard him.

“Nothing,” You had calmed yourself down, turning your body halfway to look at your older brother. “I don’t have a problem.”

Damian stared at you for a little while. And you stared back. The two of you caught in some kind of staring contest.

“You know you can tell me if you do, right?” Damian asked, his expression softening slightly, “I might be distant, but I’m still your older brother-”

“Adopted. Older brother.” You quickly added on. You had been adopted only recently, not having really taken to the family quite yet. “I don’t need your help or your pity, Damian.” You sighed, turning away.

Damian had stayed in the hallway for a little while, watching you walk into your room. And he heard the lock sound after you closed it.

But he didn’t see how you bit your lip and closed your eyes tight as the pain from the gash on your side radiated throughout your whole body. It was a struggle to get the vigilante uniform off, and even more of a struggled to try and bandage it yourself. You knew the gash needed professional attention, but why do you need anyone else’s help? You didn’t need Tim, Damian, Cassandra, Barbara, Dick, Jason, Bruce, or Alfred’s help.

It made sense why Bruce adopted you. He had a thing for adopting traumatized kids, and you didn’t seem to be any exception to that. You’ve been alone for so long. You’ve fought by yourself, stole by yourself, survived by yourself, and you’ve patched yourself up before by yourself. So why couldn’t you patch this wound?

But you couldn’t deny the flitting moment of thinking to going to any of the bat family for help when you let out mutters of pained whines and cusses as while you sporadically poured the 99% alcohol over it to ‘clean’ it. But that thought was quickly pushed to the side after the alcohol and cleaning part. You messily applied the bandage around the gash. If someone asked if you knew what you were truly doing, you’d be lying if you said yes.

Everything hurt. All of the wounds inflicted by Bane started taking precedence. But the gash most of all over all of them. Your legs and arms were sore, you had a headache, the cuts on your hands and face were stinging. It’s a miracle that you even made it to bed. You somehow got the strength to take a pain pill, and of course, to no surprise, you passed right out.

Luckily your bleeding had stopped not long before you took the pain pill, so you were able to survive the night the best you could with the most amount of sleep you could manage you get. Which was’t a lot..

When you awoke, everything was blurry, and bright, and your headache was back. And your side was just radiating with pain. You let out a whine of pain as you managed to sit up. You really hadn’t thought about how much pain you might be in in the morning.

You pushed yourself out of bed, and basically fell into the door of your room. You moved your hand to the doorknob, unlocking the door and turning the handle. You almost fell when the door you were leaning all of your weight against opened more abruptly than you thought. You managed to catch yourself by grabbing onto the door frame. A silent scream of pain leaving your lips.

Somehow, you also managed to use the wall to walk throughout the house, keeping a hand on the wall while you not even walked. I’d say.. Shuffled or scooted might be a better way to describe how you moved.

You were basically hugging the bannister while you slowly shuffled down the stairs. You could feel the blood soaking the already somewhat soaked bandages. Though you were wearing a thick long sleeved gray sweater with pajama pants.

“Y/n?” Dick questioned, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw you, “You okay?”

You were disoriented. You looked around, but it felt like you weren’t. Everything was a blur, all you heard was static in your ears. Everyone was staring at you with worry. But you couldn’t make that out. All you could make out was how everything began turning on it’s side before everything went black.

“Y/n!” A good majority of people screamed in worry while they watched you fall. Luckily, Jason was close enough to catch you.

You groaned, more of a whine of pain, actually.. It took almost everything out of you to peel your eyelids open. The cieling was weird. The medical equipment next to you was weird. You felt weird. You were in so much pain..

“It’s a miracle she lasted as long as she did with the poor bandaging job they did,” You heard a sigh from nearby. You looked over tiredly to see Barabara was the one that sighed while she had been talking to Dick and Tim.

“Y/n?” Everyone looked towards the opening in the curtain. It was Damian, and he was staring at you. His eyes wide yet worried set on you. “Y/n!” He said, but a bit louder and more enthusiastic in a way. Damian rushed to your side of the medical bed, grabbing your hand with a gentleness that was strange. Barabara, Dick, and Tim had made their way to your other side.

“She’s awake?” Jason questioned as him, Cassandra and Bruce came in as well.

“You are an idiot, l/n,” Damian told you, sending you a glare. But it was different. It looked more emotional. And you guessed it might have been a worried glare considering how his grip on your hand tightened.

“Seriously,” Jason started, he was standing behind Damian, “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you seriously so stubborn you won’t ask anyone for help with something you clearly need help with?”

Honestly, you felt stunned and confused. You looked around at everyone. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You didn’t realize how your grip on Damian’s hand tightened.

“I don’t need help…” Was all you could mutter out, barely above a whisper.

“You’re kidding, right?” Tim deadpanned.

“With all do respect, Ms/Mr/Mx. Y/n,” Alfred appeared in the doorway, bringing little sliders for you to eat. He placed them on a little table next to the medical bed you were laid in. “But you collapsed from severe bloodloss, exhaustion, and because of the pain you were in,” You listened to him intently. Alfred was one of the only family members to be rewarded with such treatment for you, “I’m afraid the gash you had acquired on your side would have killed you if it was left not professionally treated.. And I must also say, dumping 99% alcohol onto a wound is very reckless.” The old man sighed.

You puffed out your cheeks and looked away from him. Your cheeks had colored in embarrassment.

“Y/n,” Barbara took your other hand, “I know it was hard growing up alone, you’ve been conditioned to not accepting other’s help.” She sighed, reaching up to move some of your hair out of your face with a gentle touch. “But needing help isn’t a weakness..”

“She’s right!” Dick spoke up, “It’s actually pretty honorable to know your limits and ask for help.”

“Come on, give them some space!” Bruce spoke up, noticing how everyone seemed to be crowding you. Barbara backed away from your side, your hand falling out of her’s. Damian however stayed at your side, keeping his grip on her hand tight and protective. Damian hadn’t always been the nicest, but he cared for you. Part of him felt the need to protect you. You’re his younger sibling, whether you were adopted or not, it didn’t matter.

“I am proud of you, Y/n,” Bruce patted your head. Your eyes widened, you weren’t sure what to say to such a gesture from the guy. “You need to learn that we all care for you and your wellbeing, we want you safe and happy. So next time you are injured as badly as you were, I do not want to be seeing you collapsing because of your stubborn pride.” He scolded you gently, “That understood?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes, “Yes sir..”

“Alright, good.” He smiled gently and subtly.

“This was great and all,” Jason spoke up, “But I gotta get going,” He rested his hand on your head, ruffling your hair gently yet annoyingly, “Be safe, don’t do stupid shit anymore, kay?” He didn’t wait for you to answer before he left. And after him, everyone else started trickling out with their own goodbyes and see you laters. But Damian remained at your side.

The two of you sat in silence. You looked to the open curtain when Titus came into the room and hopped up onto your medical bed. He had rested his hand on your lap, and you began to pet him with the hand Damian hadn’t been holding

“Never again,” You heard Damian say.

“Huh?” You looked at him.

“Never do something stupid like that again..” He sounded angry, but also worried.. You stared at him for a second, your hand on Titus’ head coming to a halt.

“I’m sorry..” You muttered. Damian didn’t respond for a second.

“Don’t apologize, I understand your reasoning behind why you did it. Just don’t do it again.”

“Alright..” You said softly.

[ceruark]

eat your heart out

synopsis: you’re a vampire just trying to get by via feeding on your friends, having no desire to find a mate. sunday has other plans. notes: yan! sunday x vampire! gn! reader. (yan! aventurine if you squint) words: 3,396 notes: modern au. vampires are fully integrated into society. cw: yandere themes: obsessive and possessive behavior, stalking, drugging. not nsfw but definitely a bit horny, my bad. a/n: apparently the key to overcoming writer’s block is having a really questionable dream

“Come on.”

“Aven, I said no.”

“Just one bite?”

“No. I’m not hungry.” You shove his face away from your arm, but he just rests his head on your shoulder in response. You roll your eyes in annoyance. “Besides, you’ve had vodka. Your blood probably tastes like shit right now.”

The blonde scoffs at you. “It’s not my fault you have an awful alcohol palate.”

You glare at him, offended. “Wine is one of the only things I can tolerate. It’s not my fault you don’t have a more refined taste.”

Aventurine heaves a loud sigh and pouts, but drops the topic.

It’s common knowledge that, as a vampire, you need to drink blood regularly to sustain yourself. After much trial and error, you found that you can get by just fine feeding only twice a week. Thankfully, your friends don’t harbor any fear toward you and are more than willing to let you drink from them. You always feel bad for leaving such a painful mark on their wrists, but they wave away your worries, insisting that it’s not much to put up with so long as you’re fed and healthy. You’re grateful for all of them and will take what you can get, even if you have developed a particular taste for Black Swan’s and Ratio’s blood— and Aventurine’s, when he isn’t drinking that godawful liquor.

Others of your kind often tell you that it would be easier and more beneficial for you to find a mate. Drinking from a single person would mean that you could feed more frequently, and the consistency of drinking the same blood would make you stronger, and overall healthier. You’re reluctant to tell your friends that drinking blood of various types and quality leaves you feeling more lethargic than could be considered normal. They would react poorly to that information, and the alternative is something you don’t want to do— not in the near future, and maybe not ever.

The thought of being bound to one person until they die leaves you nauseous; you’d seen how well that worked out for your parents. Becoming accustomed and addicted to a single person’s blood is a tricky thing, and your father’s withdrawal symptoms had been brutal for decades. For a long time, doctors believed he would never fully recover.

So you always brush away anyone who approaches you with the intent of becoming your mate, insisting you aren’t interested and you don't need one. 

Aventurine seems to be gunning for that position, anyway. He has a habit of clinging to you and flaunting his neck around you, wearing accessories that bring attention to it or leaving it completely barren while wearing a low-cut top. His intentions couldn’t be more obvious, but you refuse to acknowledge them; you love him dearly, but not enough to shatter your fear of taking in a mate.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when the bartender finally places your order in front of you: a glass of classic red wine. You perk up as they bow to you. “Apologies for the wait, we’re quite busy tonight.”

You shake your head in dismissal. You were wondering why it was taking so long to pour a simple glass of wine, but you suppose some things can’t be helped.

“No worries,” you respond with a grin. The bartender watches as you raise the glass to your lips and take your first sip, and leaves once you hum in satisfaction and go back for more.

You remain at ease for a while longer, sipping at your drink and enjoying conversation with your dear friend (who ends up ordering another drink with vodka in it, how disgusting). The two of you are in the middle of an argument about who in your shared friend group would survive in a zombie apocalypse when someone settles into the empty seat on the other side of you.

“Having a nice night?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden voice sounding next to you. You manage to catch the way Aventurine’s fond gaze morphs into a heated glare, the way his laughter breaks off and his genuine smile twists into that of a bitter one.

“Sunday,” he says in greeting, though the name rolls off his tongue with loathing.

Said man’s sharp golden eyes flick to Aventurine briefly, meeting the glare with one of his own, before looking back to you. You repress a shudder and greet him with a tight smile.

Sunday Oak, world-famous actor and esteemed son of the distinguished director Gopher Wood, has an interest in you that you haven’t been able to shake. Mr. Wood had picked up a screenplay you wrote, and you were ecstatic to hear that he wanted to meet with you to further discuss your vision for the film. The movie the two of you crafted together was a massive success, and Mr. Wood quickly snatched you up, not wanting to lose your talent to another agency. He’d seen something in you— “a keen eye,” he’d said— and decided to keep you around as his assistant.

Needless to say, you were in no position to treat Sunday with anything but respect, even if he did unnerve you. The two of you met in Halovian Entertainment’s main office during a major company meeting; as the heir to the man’s fortune, he was always at his father’s side, but as his assistant, you now had a place on Mr. Wood’s other side. You two are frequently around each other, and the more you speak to him, the more he seems to pop up in your life, even in places he shouldn’t be. He has a way of conveniently being in the right place at the right time, always lending a hand when you’re struggling to carry heavy equipment, or running through lines and providing an actor’s perspective when you’ve hit a roadblock while writing a script.

He’s always showing up when you’ve gone just a few days longer than usual without feeding, standing closer to you than he usually does. He’ll linger nearby, and the normally graceful and composed actor will somehow manage to gain a small wound that causes him to bleed and fills the air with a scent you can just barely resist.

You considered him a good friend at first. You might still be taken with him if you hadn’t long since figured out that he’s trying to sink his claws into you by getting you to sink your fangs into him. His demeanor is sweet, and his blood smells even sweeter— but you know better than to bite into the apple that the devil tempts you with.

Tonight, he’s decided to crash your weekly meet-up with your friends and sit beside you at the bar. He’s wearing a sheer white top that hangs lowly around his chest, leaving his pale, unblemished neck and collarbones as yours for the taking. Aventurine eyes his outfit choice with disdain, and had this been anyone else sitting with you two, you would have called him out on his hypocrisy; the black off-the-shoulder top he’s wearing shamelessly leaves everything on glorious display.

You turn your head to face Sunday— maybe a little too fast, given the way the room seems to spin a little. You blink rapidly, trying to pull yourself together against the fuzziness in your head.

“It’s nice of you to join us,” you say pleasantly, trying to smooth your smile into something less forced.

Sunday returns your smile, before shaking his head. “I wish I could join you on more friendly terms, but I do have unfortunate news.”

You straighten up, a bit alarmed. “What is it?”

“It seems teenage drama is more serious than we thought. Yanqing and Yunli are unwilling to continue to work with each other.” He sighs. “They’re both demanding that the other drop the film.”

You stare at him incredulously. “We’re already halfway through filming.”

“Yes,” Sunday says, sounding as tired as you already feel. His eyes flit to Aventurine, before looking back to you. “I’ve already discussed potential solutions with my father, but we shouldn’t go over them in… mixed company.”

As an actor under a different agency, Aventurine shouldn’t be around for a conversation like this. He narrows his eyes, giving Sunday another strained smile. “Certainly you can discuss it another time then, yes?”

“It’s an urgent matter,” Sunday answers easily. “If we have to recast and reshoot, we should have this sorted out as soon as possible.”

The blonde is about to fire off another snarky response, but pauses when you place a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right, we need to get this figured out.” You squeeze his shoulder. “Why don’t you go and make sure Veritas hasn’t killed Boothill over poker? They both left the bar pretty drunk.”

Aventurine eyes Sunday warily, then looks back to you. “Fine.” He drops his voice to a whisper, “But you come find us if he tries anything, alright?”

“He won’t,” you whisper back, “I’ll be fine.”

He clearly doesn’t believe you, but he stands to leave anyway. He flicks Sunday a cool look before turning his back on the two of you, wandering away from the bar and toward the casino.

You turn back to Sunday, ignoring the way your head starts swimming again. You suck in an unsteady breath. You feel hot all over, burning like a million needles are pricking at your skin. You glance at your empty wine glass with concern— alcohol never hits you this hard. 

You clear your throat, putting your discomfort on the backburner for now. “So what did your father say?”

Sunday hums, propping his arm up against the counter and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “There aren’t many teenage actors with the skill to replace either of them, and those with the availability are under IPC contract.” 

Your eyes go wide. Halovian Entertainment and the IPC don’t mix well, under any circumstances. “He’s not seriously considering extending the casting call to them, is he? The media will be a nightmare if we do that.”

Sunday opens his mouth to respond, then pauses. He takes a sweeping gaze of the crowd around them, too close for comfort. “Perhaps it would be wise to take this conversation elsewhere.”

You nod in agreement, rising to your feet—

—and immediately go crashing toward the floor.

The burning intensifies once you’re standing, and if it was swimming before, then the room is somersaulting now. You let out a cry of distress as you flail, your hands attempting to catch onto the counter or your chair as your legs give out beneath you. One hand feebly latches onto the counter, but slips off of it. Before you can hit the ground, Sunday rushes to your side and wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you against him.

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice dripping with concern and something else you can’t quite place.

“Something—” You cut yourself off, surprised at the way you slur your words. “Something’s wrong.”

Sunday’s face comes into view. His brows are drawn as he clicks his tongue at you. “Did you have too much to drink?”

“No.” You shake your head, and immediately regret it. “Alcohol doesn’t affect me much.” 

He frowns more at that. “Might you be getting sick?” He presses his hand to your head, feeling for your temperature. At the contact, your stomach roils, painfully contracting within you.

With horror, you realize it’s hunger. You fed yesterday— you shouldn’t start feeling hungry for at least a few days, nevermind feeling like you’re starving.

You tremble as he withdraws his hand. Your fangs poke at your tongue in your mouth, presenting themselves against your will. Standing this close to you, Sunday’s scent is too strong, and you feel your resolve hanging on by a singular thread.

“You’re running a fever.” He leans in closer, and you clench your jaw. “Do you want me to take you back to your hotel room?”

You don’t trust yourself to open your mouth right now. You shake your head, then move to separate yourself from him. You need to find your friends, any of them, and you need to do it now. But the second you manage to slip out of his grasp, you’re unsteady again, sent tumbling to the ground.

Sunday quickly catches you by the arm before you can fall and pulls you back toward him. The arm around your waist is firm this time.

“Please,” he says, sounding stressed, maybe even a bit desperate. “Let me walk you back. You can’t make it back in this state.”

You want to talk, want to tell him that no, he doesn’t need to escort you back— in fact, you’d rather him take you to one of your friends. But you can’t, not with the way your hunger overrides your brain and leaves you salivating. You can only bring yourself to nod slowly. Once he dumps you in your room, you can call Aventurine up and feed all you like.

The walk to the elevator is agonizing, but the ride up to the thirteenth floor is even worse. At least near the bar, you could distract yourself by catching bits and pieces of the patrons’ conversations, or by staring at the lights of the machines at the casino.

In the small and confined space with no lights or sounds— just you and Sunday— it’s much harder to ignore the roaring of your stomach. Unconsciously, the hand you have settled on his hip to steady yourself tightens, your nails digging harshly into his shirt and leaving crescent marks in his flesh.

He looks at you again, eyes shining in what seems to be anticipation. You would notice it if you didn’t have your gaze resolutely fixed to your feet. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You nod again, still refusing to open your mouth.

The doors slide open, and somewhere in your hunger-induced haze you manage to feel relief at the sight of your hotel door. You reach into your pocket and produce the key card. Sunday takes it from you and opens the door, holding you every step of the way until he can set you down gently on the bed.

Once you’re seated, you use every ounce of strength you have left to say, “You can go now.” Your voice is strained from the effort of holding yourself back.

“I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone like this,” he says, and you grit your teeth at his words. “You’re clearly ill. I don’t want to risk things getting worse with no one around.”

“I’ll be fine,” you mutter as you close your eyes. He needs to leave, and soon, or you’re going to lose your mind.

His hand is against your head again, and you jerk away from his touch, clenching your hands into fists to ground yourself.

“At least let me take your temperature,” he pleads. “The first aid kids have medicine that will help with the fever.”

“Fine,” you concede, and he sets off to the bathroom.

His return is indicated by the bed dipping beside you and the sound of the first aid kit being rummaged through. You feel the press of the thermometer against your forehead, and then hear a beeping sound go off.

“102,” he says, sighing. “I’m going to give you some Tylenol, alright?”

You nod weakly. You sincerely doubt the medication will help with your particular ailment. You hear the packaging being ripped open, and for a long moment there’s nothing else.

And then, you smell it: the metallic, unmistakable scent of blood.

Your eyes fly open, pupils blown wide as they lock onto Sunday. He’s pricked himself on the needle in the first aid kit, and a small bead of blood sits on the end of his index finger.

Were you in your right mind, you might have been able to piece it together: the way the bartender watched you as you drank the wine, the way Sunday was in the right place at the right time again, and the way he holds the needle in a way that makes the injury look more purposeful rather than accidental. But such a train of thought has no chance of departing when your blood is roaring in your ears and your carnal instincts take over.

In an instant, you're lunging at him. One of your hands grips the side of his neck and the other settles on his hip again. You push him onto the mattress, using your body weight and enhanced strength to pin him down.

Your lips brush momentarily against the soft skin of his neck before you open your mouth wide and bite into him.

Sunday lets out a soft groan as your fangs pierce his neck. Your fangs hold no venom yet he finds himself going still, paralyzed from pleasure. Despite the stabbing sensation, he cranes his neck and presses it against your lips as much as he can, trying to make access to his blood even easier for you. In a haze of his own, he reaches up and tangles one of his hands into your hair, placing the other on the small of your back and pulling you into him even more.

His blood is sweet against your tongue— sweet like syrup, as sweet as he is to you. You’re past the amount of blood you need to drink to be sustained, but you persist in drinking, indulging yourself just this once. You need more, taking in such big gulps of it that it spills out of the sides of your lips and dribbles down your chin.

You move lower, trailing tiny bites down his neck until you bite down firmly into his shoulder, taking as much as you please. He breathes shallowly and moans at every nip and bite, but he makes no move to push you away. If anything, he only holds you tighter against him.

He trails a hand down your back, and a coherent part of your mind registers that his hold on you has gone slack. Suddenly, an urgency to stop manages to cut through the fog still lingering in your mind. If you drink anymore than you already have, you’re going to leave him weak and seriously injured. 

You detach your fangs from his shoulder and peel yourself off of him. He gazes up at you through half-lidded eyes, desire evident and overflowing in his gaze. His hair is a mess from the rough way you handled him while keeping him pinned down. His chest rises and falls with the ragged breaths he takes now that you’ve stopped, drawing your attention to the blood smeared along his neck and shoulder, staining his white shirt beautifully. He reaches for your hand, delicately placing his own on top of it.

Coming to your senses, you pull your hand back as though you’ve been burned. And you have, in a sense— the realization of the night’s events and what he’d done to you hits you all at once. You pivot backward, scrambling away from him until your back slams harshly into the bed’s headboard.

Surprisingly, Sunday follows you, using the last of his strength to rise and move across the bed to sit at your side. He wraps his arm around you and pulls you against him. You curl in on yourself, turning your face toward the wall and away from him.

You can feel the haze already starting to pull at the corners of your mind. Whatever he drugged you with is still in your system, and it’s only a matter of time before you’re hungry again.

In a quiet voice, barely above a whisper, you ask, “Why did you do this?”

You can feel him hum where your back is pressed against his chest, then you feel his fingers settle on your chin. He coaxes you into looking at him, grasping your face gently and slowly turning it toward him.

The affection in his eyes makes your stomach turn. With what, you do not know.

“I thought it might be nice if you wanted me as much as I want you.”

He moves his hand to cup your face and pulls you toward him. He presses his lips against yours, relishing in the taste of his blood on your lips.

[alrightieaphroditie]

wipe my tears away | j.m.

*:·ﾟ✧ series masterlist | previous part!

pairing *:·ﾟ afab!reader x joel miller wc *:·ﾟ6.6k  warnings *:·ﾟ18+! minors please do not interact!! talk of period pain, hormonal emotions, crying, kissing, some manhandling (if you squint), sad attempt at dirty talk, period play (lightly), fingering, maybe some degradation (not really sure), clit stimulation, overstimulation, multiple orgasms (f receiving), squirting/messy cum, p in v penetration (not protected, do better!), one mention of blood… please let me know if i’m missing any major ones!  an *:·ﾟthis is for the girlies who get over emotional during their periods (they are me, i am them). this is a bit longer than intended, but once i got in the zone i literally couldn’t stop, so i hope y’all will enjoy it! kind of unedited, so if anything major jumps out feel free to comment lol. i also wrote this with correct capitalization, where all my previous fics were lowercase bc i couldn’t be bothered to turn on auto caps, so let me know if y’all prefer this format!  check the series masterlist for the series tags!

synopsis *:·ﾟ joel comes home to find you laying in bed, crying because of period pain. he may not be a full gentleman, but he wouldn’t let you suffer when he has a trick up his sleeve to help sooth the cramps. 

The pain that begins in your lower abdomen, the feeling that radiates throughout the rest of your lower body with enough force to make you wince, isn’t entirely new. It’s a monthly occurrence, actually. One that you feel like you should be used to by now, considering it’s plagued you for more than half your life. 

But the outbreak had already happened when you first got your period as a teen, and for a while, your body wasn’t receiving the nutrients it needed to sustain that kind of function. It was a double-edged sword, the way you were appreciative that you haven’t had it this bad your entire life, while ruminating on the losses that occurred due to the infection. 

Because it was a different story, now. 

Now, you were eating more than you could ever remember before. Jackson was a thriving community, after all. And you were beyond blessed that you were one of the lucky ones who got to reside within its gates. Now, your body was properly fed and being taken care of for the first time in years, and that double-edged sword reared in your mind again; thankful for the safe space you’ve landed upon, but God, at what cost? Your period pain took you out for days each month, making you feel like a burden even though you physically couldn’t help it. 

Your toe stubbed against a chair in your living room as another cramp worked its way through your body, causing you to cry out for more than one reason. Tears filled your waterline, and a heavy sigh escaped past your lips. The rough material of your jeans was digging into your waistline, your hair felt heavy against your neck and each strand that brushed against your cheek made you want to cut it off, and you just felt so useless. Some logical part of your brain realized this wasn’t really you feeling this way, it was just the hormonal shift, but that didn’t provide any sense of comfort as the tears continued to glide down your face. 

In some ways, you were lucky, as today had been your day off from helping around Jackson. Otherwise, that sense of being a burden to everyone would’ve increased tenfold. You couldn't stop feeling like a burden to yourself, though. You had made a perfectly organized to-do list that was hanging on your fridge of things you wanted to tackle today. 

Your sheets needed to be washed. The floors needed to be swept and mopped, especially after the rain, as Joel and Ellie continued to trek mud through your house by accident. Maria had given you some of the spices that grew in abundance, and you wanted to make one of those simmer pots on the stove that she kept mentioning. 

But doing those chores was the last thing on your mind right now, as another cramp racked its way through your body. Now, you just wanted to go lay in bed wearing nothing but Joel's shirt that you had thrown on earlier and cry while hugging a pillow.

 And so, that’s what you did. 

Your vision was watery as your fingers swiftly worked to unbutton your pants, your feet carrying you out of the living room and into your bedroom before you really even realized what you were doing. Once you hit your bedside, you tugged the jeans down your legs, letting them pool at your feet and leaving them on the ground as you crawl into bed, feeling about as pathetic as you probably looked. Curling up on your side, you reach out blindly and grab onto Joel's pillow, tucking it against your body and letting it provide you a false sense of comfort. After that, the tears start flowing freely. 

You didn’t know how long you laid there, didn’t know how long the sound of your sniffles had filled the room or how long you pressed the pillow against your abdomen. The cramps were still relentless, and it wasn’t like you even had any medicine you could take; expired Tylenol did absolutely nothing anymore. You wish you were more used to this feeling, this pain. But it seemed like the longer you were at Jackson, the worse the symptoms became each month. You had yet to figure out the remedies that were foolproof for this feeling. 

Continuous tears turned into lonely, stray droplets as you held onto the pillow. The room was silent except for the occasional sniff. You had zeroed in on an undone thread on the pillowcase, not paying attention to your surroundings, so you didn’t hear the sound of the front door being pushed open, or the sound of Joel's work boots stomping across the wooden floors. In the corners of your mind, you recognized the voice that was muttering to himself outside your room, but your eyes stayed focused on that singular thread. 

The thought of it being lonely, being apart from the other threads holding the fabric together, made your eyes water again. You could put yourself in its position, the ever present fear of being alone daunting you even now, and that was enough to send the tears over your waterline, racing down your cheeks and onto the pillow once again. The hiccup that came from your inhale was the noise that had the footfalls move towards your room, and through your blurry vision you saw the outline of Joel standing in the doorway. 

“What's wrong?” Through your sniffles, you could sense his urgency, his rough voice filled with nothing but concern, and maybe a little worry. His gaze swept over your body, checking for any possible injury. This was the first time he’d seen you break down to this level, and the sight of you curled into a fetal position, tears streaming down your face with his pillow in your grasp… he prayed to God that another person wasn’t involved with making you feel this way.

It would be a shame to lose his good reputation amongst Jackson because he had to beat some fucker up. 

Your gaze swung up to his face, and you made yourself blink harshly to expel the lingering tears. His face came into focus, the worry lines on his forehead becoming more clear to compliment the frown on his full lips. He had a spot of dirt streaking across his forehead, and his clothes were dirty from spending the day working outside. For whatever reason, the fact that Joel had been out working in the heat for most of the day while you couldn’t even manage to get up and wash your bedsheets made your emotions spiral even more. What is wrong with me? you wondered, hugging the pillow tighter to your body. 

The sound of his work bag hitting the floor echoed through the room, soon followed by the shuffle of his boots being kicked off his feet. His hands were gently pulling the pillow away before you could even register that he was in front of you now, but you felt the bed dip under his weight as he perched himself at the edge. His broad hand rested on your elbow before sliding up your arm, gently caressing your skin until he reached the side of your face. The calluses on his thumb scratched against your skin as he swiped the digit under your eye, wiping away the tears that had pooled. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” his voice was softer this time, comforting you in a way that had you feeling alright for the first time today. You leaned up on your elbows, and Joel helped guide you into a sitting position across from him, your hands holding on to one of his while his other cupped your face, thumb swiping against skin. The action of sitting up had your cramps rearing their ugly heads again, and your wince was subtle but extremely obvious to Joel, evident by the furrowing of his eyebrows. 

“My uterus is what’s wrong,” the scratchiness of your throat had you coughing slightly, and you worked to clear it before trying again, voice nearly as weak as you felt. “I'm on my period.” Joel's eyes widened in surprise at your admission, but he quickly schooled his features.

This wasn’t his first rodeo; he’d been with you for awhile now, but noticed that each month your symptoms were different. Sometimes, your sudden anger at everything gave away the fact that it was that time of the month. Other times, it was your sweet tooth and your cravings that gave it away. Rarely was it your tears, though, and his heart lurched at this new response. 

When your hands went to wrap around your stomach, applying pressure lightly to help ease the throbbing, his free hand came up to the other side of your face. “‘m sorry, darlin. Know that ain’t the best feeling in the world,” his thumbs were doing a stand up job at wiping away the tears on your cheeks, and soon the only sign that you had been crying was the red glaze surrounding your pupils. 

And the occasional sniffle. 

You leaned into his touch, eyes closing at the surprising amount of comfort that you felt from a pair of hands. You always felt at peace with Joel, though, so you weren’t surprised that his hands had this effect on you. You focused on the rough pads of his skin against the smooth texture of your own, taking in big breaths of air through your nose as your crying spell passed through you. Now you were thinking a little more clearly and felt a little embarrassed by the fact that Joel had walked in on you crying over a thread on a pillow case. Not that he’d ever know that’s what you were crying about. 

“It's okay. I'm sorry if i scared you or anything,” you started, opening your eyes to meet Joel's dark gaze. You offered him a small smile. “I really just need to learn how to deal with these cramps without them taking over my day. They seem to be getting worse and worse each month.” Your hands trailed up to grip his forearms, squeezing them affectionately as a wave of exhaustion flitted through your body. 

Joel's eyes squinted slightly. “Cramps, huh?” he mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up ever so slightly. In the far corner of his mind, he recalled a younger Tommy swearing by a foolproof activity that helped one of his girlfriends with her cramps when medicine didn’t cut it. He wasn’t sure he believed Tommy then, or even now, for that matter. But he knew how much you struggled with the pain, and he’d feel like a real jerk if he didn’t at least give this a go. 

“Think I know somethin’ that could help with that.” He pulled your head forward, pressing a chaste kiss on top of your forehead before dropping his hands and pushing off of the bed. You were slightly dazed, partly at the display of affection but also at the quickness in which Joel was walking to the bathroom. When he came back into the room with an old towel, you couldn’t help but look at him suspiciously. 

“Joel…”

“Do you trust me?” He asked, tossing the towel on the bed and leaning down to look at you, eye to eye. His demeanor was calm, but his eyes shined with a hint of mischievousness, and the smirk on his mouth was nothing but trouble. It made him look younger, almost. Like the gray in his beard and around the temples of his hair was there prematurely. You wondered if he was like that more before the outbreak, and you reveled in this glimpse of his past self that he was allowing you to see. 

“Of course I do.” Your answer was absolute, eyes showing no signs of distrust or wariness as you maintained contact with Joel’s. He reveled in the sureness of your answer, in the fact that it didn’t even take you more than a second to respond to his question. The smirk became a full blown grin, and you couldn’t help but mirror it on your own face as you wondered what the heck this man was thinking. 

“Good. In that case, I'm gonna go clean myself up,” his lips pressed against yours in a swift kiss before he backed away, fingers stretching to the hem of his t-shirt. “You’re gonna strip out of those panties, spread that towel out underneath you, and wait for me to come back. Okay?” One of his eyebrows notched up, awaiting your response. 

“Sir, yes, sir,” you teased, sending him off with a mocking salute. It earned you an eye roll, something he had been picking up more and more from Ellie's influence, no doubt. The sound of your giggle followed him into the bathroom, where he quickly worked to discard his dirty clothes and rinse off. The thought of you laying in bed with just his t-shirt on had him adjusting himself underneath the water stream. 

Meanwhile, you were working at a slower pace. 

You gingerly took the threadbare towel between your hands, kneeling up on your knees to place it where you thought would work best. You were starting to get an idea of what Joel was planning, and while you’ve never done anything like this before, you weren’t absolutely hating it. After you had smoothed the fabric out, you climbed back against the pillows, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties and sliding them down. The pad on the inside showed slight signs of blood, so at least you weren’t bleeding too heavily right now. Usually that came after a day or two of the cramps. 

You were combing your fingers through your hair when Joel walked back into the room, pausing at the threshold while you both took each other in. His hair was damp, droplets of water occasionally dripping on his forehead, brushed back at the edges and the tops to keep it out of his face. He had been growing it out a little longer, though you knew when summer fully came around, it’d be time to clip it. 

He’d changed out of a plain, gray t-shirt into another plain, gray t-shirt - clearly a staple in his wardrobe - and you had to admire the way he was filling it out. The sleeves hugged the middle of his biceps, straining against the pure muscle that had been building up. The shirt fit loose around his chest, but you could see the way it was snug around his tummy area, the small pouch of his stomach highlighted by the thin material. 

You weren’t the only one who had been eating better since arriving at Jackson; Joel was starting to bulk up and you were loving it. 

Having ended his workday earlier, and foreseeing spending the rest of the day in bed with you, he had pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants that clung to his thighs and offered very little to the imagination when it came to the thick imprint between his legs. The sight of him had your thighs clenching together automatically, heat racing through your body like a fever. 

And he knew it, too. You could tell by the smirk on his lips, the way his gaze strayed from your eyes to your legs. He loved having that affect on you, loved seeing how needy you became by just the thought of being with him. 

He walked to the other side of the bed, his eyes focused solely on you in his red shirt, the way your legs were crossed at the bottom, giving him just the smallest peak of bare skin underneath. You listen to him so well, he couldn’t help but admire. You gave him your trust so easily, and that was one of the few things that Joel considered to be precious in this world. He'd never make you regret that choice. 

Leaning up on your elbows, your body naturally turned towards him when he finally settled himself on his side next to you. One of his arms slipped behind your head, tucking you into his body as the other came up to guide your face to his. His lips were soft against your own, and all the tension you had felt from crying earlier completely disappeared. 

Your hands clung to his arm as he kissed you, a soft sigh escaping through your lips. Joel took the opening to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue against your bottom lip before dipping it into your mouth. Your mind was growing fuzzy, and you simply let Joel manipulate you how he wanted, eagerly offering yourself to him. 

His mouth stayed on yours, your noses brushing against each other with every tilt of the head, but his hand strayed from your cheek. It paved a path to the collar of the t-shirt, where he fisted the material and tugged it towards himself, halfway pulling you on top of him with the movement. Your hands flung out to his chest to stop yourself from completely crashing into him, and a groan sounded against your mouth as Joel felt the tips of your fingers dig into the skin. 

He soon abandoned the collar, letting his palm slide down the expanse of your torso and bunching the shirt up a little before settling it right over your lower abdomen, fingers splayed out wide against your bare skin. The heat radiating from his palm on your skin was like your own personal heating pad; the soreness that ebbed from your cramps seemed to dissipate the longer his hand rested against your skin, the action making your head spin as you focused on breathing through your nose as Joel’s tongue traced along yours. 

Joel’s mouth trailed from your lips down to your jaw, down to your neck. The stubble growing on his face scratched at your skin when he nuzzled himself in the crook of your neck, causing a combination of a laugh and a moan to flutter past your lips. You could feel him smile against your skin before nipping at it gently, using his lips and tongue to ebb the slight pain away. You could feel him sucking at your skin, and you knew in the morning you’d regret the red and purple marks that would litter your skin, but right now, the feeling was absolute heaven. 

“Spread those legs for me, baby.” The words were whispered against your skin, accompanied by a quick tap to your thighs. You didn’t hesitate to obey; your left leg fell to the side while you rested your right leg on top of Joel's. His hand slipped from your stomach to your upper thigh, gripping the fleshy inside as he helped adjust it higher on his body. 

The cool air from the fan had you shivering as it made contact with your bare skin, emphasizing the wet slick that had formed between your legs. Joel's mouth found itself back on yours, his kiss turning punishing, almost, as his hand slowly moved down your inner thigh; his teeth were biting and pulling at your lower lip, his fingers were digging into your skin as he kneaded and gripped your thigh. 

“Joel,” you mewled, stretching up slightly to angle your hips closer to his hand. You were settled in the crook of his elbow, and his arm came up to bare against your throat ever so slightly. He essentially had you in a headlock, and you were helpless to anything he administered. Goosebumps prickled along your skin, and you whined once more when his fingers brushed against the crease of your leg. 

“Shh, s’okay, baby. Let me take care of you,” his words were soothing, soft. A complete contrast to the way he was handling your body, and it was all you could do but nod in response, eyes wide and trusting as they held contact with him. His pupils were so dilated that you could barely see the rim of brown, even this close. 

Another sharp tap to your inner thigh had you gasping, and Joel's mouth formed into a smirk as his calloused fingers eased the spot. You’d like to blame the hormones fluttering around your body for the desperation you were feeling for Joel, but part of you knew that he simply just had this affect on you. You always grew so needy for his attention, for his touch. Being with him was the only time your brain truly shut off and allowed you to feel safe, relaxed. 

His fingertips were stroking the inside of your thigh like it was the strings on one of his guitars, a slow but firm sensation that had you humming; he was playing a different kind of instrument with you. You could feel yourself growing slicker, the bubble in your chest expanding as he teased you, touched you. 

“Joel, please…” you trailed off, turning your head to the side and bumping the edge of his jaw with your nose. His gaze had slipped to where his fingers were caressing your skin, basking in the suppleness of your skin that so vastly compared to the roughness of his. You felt like a dream. 

“Such pretty manners,.” he mocked, grinning to himself before meeting your eyes once more. “Since you asked nicely, though…” The kiss he pressed on your nose was soft, but your focus was on how his fingers were finally crossing over the crease in your thigh, finally trailing down to your core. 

The first swipe of his fingers through your folds had a small moan emit from your mouth, and a curse came from Joel’s as he felt how wet you were already. “Shit, baby,” he muttered to himself more than anything, watching his fingers as he lifted them up into the light to see the shine. Chest heaving, you watched as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, watched as he placed them on his tongue before closing his lips around the digits and sucking on them while he pulled them out. 

His fingers were now wet with his spit, evident by the thin strand of saliva still connecting his mouth to his fingers. The sight alone had your toes curling against the mattress, your mouth open slightly as you watched him bring his hand back down to your pussy. Your breath left you as his second swipe was firmer, the tips of his fingers passing along your clit for a brief moment before moving back down. 

His forearm flexed slightly against your neck, his free hand moving down to brush against the top of your chest. One of your hands moved to grip his arm, nails digging into skin ever so slightly as Joel’s fingers brushed your entrance, swirling around slightly to gather the wetness that had formed. A soft sigh left his mouth as he felt you, and the next moment, two of his fingers were swiftly pushing inside of you. 

“Joel!” You gasped out, back arching into his touch as he pumped his fingers into you once, twice, three times before pulling them out. Joel huffed out a laugh at your whine from the loss of contact, glancing down at you to see your reaction to him circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. He was rewarded with the softest of sighs, and the sight of your eyes rolling shut while your mouth parted open. 

He didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, his mouth against yours as firm as his thumb on your clit. The kiss was quick, and Joel’s nose brushed against yours as he pulled back ever so slightly. “Such a pretty girl, achin’ for me to fill you up. My fingers feel real nice against your pussy now, don't they, baby?” 

A short and snappy nod was your form of a response, as you were solely focused on the way Joel’s middle finger was circling your clit now. Your hips bucked up as waves of pleasure wracked your body, Joel’s expert fingers bringing you relief you so desperately needed. The action had Joel smirking above you, had his hips grinding slightly against your thigh in a sad attempt at getting some friction for his now hard cock. 

Joel pulled back from his admissions on your clit, sliding his middle finger through the center of you before slowly inserting it back inside you. The gasp that left your mouth was music to his ears, and he began moving it in and out, curling it up once it was fully inside your wet pussy. Head falling back against Joel’s arm, your legs widening even further as Joel picked up a steady rhythm with his one finger. 

“So good, Joel,” you rasped, voice breathless as Joel’s finger curled against the spongy part inside of you that had your body jerking in response. Licking your lips, you pulled the bottom lip into your mouth, teeth sinking in as the pleasure continued to build up in your body. Your right hand moved to rest on his wrist, while the other stayed gripping his left forearm. 

Basking in your praise, Joel withdrew his middle finger and, when he pumped it back inside, added his ring finger. The addition had you groaning, feeling his two fingers stretch you out slowly as he pushed them inside and pulled them out. You felt Joel’s lips press against your forehead as he worked to pick up the pace, and soon all that could be heard in the room was the wet sound of your pussy being fucked by his fingers. 

“God, I could listen to you all night,” he mumbled, curling his fingers in a “come here” motion inside you and marveling at how drenched you sounded. “So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart. Haven’t even taken my cock yet, either, you needy thing.” 

His words only sparked the fire inside your chest even more, and soon you were moaning his name over and over again in some kind of sick prayer as he filled you with his fingers. Your mouth dropped open as his thumb moved to glide against your clit, pleasure radiating throughout your body. 

Your fingers dug half-moon indentions in Joel’s tanned skin as the waves of pleasure finally crested. 

Your body went rigid in his hold as your orgasm peaked, his fingers never ceasing in motion as your hips began to shake against his hand. He muttered soft praises as you came, moving his arm from across your chest and intertwining your fingers with his. You gasped for air as you came down, thighs twitching ever so slightly as you soon became putty against Joel’s body. 

Only then did he pull his fingers out from inside of you. He kissed your forehead once more, cupping your drenched pussy with the palm of his hand. Your chest was heaving still from the orgasm, body feeling tired once more but for a completely different reason. Resting your head back on Joel’s arm, you glance up at him, expecting him to move his hand away and maybe help you clean up. 

Instead, Joel’s dark gaze was solely focused on your pussy again. Instead of moving his hand away, he slowly moved it up your center, stopping only when his middle finger brushed against your clit. He moved his hand to the side slightly, letting the tips of his other fingers brush against the sensitive nub, before sliding it the other way. His action was slow, methodical even. 

“Joel,” you ventured, squeezing his hand that rested in yours. His jaw twitched, but that was the only response you got. He leaned up on his elbow, your hand moving up along the mattress as he did so. Now, your interlaced hands rested above you, on the pillow, as Joel’s upper body hovered on top of yours. 

Ever so slowly, Joel resumed the movement of his hand, sliding to one side before moving it to the other. His fingers all brushed against your clit, and the overstimulation you felt had your thighs closing together. 

“Keep ‘em open, baby.” Joel admonished, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. His free hand pushed away your left leg before returning back to your clit, and you swore you could feel the wetness lingering on your skin from him doing so. The roughness of the towel underneath you prickled at your skin as your hips twitched from the continued pleasure. 

“Joel,” you ventured again, this time more of a plea than anything. Tears formed on your waterline when he picked up the pace, his hand firmly rubbing against your clit each time he moved it. That bubble of pleasure formed more quickly in your chest, the feeling fiery and almost suffocating as Joel’s movements were relentless. 

“Give me one more,” his voice was rough, distant. “Just one more.” His hand dipped to cup your pussy once more, gliding up through your folds and moving the wetness from there up to your clit. The added lubrication and friction as Joel increased his pace had you crying out, body arching forward at the onslaught of pleasure. 

Your orgasm approached much faster this time, and you could feel your slick dripping down your skin onto the towel. “Oh my God,” you whimpered, your hand painfully holding onto Joel’s while the other, which had moved to rest on his hip, gripped his t-shirt. “Oh, God.” 

This time, when you came, the bubble dropped from your chest and to your stomach and your body went limp as soon as your orgasm tore through you. Your mind was a haze of euphoria, and if you were more cognizant you would have been embarrassed at the feeling of your wetness squirting out from you, would have felt heated at the way Joel praised your body. Instead, you were blissfully gone, basking in the sensation that only Joel’s fingers knew how to bring you. 

Joel’s hand slipped from yours as he pulled his arm up from underneath you, and before you were even aware of the shift, he was up on his knees, moving in between your legs and tugging his flannel pants down. “Gotta fuck you, baby. Jesus Christ, you came so good for me.” His hands bracketed your head as he leaned up against your body, the head of his leaking cock pressed against your wet slit. 

You hummed at his praise, wrapping your weak arms around his neck as you shifted your thighs a little wider to accommodate for his hips. You weren’t entirely sure you could handle another orgasm, but you knew you were desperate to have him inside of you. His head ducked down to yours, and you enthusiastically pressed your lips against his, enveloping his hips with your legs in consent. 

With a nip at your bottom lip, he slowly pressed the tip of his cock in between your folds, gathering the wetness that had accumulated near your entrance before moving his hips even further. The head of his cock pushed into your pussy, stretching you out even more than his fingers did previously. Joel groaned into your mouth as he pumped his hips slightly, pulling out of you before sinking just the tip inside you again.  

“Fuck, sweetheart. My fingers didn’t stretch out your pussy enough, huh? S’fuckin’ tight as hell around my cock.” One of his hands came to brush aside your hair, cupping the side of your face gently while his hips snapped into yours. You cried out against his mouth, the feeling of being filled so suddenly causing you to wince slightly. You welcomed this pain, however, as it quickly gave way to pleasure the more Joel rocked his hips against yours. 

Joel rested his hips against yours for a moment, his head falling down to your chest as he reveled in the tightness surrounding his cock. His breaths came out in short pants, the hand laying next to your head turning into a fist against the mattress. Your hips move up slightly, seeking out the pleasure even after coming twice before, and it brings Joel in further, causing you both to curse. 

“So desperate for me to fuck you,” Joel’s words are accented by short, quick thrusts up inside of you. He pushed up off of you, your arms falling to the bed beside you while your legs fall open as they untangle from his waist. His hands grip the inside of your thighs, and he leans his weight forward a little, pinning your legs to the bed. 

“I am, Joel. P-please fuck me,” you beg, gripping the sheets between your fingers as your hips meet his thrusts. Joel starts off slowly, implanting you fully on his cock before slowly pulling back until just the tip presses against your pussy. His bruising grip on your thighs holds your legs open while he works himself in and out of you, eyes cast on how your slick coats his cock, the occasional red streak coloring his flesh. 

A stray curl of hair falls from his previously brushed back hair, and you itch to swipe it back into place, but his pace quickens and your hold on the bed keeps you from banging against the bed frame. The sound of his cock entering your wet pussy fills the room, the indecency of it causing your skin to flush with heat. Joel’s groans start to find time with your whimpers, and soon the noises of sex are emitting throughout the bedroom, throughout the house. 

Joel’s hands move away from your thighs, traveling up your stomach and pushing up his red t-shirt to see your boobs bouncing with each thrust. He admires the peaks of your nipples, the way goosebumps arise on your flesh as it’s exposed to the cool air, before bringing both hands to grip onto them. His thumbs and forefingers pinch at your nipples, the pain mixing in with the pleasure seamlessly. 

Your eyes fall shut on a moan, body arching into his touch as you clench around Joel, causing him to curse. The familiar sensation of heat fills your body, that third orgasm floating slightly out of reach. You move one of your hands down to your pussy, resting it on your mound. Your fingertips brush against Joel’s cock every time he withdraws, and you moan at how slick he feels before bringing your fingers to your clit. 

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself come on my cock,” Joel encourages, gaze focused on the way your fingers nimbly play with your throbbing clit. His hands squeeze your breasts roughly one last time before he leans up, gripping your ankles and bringing your legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Your thighs press against his cock as he fucks you, adding in another level of pleasure for him as he fights back his orgasm. 

“Just like that, Joel. Just like that…oh!” Your cries fill the room as he pounds into you, your fingers increasing the pace against your clit. Your movements are shaky, not precise in the slightest, but you’re still sensitive and wound up from your previous orgasms that it doesn’t take much to get your third one going. With a few clumsy swipes of your middle finger against your clit, and Joel’s cock ruthlessly hammering in and out of you, your final orgasm floods through your body. 

Joel curses as he feels your pussy clench around him, making his movements stagger with how tight you become. He gives a few more deep thrusts, his own movements becoming shaky and less precise, and he soon slips out of you, rubbing the length of his cock along your pussy lips as you gush with your orgasm. With a grunt, he follows soon, his own cum spurting out of his red cockhead and on to your lower stomach. 

Your legs fall meekly to the bed again, and Joel’s body sags forward a little before he props himself back up with his hands. The sound of you both panting is all that can be heard as you both come down from your orgasms; you, eyes closed and mouth open. Joel, eyes open and mouth closed, nostrils flaring slightly as he regulates himself. 

It takes a moment before you both get back to yourselves, but when you do, you become increasingly aware of the wet feeling underneath your lower body, which causes you to giggle. “Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t get around to cleaning my sheets today, huh?” 

A snort comes out of Joel, his head shaking slightly as he moves to brush back his hair. He takes in the sight of you, freshly fucked and thouroughly spent, and can’t help but grin. He might be older, but he relishes the fact that he can still please you like this. That you actually want him to do so. Makes him feel like a god among men. 

He sees the tears around your lash line from your last two orgasms, and he leans forward slightly to wipe them away with his thumb, triggering in his mind the conversation you both had before this all started. “Feelin’ alright?” His gaze moves around your body, checking to see if he hurt you in any way. He notes the red marks against the side of your neck, the cum on your lower stomach and the beginnings of many small bruises along the inside of your thigh from where he gripped them to keep them open. 

He’d be more worried about those if he didn’t know how much you loved having him mark you up. 

“Just peachy,” you grinned at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to take in the mess below you. Joel leaned in to meet you, his kiss soft and soothing as his lips slid against yours. After a moment, he pulls away again, awkwardly shuffling to the edge of the bed before standing up. Hiking up his pants, he moves to the bathroom to get a washcloth to start cleaning you up. 

After wiping away his cum and your wetness, he gently helps you off the bed, holding your arm as your legs fumble when your feet hit the ground. His pride grows then, and you smack his arm playfully when you catch sight of his grin. “Sorry,” he mutters, pressing a kiss against the side of your head before moving to gather up the dirty towel from the bed. He tosses it into the hamper before leading you to the bathroom. 

There, he draws you a hot bath, guiding you in the tub and before pulling his clothes off and joining you. It’s a cramped space, the bathtub not technically suitable for two, but you make it work. You lean your head against Joel’s shoulders, sinking into his body as his arms wrap around your middle. You know you should do something with your bedding soon, should make sure you have the guest room set up so the two of you can sleep somewhere remotely comfortable tonight, but for now, you bask in his presence. 

“Thank you for taking care of me, Joel.” You say softly, closing your eyes and letting the hot water ease away any lingering soreness your body has. His arms tighten around you as you trace mindless shapes against his thighs. He tilts his head to the side, kissing your forehead before resting his on top of yours. 

“Anytime, baby.” His breathing evens out with yours, stubble rubbing against your forehead as he speaks. “I’ll always be here to wipe your tears away.” 

taglist *:·ﾟ @hiroikegawa

[spicyspiders]

old man logan part 5

2.6k words

I'm sorry to all the people that have been sending me requests, but I keep thinking of new parts I want to add to this series. This part is really fluffy, but there is a bit of smut at the end.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, and Part 4

It was Friday, which meant you should have been able to relax. You could feel the heaviness of the week slowly falling from your shoulders each step to your dorm. You let out a sigh of relief once you were through the door, and though it was tempting to throw your bookbag to the floor to not touch again until Monday, you couldn’t risk breaking your laptop. 

Face down on your tiny, unmade bed, your bookbag laid carefully on your desk, you heard the noise of a knock at your door. You had learned your roommate's schedule quickly, and knew that he wasn’t supposed to be back for a few hours. You glanced at your phone with a puzzled expression to make sure you had the time correct before you went to open the door. 

“Logan?”

“Hey,” he said with a soft smile as he leaned against the doorway. He shouldered past you into the room, but not before pressing his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. He carried with him a black garment bag that he laid out on your bed once he was past you. 

“What’s this?” You asked as you closed the door. 

“Open it,” Logan said, an excited look in his eye. 

You unzipped the bag slowly, a dark blazer coming into view as you pulled, “what’s this?” You asked once more. 

“I wanted to take you out,” Logan answered as he played with his fingers, looking slightly nervous, “if you aren’t busy.”

“No,” you said softly, running a hand down the jacket, “I’m all done for this week,” you finished, looking up at him with a smile. 

“Good!” Logan responded quickly, your smile growing with how thrilled he sounded, “good,” he repeated after he cleared his throat. He stepped away slowly, “well I’ll,” he pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “give you some space and let you get dressed,” he said, stopping to stand in the corner of your room. 

“Some privacy,” you murmured loud enough for him to hear, after noticing right away that sure he had turned his back to you, but that put him right in front of your mirror where he could watch you get changed. 

You could hear Logan’s chuckle from across the room, his eyes watching you closely. Though his gaze was warm, it brought chills to your skin as you changed. 

You went to zip up the dark blue dress pants he brought you, but Logan stopped you, “I’m taking you somewhere nice,” he said with a laugh, “tuck in your shirt,” he commanded, but did it himself. 

“You just wanted to get your hands down my pants,” you said, trying not to shiver when his hands brushed your thighs. 

“I have a reputation to uphold,” Logan responded, helping you then put the black blazer on. 

“Does this sustain it?” You asked, looking yourself over once fully dressed. 

You rolled your eyes as Logan looked you over from head to toe, “you should pack an overnight bag before I tear these clothes right back off,” Logan said once he looked you back up in your eye. 

Under his heated gaze, you quickly packed a bag for the few days you would be gone from your dorm. You had to swat away Logan’s hands on your way to the bathroom to grab your toothbrush, laughing as he huffed in annoyance. 

“You ain’t doing a lot of studying this weekend,” Logan said when he saw you reach for your bookbag, the bag you just packed slug over his shoulder. 

“I have a few assignments due,” you said with a roll of your eyes. 

“It can’t wait until Sunday night? Isn’t that what everyone in college does?” He asked, glaring at the backpack hanging off your shoulder like the mere presence of it offends him.  

“If I get them all done tonight,” you said, securing the other. strap on your shoulder, “we get more time together and you can bring me back as late as you want on Sunday,” you said as you stepped up to him, smiling as he became less grumpy looking. 

“This is why you’re in college and I’m not,” Logan said with a chuckle. He leaned forward to steal a kiss before ushering you out the door. 

“You don’t need to be in college to have good time management skills,” you said over your shoulder, rolling your eyes once more as Logan watched your ass as you walked. 

Minutes later, seated in Logan’s old pick up truck, the radio played softly in the background as he drove. You stole a glance every now and then, looking away quickly at the times you were caught, making Logan snicker.

”You gone shy on me?” He asks over the radio, not looking away from the road. 

“What?” You ask, “no,” you say after a pause, smiling to yourself when Logan places a hand on your thigh. 

The rest of the drive to the restaurant is filled with silence, save for the radio. Each and every time you look at Logan, he has the same smile on his face as his hand runs slow circles across your thigh. 

“Watch it,” you say, knocking his hand away when it gets too high up.

”Stay there,” Logan commands softly once he’s parked. 

Your hand freezes on the handle, and you watch in confusion as Logan quickly gets out and crosses to your side of the car. He opens the door quickly, his face a darker shade of red as he blushes. 

“Thank you,” you murmur.

He pulls you closer by the front of your jacket, looking you over intently as he smoothes out the wrinkles from the drive. 

“There we go,” he says to himself as he looks you over one last time. 

“Thank you, Logan,” you repeat. 

He guides you with a warm hand at the small of your back, opening the door to the building like he just did with the car. It almost feels surreal, but the rush of cool air that hits you inside the restaurant brings you back. 

If someone had told you months ago that you’d be watching the Mr. Howlett tell the host about the reservation he made, standing in an outfit that he gave you, while his hand rested on your lower back, you’d call them fucking crazy.

You look over the menu as Logan sits across from you doing the same, “do you know what,” you start, but your mouth falls open in surprise when you look up. 

“Hm?” Logan asks, looking over the glasses he’s put on. “What?” He asks, his brows pulled down in confusion. 

“Nothing,” you answer, quickly looking back down while you fail to bite back a smile. 

“Did you wanna read the menu to me?” He sasses, sending you a glare. 

“No,” you say, setting the menu down and holding your hands up, “I just didn’t know you wore them,” you say, reaching over the table to place a hand over his balled up fist. 

“They’re new,” he says. He lets out a sign as he sets his menu down, “sorry,” he says softly, his hand loosening, “I’m still getting used to them,” he says, his eyes watching as you laced your fingers together. 

“You look handsome,” you say, running your thumb over the back of his hand. 

“Still do?” He questions, looking up at you again over the glasses. 

“I always do,” wondering if now would be the time to show him that he had been your wallpaper on your phone for nearly a month. 

Logan listened intently as you spoke about how your semester was going throughout dinner. You worried at times that the conversation was boring him, but then would remind you of how it was doing the opposite. Which vaguely came in the form of threats, making you laugh. 

“You can’t do that to my professor just because they piss me off,” you say with a nervous laugh. The restaurant wasn’t that far from campus, someone could overhear. 

“What about your roommate,” he asks after swallowing a forkful of food, “he’s still not cleaning?” He asks, stabbing into his food in a way that made you think he was imagining it was the people you were complaining about.  

“He has his side and I have mine,” you say as you take a sip of your drink. Logan fixes you with an unimpressed look, “but yes,” you say with a sigh as you pick up your fork again, “I wish he was cleaner,” you say, smiling at the way Logan smirked. 

“I’m sure I’ll see him on Sunday,” Logan responds. 

“Logan, no,” you say sternly, not liking the way his smirk grows, “you already do enough.”

Logan barks out a laugh, ”what’s that supposed to mean?”

”You terrified my RA.”

”I was trying to get in your building and they were standing right outside!” He responded, his fork falling to the plate with a clink. 

“It’s every time you come on campus. People know me as the guy with the six foot tall boyfriend that’s built like a brick house,” you say.

Logan stares at you with his brows raised. He’s quiet for a few moments, letting your brain catch up to what your mouth just said. 

”Boyfriend?” He asks, a slow smile stretching out over his mouth.

”Yeah,” you say shaking your head quickly, “I meant-”

”I like that better than brick house,” he says, saving you as you try to stutter out a response. His foot brushes yours under the table, just in time for the waiter who approaches with the check. He pays no mind to the man as he places it down onto the table, his eyes staying on you the whole time as looks at you fondly.

-

“Wait!” You say as Logan crowds you against his door, “Logan let me-”

Logan cuts off your protests with a kiss, one much softer than you were expecting given the amount of time you’ve been apart. Your bags fall to the floor with a thud, your brain faintly registering that your laptop is in one of them. A second later though, your mind is solely focused on Logan. 

With his arms now free, Logan pulls you into his arms, but this time, his head is ducked down into your neck as he holds you close. 

You aren’t sure how long you stand like that in the silence of his house. His breath softly hits your skin as he runs his hands up and down your back. Darkness surrounds you both, which would normally put you on edge in such an open space, but you feel completely at ease. 

His hands move to your jaw to cradle your face in his palms and you both laugh when Logan tries to kiss you but misses. You place a hand on the back of his neck, using your hand to guide his mouth into yours through the darkness. 

He tastes faintly like the food he just ate, but there’s another taste underneath, a taste that’s simply his own. It drives you crazy when it hits your tongue, your arms moving around his neck to pull him closer so your tongue can go deeper. 

You both trip your way to Logan’s bathroom, laughing at each other as you stumble your way through the darkness. Under the light of the bathroom, you see how disheveled you both look with your clothes half on, while Logan’s hair sticks up messily in all different directions. 

“Let me look at you,” Logan breathes, his hands once again on your cheeks to cup your face, “so handsome,” he says softly as he runs his thumb along your cheekbone.

You help each other get your clothing off slowly, like you’re savoring the moment. You smile as you unbutton Logan’s shirt and find one of his signature tank tops underneath.

“Something funny?” Logan asks with a smirk. 

“No,” you respond, trying to bite back a smile. Your hands go underneath the shirt to tug it off, fingers running through the hair on his chest.  

Logan steps away once shirtless to go turn the shower on, a veil of steam already behind him when he returns to get the rest of your clothes off. 

Under the warm spray, Logan once more pulls you close, his half hard cock rubbing against your thigh. His moans bounce off the shower wall when you push your hips forward to grind your cocks together, his hands moving to grip your waist. 

Standing under the water, you push Logan by the shoulders until his back is against the wall, the older man hissing at the cold contact of the wall to his naked skin. You press your lips to his in a dirty kiss, taking in his moans when you get both of your cocks wrapped together in your wet fist. 

You stroke your cocks together until your hand falls away so you can instead rut together as you near your end. You move your hands to grip the globes of Logan’s ass, your fingers digging roughly into the skin. 

Logan moaned at the pain, his hips twitching as he too chased his edge. His hands went to your slick, wet hips, your moans echoing off the bathroom walls. 

The mess you would have made washed down the drain when you finally came with a loud, drawn out moan. Logan answered with ones of his own seconds later as he splattered your chests with his spend. 

His arms moved to your lower back to support your weight as he guided you both fully back under the spray. His forehead rested against yours as your breathing returned to normal as your cocks softened, the two of you exchanging soft, wet kisses between breaths. 

“Having fun?” Logan asked as you slicked his hair back with the water.

“You should wear your hair like this,” you said as Logan reached for the body wash, “or,” you said when he turned back around, your fingers going back into his hair to slick it back to make two horns, “like this,” you said as you admired your work. 

“I’m not wearing my hair like that,” he responded dryly as he lathered up his hands with the soap, “stop pouting,” he said before leaning forward to kiss the pout from your lips. 

“Why not?” You asked, letting your hands fall to your sides to give Logan ample room to work as he cleaned you. 

“I already did,” he answered, looking focused as he worked. 

“Seriously?” When?” You asked, already excited. 

“It was a lifetime ago,” Logan said with a chuckle. 

“Do you have any pictures?”

“No,” Logan responded with a shake of his head, sending droplets of water onto your skin. 

“Oh,” you said, looking down at your feet to watch the soapy water hit the tub, “was it before cameras were invented?” You asked in all seriousness. 

Logan paused to fix you with a glare, his lips in a thin line. 

You yelped when he quickly lifted one of his hands to pinch your nipple, the man’s laughter booming off the walls when you slapped at his chest in return. 

“You okay?” He asked after pulling your hand away, trying to shake off the pain after feeling like you just slapped an actual brick house. “Let me see,” he commanded as he grabbed your hand. 

He inspected your hand slowly, and you yanked it away when he tried to turn it over for further inspection. 

He pulled it to his mouth, his lips pressed to one knuckle after the other, “I think you’ll live,” he said, picking up the body wash again, “besides,” he said as he flipped your hand over, “it’s my turn,” he said as he squeezed a generous amount of the soap into your palm. 

[coryosbaby]

Sour Switchblade … Priest! Vincent Renzi x fem! Reader

Synopsis: She tempts him, just like she did before.

Content Warning . 18, MDNI Age Gap, blasphemy, religious themes & references, a plot with no context, demonic reader? Mutual masturbation, degradation, dom! Vincent

Author’s Notes: what I mean when I say that I need him biblically.

♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧

It starts with the simple art of a short dress and a prayer.

Vincent’s eyes roam to her from across the church pew, blue orbs peeking out through a see of browns, greens, and other blues. His hand adjusts his priests collar as she moves towards the center of the room. Another priest settles a wafer into her mouth, which she takes with a soft tongue. Vincent’s eyes can’t help but wonder down her body after that, as she takes a sip of communion wine.

Her dress, a lacey white thing with puff sleeves, adorned with white tights and thigh high stockings, will surely be the talk of the church going women later. Especially with the way her breasts seem to spill out of the fabric, the red bra that is already showing through threatening to make itself fully known.

Vincent almost can’t breathe.

He knows it’s wrong to look at her like this. He’s a priest, and on top of that, she’s significantly younger— not underage, obviously. Maybe in her early twenties or so. But it still makes the man confess his sins almost every night.

And even with how taboo his stares are, she seem to look at him right back, everytime, exactly the same. Her lashes seem to flutter, her eyes seem to have a glint to them whenever he nervously mumbles a prayer or greeting to her. Even now, as she takes a sip of the red wine, her eyes meet his.

He smiles. She smiles back. The communion is over.

And now, the confession begins.

Vincent sits in the compartment a mere hour later, waiting for her to show up. She always seems to have something to confess when he’s the one in charge and it’s his last shift. Vincent twirls the cross necklace around his neck in anticipation.

It’s a few seconds before he hears the cluttering of the confessional door. Her scent evades his nostrils— sweet vanilla, chocolate, and something earthy underneath. Something that makes Vincent’s eyes want to roll to the back of his head.

“I’m here to confess.”

Her voice is a soft lilt, something tinted with mischief. She’s trouble.

“And what would you like to confess, my child?” Vincent asks. He can hardly see through the film between the two of them, but he sees a flash of white, then red.

“I’ve been bad,” she replies. And then, in almost a whine, “I’ve sinned, father.”

His lips part. His cock kicks underneath his robe, but he’ll have to wait for that— wait for later, when he’s alone in his chambers and can touch his cock freely, in secrecy. Priests are supposed to sustain abstinence— Vincent is no virgin, but since his training and initiation as a priest he hasn’t had sex since. Masturbation is forbidden, but it isn’t something he can control in himself. It plagues him every day.

It’s a lot harder for him than the others, he thinks, to contain his urges when he’s already felt the warmth of a woman’s touch. But he’ll try this time. He won’t make another mistake. By God, he won’t.

“What have you done?”

“I’ve been…” she pauses, sighing, and he hears the rustling of fabric. He wonders what she’s doing on the other side of that barrier. “I’ve been having these… dreams, father. Dreams where…”

Vincent clenches his jaw, his palm gripping his cock through his confines. By God, he’s a sick, perverted man.

“We all have dreams,” Vincent says gently. “Dreams that may help us along our path. What have you dreamt about, child?”

He’s shaky as he says the last line, hopes of her lying to him furrowing in his chest. Hopes of her leaving it alone, this entire thing. This entire game.

God does not come through for him. Perhaps he doesn’t want to, or perhaps he can’t. Perhaps she is the one to stop him.

“I’ve dreamt of you, Father Renzi.”

Vincent’s head tilts back, a small gasp leaving his throat. His hips buck against his hand. No no no no..

“What do these dreams entail?” He asks, breathless. He can hear the amused tone in her voice.

“You start out by giving me communion,” she explains. “You hold the wafer out so I can put it into my mouth, but instead it’s your tongue that lands against mine.”

Vincent’s eyes clench shut. His hand moves against its own accord. God help him. She continues with a drawn out, airy lilt.

“You touch me in a special place. It feels so good that I cry out your name like a praise. It makes me tingle all over, makes me lose all control,” and then, with a pause as she hears Vincent’s robes lifting, “Do you have dreams like that, Father?”

His cock is straining against his dress pants when the robe’s hem is pulled to the top of his thighs.

“I do,” he admits, popping the button on his pants. He’s hypnotized, her smell and the image of her body in his mind making him lose it. “I have them often, little one.”

And it’s true. He dreams of her painted in red and white, dreams of her, a she demon, on top of his body, writhing. Him, hands curling against her skin, under her spell. She is his temptation, and Vincent is sure that she will be his destruction.

She’s just as desperate as him now. He can tell because she lets out a sweet, sultry whine, a wet sound reverberating throughout the small compartment.

“Vincent,” she lets out, keening. He doesn’t remember if he told her his first name, but he has a feeling she figured it out either way. He groans, thankful that the church is nearly empty now since the service had just ended.

“espèce de petite prostituée. What would your parents think?” You little harlot.

“Are you touching yourself?” she asks, ignoring him. And then, after a wet sound and a cry, “I’m.. I’m touching myself too, Vince. I’m so wet.”

His hand slips past the waistband of his pants and he dips it inside. Wet, warm flesh and pleasure behind his eyelids emerges as he strokes himself up and down and catches a whiff of her natural scent.

“Fuck,” he grunts, arousal pooling in his lower abdomen. “Cheríe, what are you doing to me?” Sweetheart.

She lets out a tiny giggle, scissoring her fingers inside herself as she hears the man beside her fall apart. Vincent is her favorite— he gives her the most fun she’s ever had.

“My fingers are inside, Father,” she whimpers. “Fuck, I’m so warm.”

Vincent’s cock, red and tip dripping pearls of sweet arousal, slaps against his stomach when he finally gathers the nerve to pull his pants and underwear down past his thighs. He spits into his palm before stroking himself again.

“You are unholy,” Vincent states, though his mouth falls open when he hears the increasing sound of her wetness. “Fucking yourself like this, like a dirty whore… your cunt is drenched, isn’t it, chérie?” Sweetheart.

She grasps the side of the confessional, heat spreading up her neck and down to her toes. None of them have ever made her feel like this.

“Yes,” she says, rubbing the bundle of nerves in between her cunt lips. She’s close. “Father… sir. I want your cock.”

Visions come to Vincent’s mind, plagued thoughts of her kneeling down and taking him into her mouth, of him choking all words out of her. His cock thrusting into her roughly, stretching out her tiny hole and bringing her to her peak over and over. That would be her punishment for teasing him, for being such a godless creature. He would ruin her, just as she’s ruined him.

“You want it, yes? You want me to stretch your little cunt and leave your legs shaking,” he chuckles, almost darkly. She brings out the worst in him. “You want my seed dripping down your thighs, putain de salope.” You fucking slut.

She cries out, legs spreading further as she nears closer and closer to her peak. Vincent continues to speak, almost as close as she is.

“Your cunt in my mouth. Licking you, tasting you..” and then, with a delicious whisper, “Chérie, how do you taste?” Sweetheart.

That last sentence has the girl seizing up, her pussy spasming as her orgasm overtakes her. Sweet arousal gushes around her fingers, thighs, and underneath the seat below her. Her eyes roll back and she cries, “Vincent!” like a prayer.

This has the man on the other side whining, his teeth biting into his wrist as he spills over his fist with a loud grunt. He fucks himself through his orgasm, hearing her precious sounds overcoming him like a heavenly sin.

When the man comes down, his spend is drying on his hand and pants.

He sighs, satisfied and spent. He’ll have to confess this later, won’t he?

Maybe it’s best if he doesn’t.

Her voice rings out, smooth and teasing.

“Until next time, Father Renzi.”

He hears the open and closing of the confessional door, and out she goes like Lilith with her wings.

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy

[espace--positif]

After Rain Comes Sunshine

A Zayne x Fem!Reader Fic [Love and Deepspace]

Summary: Zayne invites you to join him on one of his morning runs. Unfortunately (or fortunately), the weather has other plans for the two of you.

Pairing: Zayne x Fem!Reader

Content: Fluff, Pre-relationship, Slow Burn if you squint, MC Reader, Brief description of injury.

WC: ~3.7K

My Masterlist

You stared at the figures on the report in front of you and they stared back in defiance. No matter how many times you plugged the numbers into the UNICORNS program’s interface, it returned either incomplete results or an error. You sighed in defeat and laid back in your chair, staring at the setting sun on the horizon.

Data analysis had never been your strong suit, and the inconsistencies brought on by abnormal Wanderer activity in the area did not make your temporary assignment any easier. The field suited you much better, but you had unfortunately been temporarily pulled from active duty after sustaining an injury while on a mission.

You’d been on nighttime patrol with one of the new Alpha Team recruits in an area where moderate Wanderer activity had been reported when both your watches picked up a large spike in energy fluctuations. Your regrettably green hunt partner had panicked and started blasting at the tree line at the tiniest sign of movement, and an opportunistic Wanderer had jumped at him. You’d pushed him out of the way of what certainly would’ve been a fatal blow, and the Wanderer’s gargantuan claw had embedded itself in your shoulder instead.

You thought that the earful that Captain Jenna had delivered to the poor recruit at debriefing was harsh, but you found that it was nothing compared to the treatment you’d received from Dr. Zayne when you reported to Akso Hospital.

“It’s not a big deal. You should’ve seen the other guy,” you’d tried to joke, lightly and nervously tapping your heel on the side of the examination table after he’d tended to your wound. Instead of the usual chuckle or crack of a smile Zayne would usually give you when you attempted humor, you were met with silence as he picked up a clipboard and busied himself writing. 

Ah, yes. You were dealing with ‘Dr. Zayne’ now.

“We, uh, we killed the Wanderer who did this. It was real bloody… is what I’m trying to-”

Your rambling was cut short when he paused his writing and looked up at you, his icy hazel eyes threatening to bore holes through your own.

“You’re not… angry, are you?” you chanced. Though he wasn’t the most outwardly expressive man in the world, even less so when he was in “Doctor” mode, you liked to think that you were attuned to his body language - the slight downturn of his lips, intensity in his eyes, and stiffness of his posture told you that he certainly wasn’t happy.

“I’m pulling you from duty. You’re to report back here in three weeks and I’ll see if you’re fit to be cleared for duty again,” he replied flatly, authoritative gaze still glued to you. You were no stranger to the strictness of the doctor’s orders, but three weeks was pushing it. This was some sort of punishment for your recklessness, you were sure of it.

“Three weeks? Isn’t that a bit much?” you asked while lightly rolling your freshly bandaged shoulder in an attempt to prove the levity of the injury.

Zayne narrowed his eyes, then proceeded to stow his pen into his white coat pocket, and you instantly knew that a hefty lecture was on its way.

“Exercising an injured muscle before it’s fully healed can lead to slowed healing and permanent damage. And next time, you’d do well to avoid being so reckless on the field. Come to think of it, perhaps a month of rest will be needed to ensure proper healing.”

And with that, he had shut down any possibility for a compromise, especially considering you didn’t have the expertise to dispute his diagnosis. Besides, when he got like this, you knew better than to argue, lest he extend your banishment from duty to an unreasonably longer amount of time.

—

This was a week and a half ago, meaning that you’d only served half your sentence. The worst part about being under such strict orders was how cooped up you felt. As perilous as your Alpha Team assignment was, you’d always enjoyed being able to visit different parts of the city, sometimes even venturing further. You’d often explore and find new restaurants and cafés to try out in the vicinity of your mission area on the way home.

But the best part about finding these new places was getting to share them with a certain someone who happened to share your passion for culinary experiences. You’d write down the most notable new place you’d discovered after each assignment in a new area, and it had become a sort of ritual for the both of you to visit and rate each place every weekend.

Ironically, that certain someone also happened to be your doctor, and he was the reason why you hadn’t partaken in your post-mission reward in a week and a half, even staying in last weekend. Sure, you could always initiate a weekend outing, but you hadn’t left your neighborhood in days, and your list of new places to try out was barren as a result. Just as you were considering whether you’d be able to bargain with Zayne to get cleared for duty earlier than scheduled, your phone chimed with a text notification.

It was as though he’d read your mind from a distance.

Good afternoon. How are you feeling?

Seizing your opening, you hastily sent back a message.

feeling good, my shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore. honestly! just feels stiff. but maybe I’m at risk for a vitamin D deficiency since I can’t go out to missions anymore :P

Three dots illuminated his side of the conversation, then swiftly disappeared. He wasn’t taking the bait. You furiously typed another message, this time going straight to the point.

well, as my doctor, don’t you think that’s concerning? maybe I can come by tomorrow and check if I can get cleared early haha

It was worth a shot, you told yourself, but your strategy could very well backfire seeing as off-duty Zayne was prone to responding to your half-jokes with equal amounts of seriousness and teasing, especially in your text conversations where the tone was constantly blurred. He might flat-out refuse, or even extend your suspension from duty just because you’d dared ask, and just because he could. But the dizzying figures side-eyeing you from your computer screen and the stale indoor air that had been your only companion for the past few days had evidently compelled you to risk it all.

His almost immediate answer blipped on your screen.

No.

Then three dots. You gulped.

But if you’re feeling cooped up, why don’t you join me for my morning run tomorrow? Running is a good way to get moderate exercise and won’t impact your shoulder healing at this point.

Your heartbeat quickened ever so slightly. Was Zayne really inviting you on one of his morning runs? He’d spoken about those like they were a ritual, and so the open and sudden invitation, though not unwelcome, was surprising. It wasn’t as glamorous as a restaurant outing, but it was an opportunity to spend time with him. And to touch some grass and breathe some fresh air, of course. Because that’s what this was about.

A smile crept up your face as you typed your reply.

yeah! that sounds good. see you tomorrow!

—

This is how you ended up lacing up your running shoes at the very crack of dawn, surrounded by nothing but the luscious greenery that framed the gravel path you stood on. You would have appreciated it much more if it wasn’t 5:45 AM and you had something to look forward to other than a grueling marathon.

Your eyes drifted towards your running companion, Zayne, who was completing a stretching routine a few feet away. You absently emulated his movements as your eyes caught onto his hulking arms, your gaze tracing every curvature of his taut muscles through the ribbed fabric of his black long-sleeve shirt.

Perhaps you did have something to look forward to after all.

He must have caught you staring, as his movements halted and you were met with a quizzical look. You quickly looked away, heat creeping up your cheeks, and looked for something to say, anything, to break the silence.

“So you run here every day, huh?” you said, almost too fast. “It’s beautiful, really.”

“Not every day,” Zayne’s deep voice echoed through the tranquil canopy of trees. “I usually run a circuit through the city, close to the hospital. But for today, I wanted to make sure you…”

He trailed off and you turned to face him once more. This time, he averted his eyes and seemed suddenly preoccupied with the nothingness in the tree line.

“Wanted to make sure I… what?” you prompted.

“Exposure to nature has been proven to be conducive to healing and improve patient outcomes.”

There it was, the familiar doctor-patient wall that Zayne would employ against you whenever either of you came close to acknowledging whatever it was that budded between the two of you. Yet you’d seen him chip away at it far too many times during your weekend outings, and you’d also been known to jump at any opportunity to deal some damage to it whenever you could. Even so, the status quo didn’t bother you, as long as it meant he would still be around. A permanent fixture in your life.

“Hmmm,” you hummed in response, trying to find a witty rebuttal. When the words failed you, you simply yelled out: “Well, improve this! Race you to the end!”

And with that, you dashed ahead, leaving Zayne behind, no doubt shaking his head at your antics.

—

Your amusement was quite short-lived, as your increasingly aching legs reminded you why you’d always hated cardio and prioritized strength training. You’d clearly bitten off more than you could chew, but you were also notoriously stubborn, and so your feet begrudgingly crunched on the gravel at a regular rhythm as Zayne matched your unrelenting speed, though he made it seem effortless.

“Sure you don’t want to slow down?” you heard him ask as he ran long strides beside you, not even remotely out of breath.

“Nope,” you huffed. Your stubbornness aside, you especially didn’t want to slow him down after he’d so graciously invited you into this part of his life. “Besides… we’re almost there… right?”

He let out a low chuckle. “Not in the slightest. We’re about halfway through the route.”

“Wha-” the sound of surprise escaped your lips before you could hold it in. At this point, the sun had completely risen, though roiling clouds had begun to obscure it. Surely you should have completed more than half of the run by now, right?

You’d clearly figured wrong. The drive that had been powering you through your unsustainable pace evaporated in an instant and you skidded to a halt. With your hands on your knees, you attempted to catch your breath and soothe the burning in your calves. Embarrassment be damned, this run was going to be the end of you if you didn’t take a break right this instant.

You felt a hand softly touch the small of your back, urging you forward.

“Don’t stop so suddenly, just keep walking and breathing.”

“R-right,” you managed between exhales.

You tried steadying your breathing as you both resumed walking, but the warmth of Zayne’s body against yours made the endeavor much harder than it had to be. His large hand remained on your back, gently guiding you forward and lightening the load on your sore legs. The cooling breeze that dried the beads of sweat on your brow was a welcome presence as you felt yourself feeling warmer and warmer by the minute.

After what felt like hours, your heart was thankfully no longer threatening to burst from your chest, and the painful ache in your legs had dulled. You discreetly looked up at Zayne only to find him scanning the tree line with a serious expression on his face. No matter where you went, he was always as alert and cautious as ever. You’d called him out on it once during one of your weekend outings, and he’d answered something ominous along the lines of “it’s better to be overprepared than taken off guard.”

Despite your teasing, however, his vigilance was always a welcoming sight. You could allow yourself to relax whenever the two of you were together - it was a far cry from the constant alertness your missions forced you to adopt. His presence alone made you feel safer than you’d ever care to admit, and his rare but soothing touches seemed to melt your worries away. In little moments like these, you were afforded the luxury of simply living in the present.

Your steps became light as your attention drifted to a patch of bright blue and purple flowers that neatly adorned the upcoming bend in the path, perfectly framing it on both sides, and you realized that this was nice. The breeze lightly grazed your skin and you were thankful for its refreshing chill until it suddenly picked up and that very chill began to creep into your bones. You unconsciously inched closer to Zayne, your head pressed up against the side of his chest.

“We should head back,” he said, voice warmly rumbling against your ear. “It looks like it might…”

Raindrops slowly plipped and plopped against the gravel, grass, and leaves. Zayne halted both your movements and held his free hand up, as if to gauge the magnitude of the rain that would follow. He didn’t need to keep it up long, as the rain quickly escalated to a downpour, violently drenching you both in an instant.

You stared at the wet ground in disbelief. You normally didn’t mind the rain, but this was more than just rain - it was a veritable storm. And now your run would definitely have to be cut short. So much for a nice moment.

The two of you resumed your run, this time in the opposite direction, headed towards the forest’s entrance. The brief respite you’d just concluded evidently hadn’t done much to regenerate your energy and vigor, as you found yourself lagging behind Zayne as the rain and wind buffeted your body. Your legs burned once more, and you cursed yourself for pretending to stretch while ogling your running partner earlier instead of actually stretching.

You slowed to a halt, trying to give your legs a break, but knowing very well that once you stopped it’d only get harder to get moving again. But while a little bit of rain wouldn’t kill you, keeping up this pace when you’d already foolishly spent all of your energy in the first half of your run very well might.

You figured you should tell Zayne not to wait for you, that you’d catch up eventually, and inhaled sharply so your voice would carry from your crouched form through the roaring storm. But before you could utter a word, two strong arms nestled against you and you were suddenly staring at the lopsided tree line. Zayne had deftly scooped you up and resumed jogging without skipping a beat.

You instinctively braced yourself by placing your palm on his chest and looked up at him, bewildered. It took you a moment to compute what was happening, but once you did, heat warmed your face despite the chilling rain and wind.

You began to protest. “Zayne, you don’t need to… I can just catch up with you!”

“This forest will flood with the two of us in it if we keep up with your pace,” he replied, light mirth permeating his voice.

You huffed. Your arrogance and poor performance at cardiovascular exercise had been noted and you’d likely never hear the end of it - as serious and stern as Zayne presented himself, he’d always remember the smallest details when they presented an opportunity to tease you later on. Still, in an attempt to save the remainder of your dignity, you pressed on.

“No, but, you’ll get tired carrying me around!”

“It’s nothing. If anything, I’ll get to finish my workout,” he said, wet strands of dark hair dancing along to the rhythm of his light jog.

And thus, you resigned yourself to being carried out of the very workout you’d signed up for. When enough of your embarrassment had fizzled away, your mind began to drift away from the downpour and hone in on the steady thumping of Zayne’s heartbeat, which you could feel vibrating through your palm and reverberating throughout your whole body. The unwavering, rhythmic beats drew you to that same sense of safety you’d felt earlier, and so many times before. You found that the rain and the cold didn’t bite as harshly when you focused on the warmth of his body, the strength of his heartbeat, and the steady yet light bounce of his footsteps.

And eventually, you found that you’d stopped caring about the weather altogether.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

—

By the time you finally rejoined civilization, the rain had let up to a light drizzle. You’d found refuge in a small café, one of the first you’d visited together ever since starting your weekend tradition. At this time of day, it was luckily not too busy. They’d graciously offered you a table even though you were sopping wet, and you busied yourself drying off as best as you could with the copious amount of paper towels the server had offered you while Zayne ordered warm drinks for both of you.

When he returned from the counter with two cups in hand, soaking wet, hair still dripping, you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. The juxtaposition of this man’s calm demeanor with his disheveled appearance, combined with the ridiculous circumstances amused you to no end.

Zayne raised an eyebrow. “What is it?” he asked as he placed down the cups.

“Nothing. It’s just…” you scoured your brain for a way to get back at him for his comments on your pace earlier. “You’d think a man would check the weather before going on a run, you know?”

A hint of a smile played on his lips, and he sighed in mock exasperation as he sat across from you. “And you’d think a hunter would be able to run for more than five minutes in a row,” he quipped back. “Am I going to have to add mandatory cardiovascular training to your health plan?”

You definitely would never hear the end of this.

You threw your hands up, feigning defeat. “Fine, fine. I’ll manage my pace better next time.”

You grasped your cup, the warm ceramic soothing your freezing hands. “But I’m just surprised that someone like you could just get caught out in the rain like that. Didn’t you once tell me about how being overprepared is the key to all your problems or something like that?”

“‘If you’re not overprepared, you’re underprepared,’ was the quote,” he replied as he slicked back his wet hair. You shifted your gaze to the ripples in your cup to stop yourself from staring. “And you’re right, I should’ve looked at the forecast before I dragged you out there. Or at the very least, I should have stuck to my normal route. We likely would’ve found shelter faster. I’m sorry, it’s my fault we ended up like this.”

“No, you have nothing to apologize for!” you replied hastily. “I didn’t mean to imply that at all. I had fun today, and I got to breathe some fresh air, get some exercise in… I’m gonna be honest, even though it rained on our parade, I’m really glad you invited me to run with you.”

You beamed as you finished your sentence, unable to hide your genuine contentment. You meant every word of it. In contrast to the gloomy weather outside, your mood had been brightened by this ordeal. As strange as it sounded, you were almost glad for the rain which had brought you closer together in more ways than one.

Zayne’s intense gaze settled on you, as if he was trying to read your mind. This time, you didn’t look away. “Is that so?” he started. “Then allow me to be honest as well. I neglected to look at the weather forecast because I just wanted to get you out of your apartment. You sounded pent up, and I wanted to cheer you up.”

You felt a comfortable warmth settle within you, and you knew you couldn’t ascribe it to the coffee alone. “Thank you,” you replied, ignoring the heat that was surely visible in your cheeks. “I was pent up. Data analysis was driving me crazy, I hadn’t left the house in days since my assignment is remote, and I missed you.”

Perhaps you were feeling a little too comfortable, for you blurted out the words without thinking. Well, it was too late now. You clumsily took a sip from your cup and set it back down with an unceremonious clang.

“I missed you too,” he replied, voice gentle and low. When you peered up from your cup to face him, he suddenly seemed more interested in the weather again, looking out the window at the slowly clearing skies. He cleared his throat unceremoniously and continued: “I missed the opportunity to discover another restaurant with you this past weekend. My palate has come to expect variety every Saturday, you know.”

You smiled as you freely took in his flustered expression, a rare occurrence for the brilliant and ever-composed Dr. Zayne. You greedily gulped your coffee before it got cold, and reminded him to do the same, which seemed to push him back to his normal level of composure. The two of you spent the remainder of the morning excitedly discussing the culinary potential of your next mission destination in another week and a half.

Tonight, as you reminisced on the day’s events, you could rejoice, for the wall that neither of you had built but both of you had reluctantly maintained over the years had lost another brick. It wouldn’t be long before it crumbled to dust entirely, of that you were sure. In the meantime, you’d gladly content yourself with living in the present, in the moment, in the warmth and safety of Zayne’s unwavering presence.

Note: Hello! I can’t believe my first fic in YEARS is for a game I started playing 4 days ago, but L&DS and Zayne have literally taken over my life so I had no choice. This is also my first 'x reader' fic EVER so I’m kinda nervous, but I hope you like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Thank you to @pmpmyread for proofreading!

[syntheticavenger]

Mr. March - Two

So the teaser has now turned into something else. Thank you for the ones who have enjoyed this story, I hope you like this next part!

Alpha! Bucky Barnes x Omega! Female Reader

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, language and that's about it.

Summary | Making fun of a friend for his new found fame is one thing, falling for a rule following librarian while balancing his own rise of attention is another.

Dinner for one never really bothers you.

Usually treating yourself to one indulgent night a week, you’ve almost forgotten the feel of the curious and sometimes sad stares, as if you were possibly stood up on a date. You’re free to order a bottle of wine and dessert, without any snide comments, paying your own check before you’re well on your way back home.

Tonight though, between the clink of wine glasses and utensils on expensive plates, you feel it – a weird sort of curiosity if this is sustainable. If you’re able to continue this narrative you’ve drawn out for yourself, having solo dinner dates and getting home by eighty on the dot, enough for you to unwind before bed, before you have to wake up to a new day of responsibility.

A slight push of the half empty wine glass and you’re ready to go, your dinner paid for and the looks of other patrons now fading from your purview, shrugging on your coat and checking your phone for the time.

You’ve ignored the last two texts from Janet, who sent you a picture of the books on hold, asking about why you’ve held books for Mr. March.

Mr. March.

You’ve seen the calendar that Janet had purchased at the beginning of the year, hidden in her desk because hanging it up would be a scandal. How a charity calendar got so famous is beyond you, dodging it every first of the month because people have never seen a good-looking man wearing next to nothing before. You didn’t need to purchase it. Why would you? What a waste of money that you could be spending on something else.

Like the houseplant that is barely hanging on by a thread that you seem to forget to water until you’re at work, silently cursing that you forgot, only to set a reminder on your phone that you silence when you stay at work too long.

You remember now, padding down the hallway of your apartment once you kick off your heels, picking up the plant to inspect it.

“Please don’t wither away and die,” you whisper to it, hoping it will take your impassioned plea to heart and thrive.

Maybe you’re not just talking to your plant.

-

“Why didn’ t you tell me he was here?”

Under the harsh white light of her office, Janet gives a pout, her voice in a near whimper when she asks the question. She sighs dramatically, leaning back in her chair while she pulls up a picture of James – Bucky – half his face obscured with a camera as he lies shirtless and in a pair of jeans with two buttons undone, his sculpted physique on display.

Impressive for people who are into that sort of beefcake lust. She even bought you one for your birthday that you had slipped to another co-worker. 

“You know, I loved Mr. December but there’s something about a former military man,” Janet continues, placing her phone back on the desk. “I’ve met him a few times, you know.”

“Mr. December?” you ask, wondering why she asked to see you in her office so quickly the minute you had walked in.

Clearly, judging by the way Janet moves back and forth in her chair, waiting for you to give her a play by play of your interaction with him, this isn’t any sort of serious business by your standard.

“No, silly. Mr. March. He was with Mr. July when they were signing calendars. Hotter in person and he comes to the library a lot.”

“Ah.”

There’s not much else you can say, Janet continuing on with her quick meet and greet. You like having her as a boss most of the time. She’s damn good at her job when she wants to be and makes long days bearable because she watches reality television and can recite pop culture facts when you need a distraction.

“So he’s coming back today,” Janet asks, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. “Did he tell you what time?”

“No.”

You know why she’s invested but it still makes no sense as to why she’s asking. For all it’s worth, she can give him the books – as long as he’s made good on his word to bring the other one back.

“I still can’t believe you didn’t give him the books.”

“It’s policy,” you protest, frowning at her response. “In section twenty-four, it states -”

Janet waves her hand in the air to brush away the rest of your statement.

“I know what it says. It’s a guideline, sort of. I guess it worked out in our favor, since he agreed to come back. Damn it,” Janet says with a disappointed sigh. “I wish I was an Omega. Leave it to my Beta parents to birth yet another Beta.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a Beta. Trust me,” you counter, seeing her shrug. If anything, it doesn’t seem to bother her in the slightest, seeing her straighten her posture when her office phone rings.

It rarely does and that’s your cue to leave, getting up as she answers it nervously, grasping the receiver while mouthing that she’ll continue the conversation later. It’s a reprieve that you take, closing the door behind you and exhaling a breath.

-

“Next in line?” you ask, breaking away from cataloging a new set of books that arrived. Your co-worker Lily is on her break, leaving you to man the desk.

The sound of a book plopped onto the counter gets your attention, peeling your attention away from the monitor to see him again, straightening your shoulders at the sight of the missing book in front of you.

He raises an eyebrow at you, his scent hitting your nose before you clear your throat. You aren’t going to be swayed by some Alpha, no matter how good he may look or smell.

“Library card?” you ask.

He hands it to you without hesitation, swiping the card through the reader before scanning the book back in. 

“Thank you for bringing back the book, Mr. Barnes.”

“Thank you for keeping your word and holding my books for me.”

You know he can see them on the counter, taking the book and dropping it in the bin.

“We had an agreement,” you remind him, turning to get the books from the counter. When you lift the sticky note, he clears his throat.

“What name did you use to hold them?”

Pausing, you don’t answer, wondering why he would ask such a question.

“The name you told me.”

“Really?” he questions. “James or Bucky?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does in case I accidentally hold onto a book for another three years. Someone else could come in here and request my books I place on hold. Or rather, that you place on hold. What if you aren’t here? Someone could give my books away.”

“I would place it under any name you choose.”

“Then what was the name you put?”

Like a dog after a bone, you think, saying nothing in response to him, placing the books onto the counter without the note that is crumpled into your closed fist.

“Barnes,” you lie, keeping a straight face as he looks disappointed.

“That’s very formal.”

“This is a library,” you recite, scanning the books one by one. “And I also would write down your library card number so they could look it up.”

“You did that this time too?”

Your back stiffens at his inquiry.

“No.”

“Why not?

“Because I’m here today,” you explain to him slowly, like you would with someone understanding this for the first time.

“Fair. I mean, I do like the individual service.”

You clear your throat, pushing the books over to him.

“Individual service is something we strive for at the library. Books are due within thirty days of today’s date. As you remember from our last conversation, you will be unable to borrow any books if these are not returned in a timely manner.”

He nods in understanding, still watching you before you frown.

“Did you need anything else? You have your books,” you remind him.

“No, I guess not. Sorry, I…” he trails off. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry that I didn’t return the book I borrowed in a timely manner and I really appreciate the grace you’ve given me to hold the books I can’t wait to read.”

For a moment, you relax at his soft tone. Alphas scare you – always have – but this one showing you a little grace gives you a slight hesitation of whether or not you can allow this proverbial olive branch.

“You picked some great choices,” you compliment, seeing the hint of a smile on his lips. “And it was my pleasure.”

There’s a sound of a table squeaking loudly, two children shouting over what appears to be a teddy bear that the library allows for reading in groups, sending you on high alert to check on them.

“Sorry, I need to see what’s going on,” you murmur, moving away from the desk and toward the commotion, your co-worker rushing toward the deafening screams, passing you by.

You slow your steps when the meltdown is solved – another teddy bear to the rescue as everyone quiets down.

“Hey, you dropped this,” he says behind you, leaning down to pick up the crumpled sticky note as the horror of what he will see sinks in.

“I can take it,” you say quickly, Bucky reading the note before he smiles right in your face.

“You’re a good liar,” he says with a nod, handing you the note that you take from his hand. Embarrassment floods your entire being, your face hot with anxiety when he nods.

“I guess that’s my claim to fame. Wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who has one of those calendars though. Janet on the other hand…”

“I don’t,” you snap, shoving the note into the pocket of your skirt. “It was a little inside joke.”

“For who?”

“I have to go on break,” you rush out, head down as you head toward the back of the library. “Have a good day, Mr. Barnes.”

“I will,” he says behind you, his voice full of amusement. “You too.”

-

Two bags of take out are on the kitchen counter, Steve giving a sheepish smile at his roommate.

“I know, I know. It’s my turn to make dinner but I got caught up with -”

“The Omega in 7C?” Bucky asks, picking at the plastic ties of the bag, his mouth watering at the scent of what Steve bought for dinner. 

“It’s not like that,” Steve refutes with a shake of his head. “She’s… you know that apartment is run down. She won’t move because she said she gets a discount on her rent and…” 

Steve trails off, noticing Bucky looking at him with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Steve continues, Bucky doling out their dinner onto two paper plates. “She’s just a nice girl who happens to have a… not great apartment.”

“Steve, you know it’s okay if you like her. I think she likes you too.”

That does it, Steve’s cheeks burning bright when he digs into his dinner.

“It’s not like that, Buck.”

“I didn’t say it was. Attraction is attraction.”

“It’s our designation,” Steve points out. “It’s natural, pretty textbook.”

“Yeah? Then why did you stomp around the house the other day when 7A insulted her?”

“Because Peter Quill is a complete asshole. Can you believe he mentioned wanting to help her through her heat? Who says that to a complete stranger? He’s also a complete idiot, by the way,” Steve fumes, taking an angry bite of his dinner, chewing quickly as Bucky nods and waits for him to finish. “He put dishwashing liquid into his dishwasher and wanted to know why there were suds everywhere, he called me Super Maintenance Bro and I am not his bro, Bucky, there is no way he should even be allowed near 7C, let alone any Omega.”

Steve lets out a short exhale, shaking his head in disbelief when Bucky decides to poke around.

“She has you,” Bucky points out, Steve not replying as he eats. “You told me you made sure she locked her door because she always forgets. If you didn’t care about her, you wouldn’t do that. Nor would she send you pizza or whatever the hell else she gives us when you fix something of hers. And it’s always your favorite comfort foods, Steve.”

“We’re just tenants and I happen to be the maintenance man.”

Bucky snorts in response, Steve rolling his eyes.

“And what about you? Two trips to the library in two days? That’s unusual,” Steve quips. “Who is she?”

“Who is who?”

Steve gives Bucky a deadpan stare, Bucky picking around his plate with his fork.

“You came home with three new books today and I haven’t seen you smile that much since you got your new job. What gives?”

“Just like reading.”

“Uh huh,” Steve agrees sarcastically. “I wonder if there’s a new librarian there. Or maybe you’ve let your guard down and decided to give Janet a chance.”

Bucky does laugh then, Steve breaking into a smile as they fall into a comfortable silence.

He’s not ready to talk about you yet. Mostly because there’s nothing to talk about in this current moment and there’s nothing else he can say without Steve getting more ammunition to tease him.

Truthfully, he half expected you to back down when he was asking you questions but you kept up with him. For a moment, while Steve launches into a story about work and his co-worker Scott, he zones out thinking of the slight nose scrunch you gave him when you were displeased with his questions, the wide-eyed gaze of surprise when he picked up the paper that you had dropped.

A napkin hits him square in the forehead, breaking his concentration.

“What was that for?”

“Daydreaming about the library,” Steve replies with a sly smile. “Looks like I’m not the only one with someone on their mind, am I?”

Bucky looks down at his empty plate and shrugs, knowing that Steve probably won't buy his next line.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

[andersonfilms]

𖥔｡˚ ⋆ soccerplayer!vi who dominates the field. she knows exactly how to dominate the field. appointed team captain for her leadership skills, her ambitious drive to combat with her competitive edge and being the most seasoned player on the field didn’t hurt. even with the success she’s had, there’s a chip on her shoulder as if she’s inclined prove her worth. even if her role is high, there’s something else she needs. a sense of validation cruising through her mind plagued her, the driving force for her insecurity laced in her bones despite her excellence level of performance.

𖥔｡˚ ⋆ soccerplayer!vi who has worked for what she has, hence her worth ethic is top notch. she knows what it takes and only wants to be the best. but you? it just so happens you are striving for the same thing. from the very first day, vi is not your biggest fan. especially when you start winning everyone over. with your stupid smile, the humor that same to make everyone laugh, the kindness that seems to reach every but her.

𖥔｡˚ ⋆ soccerplayer!vi who is dismissive the moment she sees you. you’re cocky, overly-confident — it’s the clear the moment the two of you met. then, you act like a complete fucking asshole. yet, all she offers is subtle eye rolls once your back is turned. she says nothing when you shoulder check her besides the curse, she makes to herself. at least, vi

what was that, v?

it’s vi.

𖥔｡˚ ⋆ soccerplayer!vi who is fucking infuriated. one of the biggest matches of her professional career and you almost fucked it all up. your big ego nearly not big enough to fit on this team, you remind vi of your incessant craving to make the big play. avoiding passing to her because she needs to be the one score to the goal. vi bit her tongue when she saw the ball anchor through the net. really, she was looking forward to shoulder checking you after you missed, but now she must stomach your earth-shattering smirk.

vi isn’t sure how it happens but the two of you end up in the showers alone. it’s clear to the both of you, there’s little love to be had and the steam rolling of off the team captain’s shoulders is evident. not from the shower the both of you just took either.

still, she remains silent as she finishes dressing, her muscular, tattooed back facing you. the ever so stoic athlete keeping her comments to herself.

“can’t even be happy, huh?” you snarl, pearly whites nearly on full display. “the all might v didn’t save the day so it wasn’t good enough.”

“this is not —” she sighs deeply, running her hands through damp hair, “you really think this is my problem? m’not one with the ego that needs stroking.”

she slides her t-shirt fully over her waist before being faced with you. the pink in her hair darkened from the shower but her eyes still glow just as blue. normally, if it were anyone else, her composure levels would be sustained.

unfortunately, this is you.

“you need something stroked.” you press.

“excuse me?”

simply, you shrug your shoulders as you deliberately walk past her. instead of a shoulder check you’d like to indulge yourself in, just to hear her curse at you when she thinks you can no longer hear her. sometimes, you just want her to smell your body wash, flood her senses until she’s drunk on it.

even if she hates you, you’ll make she secretly love every moment of it. a fine line between hate and love, the two of you seem to dance on it delicately. hidden behind a curtain vi used to protect yourself will certainly be drawn back. all that’s needed is a bit of ruffling.

she smells the sweet vanilla mixed with the musky mahogany as drift through her vicinity.

more importantly, she feels you.

the deliberate hand grazing her ass, almost applying pressure. vi thinks she might be imagining things. did you just grab a feel of her?

yet, she doesn’t have much time to process your motive when an involuntary whimper leaves her lips, a soft sigh vibrates through her body and escapes before she can catch it. your own is upturned at the omission, a secret one, a moment of weakness in her aching body.

the blood seems to boil, nearly immediately — she hates you.

she hates you. what the fuck?

disappointingly, from the ridges of her repaired heart, vi knows saying something twice doesn’t suddenly make the first lie true.

“alright. are you going whimper some more for me or do i have to give it a squeeze?” your eye subtly drops into a wink, looking her up and down.

beautifully, she pouts with her eyebrows furrowed, but your focus is on her lips.

vi visibly gulps, “what? no!” but she doesn’t hide it well. the desire bubbling in desperate blues. she’s fumbling over words but none of them string into a coherent thought, just a flustered mumble.

“sure, v.” you lean in with lips ghosting her pierced ear. “you may be captain but we both know whose really in charge.”

an in a blink of an eye, you vanished, as if this never happened in the first place. vi left to deal with the intoxicating scent of your body wash and the lust bubbling beneath the surface disguised as blind hatred.

[cursedcola]

Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle (Here!), Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Azul Ashengrotto

Fortune. Azul is one fortunate soul. At least, not he thinks himself to be.

and to think that it's because of sheer luck. He did not work for you. He did not climb or claw or plan for you. He did nothing.

No, you chose him. You saw him at his lowest and decided that he was worth becoming friends with. You actively sought him out...just to spend time at his side. Regularly. You enjoyed Azul's company

and over time, he grew to enjoy yours. Immensely. Like a giddy school-girl, his heart fluttered at the thought of you and all his notebooks were covered in doodle hearts.

This was it for him. Azul is a one and done kind of man. It’s you or it’s no one. Which means that it obviously is going to be you because hello??? Azul is not a quitter.

During your younger years as students….he may have been a bit too ambitious. In other words, Azul has proposed many times

And in turn has been rejected. Many. Times.

It began passively. He’d mention here and there his future plans for after schooling. Try to talk himself up, yeah? He’s going to be a big business man, isn’t that just perfect husband material? He can take care of you easily so there’s no need to stress.

Naturally you pushed off these moments as daydreaming and casual joking. Nothing serious. So he ups his game. It just so happens that he mistakenly got a bridal magazine in the mail…oh, look at these dresses and suits! So fancy. So beautiful…oh, you would look absolutely darling in one.

….oh sweet merciful seven please take the HINT. He is LITERALLY throwing himself at you

He ups his game. Again. A romantic candle lit dinner for two. The works. Jazz music, slow dancing, good company, and the casual proposal y’know just your average date.

You have to be doing it on purpose

In your defense. He did not flat out say “will you marry me,” because he chickened out. Instead he asked if you’d like to live with him after graduation as…roommates.

The world is out to get this poor man. It is. It truly just wants him to crash and burn in embarrassment. The way you laughed and went “I think we’re a bit more than that, don’t you think?” HAUNTS him

He screamed into his pillow that night. For hours. Floyd still gives him shit for it

Life continues this way. For reasons unknown…he just couldn’t bring himself to be direct. Which is so unlike Azul considering he spent years toughening himself up.

Maybe deep down he did fear that things wouldn’t work out. A merman and a human…what if you did not want to lige in the sea? What if his body could not sustain human form for long term? Maybe he wanted you to take initiative and prove him wrong. Eventually he did give up.

At least until you both aged into the “roommates”he dreamed about. There were trials and compromise. He never thought to have two homes, one by the ocean and one literally inside of it. Life was perfect….just without the title. And on one random night, Azul thinks “One more time,”. No elaborate ruse. No trickery to get you to ask him. Just….

“Will you marry me?,” Azul whispered into your shoulder. You both lay together in your shared bedroom with nothing but the sound of crashing waves coming in from the outside. Your steady breathing halts, proving that you heard him. With a sigh, he reaches to massage your scalp, “I do not know if you have realized by now…no, I am sure of it. No one is that dense. I won’t pry for why you have ignored my past attempts…all I ask is that you answer this. Will you marry me, (Y/N)? Having you at my side has truly made me the most fortunate man alive,”

{ A black pearl over a gold band. One of the most ultimate displays of wealth. Azul is well aware that this is not the traditional pathway. He could have easily acquired a ‘genuine’ Pearl, perhaps a diamond - but no. You are a rarity. A true jewel. Only a ring worthy to reflect that is worth buying. You were the most unexpected thing and are now the most cherished. This ring represents that,}

Jade Leech

The want caught him by surprise one day, which is rare. Jade is never thrown off guard. At least, not easily.

Then again, you have always been the most difficult person for him to predict. Something he finds very charming since there is always an upbeat atmosphere wherever you go. If his days were a dimming flame, you would be just the right amount of Co2 to spark some fun - not that he would easily admit to it.

Albeit so, Jade is not blind to his emotions. He hides them well underneath a polite smile - but they are there. He is aware of them.

Which is why he snatched you up early on. A relationship was the last thing he thought to find on the surface (or in general, honestly), but Jade knows what he wants when he sees it.

He merely asks you on a date with confidence. You accept, and the process repeats until an unspoken bond formed between the two of you. Not a soul in the nearby vicinity would dare make a move on you with his lingering presence. Jade was pacified, entertained, and happily content with your circumstance.

A circumstance that Jade gets maybe a bit too comfortable with. Just like surprise, it takes a lot for Jade for feel secure. The only person he has truly felt that with is his brother. This lack of overbearing responsibility, where something is being unspoken. No ulterior motive or underlying tone in your actions that make him have to over-analyze.

In the beginning he thought of your bluntness as an extra entertainment factor. Something that he could count on to make those brief unpredictable situations amusing. Yet, as time passed he notices that it's comforting. When he's with you, Jade turns his brain off. Not entirely, of course. He still needs to throw in witty quips and fluster you at LEAST twice per day.

but it's different. It's a different comfort than what he feels with his sibling or with his friend. It's new, and strangely similar to how he feels when he forages while hiking. Perhaps finding peace in another person...maybe there is merit. Hah. Yet another surprise.

On an evening long past curfew, Jade was tending to his botany collection and miniature greenhouse. You sat on his bed, watching videos on your phone. It was almost like you weren't there with him, yet not since he felt your presence. However, there was no pressure to talk or be attentive. He found himself enjoying your presence alone, and it slipped.

"If this is how our days will be when we live together, then perhaps sharing one life is not as inconceivable as I once thought," he said amidst trimming one of his herb plants. Jade turns curiously when he hears a thump from behind, and sees you gawking at him. You had lost your grip on the cell phone, and it fell to the ground.

He eyes you suspiciously. What's startled you? He doubts that any video could render you speechless.

....he spoke aloud, yes? Not in his head. Now it's Jade's turn to lose his composure.

Another surprise, but this is his own doing. Jade has not had a slip of the tongue since his childhood. Even then it was rare. He's never experienced this kind of mess-up...yet, you don't appear appalled.

Jade places the clippers down, and coughs into his gloved hand, "well, it appears I have gotten a loose tongue. It must be from your influence, no doubt". He stands, and moves to sit next to you on his bed, "I've never spoken out of place before, you know. Do you know what this means? I've become weak...and perhaps it it is time you take responsibility for these newfound emotions. I fully intend for many moments like these to happen, and for you to not leave my side. When it is time to leave this place, I believe you will join me. No, I am certain of it"

{An eye of lapis. A reminder that he is always watching - waiting, to see you again. The gem is not see-through. It’s a tough stone. Yet it is beautiful and is appreciated nonetheless. Enough said}

Floyd leech

At first, you believed him to have an obsession. Many did, actually.

The judgement isn't uncalled for either. Floyd's emotions towards you are very strong. With the way he loves to tease and follow you around - he's got a deep attachment. He's always demanding your attention, pulling you from your duties, starting trouble, and nosy. Floyd is oh so nosy and into everything in your life.

You're a toy. His little Shrimpy. The plaything that he absolutely adores and loves to watch. You're the Friday night sitcom to his late-90s grandma.

That's how you see it because that's how he portrays it. With others in agreeance, it is easy to overlook the small undertones in his actions. Especially since he's a touchy and emotional person normally.

Somehow, Floyd had himself tricked as well. He didn't akin his emotions to obsession, but he did think that you were a toy that he would

eventually out-grow. At the start, it really was just a game for him. He liked your reactions and therefore decided to keep you around.

Yet, he never got bored. Eventually the fun events around you stopped being what he found interesting, and instead he liked you alone. Floyd being Floyd instantly tried to confess this, not wanting to waste another minute. Yet you never believed him.

He brushed it off. You'd come around. Not a day went by without him by your side. To the average onlooker (and you, to Floyd's dismay) this still appeared normal. Weeks past by like nothing.

Only the people closest to Floyd see the small giveaways. Like how he glares holes into the mirror portal every morning, or gets snappy with customers if you take too long to visit the Monstro Lounge at night. There's a booth saved, every evening with no student brave enough to go near it unless they want their head chopped off.

When he gives you a 'squeeze,' he never wraps his arms around your stomach. He instead smothers your head and goes tightly around the shoulders. Your squeezes are special. He loves them.

or the name 'Shrimpy'. How he says it to you in public, but in private he occasionally lets your real name slip out. This normally happens during moments when he feels "bored,"(i.e has nothing to talk about) or lighthearted (the rare moments when you get him to relax). Floyd has never said that name with anything other than a positive emotion, despite his mood swings. Shrimpy is his calling card for you, and only his. Yet your name is different. He feels a tummy-twisting kind of weird when he says it.

but the biggest change is Floyd's attitude towards danger when it comes to you. Before, he thrived on it. He liked to hear your stories and be part of the fun. He took joy from the scary adventures you got wrapped into; heck, he was one of them.

Now he gets morbid. Not like how he was before, with eerie threats and a suspenseful aura. He never actually acted unless told to do so, since the over-blots and delinquent students were your problem, not his.

One afternoon, you didn't show up to have lunch with him. That already made him irritable since you know better than to no-show. Did you want a squeeze? Huh, Shrimpy? He'll give you one later.

Then two students come in, all snickering and acting suspicious. Strike two. Now Floyd is upset AND annoyed. Others in the area can feel the animosity in the air.

"Did you see their face? Psh. That'll teach some snot-nosed no-mag to act all mighty. If they know what's good for them, they'll go back to whatever sh*t-hole they came from alrea-" The no-face couldn't finish his sentence. Not with one of the infamous Leech twins gripping his arm tight enough to snap bone.

Floyd smiled, "oh~ So you're the reason my little shrimp isn't eating lunch with me, aren't ya? So. What'd ya do? C'mon guys, I want to know what 'lesson' ya taught, " as Floyd spoke, his grip gradually tightened and he stared straight into the other student's eyes. Each word came out harsher than the last.

They broke quick, as he suspected. With a rough shove Floyd pushed them aside to find you. He had their faces memorized. Let them live in fear for a bit until he collects due payment. For now?

Floyd finds you at your home. He doesn't bother to knock and bursts through the front door, only to see you nursing a black eye on the couch with some ice. He wastes no time in taking it and kneeling in front of you.

Floyd holds the ice to your eye - a bit too harsh- and clenches his jaw when you wince. You won't meet his eyes and it only pisses him off more, "Oi. Look at me," and you do with your one eye. "Why didn't you call me. Why'd you not show up," You sigh and reach a hand to cover his, "because I knew you'd be pissed... I handled it, okay? No need to fake the whole 'I will protect you, my little Shrimpy' scenario. We both know that's not your thing, "

You're wrong. It's not a scenario. You can dismiss his flirting all you want, but even Floyd has a limit. Do you not see how absolutely wreaked overhearing those airheads made him? He's going to do worse than you can think. He won't kill them. No, he'll make sure that no one messes with you anymore. You can't see it, but on the inside he is over it. Done. Finished. Officially has 0% patience.

"Did you know that every time you spout crap like that, it pisses me off? I don't 'act,' because that's boring. I'm not lyin' when I say I like you, and you better start believin' it because I'm over the niceties. If someone messes with you, they mess with me. You're in deep (Y/N) and I'm not letting go, so wait here while I handle some little pests. I love ya. I act this way BECAUSE I love ya. Quit denying me already,"

No one will ever mess with you again. Not with the sparkly little gem on your ring finger, tying you to one of the largest and most threatening groups in the undersea world to date.

{ An aquamarine tear. In all honesty, Floyd did not put much thought into his gem. It sparkled. It is the color of his hair streak (or close to it). He imagined it on your finger and thought that it would stand out - ensuring that anyone and everyone could see it. He thought of your possible expression upon seeing it, and was sold}

[doc-who]

When Green Turns Red

Emily Prentiss/Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapters: 4/?

Words: 1745

Categories: Angst, Jealousy, Hurt/Comfort, Violence, Eventual Smut

Emily sits in the waiting room, eyes glued to the emergency department doors. She’s chewed her lip raw, and the traces of blood on her tongue match the stains of yours on her clothes. The rest of the team waits around her, silent. Barely a word has been spoken since the paramedics had taken you away in the ambulance.

The clock on the wall seems to tick louder with each passing second, seemingly mocking Emily and her inability to do anything to help you. She buries her head in her hands in an effort to stop the onslaught of images that torment her.

Her thoughts start to spiral, a mixture of guilt and fear. She can’t shake the thought that if she had done something differently, if she hadn’t left you alone that night, you wouldn’t be fighting for your life right now. It’s a weight that threatens to crush her.

The surgeon finally emerges with a look on his face that makes Emily’s heart sink. He beckons the team over, and Emily jumps to her feet. The room feels too small, the air too thick, as he delivers the news. You’re in critical condition. The surgery was successful, but you lost a huge amount of blood, along with sustaining severe head trauma. Emily’s world narrows at the sound of his words. She nods, throat too tight to speak, as the doctor explains your recovery, assuming you’ll pull through.

“When can we see her?” Garcia asks.

“It’ll be a few hours until she can have visitors. Right now we’ve had to put her in a medically induced coma. If the swelling in her brain goes down like we hope, then we should be able to wake her up tomorrow.”

Emily tries to focus on the positives. That they found you, that you’re alive, but she can’t help but think about all the things that could still go wrong. She turns away from the team, knowing the thoughts are clear on her face.

Morgan is the only one to have the courage to approach her. “Emily, she’ll be okay.”

She nods, not trusting her voice. JJ pulls Morgan away for a second, handing him a bag.

“Here, a change of clothes. Why don’t you get cleaned up and I’ll get us some coffee.”

Emily shakes her head, “I need to be here when she wakes up.”

“Emily, you heard the doctor, it’s going to be a while. Do you really want the first thing she sees being you covered in blood?”

Sighing, she takes the bag from his outstretched hand. She waves off Garcia when she moves to come with her, needing to be alone. Locking the door to the bathroom behind her, she braces herself at the sink, and hangs her head. She hesitates for a moment, not having the nerve to face herself. Taking a deep breath, she looks up, her eyes meeting the strangers in the mirror.

For the first time since she found you, she let’s herself cry.

—

The team had forced Emily to go home, refusing to let her sit in the waiting room all night. She had fought them at first, but she was tired, the weight of the day heavy on her shoulders. They told her she wasn’t any use to you half dead on her feet, and she reluctantly agreed.

Walking into her empty apartment, she’s greeted by Sergio nudging her leg. “Hey buddy,” she whispers, picking him up and holding him to her chest. Burying her face in his fur, she focuses on the rumbling of his purrs.

Not bothering to turn on any lights, she heads straight for the bedroom and puts Sergio down on the bed. Pulling back the covers, she gets underneath them without getting changed and draws the spare pillow towards her.

The scent of your hair lingers on the pillowcase, and she clutches it to her chest. If she closes her eyes she can pretend that you’re next to her. That the scent of your shampoo isn’t just traces of where you used to be. The tears come again, silent and hot, rolling down her cheeks and staining the pillow. She’s not sure how long she has lays there, holding the memory of you close.

Eventually, the exhaustion of the day overcomes her. She drifts between fits of sleep and wakefulness. In the brief moments of unconsciousness she relives a slideshow of the worst moments of the past two days - and every time she wakes, she’s hit with the agonizing reality that you’re not here.

—

Morning comes and Emily is surprised she’s slept at all. There’s a brief moment before she’s woken fully, where she’s at peace. Then she remembers and the pain returns. She goes through the motions of her morning routine on autopilot, the sting of the too hot water barely registering as she showers. The sun has barely risen by the time she leaves and the early hour means she’s the first one to arrive at the hospital.

She lingers in the doorway to your room, listening to the beep of the machines that are hooked up to your bruised and broken body. She’s not sure how much time has passed before she hears footsteps approaching. Dragging her eyes away from you, she quietly greets the team, giving an acceptable answer when they ask how she’s doing.

“She should be waking up soon,” JJ says, leaning next to Emily on the other side of the doorway.

A panic starts to build in her chest and she feels the overwhelming urge to run. “I’m going to go get some coffee,” she says suddenly, walking away before they have the chance to reply. She rounds the corner and collapses into the nearest chair. Pressing her palms into her eyes, she tries to calm her breathing. Gradually, the panic starts to recede, and she manages to take in a full breath.

Feeling someone sit down next to her, she lowers her hands from her face. When she sees it’s Morgan she tenses. He sits in silence with her for a moment, waiting to see if she’ll open up without him having to pry. When a few minutes have passed he leans back, assessing her in that particular way he does.

“Why don’t you want to see her, Emily?”

She clenches her jaw at the question, “I have seen her.”

Morgan sighs, “Alright, then. Why don’t you want her to see you?”

Emily stills, before she leans forward and braces herself on her knees. Morgan is patient, letting her organize her thoughts.

Finally, she answers with a shaking voice, “It would be selfish,” she whispers, “for me to be there when she wakes up.”

Morgan looks at her in confusion, “How would that be selfish? If anyone should be there it should be you.”

Emily scoffs, “After what I said to her? What I did? She probably hates me.”

“Emily, you know that’s not true. She doesn’t hate you.”

“If she doesn’t, then she should,” she mumbles to herself.

Morgan sighs in exasperation and stands up, “If you want to sit here and feel sorry for yourself, then fine.”

The mortification of being called out so blatantly renders her speechless. He waits, giving her the chance to defend herself, to get herself together and be there for you. When she doesn’t, the look of disappointment he gives her makes her hang her head in shame.

—

You wake slowly to the sound of beeping. Gradually emerging from sleep, you lay there, bits and pieces of the past few days slowly coming back to you.

“Emily?” You mumble, wincing in pain when you try to move.

“Hey, just relax. You’re in the hospital.” JJ, not Emily. You fight against the heaviness in your eyes, opening them just enough to see her hovering over you.

Clearing your throat, you try to get your thoughts straight. “Where’s Emily?”

JJ looks behind her to the rest of the team and they share a look that makes your heart speed up. The increasing beeps from the monitor draws their attention back to you.

Your voice shakes, “Is she okay?”

JJ sits down on the chair next to your bed, placing a comforting hand on your arm. “She’s fine, I promise.”

Her words provide some reassurance, but you still don’t understand. “Where is she?” Your eyes dart between the team, waiting for an answer.

Morgan steps forward, eyes shifting. “She’s here,” he says quickly, “She just…had some things to deal with.” It’s obvious there’s more he’s not telling you.

Your heart sinks. Of course. Why would Emily be here? She hates you. She said you were a mistake. You turn your head away, trying to hide the tears building in your eyes. You don’t want to be here. You feel exposed and vulnerable now that you’ve realised what happened between you and Emily is common knowledge amongst the team.

“When can I go home?” You whisper.

The team gives you an incredulous look. JJ utters your name in disbelief, “You almost died.”

You nod as much as your aching head allows. You guess you won’t be going home anytime soon. JJ sees that you’re about to break and motions to the team, who all give you a sympathetic look before filing out of the room.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” JJ asks, voice gentle and unimposing.

You swallow back tears and put on the most convincing smile you can manage, “Nothing, just tired.”

You can see that she doesn’t believe you. “Are you sure?” JJ asks, and you nod.

“I’m fine, really,” you smooth your hands over the rough blanket that covers you, “I think I just need to be alone for a while.”

JJ studies you, trying to discern how you’re really feeling. You try not to squirm under the observation. When she realises she’s not getting anything more out of you, she sighs and gets to her feet.

“I’ll get a doctor to come and check in on you,” she pauses, hovering next to you, “We are all here for you. You know that, right?”

You nod, even though you know it’s not completely true. The one person you really need doesn’t want anything to do with you.

You keep yourself composed until JJ is gone, then you let out a sigh of relief. Turning your head into the pillow, you finally allow yourself to feel the absence of Emily.

The tears burn as they fall.

ao3

[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 7 The Past

Summary: Memories of the past suspended in time. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 6k Warnings: *THIS CONTAINS SERIES SPOILERS* Pre-Outbreak AU, mentions of past trauma, mentions of loss and grief, mild violence, language, mentions of alcohol, yearning, angst A/N: Dare I say, this is my favorite chapter yet. If you haven't connected the pieces by now, then this will answer every question you've had. There were so many signs along the way, and I encourage you to go back and find each and every one. I know this doesn't soothe the heartbreak of the cliffhanger but please know this chapter is IMPORTANT. And we can all agree that Joel is the STANDARD. * I want to thank @loonmartell for helping me navigate this idea and creating a beautiful story that is slowly coming to fruition. You are truly a mastermind, and I give you all my thanks and love*

Masterlist | Ko-fi

~Three and a half years ago~

Joel paced the waiting room, consumed with guilt and anger. He shouldn’t have let you leave that night. Bennett had called you asking to meet for dinner under the guise of wanting to give back the things he still had been holding onto. Joel should have gone with you, should have told you to stay, should have broken Bennett’s jaw. Joel couldn’t have forced you to stay; he knew you needed closure. After the downfall of your relationship with Bennett, you deserved answers.

Whatever happened between leaving his house and the accident would remain a mystery, and Joel was ready to track Bennett down to find out the truth, but right now, all that mattered was you. 

Your mom rounded the corner, followed by the doctor, both of their faces grim. Joel’s knees threatened to buckle under him, the worst possible scenarios running through his head. 

“How is she? Is she alright?” He asked, the words jumbled together and confused.

The doctor raised a hand to slow Joel’s frenzy, and your mom’s eyes stared at the floor.

“She’s awake,” the doctor started. “But there were some… complications. We just finished taking her for some tests, and we’ve determined she’s sustained a form of retrograde amnesia.”

“She can’t remember the crash?” Joel questioned. He swiped his sweaty palms over the denim of his jeans, anxiety bubbling in his chest.

“After analyzing her CT scans and running some cognitive tests, it looks like she’s lost a large chunk of her memory,” the doctor explained.

“How large are we talkin’, doc? A few months?”

Your mom stepped forward, placing a hand on Joel’s shoulder. 

“She asked for Bennett when she woke up,” she whispered. 

“What the hell does that mean?” Joel snapped. 

“She has no recollection of the last two years,” the doctor said.

Joel staggered back, dragging a hand down his face. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t fucking happening.

“You’re tellin’ me she has no memory of me?” Joel shouted. 

“Joel, calm down,” your mom hushed, her eyes darting around the crowded waiting room. 

“Calm down?” He echoed. “Jesus, she doesn’t fuckin’ remember me! I need to see her. I need to—I need to tell her.”

The doctor stepped forward, a frown creasing his face.

“It’s imperative that we don’t disrupt her current condition. Any interference with her memory may cause more complications with the amnesia. If we force these forgotten memories on her, it’ll cause too much stress on her brain and ultimately lead to permanent damage. If we want her to regain her memory, we need to wait.”

“How long?” Joel pleaded. “How long do I need to wait?”

“We don’t know,” the doctor sighed. “With amnesia this serious, it could take weeks or even years. There’s no way to determine the timeline right now.”

Joel’s anger flared up, and he slammed his fist into the wall beside him. The pain radiating up his knuckles and hand was nothing in comparison to the pain splintering inside his chest. He was losing you, and you didn’t even realize it.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Miller,” the doctor said. “I know this isn’t easy, but it’s what’s best for her and her recovery right now.”

“But she doesn’t—.” Joel couldn’t get the words out. 

He crumpled to the ground with his head in his hands—two years' worth of memories together gone in a matter of seconds. You didn’t remember him. You didn’t know Joel loved you; you didn’t remember that you loved him. 

“Joel, sweetie,” your mom cautioned, crouching beside Joel. “You said she was with Bennett before the crash, right?”

Joel lifted his head and glared at your mom through teary eyes. He didn’t want to be reminded that Bennett had returned; he didn’t want to fathom the idea of him being in your life again.

“Don’t tell me you’re seriously thinkin’ about tellin’ him all this,” Joel said. “Y’know what he’s like with her. I can’t let her go and watch her be with him.”

“We need to contact him at least and tell him. If she thinks they’re still together…we must maintain that memory. We have to try. If it’s something Bennett wants and is willing to do, then we have to. I know you want to tell her everything, but her brain is so fragile right now. It’ll scare her, and I can’t risk losing my daughter entirely. Joel, I need you to understand what's best for her.”

“And y’all seriously think Bennett is what’s best for her?” Joel laughed bitterly.

“Of course we don’t, honey. The thought of Bennett comin’ back around kills me, but what if there’s a chance her memory will return sooner than we think? She won’t have to keep him in her life forever, but only until everything comes back to her.”

“And what if it doesn’t? Y’expect me to watch the woman of my dreams love another man? What if one day they get married? Or have kids? I’m supposed to pretend like none of this ever happened?” 

Christ, the thought of that made Joel sick. He didn’t want to see you continue the rest of your life with a man who didn’t treat you right. He couldn’t do this… He couldn’t stomach this plan. 

“Joel, listen to me,” your mom hissed, grabbing him by the collar. “We need to play the long game, okay? I’m not giving up hope on my daughter, and I know you won’t either. You love her, don’t you?”

Joel nodded helplessly, mouthing the word ‘yes.’

“Then wait for her. It won’t be easy for any of us, but we all need to want this. I’ll talk to my husband and the girls about this, and we’ll work through all the details. Lying isn’t easy, but it might be what ends up saving her memory.”

That night, Bennett showed up at the hospital. 

Joel wasn’t in his right mind when Bennett walked into the waiting room. The moment he saw his smug grin and floppy blonde hair, Joel lost it. 

“Motherfucker!” Joel yelled, sending his fist straight into Bennett’s jaw. 

Bennett reeled over, staggering back into a waiting room chair, while your dad pulled Joel away. A murmur of voices among the other bystanders dragged Joel from his vengeful haze, and he stared at Bennett unamused. He wanted to see him suffer the way he had been suffering. 

Bennett worked his jaw back and forth, glaring at Joel as he sat beside your mom. 

“This is the thanks I get for agreeing to meet with you guys?” Bennett huffed. 

“It’s your fault she’s in that fuckin’ bed,” Joel snapped. 

His body still thrummed with unbridled rage, his hands shaking at his sides. Stella, Beth, and your parents were all gathered around the waiting room, taking their respective spots in one of the chairs. Joel couldn’t sit. He didn’t want to be any part of this. 

“Joel,” your dad snapped. “Cool it.”

Joel folded his arms over his chest, staring daggers at Bennett as he made himself comfortable in his chair. Your mom leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. 

“Bennett, we need to know what happened before the accident,” she pleaded. “Joel said she was with you, so what happened?”

Bennett shrugged, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms. 

“I asked her to come back,” he said plainly, as if it were that simple. Joel seethed, his body twitching as he tried not to hit Bennett again. 

“Why?” Beth interjected. “You don’t even fucking like my sister. Why would you do that?”

“I do like your sister,” Bennett argued. “I told her I had made a mistake and that I wanted to try to make things work.”

Beth rolled her eyes, a scowl forming on her face. 

“You waited almost two years to make that discovery?” She cackled. “What actually happened?”

Bennett lifted a hand to his jaw, massaging the reddening skin as he quirked a brow at Joel. He was playing with fire; Joel just needed one more reason, and he’d kill Bennett on the spot.

“I told her to meet me for dinner to talk,” Bennett explained. “I still had a few of her stupid books she left behind, so I figured it was a good opportunity to meet with her. I tried to explain my side of things and why I wanted to give us another shot. She just laughed at me. She took her little books and left the restaurant without hearing any more of what I had to say.”

Joel felt a strange sense of pride knowing you had laughed in Bennett’s face, but given the circumstances, it quickly faded. A bitterness flooded his tongue at the thought of you returning to the life you had with Bennett, especially when he spoke of you with such disdain. 

“Why does any of that even matter?” Bennett questioned, looking between your parents.

Your mom cleared her throat and spoke up.

“The accident she was in caused some damage to her brain,” she began. “The doctors determined she has a form of amnesia. She doesn’t remember anything from the last two years.”

Bennett’s eyes grew wide, and he slid Joel a knowing look. 

“She thinks she’s still with me,” Bennett concluded. 

Your mom gave a solemn nod, running a hand through her hair. Joel could see the stress written all over her face, and he could see the pain in her eyes as she realized what was about to happen. 

“The doctors think it’s best not to overwhelm her with the memories she’s lost. We don’t want to do this, but it may be best if she resumes the life she thinks is still intact, which means introducing you back into her life. Is that something you’re open to, Bennett?”

Bennett didn’t say a word for several minutes. All he did was stare at his hands in silent contemplation. Beth and Stella sat unmoving, and Joel caught Stella sneaking glances ever so often. Finally, Bennett turned to Joel and studied him before speaking.

“And you’re in agreement with this?” He asked.

Joel gave a single nod, though he was reluctant to do so.

“I’m willin’ to wait for her. She needs time to regain those memories, and I don’t wanna cause any stress on her if she thinks she’s still with you. Trust me, I ain’t happy ‘bout it, but I love her.”

“And if she doesn’t get those memories back?” Bennett pressed.

“Then you better make her the happiest girl in the world and never fuck things up again,” Joel frowned. “I swear I’ll hunt you down if y’ever hurt her. I love her with my whole fuckin’ heart, and I’d do anythin’ to make sure she’s happy.”

“I love her, too, you know.”

Joel had a hard time believing Bennett, but there was a seriousness in Bennett’s eyes that made Joel’s heart ache. He was giving up the one good thing in his life to someone who didn’t deserve your love. Joel was a patient man, but that didn’t stop his heart from breaking. Who knew if you’d ever remember him again? He would have to live his life knowing you may never come back and that he’d have to carry that pain with him every single day. Hope was a fickle thing, one he would rather forego if he could just tell you the truth, but this was his only option. Joel would have to give you up. And he would do it because he loved you beyond all measure. 

Your parents took Bennett to meet with the doctors to discuss your current condition and the future it would entail. Joel stayed behind with Beth and Stella, the three of them blanketed by an insurmountable pain that couldn’t be healed. 

“What if we never see you again?” Stella asked, her eyes full of tears. 

Joel sat beside her, pulling her into his arms and letting her head rest on his shoulder. She was only fifteen, but Joel knew she was aware of the gravity of the situation. Even though she was older than Sarah, he always viewed Stella like another daughter; he had watched her grow up the last two years, and Joel adored her just as much as he did for his daughter. 

“Y’gotta stay strong for me, Stell,” Joel sighed, squeezing her shoulder. “She's gonna get those memories back one day, and I’ll be right there when she does. None of y’all will ever lose me. I swear that to you.”

Stella sniffled back tears, curling into Joel’s embrace. He glanced at Beth beside him, giving her a sad smile.

“I’m trustin’ you to look out for her, okay?” He said. “She needs you more than anyone. I know you ain’t happy ‘bout all of this, and I sure as hell ain’t either, but it’s gonna be okay.”

“I don’t agree with any of this,” she grumbled. “I hate him, Joel. I hate all of this.”

“I hate it, too, Beth,” Joel said. “But I love her more, and I’m willin’ to wait for her.”

Beth exhaled, slumping back into the chair. Joel could tell she wanted to say more, but she held her tongue. Joel knew Beth’s anger ran deep for Bennett, and he hoped she’d learn to give you grace through all this. It wasn’t your fault this decision was being made. It was what they all thought was best. 

Your mom returned an hour later to gather the girls and usher them home for the rest of the night. Joel’s head was throbbing from all of the stress, and he was on edge, knowing his time with you was running out. 

“Is she asleep?” Joel asked.

“The doctors gave her a heavy sedative to help her get through the night,” your mom explained. “In the morning, they’ll run a few more tests and figure out when it’ll be okay to discharge her.”

“Can I see her?” He pleaded. “Just so I can say goodbye?” 

The words tasted like ash on his tongue. Goodbye was a word he never wanted to associate with you. He wanted the good nights and good mornings but never a goodbye.

“Of course, sweetie,” your mom said, tears slipping down her face. 

Joel realized he wasn’t just saying goodbye to you but to your family as well. A family that had welcomed him in so quickly, a family he had spent holidays with and visited in the summer, he was losing an entire group of people he loved so dearly. 

Joel thought he was strong enough to see you, but as he opened the hospital door, he realized how wrong he was. Your face was littered with cuts and bruises, your right eye swollen shut, and your hair matted down with dried blood. It took every ounce of his energy not to collapse at the sight of you lying there, and he moved on unsteady legs to your bedside. 

He barely managed to say your name as the syllables broke out in a choked sob. He took your hand, his thumb smoothing lines over your balmy skin. Tears fell onto your fingers as he lifted your hand to his mouth, crying softly as he pressed a kiss against it.

“Oh, baby,” he cried. “I love you so fuckin’ much. I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so—.”

Joel wept over your body for what felt like an eternity. He let his head hit the bed, your hand pressed against his wet cheek, inhaling the lingering scent of your perfume. Every memory with you flooded his mind: mornings spent together drinking coffee, lazy afternoons laying on the couch while you read your favorite books, weekends at the soccer fields with Sarah. 

Joel’s life had flipped upside down in the span of just a few hours, and you’d never know the decision he had to make for the sake of your health. He wasn’t the praying type, but if there were a God up there, he’d spend every night on his knees begging for you to come home to him. 

“I love you, baby,” Joel whispered. “Even if you never remember it, I’ll carry you with me forever.”

Joel leaned up to kiss your forehead, his lips lingering a second too long. He never wanted to leave this room because everything would be gone once he did. All he’d have left were the memories and an undying hope you’d wake up one day remembering his face. 

Joel spent the next two days gathering your things from his house. He piled your books into a box, along with the miscellaneous items you had littered his home with. He clung to your shirts and held them to his chest, wishing it was you in his arms. Scattered on the fridge were Polaroid pictures you had taken of Joel throughout the two years, and he slipped them away for when he was ready to relive the memories—not yet, but one day. 

Sarah came home from school and saw the boxes next to the front door, giving Joel a weary look.

“What’s happening?” She asked.

Joel crouched in front of her, taking her head in his hands. He managed to say your name without faltering and explained everything to his daughter in the simplest way he could.

“She doesn’t remember me?” Sarah murmured, her eyes welling with tears. 

Joel hadn’t realized the heartbreak Sarah would be facing, too.

“No, sweetheart,” Joel shook his head. “But one day she will, I promise. You’ll be my tough girl and help Daddy through this, alright? We’re gonna wait for her ‘cause she’s gonna come back. I promise she’ll be back one day, and she’ll be right there on the sidelines again cheerin’ you on.”

“I’m gonna miss her,” Sarah cried, crashing into Joel’s chest and wrapping him into a hug.

“I’m gonna miss her too, sweetheart.”

~ Two years ago ~

Joel’s phone rang well past midnight. Through tired eyes, he searched for it on his nightstand and prayed it was you, but an unknown number lit up the screen, and Joel’s heart stopped.

“Hello?” He answered, his voice roughened from sleep.

“I can’t do it.”

It was Bennett’s voice, frantic and shaky. Joel shot up in bed, his heart pounding out of his chest.

“What do y’mean you ‘can’t do it’?” Joel questioned.

“I—I can’t do it, man. We’re supposed to get married tomorrow, and I can’t fucking do it. She’s making me crazy. You know she says your name in her sleep? She still can’t remember shit, yet all she does is say your name when she’s sleeping. I’m losing my mind.” He was rambling through words so quickly Joel could barely keep up.

“Y’can’t just leave her like this,” Joel said. “Do y’know how much you’re gonna hurt her? You waited ‘til now to decide you didn’t wanna go through with the weddin’? Y’know how fuckin’ stupid you are?”

Bennett exhaled loudly through the receiver, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“I’m never going to make her happy, and she won’t make me happy. I’m not doing this.”

Joel scrubbed a hand over his face and stared up at the ceiling fan, turning above the bed.

“Alright, listen,” Joel started. “You get your shit together, and you leave. Find some job in another state and never come back. She doesn’t deserve this, and she definitely doesn’t deserve the heartbreak you’re ‘bout to give her. So, you take your ass and get the fuck out of town. And I swear, if you ever come back or even try to contact her again, I will kill you. Do y’understand me? I will fuckin’ kill you.”

“You’re threatening a future lawyer?” Bennett laughed. 

“I don’t give a damn what you are, Bennett. I’ll take a gun to your head the next time I see you and not even think twice ‘bout pullin’ the trigger,” Joel threatened, speaking through clenched teeth.

“She’ll never forgive you for it,” Bennett countered. “And don’t even think about coming back into her life, either. She’s better off without either one of us. God help the next guy who tries to get with her. She’s a fucking wreck.”

Joel seethed, the room going red. How dare Bennett talk about you like this? Joel should have never left you. He should have fought harder. He should have killed Bennett before he could have ever had the chance to come back. 

“I suggest you pack your shit quick, or I’ll find you ‘fore the night is over,” Joel growled. “Get the fuck out of town, you fuckin’ piece of shit.”

Joel slammed his phone shut and slumped against the headboard. Bennett would be out of your life, but at what cost? He knew this would destroy you. God, he couldn’t even fathom the heartbreak you’d face in the morning when you arrived for the wedding. Joel didn’t even let himself imagine what you’d look like, dressed in a beautiful white wedding gown. Bennett didn’t deserve you; he never did. But Joel didn’t deserve you either. You were too good for either of them. 

~ Three months ago ~ 

“Dad, I need to tell you something,” Sarah announced, walking through the front door.

She had just finished her first day of school, and Joel had gotten off work early to be home in time to hear all about it. 

The last two years had been a blur of endless work days and long nights spent drinking in the dark. He was drowning himself away in bottles of whiskey, trying to forget you and the pain that still lingered. He had considered going to you so many times to spill the truth and beg you to come back into his life. But he knew better than that. He knew you deserved a normal life without the reminder of the past. 

Joel looked up from the stove where he was cooking dinner. Sarah's face was etched with concern, and her lips trembled as she tried to speak.

“Sweetheart, what is it?” Joel panicked. 

He dropped the spatula on the counter and rushed to Sarah’s side, holding her firm by the shoulders.

“My—my teacher,” she muttered. “It’s her.”

Joel felt the world tilt on its axle, his body swaying at Sarah’s words. 

“Tell me y’didn’t say anythin’ to her,” Joel begged. 

“No, I—I didn’t. I swear. I don’t even know what I would say,” Sarah rambled. 

“Okay, alright. It’s okay. It’s okay,” Joel exhaled. He needed to sit down. 

Pulling out one of the dining chairs, Joel collapsed entirely, burying his head in his hands. Sarah rubbed a hand over his back, gently attempting to soothe him.

“Maybe this is your chance, Dad,” Sarah suggested. “It’s been enough time now. Maybe she’ll be able to handle the truth about everything.”

Joel loved Sarah’s optimism and her bright outlook on everything. Whenever Joel was ready to give up hope, Sarah was right there to guide him back. She was right, it was an opportunity to start over again, but he didn’t want to fuck it up. He wouldn’t lose you twice. 

“I’ll think ‘bout it, okay?” Joel sighed. “Let me finish cookin’ dinner, and y’can tell me all ‘bout your day.”

Joel sat across from Sarah, his food untouched the entire time she talked. He had no appetite. All he wanted to do was ask her about you: what you looked like, what your voice sounded like, what books you would teach the class. He knew poetry was your favorite. You would stay up late reading together in bed. You would always chime in with little factoids or comments about the book, and Joel would always sit there listening to every word. Shakespeare was your favorite, and Joel loved watching your face scrunch with concentration as you tried to explain the meaning behind each play. When he packed up your things three and a half years ago, he secretly kept your copy of Romeo and Juliet. Sometimes, when he was drunk enough, Joel would flip through the pages just to trace over your scribbled words and annotations, just to relive a moment kept in secret between the two of you. 

Now, his daughter would experience your passion for teaching firsthand. He was a proud son of a bitch, knowing you were following your dreams. 

“Dad,” Sarah’s voice cut through Joel’s wandering thoughts.

He glanced up from his full plate and shook his head.

“Sorry, sweetheart. What did you say?”

“I was saying there’s a father-daughter dance in a couple of weeks,” she repeated. “Maybe she’ll be there. You could see her again.”

“Yeah, maybe. I gotta see if I can get ‘round work to be there.”

Joel was all too familiar with Sarah's look of disappointment; he had seen it far too often these last couple of years. His role as a father had been lacking for a while now; he was lost in the haze of losing you, so much so that he was losing himself. Unfortunately, Sarah had been the one suffering the most because of it. 

“I’ll make it work, sweetheart,” Joel decided. “I promise.”

After Sarah went to bed, Joel sat on the couch, nursing a short glass of whiskey. He stared at the liquid as he swirled it around, the amber color shimmering under the dim light of the lamp beside him. His phone lay open on his thigh, Beth’s number sitting there waiting to be dialed. Joel had barely spoken to your sister since he last saw her at the hospital, but he knew she would be his first call. 

Dialing her number, Joel took a long sip of his drink and waited.

“Joel?” Beth exhaled, her voice groggy from sleep.

“Hey, yeah.” Joel cleared his throat. “It’s me. I, um, I have some news.”

“Did she…” Beth’s voice trailed off.

“No, no. Not yet, at least. Um, Sarah’s first day of school was today, and I found out she’s her teacher. Funny how that happens, right?” 

“Wait, my sister? Actually?” Beth sounded shocked.

“Yup,” Joel sighed. “Sarah thinks I should try and talk to her, Whatdaya think?”

Beth remained silent, and Joel cleared the contents of his glass as he waited.

“I don’t know if telling her everything right away is smart,” she said. “I mean, I haven’t talked to her a lot in the past couple of years, so maybe I’m wrong.”

“Y’all haven’t talked?” Joel questioned.

“She and I haven’t spoken since the whole wedding ordeal,” she confessed. 

“Wait, why?”

Joel sat up, one hand clutching the phone, the other smoothing over the curls sticking up on the crown of his head. He never thought you and Beth would ever be on bad terms.

“I warned her about Bennett. I tried to talk her into leaving so many times, but she was so stubborn. I don’t know what he said or did to her to make her stay, but she was always at his defense. I hated seeing her with him, Joel. It should have always been you.”

“I know, Beth. I know.”

“Have you considered maybe completely starting over?” Beth asked.

“Like in what way? Datin’?”

“Yeah. Maybe introduce yourself and see where things go. She might not regain her memory, but you’d have new memories together. She deserves to be loved the right way, and you’re the one who can give her that. Take things slow and test the water. You never know.”

Joel considered the idea for a moment. It could work, but what if it didn’t? What if he completely fucked up his second chance with you? He would have to live the rest of his life knowing he lost you twice.

“You’re suggestin’ I lie to her?” Joel scoffed.

“No,” Beth argued, her voice stern. “I’m suggesting you work your charm like you did the first time and see where it goes. She loved you once before, Joel. I think she could love you again.”

Beth’s words were enough of a push for Joel actually to consider that this might work. He knew you. He knew what you liked and didn’t like; he knew every tiny piece of you so that it wouldn’t be hard to sweep you off your feet again. The only problem he had with the plan was lying. If you ever found out the truth, it would crush you. And that terrified him. He didn’t want to break your heart; Bennett had done a good enough job of it, and Joel would never be like him. He would be better. He would prove himself. 

“Do y’think your family would agree to this?” Joel asked.

“None of us ever gave up hope, Joel,” Beth sighed. “This could be a chance for all of us to get her back—to get the old version of her back. We miss her a lot.”

“I miss her, too.”

“Go get your girl, Joel. She’s waiting for you.”

Joel spent that night wide awake in bed. The idea he could have you back in his life again set his body alight with a mixture of anxiety and fear. Beth could be right; you could love him again. There was that hope that maybe he could rewrite the past and start anew, but there was also that terrible fear you could slip away from him…permanently. You never regained your memories, and there was a good chance you never would, but not taking this risk would condemn Joel to a life full of grief. He knew grief well; he had walked side by side with it for the last three and a half years. If he could just hold you for one moment and hear you say his name one more time, that would be enough.

When Joel awoke the following day, he had made up his mind; he would keep fighting for you. 

He called Maria before school began and explained it all to her. Joel knew Maria had taken the news of your accident the hardest; you and her had always been close. She was like a mother to you here in Austin. Learning how to navigate around your memory loss had been tricky for her, but Joel knew she had done right by you. 

It was no surprise when Maria squealed with excitement over the phone, meticulously creating a master plan to bring you both together again. She promised to talk you into chaperoning the father-daughter dance and vowed to continue pushing you his way. Joel had to remind Maria that he was the one in control here; he needed to be the one to make everything work. Knowing everyone was on his side and willing to help ease his mind. 

He was going to get you back. 

~ Two Months Ago ~

Joel was running late. He had forgotten entirely about the father-daughter dance, and now he was speeding through yellow lights to make it home. He promised Sarah he’d go, but if he was being honest, the thought of seeing you again made him overwhelmingly nervous. What would he say to you? What would you think of him? What if he ruined his second chance?

Bolting through the garage, Joel called out for Sarah in a rush. She came barreling down the stairs in a blur of lavender and Joel had to stop his racing thoughts to admire his daughter.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel smiled. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You’re late,” she frowned. “We need to go now.”

She tugged his hand back toward the garage and into the truck. While Joel grappled with the reality that he was going to see you again, Sarah was buzzing with excitement. She saw you every day at school, but this was different. She wasn’t just seeing you… she was going to see you and Joel together in the same room since before the accident. Sarah never got to say a proper goodbye when everything happened, and Joel knew it was hard for Sarah to maintain a semblance of composure every time she sat at her school desk. The memories of you two together were embedded so deep it was hard for Sarah to ignore. Before the school year, Sarah would try to talk about you with Joel from time to time, trying to cling to the nostalgia of the past. Joel knew the suffering wasn’t just his alone; Sarah lost you that day, too. 

Joel’s hands were shaking as he put the truck in park, his eyes unsteady as he tried to focus on the school's entrance. You were somewhere inside that gymnasium; he could feel it. It was like a silent call, a tug on an invisible string, an asteroid coming into orbit. You were the pull on his gravity, just beckoning him closer. 

“Dad, c’mon!” Sarah begged, unlocking the door.

She was already skipping down the parking lot before Joel could put his keys in his back pocket. He urged her to return so they could walk inside together—maybe because he needed the moral support. He had everyone on his side for this plan, but if he fucked it up, it wouldn’t just be his loss. It would be everyone’s. 

The gymnasium was covered in twinkling lights, and the basketball court transformed into a dance floor for the evening. Joel’s eyes bounced around the room, searching for you within the crowd. Through the crowd of moving bodies, he couldn’t find you. Maybe you weren’t here; maybe it was too late. 

Joel refused to be defeated this quickly and decided to remain focused on Sarah. At the end of the day, this dance was for her. He watched as she mingled with her friends, fawning over each other's dresses and gossiping about the latest drama. Joel remained on the outer edge of the dance floor, his palms damp from sweat and his pulse racing. 

The music shifted to a slow song, and Sarah quickly found Joel and pulled him onto the dancefloor. Seeing her excitement alleviated the bundle of anxiety pulsating inside his chest. He watched as her dress floated around her with every turn, the dimples on her face appearing as he continued twirling her around. The music was slowly drifting to a close, and Joel ushered Sarah in for one last spin. He couldn’t contain the smile on his face as he watched her happiness radiate into the space around him. He maneuvered himself around her twirling body and glanced up toward the side of the gym.

Everything around him ceased to exist at that moment. Amidst the blurring bodies and the chaos of voices, the world stood still. There you were, standing quietly in the shadows, your body bathed in flickering lights, like a lighthouse in the distance of a stormy sea. Joel silently pleaded for you to look at him, even for a second.

As if you heard his thoughts, your eyes met his for a fleeting moment, and it’s as if you saw him. The room melted away, and it was just you and him for the briefest moment in time. Joel swore you looked at him as if you remembered…as if you had searched the room just to find him. The erratic beating of his heart slowed, his body recognizing the strange comfort of your presence even at a distance. Every cell, every atom, every piece of himself cried out to you. 

You saw him.

And he smiled.

[alwaysanundertone]

Have we cleared your mind?

poly! wolfstar x reader

smut, a lot of it. It’s my first time writing smut! So be kind please 🩷

TW: praise, a lot of it, oral (fem receiving), fingering, LOTS of dirty talk, a little degradation if you squint your eyes

You were stressed out of your mind. The upcoming exams were having you in shreds, your diet consisted of coffees and sugary treats, you knew that it wasn’t a sustainable diet, but you also knew that it was only temporary.

The worst thing about this, though, was the way the exams kept you from seeing your boyfriends, but, most importantly, the impact this had on your sexual life. Exactly, because last time you had some well deserved quality time between their sheets, you faked it. You never felt the urge to do so before, but after Sirius going down on you, Remus fingering you, and switching multiple positions, you knew you couldn’t come, so you just moaned a little bit louder and they believed you.

Now you were on your bed, your roommates having the time of their life attending a Slytherin party, trying to have an orgasm, but somehow, nothing seemed to work. You just wanted to release some tension and to feel good, but your body was just not having it.

You heard two knocks on your door, frantically pulling your pants back on and tying your hair, you went for the door, opening it.

“Hey gorgeous-“ Sirius stopped mid sentence, looking you over and then looking at Remus.

“Now, what was our little dove doing?” Remus tone was sultry, and if it was another time, you would have jumped him, but this time it just made you crack. You pulled them both by their collar, locked the door and casted a silencing charm. “Wow, someone’s a little feisty”

You interrupted him. “No, I’m fucking stressed! It’s been like two weeks since I had a proper orgasm and this, on top of the upcoming exams, is driving me fucking crazy” You sat on the bed, your head in your hands.

Remus was the first one to connect the dots. “Two weeks- Wait, so you’re saying that last time you didn’t come?”

You nodded shamefully. “I’m sorry it’s just- I didn’t, and I felt so bad because it wasn’t really your fault, it’s just that I’m so tense, all of the damn time, and my mind is always so preoccupied with school, and I miss you like crazy most of the time” You took a deep breath.

“Baby you should have told us”

“But we were going at it for so long, you two already came and I didn’t want to bother you, it was just easier that way” You sighed.

“You know what I’m thinking Remus?”

“That we should dedicate the night to our dove’s pleasure?”

Your heart started beating faster. “Guys it isn’t necessary, you don’t have to-“

“Oh, dove, but we want to.” He came dangerously close to you, his fingertips grazing your lips. “Just tell me something, do you trust us”

“Yes.” You didn’t have a single doubt about this.

“And… will you tell us if anything upsets you, or makes you uncomfortable?” Sirius was caressing your head gently.

You exhaled slowly. “Yes… yes I will.”

“Good girl” Remus smiled. “Can you tell us your colours?”

“Red for stop” Sirius kissed your neck. “Yellow for… oh” Now they both were paying extra attention on your two neck soft spots, one on the region right below your right ear, the other on the other side, right above your clavicle.

“Now love, don’t get too distracted. Yellow for?” His tone was condescending, you could feel the smirk in his voice, as they didn’t stop tormenting your sweet spots.

“Yellow for slow down, and green for go on”

“What a good girl, our little Y/N. Isn’t she so good?” You started to feel dizzy, all of the praise going straight to your head. They knew it was on of your weaknesses and they were using it in the best way. Sirius hummed in response.

“Now love, here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to tie you down” A shiver ran down your spine. “And we’re going to put on this beautiful blindfold. If you’ll be good for us, you’ll get to come. If not, you’ll bear the consequences. Understood?”

You nodded. “Words dove.”

“Yes, understood” They both smiled down at you. While Remus pushed you to lay down on the bed, undressing you to leave you only in your panties, Sirius started working on the ropes, tying your wrists and ankles to the four pillars of your bed, then blindfolding you.

“Does it hurt, love? Are they too tight?” You felt more than hear Sirius voice, it was like a soft and silky drape being dragged across your skin.

“No, they’re fine.”

You waited patiently, but after a while you felt a bit uneasy, though the wait did make you wet, the idea that you were at their complete mercy made you horny. “Guys, what is happening? Why aren’t you touching me?”

You heard a chuckle. “So impatient for us, aren’t you? Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you”

And then you felt them on you, one of them was playing with your breasts, gripping them harshly, while the other was kissing your belly.

“I bet she can’t even tell us apart” You exhaled a shaking breath. “Can you doll? Tell us, who is touching your beautiful tits right now?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to talk, yelping when you felt a harsh slap on your right breast, and then your nipple being tugged. “Tell us, doll.”

“Si- Sirius, you are the one touching my tits”

“That’s good doll, that’s really good” He then started sucking on the skin, leaving hickeys for sure.

Remus was starting to toy with the hem of your panties with his lips, you felt his hot breath on your mound. They knew what to do to drive you crazy, giving you something, but not what you craved.

“Please, please I need more, please”

“She begs so sweetly, doesn’t she Sirius?” You felt Remus’ chuckle directly on your core. “But I don’t think you deserve this yet dove, you will be patient for me, won’t you?”

You nodded. “Yes, yes I will” He hummed approvingly, placing an open mouth kiss directly on your clit, making you jump lightly, the contact nearly maddening.

“I think she likes that, Remus. Should we see if she can come from that alone?”

You quickly shook your head, the idea of feeling only that type of contact made you restless. “No? You don’t like that, doll? Maybe we should stop touching you all together then? See how long you can resist?”

“No, please”

“See, the problem is, I don’t know if you deserve what you’re begging for. You lied to us last time, so why should we reward you?” Remus starting kissing you through the cotton of your pink cotton panties.

“But- But you said-“ When he sucked slightly on your clit through your underwear, you let out a loud moan. “Please, please I’ll be good I swear, I won’t ever- Please”

Remus abruptly pushed the material aside, showing one long finger inside of you, making you let out a guttural sound. “Sirius, you should feel her, she’s soaked”

“Awe, all of this from only a couple kisses, baby?” He cooed directly in your ear, making you shiver. “Let me taste, Moony”

You heard him suck on what was probably Remus finger, and moan. “You taste so good, so divinely, we should let you stay like this forever.”

You felt dizzy, your brain not cooperating with you, you only knew that you were way too needy, and that they weren’t giving you what you needed.

You felt something shifting in top of you, then a rip which elicited a gasp. “Sorry baby, I will buy you a new pair” There wasn’t an ounce of regret in his voice.

Then, you felt his tongue licking a strip from your hole to your clit, and then sucking on your clit strongly. Remus started pumping his fingers quickly, massaging your sweet spot, and you already felt like coming.

“Wait, wait wait wait, too much, too-“

“Too much, huh? Are you already sore baby?” You nodded. “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it, Sirius? You’ll take whatever we will give you like a good girl.” Remus lips were on yours, shushing you up.

In a minute you were about to come, but then they stopped, making you whine.

Sirius started kissing your mound lightly, and then switching to your inner thighs, where you felt him scratching what felt like an S on one side, and an R on the other. Remus sucked on your nipple lightly.

“Not enough, please let me-“

You felt something in your mouth, then realising they were, in fact, your panties.

“Hush baby, you will take what we will give you, don’t make us mad now”

They then proceeded to pick up the old rhythm, making you come in a minute.

“What a doll, already coming for us”

They made you believe they were done, only to switch places and assaulting your pussy.

“I could spend the night between this thighs” Remus bit down on the soft flesh of your thighs. “All ours, aren’t you? What were you thinking of before, when you were touching yourself?”

You blushed, not confident enough to actually speak out your darkest fantasy. You felt a harsh slap on your pussy, and then another one. “I told you we need to hear you, didn’t I? Now tell us.”

Sirius was speaking directly in your hear, his index and middle fingers doing wonders. He pulled your panties from your mouth.

“I- I thought about you spank- spanking me from being a- a brat, and-“ No, you couldn’t tell them everything. Another slap.

“and?”

“And then you- you overstimulated me ‘till I cried, and made me walk around without any panties on all day”

You felt Remus smirk against your skin. “I think we will bring it to life soon, baby. Now come for us”

You shuddered, feeling electric shocks across your whole body, but still, Remus kept sucking.

“Too much, too much, overstimulated, too-“

“Sirius, hold her down. I’m not done.”

“Gladly” You felt his hands on your hips, you couldn’t do anything but take it.

“Bet I can make her come again in a minute”

“Bet’s on”

You felt hopeless, and loved every second of that. He sucked again, pushing his index finger in you, making you a moaning mess.

“Scream for us”

You did, coming again for what felt like hours. Once you caught your breath, you realised you were now free, your eyes slowly adjusting to the light.

“Have we cleared your mind?”

You nodded, nuzzling between their bodies, falling in a deep slumber while they cleaned you.

[mochalate]

[3] new notification!

msby!atsumuxreader || w/c: 1.1k + 1 min of video (yes, video.) chocolate chip cookies are the way to a guy's heart. (everyone knows that!) a/n: wow I thought I wouldn't post anything this week, but one really good chocolate cake later, I felt alive. Perhaps Atsumu and I are more similar than I thought. 🔔Please use full screen for the video!

[<-chapter 2][chapter 4->] ||[start from intro][masterlist]

Back when you were still at university, you had a part time job at the campus gym. Legally, you weren’t allowed to call yourself a nutritionist at that point, but that’s what you did. It was never anything complicated— the hardest thing had been managing expectations. 

No, you won’t have noticeable muscle definition in a month. 

Yes, you’ll need quite a bit longer than a week to lose ten kilos.

That will give you results, but perhaps a more sustainable plan?

So yes, expectations. You’re in a career chock-full of them. You’re good at managing them. Even when it’s hard.

Or so you’d thought.

Can I keep starin’? 

(Could it really be that easy?)

With four words, Atsumu Miya had ripped open the top of that flimsy cardboard box you’d oh-so-carefully stuffed your expectations in, and now you were struggling to (convince yourself to) put them back in. For the last few hours, you’ve been fiddling with that metaphorical scotch-tape, not quite daring to believe he could be interested in you— and yet unable to let go of that fantasy.

Was it a fantasy? 

You can still picture his flushed-red face, the anticipation and anxiety in his eyes. It wasn’t the kind of look you expected from a flirty joke.

Or…

It's when Osamu has to stop you from trying to grab the piping hot handle of a cast iron pan for the second time that you realise you need to come back to your senses.

“Osamu,” you ask, timidly. “Can I ask you something? It’s about Atsumu.”

Osamu turns down the flame on the burner, and looks at you. His face is neutral— some people went as far as calling those droopy grey eyes of his ‘expressionless’, but you preferred to think of them as steady. Osamu always said it like it was. 

He’s going to give you the reality check you so obviously need.

“How stupid am I for thinking I have a chance with Atsumu?”

You brace yourself for a scathing reply. Perhaps, ‘Next time, I won’t stop ya from burning yourself.’ Or maybe, “That oaf? Sorry, the only thing he’s attracted to is balls. Volleyballs, that is.”

What he does instead, is sigh heavily, and a little exasperatedly. 

“Did ya two idiots finally figure it out?”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?”

“You heard me,” Osamu says, turning up the flame once more. He stirs the simmering broth as he speaks. “He’s been actin’ stupid all week. And you’ve been actin’ stupid around him for a while.”

Oh. Oh.

There’s no way you’re ever putting those expectations away ever again, because that stupid box is all soggy at the bottom now. Soggy, because the raging mix of relief and happiness swirling around in your chest— the weight lifted off your shoulders because you don’t have to pretend anymore—  is making you tear up. 

Osamu hears you sniffle. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he says, tapping off the broth and setting the spoon beside the stove, “you know he isn’t worth cryin' over.” There’s a cheeky grin on his face, as he brings his large hands up to your face, wiping away the tears. “Want me to beat him up for ya?”

(You think he really might be your best friend.)

“You’re just looking for an excuse to!” You say, pulling his hands away as you laugh. 

He holds them up in mock defence. “Hey, two birds and all. Are you going call him?”

You’re already scrambling inside your purse. “I… think I forgot my phone at work.” 

He clicks his tongue. “I take it back, yer perfect for each other.”

“Hey!” You say it indignantly, but his words make you feel warm. Perfect for each other. “Can I borrow your phone? Would that be weird?”

“He’d make it weird,” Osamu scoffs. “Just go over.”

“I— I should bring him something.”

He makes an amused expression. “Okay.”

“I don’t know what.”

“Are you asking me for help?”

You make your best puppy face. “Please?”

Osamu sighs. “Well, he’s been complainin’ about those raisin bran cookies for weeks now…”

“I think it would be best if you don’t say anything. Just let it blow over,” the publicist says. She’s using the speakerphone, and her voice sounds far away. Atsumu can hear the clack of keyboard keys in the background. “I mean it, Miya. Log out of everything. No, uninstall everything.”

“Don’t ya trust me even a little bit?” Atsumu asks. He tries to sound teasing, but his heart isn’t in it.

“No,” she says bluntly. The call goes blank.

Atsumu collapses back on to his bed, legs hanging over the edge. He holds his phone up over his face, staring at the ‘call ended’ until the screen turns itself off, and then sighs heavily.

It’s not that he’s worried. She was right, it would blow over. But it would happen again. And he knows that each time, it would chip off a little piece of you; and eventually leave your edges jagged and rough enough to cut.

You’d resent him for it.

Atsumu unlocks his phone. It’s easy enough to find those pictures of you and Osamu again.

You look so happy.

He doesn’t think he was being delusional earlier, he knows there was something more than plain embarrassment in your eyes when you’d looked at him; and yet, he can’t shake the thought that he’s being selfish. 

The photo is cropped awkwardly, and he knows you and Osamu are close, but he can’t help but feel disheartened, and then hate himself for feeling like that. Were you two actually seeing each other? Was he meddling in his brother’s happiness, your happiness? What did he have to offer that his brother didn’t, save for the scrutiny of strangers?

The phone buzzes.

His eyes flick up to the notification bar. It’s a DM request from one of his new-found confidantes.

(Well, it's not like I've got anything better to do.)

In that brief moment, Atsumu understands his mother, and her panic at the state of the house when guests were imminent. He even understands, as he turns a couple of the trophies he has on display a few degrees to the left, why she would go around adjusting her many throw pillows in those last few seconds. That time seemed to stretch endlessly.

And then the doorbell rings, and time seems to somehow come to a stop and rush forward at the same time.

Atsumu stumbles on the carpet as he rushes to open the door.

And there you are.

“Hey, Atsumu,” you say, fiddling with the lid of the plastic container in your hands, “can we talk?”

(Wow, he thinks for some reason. I think those are cookies.)

Osamu walked her over because the publicist was calling around to find her, when she couldn't get a hold of reader on her number. He was worried about her going alone. What a prince. Divider @/cafekitsune Tweet images edited from here and Shokubutsu Zukan (by Tsutsumi Kakeru). Had a hard time finding the source for that image lol, it's been used in SO many fic headers. Each time I reverse image searched, If found a slightly less cropped version until it ended as the full page. and then i had to google translate this russian pirated manga site. next chapter will be the last + I will post a little bonus from the osamu POV. :)