#to wake up every day with that kind of guilt crushing you

[kaondecay]

man, i'm all fucked up again about how (at least in both the animated adaptations) knives was literally just a kid when he caused the Great Fall. like sure, there's the whole accelerated Plant growth rate etc, he was reading at an adult level and everything, but in Stampede at least he was barely even two years old!!! what the fuck!!!

like damn remember being a kid, how all of time felt so much longer, how every little thing was such a huge deal because it had never happened before? of course a deeply traumatic event is gonna destroy a kid's entire world! less than two years of experience just being alive, he could count the number of human beings he's actually spoken to and interacted with on one hand, and that was his whole world- and when that was shattered, what could make him believe there might be anything else worth saving? may as well burn the whole thing down and start over with the one person he still trusted.

and then this fucker has to just live with what he did for the rest of his life. like how tf do you turn around once you're The Guy Who Genocided Most Of Humanity (as far as you know). you have to double down & believe with your whole heart that you did the right thing, because the alternative is fuckin unthinkable- the guilt of all those lives, innocents and sinners alike, people who deserved to live, killed by your own hand? every single thing you do and see *has* to support your previous actions, you *cannot* admit you were just a scared & naive little kid who didn't have enough life experience to make good choices, because who would ever accept that as an excuse? how could you go on living? you've seen vash trying to live with that guilt & how well that's going for him, and he didn't even want any of it to happen in the first place! so you have to be right. you have to.

like obv none of that actually *justfies* the awful shit he does, to vash or to anyone else, but boy would it be painful for him to try to be any other way.

[longbottomlove]

first time || n.l.

warnings: smut!

neville and y/n had been dating for about a year at that point, nothing crazy. they’d shared little kisses and hugs, maybe a tiny make out sesh a couple times. the little bit of tongue, heavy breathing kind that every guy dreamed about having with his crush.

but she wasn’t his crush. she was his girlfriend. he loved her. and she loved him. it was simple like that. they’d never tried anything further than kissing because they didn’t need to.

neville tried to be the respectful gentleman y/n deserved, but a nagging problem was starting to arise.

every time they kissed for longer than three seconds, shared a close hug(the kind that had her boobs pressed against his chest), or even if y/n cracked a dirty joke to pull a laugh out from their friends, he had a boner. it was hard to hide and hard to make it go away. neville was a virgin and had no clue what to do.

and then there were the dreams. dreams about his girlfriend. dreams where she was kissing him, touching him, speaking to him in a hushed whisper, neville we have to be quiet. neville we’re gonna be caught. neville do you want me? neville wake up.

and wake up he would. every morning. sometimes he’d wake up to a tent in his pants. other times it would be a sticky mess he had to clean before starting the day.

worst of all was the guilt. godric, the guilt. thinking all of these foul things about someone who had no part in causing it felt criminal. it made him feel gross and pervy. he knew he had to tell you.

———————-

“uh.. y/n?” he forced out. “i..uh. i have to tell you something,”

this was it. the moment she would dump him. poor little neville who had finally gotten a girlfriend was going to be dumped. his heart was racing, palms clammy and shiny with sweat.

y/n followed him into his dorm, taking a seat on the bed like he gestured her to do. she was confused. so confused. was he gonna dump her, did he cheat?

“so what was it you wanted to tell me?” y/n asked, eyes glued to her feet.

“well,” neville started. “i’ve, i’ve been having these thoughts. and they’re gross and about you. and i dunno, i just had to tell you because ikeephavingdirtydreamsaboutyouandimsorry,”

“what?”

neville looked at the girl in confusion. like she couldn’t have possibly not heard him and he didn’t wanna say it again.

“i keep having dirty dreams about you. and im sorry,” he repeated.

a sharp silence overtook the room. she hated him now. she had to. he had confessed his disgusting thoughts to her. he was done for. would she tell a Professor? Snape or McGonagall maybe? would he be expelled for repulsive behavior? or would he just be laughed at by all her friends?

a painful minute of silence rushed through the room, ended only by a sharp cry of laughter. she was laughing! neville didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing but he soon joined in and began chuckling himself.

“oh my god,” y/n started. “i can’t breathe! i cant, i cant,”

after a good four or five minutes y/n finally looked up from her laughing position and looked at her boyfriend. “that’s normal, nev,” she said.

“what?” neville squeezed out.

“to have dreams like that, it’s normal. i’d be concerned if you didn’t have those dreams,”

neville was very confused to say the least. his thoughts were gross… and here she was saying it’s okay.

“and like,” neville started, “every time we like, kiss and stuff, i get a- erm..”

“a what, love?”

neville vaguely gestured to his crotch, hoping she’d get what he meant.

“ohhhhhh. yeah… that’s normal too i think,”she said. neville was relieved to say the least.

it was nearing dinner time, and y/n had promised to sit with hermione and ginny during the meal. she pecked neville on the cheek and started towards the door. she was almost out when she heard a soft voice call out to her.

“y/n?”

“yeah, baby?”

“could you… maybe stay?”

[lexirosewrites]

Hey happy slick sundays! This is inspired by a Drabble by wheatnoodle and your fics, hope you like it.

*in this universe the upside down never happened but Steve still became pack mom to all of the kids and saved them from various situations*

The Corroded Coffin boys have just had about enough of it. Every session it was “Steve this” and “Steve that”, the pups could not seem to shut up about Harrington and they had all about had it. They didn’ t care that he was an omega and they didn’t wanna hear about how the King had supposedly changed. According to the kids rainbows shot out his ass and everything he touched turned to gold.

It was with these thoughts in his head, intensified by just having finished their weekly dnd session, that Gareth got thinking. The four older boys kicked back and within minutes he couldn’t hold back the vitriol from pouring out his mouth. “There’s no way I can take much longer of that guys” Gareth said while running his hand over his face. The others already knew what he meant as this wasn’t the first time they had sat back and complained about the ever present Steve shaped stain in their lives. Jeff sitting forward gets a contemplative look on his face, “there has to be some kind of way to deter him from hanging around, I mean the pups need a wake up call on who they idolize”. This thought would then spur them all into trying to figure out how to get back at Steve while showing the pups who he truly was on the inside. A spoiled, stuck up, and rotten omega.

You see even during his reign, there had been rumors. No one really took them seriously at first because being the most popular omega in school meant stories true or false circulated daily. But there had been one rumor, one that at the time, they had all laughed at and joked around about. One that they could maybe use to their advantage; that King Steve had a crush on Eddie the Freak Munson and that’s why he avoided him at all costs. The rumor was started by Tommy of course and while the boys weren’t sure it was true (it was) there were signs present day that it might just be. (Steve blushes like crazy around him, compliments him, bakes something for every dnd session, the list goes on)

All that to say Gareth gets the brilliant idea that Eddie should just try and romance Steve. I mean he dated just about anything that moves, and the pups were joking about a dry spell lately (coincidentally lining up with when Eddie and him started interacting more), so this could be their golden opportunity. Get all the dirt they can on sir highness to prove to the pups to drop him, make him fall in love, and then leave him in the dust when it’s all said and done. It was a genius plan.

Well that is until Eddie is 3 months in and Steve still hasn’t wanted to have sex because he doesn’t want this to be like all the other times. And they’re 4 months in and him and Wayne are watching the game while Steve cooks them all dinner in the kitchen. And then they’re 5 months in and Eddie realizes that Steve is maybe one of the best people he will ever be privileged to know, and oh god fuck he’s in love, he wants to mate him and pup him and spend everyday just watching the sunshine that is Steve Harrington. But the guilt sits heavy in his stomach, like he swallowed too much lake water and he’s waiting to finally throw it back up.

And Steve finds out of course. While the other boys had come around to Steve, finally seeing that he wasn’t the bad villain they had always thought him to be, Gareth had also been struggling. Realizing what a horrible suggestion it had been to begin with, learning about Steve’s home life and past relationships, he felt they had to tell him the truth. Unanimously they decide to tell Steve, all of them together. And it goes just about how you’d expect it. Steve left absolutely gutted, his omega weeps because the instincts that he followed that led him to Eddie hurt him just like everyone else had in the past. Trying to hold it together through his shame and embarrassment Steve tells them that he’s sorry. He’s sorry that he was ever the kind of person they thought deserved this. Sorry that he had hung around so much. Sorry that he was there at all. Still putting others before himself Steve tells them not to tell the pups about any of it, that he won’t be mentioning it either and they can all just move on with their lives. He won’t come around anymore, he won’t show his face when he drops off the pups, and he’ll even ask them not to mention him to them if they want him to. He even ends it with saying that maybe one day they could be friends, just friends, but that’s not right now and he needs time to even speak to any of them again after this.

After that life goes on. Steve isn’t quite the same after though. He doesn’t date at all, or mention his dreams for the future like he used to to Robin. There is no talk about his dream Alpha, (who had always sounded like a description of Eddie) or details about his fictional hoard of pups. Eventually he leaves Hawkins in tow of Robin when she leaves for Chicago; he works retail until finding his calling volunteering at an animal shelter to which he then gets his certifications as a vet tech.

It isn’t until years later that Steve comes back to Hawkins. Mrs. Henderson started developing some health issues, and there is no way he wasn’t gonna be there for her and Dustin. Dustin who still doesn’t know what happened all those years ago, none of them do. Eddie’s still in town, working as the head mechanic for thatcher tires, and he still talks to all of the pups.

Of course they end up running into each other, what else did Steve even expect. It’s hurts at first to know his heart still flutters when he sees Eddie. That even after all this time, and what he did, the omega still couldn’t help but feel that pull. They’re both in their late 20s now, Eddie a little closer to 30 every day. Both of them maturing in different ways while being apart. It doesn’t take long for them to start a tentative friendship.

A year later and Steve has settled back down into Hawkins. He works at Hawkins Animal Hospital, has a little one bedroom apartment, and he spends an unreasonable amount of time with Eddie when he isn’t at the Hendersons.

Ultimately it’s Eddie who breaks, he can’t stand them talking around the elephant in the room that is their feelings for each other. He professes that he never stopped loving Steve, that he was the first person he opened his heart to and how he would never forgive himself for hurting him the way that he did. He wants another chance and will jump through whatever hoops set out for him if it means that they can be together. Steve is floored by this confession, fully believing that he was the only one that had ever harbored any romantic feelings to begin with.

Steve despite his disbelief takes what Eddie says seriously. If he claims he will jump through hoops to prove himself, then let him. If Eddie is prepared to marry, mate, and move in with Steve right away then they will. But if not they can forget all about it and just go back to normal. Of course not even thinking about it Eddie grabs Steve, and to his surprise, immediately drives them to the courthouse.

my chest fucking hurts and i’m gonna cry about this. i love the angst and hurt so much😭 steve’s heartbreak and feeling worthless and eddie being in love but ruining it from the beginning!!!!!! delicious!!!!

also you guys know i appreciate a good “dating someone as a prank” fic since i wrote one two years ago just to hurt my own feelings😅

[wreckedandpolemic]

all night - matty healy

(mdni) in which you can’t sleep, and matty is your favourite distraction. part of the regret me universe and promptober75 2024. 1281 words.

warnings: oral (m receiving), praise, mild degradation, cock worship (that felt worse to type than it did to read i promise), brief mention of mild somno

You physically can’t lie still, heart pumping and body electrified. You feel guilty for every movement, knowing you’re keeping Matty awake with you, but you’ve keyed yourself up on coffee so much that sleep is an impossibility. Matty had forcibly removed you from the studio after your eighth cup of the day at one a.m., despite your protestations that I just need five more minutes to get these chords right, baby, please.

“Chords’ll still be there tomorrow, love, okay? C’mon, I wanna get you in bed before your heart explodes from the caffeine.” And he’s so tender, kind and slightly concerned, that you relent and let him coax you home and into bed. He’s exhausted, poor thing, hence the guilt over your keeping him awake, but you just cannot fall asleep.

You lean on one elbow, staring at Matty’s face, long lashes fluttering against his cheek as he drifts between sleep and wakefulness. It’s always been a guilty pleasure of yours, watching him sleep, wondering if he dreamed of you the way you did of him. And even though you don’t have to wonder anymore, you still like to watch him, remind yourself that he’s real, and he’s there, and he loves you.

When you sigh and slump back down, Matty makes a little soothing noise. “Oh, baby. You still can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, pouting a little. “No. Drank too much coffee, I’m so fuckin’ buzzed.” Matty sighs, slowly skimming a hand up your bare thigh and over the curve of your ass.

“Y’know what might help?” he asks, wearing a sleazy little grin. “An orgasm,” he adds, as if the implication wasn’t obvious. “That’s true, it’s science. Endorphins, or somethin’.”

You laugh, propping yourself up and rolling between his legs. The concern written over his face is soft, so sweet it makes your heart flutter. “You just wanna make me cum, don’t you?” you tease. Matty tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, trails his fingers gently down your face, and he just smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Butterflies erupt in your stomach. “You know what I just realised?” you whisper, letting your head fall against his thigh as he sits up. “I have a crush on you. I’m in my fucking thirties, and I have a crush on my boyfriend,” you laugh, gazing adoringly up at him.

Matty practically beams, rubbing soothing little circles into your shoulder where you rest in his lap. “I love you,” he murmurs.

“I love you,” you sigh, leaning forward to kiss his tip (it’s right there, what are you supposed to do) through his boxers. “Y’too good to me,” you add, slowly tugging his cock free and running your finger along the vein on the underside. “M’kinda obsessed with this,” you mutter, gently licking over the head as his cock stiffens under your tongue.

“I know,” he grins, groaning when you rub your thumb just under his tip and suck his precum off your skin. “S’that gonna keep you happy, baby? Y’can play with it as long as you want, darling, m’just gonna close my eyes, okay?” he yawns, lips twitching into a smile when you kiss his thigh.

Wrapping your lips around the head of Matty’s cock, you lean down to take all of him in your mouth, idly swallowing around him and coaxing him to full hardness. You bob your head, not quite blowing him, just teasing and entertaining yourself with his cock. Pulling off, you wrap a palm around him, dig your nail into his slit, savour his sleepy little moan. Slowly, you pump him, watching his cock jump at your touch. “So responsive,” you praise, licking up the precum pearling at his tip. “Taste so good, too,” you add, smiling when he slides a hand into your hair.

Matty’s voice when he speaks is low, raked over gravel, thick with lust and sleep. “Such a little cockslut, darling,” he coos, tugging at your hair just hard enough to make you whine. “Pretty mouth of yours feels so good,” he adds. You lay like that for a little while, idly licking and kissing at him. The taste of him fills your mouth, familiar and addictive as his cock twitches under your affections. “So nice havin’ you like this, all cockdrunk and sweet. You feelin’ better?”

You nod, stifling a yawn and nuzzling into his base. “Mhmm. Sleepy now. S’nice, bein’ close to you like this,” you murmur, kissing and licking at him happily, taking his cock back in your mouth and swallowing it to the root. Moaning as Matty bumps the back of your throat, you smile as he twitches in your mouth. “It’s so pretty,” you coo, licking a stripe along the length of him and running your fingers over his tip. “I fucking love this dick, baby. Makes me crazy.” You lean over, let spit drip out of your mouth and down his cock, looking up at him pleadingly. “Can I make you cum now?”

Matty laughs. “If I ever answer no to that, just shoot me. It’d be a mercy killing,” he says, and you snort, shaking your head at his dramatics. Greedily, you take him into your mouth, moaning when your nose presses into the skin above his base. Inhaling deeply, you lose yourself in the familiar smell of him, cigarettes and cologne tinged with sweat. Matty’s hips jerk, and you swallow a gag, relaxing your throat to let him fuck into your mouth. “Good girl,” he croons, gently petting your hair. Your brain is melting, leaking through your ears, leaving you a dazed, happy, submissive mess.

You can barely think, and you don’t even want to, content to watch pleasure paint itself across Matty’s face as he thrusts into your mouth. A pretty, red flush spreads across his chest, decorates his tattoo; a sense of pride at being the one to work him up like this washes over you. You reach up, gently massaging his balls and feeling them tighten under your fingers. He’s close, you know it. “Please cum for me,” you murmur, stroking and squeezing his cock just how he likes.

“Yeah, darling, just like that,” Matty groans, fucked-out and desperate. “My sweet girl, fuck.” He lifts your head, puppeteering you until his cock presses thick and heavy and warm against your tongue. “You gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth, baby? Yeah? Gonna swallow it all?”

You nod as best you can, humming around him happily, and you hear a dizzying whine of your name as Matty spills into your mouth. Cum splashes on your tongue, and you don’t even bother to show off before you’re swallowing greedily, the taste of him addictive and intoxicating. His thighs tremble, little gasps pouring from his mouth, and you pull off to lick over his head, catch any last drops of cum. Matty whines, and you roll off him as he slides down onto the pillows. “Thank you,” you mumble, yawning and curling into him.

“Fuck are you thanking me for? I should be thanking you. Y’always make me feel so good, baby,” Matty says, cupping your jaw and tenderly brushing a thumb over your cheekbone. “Y’want me to get you off now?”

“Mm-mm,” you say. “You know what I’m like. It’ll just wake me right back up,” you say, shifting your weight around until you’re comfortable on top of him. “Wouldn’t say no to waking up to your mouth on me, though,” you add, smirking into his chest.

Matty traces a spiral over the back of your shoulder. “I can do that,” he murmurs, his grin audible. “I’ll do anything you want, darling, you know that.”

[xxoxobree]

Late Nitez

Miles Morales x Black!Fem!Reader.

Contents: You and Miles Stay up way past your bedtime on FaceTime

WARNINGS: Like one cuss word 🤷🏽‍♀️

It had become a hilarious routine for you and Miles now; every night at 8:30 after a long day of school and homework, you would eagerly open up the FaceTime app and call each other to talk about the most ridiculous things, really, until you both fell asleep, snoring in unison. And tonight was no different.

The blue light from Miles' phone illuminated his face as he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating the meaning of life (or what he wanted for breakfast). He listened to your not-so-quiet breaths coming through the phone, bringing him a sense of comfort and the occasional laugh . It had been a while since you two actually spoke, and you were probably drooling on your pillow by now. But just to make sure, he decided to break the silence with a burst of obnoxious energy.

"Yo, you there?" he shouted, probably waking his parents in the process. Miles couldn't resist. You were in that awkward state between sleep and wakefulness when his voice jolted you back to consciousness, making you snort in surprise. Letting out a little groan (or was it a snore?), you sleepily responded with a soft "mhm". You yawned wide enough to swallow a small planet before speaking again, your voice still laced with drowsiness and the remnants of a dream about your favorite actor. "I'm here."

"Oh, hey love," Miles chuckled.

You let out another yawn, your eyes still closed, listening to his sweet voice. "Hey."

Miles rolled his eyes. "Is that all your sleepy ass has to say? Hey?" A smile tugged at his lips as he lifted his phone to his face, waiting for your reply. His smile grew bigger as he saw your sleeping figure, the light from the phone lighting up your perfect face.

"Miles, I'm barely awake. Are you taking screenshots?" you said groggily, using your hand to cover your face as you heard the snapping noises.

"Awe mama, come on, you look so cute," Miles responded. Another moment of silence passed before Miles switched apps, opening Instagram and posting the screenshots he just took of you two to his story, tagging you and captioning it, "I miss you."

Your phone buzzed, making you peek an eye and see that he tagged you in his story. You opened the notification and giggled. "Really, Miles? I miss you too."

Miles felt his stomach turn at your words, his breath picking up. A slight anxiety and guilt filled him. Was it wrong for him to be in love with his best friend? Miles' eyes flickered back on his screen to your face and the way the phone light highlighted all of his favorite features of your face, as if teasing him almost. He could look at you forever, even if you were asleep. Would you feel the same if he told you the truth? He thought to himself.

"Miles?" you called out to him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah?" he answered.

"You're quiet, you mad at me?" you asked.

Miles took a deep breath, preparing himself up for the big reveal. "Mad nahh," he muttered under his breath, hoping it would go unnoticed. "But you wanna know what's up?"

"What?" you asked, awaiting his answer.

"I'm head over heels, babyyyyy!" he sang out, trying to mask his nerves with a touch of musical theatrics. You couldn't help but burst into laughter at his impromptu song.

"Seriously?"

"Yup," Miles replied, his voice cracking slightly as the effort of keeping his eyes open and staying up late just to talk to you caught up with him. "Wanna hear something else?"

"Sure, Miles," you said , your curiosity now piqued.

"I've got a major crush on you and I love you," he blurted out, finally releasing the words that had been building up inside him for weeks. The room fell silent as he anxiously awaited your response. "Miles..." he waited for your next words, his doubts starting to creep in. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. Maybe you'd think he was a total weirdo now. But then, you said it.

"I feel the same way. I love you too."

It took every ounce of self-control for Miles not to squeal like a little girl. "Uh, cool," he managed to mutter, desperately trying to compose himself.

"Cool? That's all you're gonna say, Morales, after I just confessed my love?" you teased, unable to contain your laughter.

He joined in on the laughter. "So, uh, will you be my girlfriend, y/n?"

"Absolutely, Miles. I'd love to."

Copyright © 2023 Breeandhermunches. All rights reserved.

[jolalibrary]

ii - it’s just aah little crush

javier peña x f!reader | chapter two of late night texts

summary: It's the year 2000. Javi is minding his own business on the porch of his pop's ranch when a text from an unknown number vibrates his phone. The only problem is, no one knows he has a phone and no one has his number.

chapter warnings: fluff. discussions of deceased parent (javi's side) continuous romcom vibes. an: i can't believe so many of you are in love with this, hope you're still grinning. wordcount: 2.2k.

text key: bold is you/reader | italics is javi

Go to song that’ll get you dancing. 

I don’t dance, hermosa

Let me guess, you’re the type to sit in a corner smoking and drinking away while everyone else has fun.

no

for one I don’t smoke anymore 

Ha! Knew it. Bet you have a moody face too. All annoyed that people dare to have fun.

i don’t know what gave you the impression I hate fun 

Name a song, then. 

I can’t think. what’s yours? 

Tough to pick one. But, since I did just dance in my kitchen to I Want It That Way, I’ll choose that one

I bet it was a sight 

You are right, it was an award winning performance.

what you wearing 

Shut up, Javi. 

In time, Javi begins to learn things about you.

Such as your aversion to certain weather types, the kinds of foods you dislike on pizza and that you travel for work.

It’s not every week, but most. You have a place, but you live outside of a suitcase more often than you like. But, you’re not complaining—that you repeatedly stress to him—because you’ve never really had to travel anywhere overtly far. Just from one side of the country to the other.

But, it does steal hours—both from being in the air and entering a new timezone. Something he, too, tries not to feel annoyed about, but still is.

If anything, he’s beginning to find it hard not to be that person, the one who repeats texts—obsessively checks. The one who looks forward to the time of the day he gets to speak to you. 

You’re a nice treat at the end of the day—one which has spread into being a welcomed surprise at other times.

The two of you texting, bleeding from the night to the day, with him waking and seeing a text waiting for him on his screen. A ‘Good morning’ here, a ‘hope you don’t stand in shit today’ there.

you land ok

Truthfully, he knew there was a good chance you were still commuting—knowing more about this flight and your plans than previous trips.

But he still grows impatient, tapping his fingers on surfaces, hovering around, earning him stares from his pop as he makes a drink or admires the weather. 

He knows his pop has picked up on it—the change. Had stopped asking him in the fields what his plans were going to be that evening, as though knowing he’d find his son on the porch or at the table, clicking keys until they spelt out a word. 

But, deep down, Javi knew his Ma would have said something—made a comment about it being a girl. Likely sat next to him, asked him if you were worth the trips to the store and the amount it was all costing him. 

He knew what he’d say if she were here to ask: yes. 

As much as the change is noticed, his pop says nothing. Just skirts around it, the Peña way. 

“You fancy coming with me tonight, Jav?” 

He asks him each week, even if the answer is always the same. A hopeful look simmering in his eyes, waiting. 

It makes him hate declining, hates having to summon a reason they both know is an excuse. Because even if he’s been here for years, they all still look at him like a hero. A celebrity. A walking statue they can all admire—talk to, and about. 

“Not tonight, Pop.” 

The nod he receives makes his stomach churn, guilt mixing with selfishness, wanting to explain—even if the two of them have had this conversation countless times. 

Just checked into my room. Guess who got an upgrade? 

He grins, eyes reading each word, feeling his stomach unknot, his chest flutter—all the while being aware there’s warmth spreading up to his ears. 

Texting you makes him feel like a teenager all over again. 

So much so, he forgets his pop is still there. Standing, hovering. Glancing up to find a knowing look, one he rather hates but doesn’t want to unpick.  

Not sure how too. 

Not sure what to even explain. 

“Hasta luego, hijo.”

nice, they do room service at this one Maybe. Gonna order so much food, charge the company.

Javi nods to no one, biting back a smile, the one desperate to show. Sliding the paper off the chair beside him as he lies it flat on the table, hearing the distinct sound of the front door shutting, the storm door following closely. 

Waiting, just like he did when he was younger, for the sound of the truck sparking to life. The crunch of gravel, and then, the noticeable silence. The one he welcomes—not that he always did. 

In the first months of being home, a mist would fall over him when his pop left. A loneliness that ebbed and flowed, him walking around the house, brushing past memories, hearing the whispers of ghosts from when they were a family of three and not two. It lessened as the months added up.

Am I too late for the crossword? 

Snorting, he bites his bottom lip.

He’s unsure at what point in their texting he should have told you that he waits for you. Not sure he has the words to explain that it’s become a thing for him, an extra pleasure in completing it. 

Javi waits until the sun truly sets, and the day tries to turn to the next. He’s even left it to the last minute—11:36 pm—hating that you even apologised for your day having derailed what has slowly become their tradition. 

just in time  Perfect. I’ve just put my order in. I am ready. Test me this time, okay? Stop going easy on me. 

Smirking, he releases a light laugh, fingers wiping across the hair above his lip, shaking his head in disbelief. Both in how you take it so seriously and how he likes it. 

It’s odd, strange—but there’s a lot he likes about you. Like how you challenge him and hold him accountable. Making his old instincts and his gut, both of which had rotted in ranch life, awaken all over again. 

In truth, he feels alive, thrumming—feeling warmth, seeing colours, expanding happiness flushing through him. It blows away all the eroding loneliness, shining and injecting light into the darkest corners of his soul—the parts wilted due to what-ifs and regrets. 

superheros home, 10 letters  I said test me.  I’m warming you up I’m plenty warm, Javi. You worry about yourself. It’s metropolis, the answer. 

His mouth slides to the side, pencil scratching at the paper. 

Crosswords end too quickly with you. Your brain is full of words, ones he knows are tucked away in his own, but they rise to the surface in yours. Come so quickly, called and answered.

Somedays, he swears it takes him a while even to welcome the day, never mind finding a word. 

It’s the truthful reason he began this in the first place. It helped that it wasn’t a risk. There was no real need to complete it (yet he always did). But in truth, he had felt the need to keep himself sharp. To work a mystery over, just one with no stakes, no actual losses. 

His life couldn't handle that now. His back twinged at the thought, a muscle tensing under the thoughts of Colombia. 

praises lavishly, 6 Javier. ha no it begins with e  Extols. howd you even know that  I read, Javi. I read. 

pop’s just asked me if I want to go to a bingo night 

I’m going to hazard a guess that you screamed yes, dressed so quickly you have headrush? 

obviously 

I’m cooking for my friend tonight.

Aish?

No. Different friend. 

a male friend

Jealous, are we? 

No, a colleague. She’s had a rough day. 

do you know how to cook or will I be finally seeing your face… on the news 

I know how to cook, sorry to disappoint you.

But I am impressed by your use of punctuation. 

I aim to please 

you awake 

I am. You good?

just can’t sleep

That happen a lot 

less recently, but yeah 

Tell me something, Javi 

what you wanna hear

Anything. 

I look forward to our texts all day

You need a hobby. 

maybe, but my statement still stands 

I do too. Don’t think I’d even reply to anyone else who woke me up at 1 am.

shit hermosa I didn’t mean to wake you 

I don’t mind. 

go to sleep, we can talk tomorrow 

No it’s okay, I want to talk to you. 

You ever seen Charmed? 

no whats that

Oh, Javi buckle your seatbelt. 

What do you even meaaan

I’ve never had it 

If we ever meet in person and I have a kitchen available, I’m making it you. 

yeah?

Yes. I know you were in Colombia, but you’re missing out.

you wanna meet me in person 

I mean, I do love second-guessing myself about if you are who you say you are. 

hilarious 

Of course, I do. 

Do you wanna meet me? 

more so now I’m gonna be be cooked for 

Now who’s being hilarious. 

Each bead of sweat which clusters at his waist, is rewarded with a gentle breeze. It sits, spreading patterns up his tee as it clings to his skin.

The warm, dry heat offers some relief, dancing amongst the tall grass. It rustles through the trees as he sticks the spade back into the soil, wiping his brow, allowing the yellow of his aviators to slide down the bridge of his nose—causing a contrast of lemon and natural lighting to flare across his gaze. 

Javi’s been at it for hours. Having set himself up before the sun really began spreading its fingers across Laredo.

Digging, shifting wooden posts into the newly created hole, before he’s filled it back up again. With each one he completes, he takes a second to pause. To lose himself to the whims of his mind—thoughts usually stuck on how much longer it’ll take, and now perpetually on you. 

What you’re doing. 

If you’re having a good day. 

He finds himself so lost in thoughts of you, that it doesn’t feel anything like what it has with others. Not close to drowning, but instead swimming. Moving with a current of his own making, drifting, feeling something other than mundane and boredom in his bones. 

He's also noticed how the texts and conversation are no longer strained and frayed—that he isn’t picking apart intention like he once was. That he gets you, reads you. Can almost hear your voice in the way you text him.

Before, he'd never have described his evenings as empty, but now he's busy—occupied. Doing something more than simply passing the time, actually looking forward to the time between the sun going down and the stars lighting the sky.

It's on the second stab into the ground that it hits him: he'd miss you if you stopped texting.

Having grown used to you—enjoys tuning into the evenings spent with you. 

He was never lonely in Colombia. A thought which has riddled him in the years since he’s been back. The goal—the job—kept him busy when his conquests couldn’t. How he had been focused on the many, the plans and the takedowns occupying all space that would allow for such things. 

But this is different. A different kind of busy—a nicer one. One he craves more than he should. 

“There were fresh flowers at your mamá's grave again.” 

Javi slams his foot on the shovel, forcing it down further, splitting the soil—letting it cut into the grass, the roots. Turning it up, choosing then to only lift his head to meet the stare waiting for him at the last second. 

Last month, he’d been able to shove it off.

He'd been able to blame the suspicions on anything but him. Javi realises how much harder that is going to be now—especially with the way his pop is leaning. How he begins tilting his hat up so he can see him clearer—just like when he was a boy. 

Pushing his shades up, Javi chews his cheek, standing straighter and straighter until he fills his lungs with air. Not speaking, choosing silence.

Kicking the dirt, his pop hooks his thumbs in the loops of his jeans. “Same flowers as before.”

“Hmm, nice.” 

It’s all he can muster. 

All he wants to, as well—desperate to continue digging. And, do so in silence. 

“I know it’s you, Jav. You don’t... Y'don't need to be secretive about seeing her.” 

“I’m not.” 

Even if he is. 

Has been.

It hadn't been intentional to go see her. It had begun absently, without real cause or reason.

When he first came back, there was a cause, a reason. A birthday, the holidays—times when his laid-down bouquet wasn’t alone. Guilt biting at him for all the times he didn't visit when he was away, and the times he put off in the months he was back.

Then, one day he turned down a road, and he found himself there, and so it began. Now the guilt has wilted, like the flowers he often replaces. Doing this thing he does when he heads into town.

And, it just so happens he’s been in town more often as of late. The phone—the one heavy in his back pocket—being the cause. His mouth purchasing more credit while his eyes admired the store's beautiful arrangements—ones adorned with the same flowers he’d grown up with in the centre of the dining table. 

“You’ve been smiling more, too.” 

“Pops, c’mon.”

He laughs—his dad laughs. “It’s nice, hijo. Nice seeing it. Hearing it. She work in town?”

Shaking his head, running a hand across his forehead, he mumbles a no. Pebbled sweat collected on his fingers, closing his eyes, willing the conversation to die before it got going. 

It never works, not with his pops. 

“Tell me about—“

“Papá, para.”

“—you can try and hide it, sat in the other room from me. But whoever she is, I like her.”

Smirking, he snorts, dropping his hand from his face. “You don’t know her. Fu—I don’t even know her, alright?” 

Shrugging, his pop stands from his lean, hand on one of the posts Javi had put up earlier. Wiggling it, testing it, brow raised in a way that screamed he was impressed. 

“That’s what time is for, Jav. Getting to know someone.” 

“Alright, Pop. Can I…? Please?” 

Waving him off, he tips his hat at him. Shooting him another smirk, a knowing one—another Peña trademark. 

Aish asked about you today. 

what did you tell her

That you’re very good at crosswords. 

you’re a tease. 

I aim to please. 

my pops knows I’m talking to you

Told him all about me, have you? I feel special.

you should feel special 

but not just because of that 

You’re flirting again.

I am

Charmer. 

do you dislike it? me flirting 

No. Not really. I like it.

that's good to know

Why?

means i can do it properly now

Is that so? Do I need to brace myself for Javi-flirting?

i would if i were you

an: yesssss, now let the menace texts begin.

next chapter ->

[indecenthoney]

Free-Use Agreement

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

"Mmm... What time is it- Okay...That's not good... Random girl on my chest... Great... Fuck me... How much did I drink last night? Mm... Alright... Hey hun... You awake? C'mon, it's morning, we should clean you u- H-holy shit... You gotta be kidding me... Hey hey hey... Don't you go freaking out on me... What do you mean? I'm just as confused as you are... Well, excuse me... This is my bed... My room... For all we know... Youuuu could have followed me in here and had your way with me... Don't play that card... Men can get touched too... Wow... Really? Who would sleep with me? You! Apparently..."

To catch you all up on this sudden predicament, my roommate and I made plans to spend a night out in the city. A little drinking to ease the stress of the week. One thing led to another and after a couple of brain-numbing shots, everything went hazy. From the looks of it, neither of us had any memories of that night. Days would pass without a word. I mean to wake up with your roommate balls deep inside of you? I don't blame her for reacting the way she did. Surprisingly, we went about our day as usual. There really was nothing to write home about. However, the tension during dinner time was unbearable. I didn't necessarily hate her or anything. It was more of our dynamic. We'd bicker and tease each other back and forth. Then we'd have our occasional pranks. But now, I couldn't even look at her in the eye. The short moments of eye contact would bring me back to her squeezing down on me. Even the sight of her lips would send me into shock hearing her squirm as I pulled out. Fuck. What if it was me? What if I did force myself on her? The guilt was eating at me. And I couldn't even fathom a proper way of apologizing to her. The fucked up thing is the amount of times I've masturbated to that mome-

"H-hm? Sorry I was kind of blanking out... What were you saying? No no... What? I should be the one apologizing... This whole thing could have been avoided if I didn't drink so much... I mean... What if I did do something? You're right... I'm overreacting... Sorry... I just didn't wanna make it all... weird... you know... Both of our faults, huh? Alright alright, I can work with that... Bright side? And what's that? The fact we fucked each other... True... I guess it was better than that fuck boy hitting you up all night... Ain't that right, baby girl? Hahahah! Sooooo you're not mad at me? Good cause I couldn't fucking eat... Hey... I was embarrassed too... But since we're good... We can move past this... I can finally stomach this foo- Sorry what?"

There it was again. That uneasy feeling. My jaw had dropped at the presentation of her proposal. Completely caught off guard from her shy disposition. After knowing her for years, it felt like I barely knew her. I mean she was the type of girl that would blush at the mention of a crush. So to utter such words was completely out of character. I'm sure she was just pulling my leg. Trying to get a reaction out of me. She insisted that there would be days when our "lust" would get the best of us. And that this little arrangement didn't have to end. She then offered me full reign on using her as long as we were in the apartment. To further justify her proposal, she claimed that it was better than fucking some random in a bar. She said all this while never once looking at me. I was not completely opposed to the idea. Just bewildered. She was hot. Believe me. If it were any other guy they would literally jump at the opportunity. But surely, she was just pulling my leg.

"Hahaha... You're joking... This is a test, right? So you can call me a fucking perv... Hahah very funny... You almost got me... Hey... What're you-"

On her knees, she carefully navigated around my sweatpants. Pulling out my throbbing member into the scene. There soft kisses met at every inch of me. Her supple tongue rubbing along the back of my head exacerbated my already breathy moans. The warmth of her mouth enveloped the entirety of me causing my eyes to roll back. Even after steeling myself, her teasing had already stopped, waiting patiently around my cock. Literally forcing my hand, urging me to act if I wanted even a crumb of pleasure. A battle of morality that I was sure to lose. Gently my hands cupped around her face, framing her perfectly before bobbing her relentlessly downward. Spit and tears would soon follow. The gentle touch that I once had quickly crumbled and devolved into such an animalistic instinct to fuck and release. My hand now decorated around a fistful of her hair. A pattern of forcing her down even deeper into me before fucking her mouth with shallow strokes. In my euphoric haze, I had no intention of savoring her lips. And in moments, I was quickly brought to the edge. She kicked and squirmed. Painfully gripping down onto my thighs. Nails digging into me as the cum hit the back of her throat. My body jerked and convulsed; leaving me to lean back into my chair. Exhausted. Without a word, she quickly got up and made her way to her room. I was confused. Was it all just a little prank that gone wrong? A little tease that went too far. That uneasy feeling made its way back into me. Feeling that all the progress had reset once more.

"H-hey... Where are you- Fuck..."

The following day, I would hear little shuffles coming from the living room. In a rush, I got myself out of bed to catch her. But she was already halfway out the door before I could even greet her. Unable to speak of yesterday's happenings. I would then spend the rest of the day cleaning off the apartment. Anything to keep my mind off of our current situation. There was no point in dwelling on something I couldn't fix at the moment. Before I knew it, time would pass. After taking my place on the couch, it was just about time for dinner. What to eat? Dinner. Dinner. Dinner? My mind would soon flood once again with yesterday's events. The rush of blood made it difficult to focus. In the heat of the moment, I thought it'd be wise to deal with it before she arrived home. Stroking myself without regard to being caught. Reminiscing the feeling of the back of her throat. I was lost in it. So much so that I didn't quite hear the unlocking of the front door. The hue of red painted across her face due to my exhibition. The relentless rhythm of slick precum echoed throughout the room. She stood there silently watching my frustration and discomfort; before finally gathering the courage to call out to me.

"Fuck... Mmph... Huh? O-oh shit! H-Heyyy youuuu... Uhm... And how... long have you been standing there? No way... Really...? Sorry about that... I'm just a little... uhm... pent up... is all... I didn't think you'd be home so soon... I see... Sorry what? Does it hurt? Nooo, just a little uncomfortable... but never mind that... Since you're here... I really think we should talk about yesterda-"

Without warning, it was then she offered up her services once more. Her shaky fingers slowly unbuttoning her worktop. To the drop of her pencil skirt that hugged her waist so perfectly. Revealing her lacy black bra and stockings before placing herself atop the seat across me. Her eyes peering behind her disheveled hair; fixated on a corner of the room to avoid my gaze. The slow march of her fingers, tracing along the center line of her panties. Teasingly putting on a show. Only for her actions to backfire. Maybe to her realization, it was more than showing off her body. She was being watched so intensely by someone she knew. It was embarrassing. Sure. But even so, her slender fingers continued to press along her cunt with more fervor. Spreading herself ever so often as if she was showing me the spot that needed attention the most. Such a lecherous display. Without thought, I found myself standing in front of her. With how little she seemed, it was like a little animal backed against a corner. Trembling. My hand pushing her back against the couch. I leaned in close pressing my entire weight. My cock now throbbing eagerly against her cunt. And the subtle buck of her hips that answered back in response. It was then all reason would be completely thrown out the window.

"Fuck... There you go... teasing me again... What's wrong? You're shaking... Look... See? You did this... so it's only natural... that you fix it, right?"

The tear of stockings. Panties gently pushed to the side. Entering ever so slowly into her depths. Her eyes begin to flicker and roll. An insatiable throb making it all the worse. Never truly easing up despite the time that has passed. And in turn, my patience wearing thin. Slow, yet gentle movements take place causing her to pull tightly on my shirt. Pulling me closer into her embrace; digging her canines right into my shoulder. The sudden sensation causing me to jerk deeper into her. Stifled moans leaking through pierced flesh. Her bite reduced to a slobbering nibble. Despite her pleads, her reactions only brought out the worst in me. Thrusting into her as if my life depended on it. There her legs were propped onto my shoulders. Forcing myself deeper into her. Slamming down. My hands coiled around her pretty little neck. Watching her eyes shoot up as the stimulation reaches its peak. My body failing to support me leading me to slump over her with ragged breaths. A pale liquid now dripping down her holes. Both too cum-brained and tired to actually function. I laid by her side silently, stroking her hair, before inevitably falling asleep. Later, I found myself still on the couch and her nowhere to be seen.

"Mmm... Fuckkkk me... I really have to stop thinking with my dick..."

Having not eaten anything the night before, I would find myself wondering off to the kitchen. The aroma of eggs and bacon soon filled the room. A scent that would make any person's mouth water. There my roommate stood, humming quietly to herself, who was just about done cooking. She sported the same lacey-black panties; paired with an apron whilst still being topless. My caveman brain doing its best to process the sight in front of me. Only for my other head to do all the thinking. I was no better than animal. An alluring doll figure that tempted me so. Breakfast became the last thing on my mind. Eager to ease my dilemma, I positioned myself between her supple thighs. She insisted on eating first, but soon her moans would overtake her logic. Grinding away on her thighs, slightly pressed against her cunt.

"Morning... Sorry I know I know... Breakfast sounds good... and we should totally eat... But after I'm done I promise... Just keep those thighs pressed... Alright?"

And so she pressed. Her thick thighs surround my member. Her cunt slicked with juices dripping down her thigh making it all the easier to fuck her with. My mind gradually slipping from me. Her arm twisted behind her, serving as my handle to further my aggressive motion. Within a matter of minutes, my composure had crumbled. Hunched over her; moaning against the back of her neck. The climax drawing near as the tip jabbed roughly against her cunt. Causing me to release an unholy amount. Once again tainting her poor panties. After cleaning ourselves up, we went on to eat the breakfast she had prepared. Making small talk proved to be difficult as her mind was elsewhere.

"Uhm... Thanks for making breakfast today... I- uhhh really like the way you made the eggs... I can't handle overcooked eggs... Haha... Soooo... Do you have any plans today? No... O-oh okay..."

It would seem that our little situation would only get more and more awkward as time progressed. Talks would be less frequent. Yet our time together never quite dwindled. I happen to catch her at the most unfortunate of times. Sweat dripping down her breasts on a sultry day. Eating and licking a popsicle on some random afternoon. Or even bent over searching for something underneath her bed. All events leading me to fuck her senseless. It had gotten to the point where I would often just pull her to the side, if need be, to satiate my own selfish desires. Even relaxing on the couch would be a trigger to pull her up on my lap before making out with her. Our tongues welcoming one another. Breathy moans, subtle whimpers filling my mouth. Her arms wrapped around my head to position herself into a deeper kiss. My cock throbbing impatiently against the opening. Pushing her down completely to take the full length. A shrill moan escapes her mouth. Having her rock her hips despite her sensitivity. Brought to tears by the stimulation. The buck of her hips as I toy relentlessly with her clit. Her body shuddered. Yet another load fucked into her. My hips pushing back up to plug it all in. She laid against me worn out and weak. Tears running down as she rested her head on my shoulder.

"Dude? You're crying? W-what's wrong? Am I being too rough? Fuck... I'm sorry... I-It's okay... Let it out... I'm here... Just relax and breathe... I gotchu... Not going anywhere..."

Sweet nothings cooed into her ear. Finger tips moving through silky hair. Tracing along her back. Before running up once again, diving deep underneath her locks to scritch and scrotch the roots. Having her melt under my gentle hand. Effortlessly her consciousness begins to dwindle. With her eyes closed, I kissed her forehead, wishing her sweet dreams. Holding her closely throughout the night just as I promised. Not leaving her side. The feeling of dread and guilt seeping into me. Going a bit too far with my desires. Having it take a toll on her. I had to change.

"Ohh heyyy morning sleepy head! C'mon what you waiting for? I made pancakes! Get them while they're still hot... So blueberry syrup or strawberry... We also have Nutella... Did you sleep good? Yeah? Oop- Sorry just let me... Yeah, you have a little schmuck on your face... Prolly cause you were drooling in your sleep... Yeah, it's a lot... I know how much you love them... I don't know... I just wanted make you a little something to thank you... After last night it must've been a lot for you... So I promise I'll stop... I never wanted to make you cry... Ah no... Shush... No need to explain... I made my decision and I take full responsibility... You just sit there and eat your pancakes... Alright? Me? I'm gonna go for a run real quick... I'll see you later!"

As much as I enjoyed living that fantasy, it wasn't worth hurting her. We went about our days as usual any time we could. When she would start to get nervous, I would often take some time away. Her eyes would begin to drift. Or her thighs would begin to clench. Little tells. The poor thing was probably still traumatized. I could only imagine. She probably felt unsafe; thinking I would pounce at her at any moment. The lecherous eyes that once analyzed every inch of her body. Now being completely docile. It is a bit sketchy. But no more. I made a promise to myself. Above all, she was my friend. I planned to restore our friendship as much as I could. And to repent, I refrained from any of my usual pervy activities. A bit troublesome at first. But keeping myself busy usually did the trick. I mean you can't cum if your dead tired at the end of the day!

"Oh? You're home! Was just about to watch a movie... Care to join me? I have popcorn... Hahaha did the popcorn seal the deal? Yeah? Right right... You know... Been a while since we hung out... Ready?"

It went about normally as you'd expect. We made our little jokes, reminisced of old memories, and even poked fun at each other. It was like the past few weeks were a blur. I was happy.

"Probably 7/10... In all honesty I was bit focused on you yapping than the movie... So my rating can be a bit skewed... Not my fault that you're more interesting... You wanna watch another? Still a bit early for us to go to bed... Yeah? Sweet... Let me pick a random one... Hm? Yeah its a bit chilly... I have blanket on me if you wanna use it... No it's fine... Really... Cuddle? Uhm... If you want to... Yeah yeah... I'm comfortable... Hahaha... Here... Best seat in the house..."

Taking place in between my lap, the scent of shampoo filled my head. My huge frame towering over her delicate figure. There she sat awaiting a response, but communication failing me. The movie played yet my mind fixated on tearing this little lamb to shreds. I could push her into couch while I filled her ass to the brim. Have her jerk me off with her leaky cunt. Or even watch her cry and beg as she worships my cock with her throat. And how easily said tasks could be done. Her scolding bringing me back to my senses. Ass pressed against me causing me to groan in pain.

"H-hahahah I-I'm alright... I just.... I'm not... I'm not feeling too well... No no I-It's fine really... I should head on to bed... Get some sleep and I'll be good as new... Thanks for the movie..."

Rushing over to my room, I quickly occupied my desk trying to find something to do. If I could just touch myself I would actually have some solution to this unending throb. Every game was on maintenance. Each friend too busy. And the internet far too slow to stream anything decent. The littlest of things agitated me and I was at my wit's end. A knock at the door resounded into my room. I wanted to chuck my chair at the door.

"Now's not the best time! Can we talk about it tomorrow? And you're in my room... Great... What do you wan-"

There she stood in an oversized band tee; inching towards me. My nails digging into my seat inhubiting all the carnal urge to pin her against the wall. The pacing of my breath irregular and my heart pounding. To my realization, not a single word was said to me after she entered my room. Confused. I took a moment to peer at her face, but not a single thought existed behind those eyes. That overly sized shirt slowly creeping up above her waist. Revealing herself bare and needy.

"U-uhm... D-dude... I think you're forgetting to wear something... H-hey hey hey... What're you-"

This time I was the one cornered; unable to get up from my seat for it would only escalate the situation. Both of her hands planted on my thigh, thoroughly grinding her bare cunt along it. A moist trail tracked along my sweats. Never did she break her teary gaze, pleasuring herself to the rough texture. With how eager she started off, it was suprising to see her slow down. Her movements begin to jitter and shake. A slow lag became apparent. She sat there fidgeting with slow motions. Resisting her own climax.

"And who told you stop? C'mon... If you don't keep rocking those hips... I'll have to do it for you... Understood? Now move... That's a good girl.... Hey hey hey... My eyes are up here... It's rude to look at something else when I'm talking to you... Mhm mhm... You're doing such a good job... Fucking yourself for me... Oh? Is someone close? No? Then why are we slowing down? Keep... moving... Excuse me? "Please" isn't going help you here... You either cum or you don't... You have complete control over it... So tell me... If you wanted to cum so badly... Why'd you stop? C'mon spit it out... Walking in here... Grinding your filthy little cunt against me... Oh? I get it now... You want my permission... That's it, isn't it? All this mess for my approval... God you're such fucking perv... You know what? If you want it so bad... Why don't you take it..?"

It wasn't exactly an easy task to outright pull your roommate's dick out and fuck yourself on it. On the other hand, I was enjoying her reactions. A little hesitant at first, but she managed to pull my cock out. Her hand gently stroking along my member. Something she's grown familiar with these past few weeks. Her ass pressed against the tip of my cock. Guiding it along her slit to position it just right for the opening. Even with all that eager grinding, we found it difficult slide in completely. Hopping off my lap, she quickly got to her knees. Her soft tongue placed on the back of the tip. Her breath hit me causing me to twitch against her mouth. Drool slowly soaking the entire length. Her lips close giving it one final kiss before trying once more.

"Not so fast... Why don't you turn around... Welllll I wanna watch you enjoy yourself, of course... if you're going to be using me then I should at least be able to watch... I mean I'm not some toy you can just hop on for a bit... Unless that's the way you look at me... Right right... No no... I believe you..."

Timidly she crawled onto my lap, hovering over me, still completely anxious of what's to come. Deep breaths fill her chest before easing herself into my lap. Reaching into her depths, her head knocked back from the pleasure. Taking but a moment to claim herself again. Having been fucked all this time, she wasn't quite used to taking charge. She was scared. Yet never once did that stop her. Watching her sloppily shake her hips on my lap. Putting on her best performance. That insatiable throb coming back once again. Making us both moan. My hands grabbed her anxious hips giving way to a more gentle motion. Teaching her but the proper way. Not needing to rush nor having to please me but herself. Despite my provocation, this actually was for her. I found that it would be easier to use me if she saw how much I was enjoying it too. Watching her cunt continuously consume me. And even if I wanted to stay cool, I just couldn't.

"A-ahahaha... Mmm... Mmmpphh... Uhm... C-can you s-slow down a bit..? F-fuck... I r-really... Ughhh.... Mmm.... I-I really can't.... D-dude.... I m-might cum soon... S-slow down will you... Aaa..."

I was close. God, was I fucking close. A sick and twisted smile plastered over my face. Feeling fear. That once small and harmless animal now cornering me. It's ironic. So much so you can't help but just watch. This little thing was riding me like it was her job. Seeing as how I've become a complete mess under her guidance. Her movements became more erratic. Fucking herself on my cock. Getting off on more than just the pleasure, but by my reactions. Milking more and more of those tasteful sounds. Her cunt bouncing on the tip. The final straw. A violent string of orgasms causing me to moan into her mouth. Weeks of not being able to cum, now taking a toll on me. I sat back in defeat. Before I could even say another word, her lips were already locked around mine. Soft kisses meet at my lips. Not another single word was said between us that night. There was no uneasy feeling. Or guilt. I was happy. And she looked pretty damn happy too.

"Morning sleepy... Why so red? You only fucked my brains out and made out with me for half the night... Shut up? Or what? Gonna ride me again? Hahahahah... Oh nooo I'm so scared... Are you sure you don't remember who fucked who that night? I'm starting to think it was you... Ow ow ow okay okay... Hahahaha... So ready for round two? Ow ow okay... Jeez... Breakfast? Cool cool... I didn't hear no though so.... H-hey hey relax-"

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No Lube, No Protection

Honey

[psychedelic-ink]

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐌𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐰 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐝

pairing: pre outbreak!joel miller x f!reader, one sided tommy miller x f!reader

genre: angst, smut, romance, slow burn, mutual pining, secret relationship

series summary: After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

word count: 5.3k

chapter summary: You and Joel spend the night together.

warnings: piv sex, oral sex, breath play, dirty talk, fingering, spitting, cockwarming

Chapter Eight || Chapter Ten

You know these walls too well - they're thin as paper, carrying every sound from one room to the next. You can still vividly remember waking up to the sounds of your grandparents' murmurs and footfalls in the early hours of the morning when you and August were just kids. Sound travels easily when you aren’t careful. Both you and Joel had been cautious climbing up the stairs. August was still in the shower.  You can make out the steam billowing from under the bathroom door like a fiery dragon with sharp teeth. 

You close the door silently, Joel right behind you. He’s seen your room before but it feels different now, having him here. The air that surrounds you is heavy with tension and blurted out confessions. You didn’t think much when you invited him upstairs. All you knew is that you didn’t want to part from him. You wanted him to stay. Finding it too difficult to face him, you tentatively walk up to the window, your fingers curling around the edge of the curtains with the intention to close them. 

You can't help but think about the way his room is just across from yours. On your second day of living here, you noticed that your room looked directly into Joel's. It's like you're connected by some invisible thread. Tommy had stopped by later in the day, offering to show you around. You didn’t really need him to show you around. You already knew these parts well. But you accepted his kind offer anyway, knowing that the other man just wanted to get to know the new neighbor.

Joel creeps up behind you. His body firm and strong, his heat suffocating, his presence enough to crush you into nothingness. You notice the curtains to his bedroom are drawn tight and your stomach churns with something unpleasant. Joel traces a path down the delicate fabric of your dress with the back of his fingers, his touch following the gentle curve of your spine. You lean into his touch. The curve of your ass brush against the front of his jeans, and you can't help but let out a breath, the sound echoing through the quiet room. Your heart beats so loudly in your veins that you're sure Joel can hear it too.

“This is going to sound creepy but I always hated it when you closed the curtains.”

“I’ve never had a stalker before. It’s sweet.” he teases, kissing your shoulder. “Did you look into my room often?”

A puff of air escapes through your nostrils, “I wouldn’t say often. Just on days I felt lonely. It was more frequent when I first moved in, though. You were so cold to me back then.” 

“I had to be,” he murmurs, his voice sounding almost in pain. Guilty. “I was tryin’ to keep away from you.”

“Why?” 

“You know why.” 

You do. It’s more clear to you now. You think of all the times when Joel felt like nothing but a grumpy neighbor. Back then you had no inkling that his unpleasant mood had anything to do with Tommy. You also weren’t aware that Tommy wanted you in any way else but a friend. Guilt gnaws at your insides—you should stop this right? You should tell Joel to go home and wait until one of you explained the situation to Tommy. The younger Miller was contempt to be your friend, but would he be as understanding if he learned you were screwing his brother? You’re pretty postive that’s a big no-no in the brother handbook. Your thoughts wander to August. If the two of you fancied the same person, and said person chose him…you would want him to come clean right? It would be better compared to the alternative: Tommy catching you on Joel’s lap.

A chill settles at the end of your spine. You ignore the sudden excitement coursing through your veins. This isn’t quite the moment to be exploring what kinks you may or may not have. Almost angrily, you yank the curtains closed and turn to Joel. You throw your arms over his broad shoulders, pulling him close. 

Joel hums. His hands move up the back of your thighs, your skin prickles with a mix of excitement and apprehension. You feel the fabric of your skirt gather and lift, revealing more of yourself to him. Calloused fingers follow the swell of your ass. He feels the lace with his fingertips, tracing the patterns. It tickles. You feel a dampness collecting at the seam. Joel leans in, and you’re half convinced he knows the mess gathering between your thighs as he brushes his lips against yours. 

“This feels like a dream,” you whisper, eyes fluttering closed. 

“It’s not, sweetheart. Hey, look at me,” And you do. His pupils are blown wide like he’s taken every drug on the planet. Your pulse quickens. You feel the warmth of his hand envelop yours. He places the tingling limb against the front of his pants. You apply pressure. Feeling the thickness through his jeans. “See? You can feel me, right? Feel how hard you make me. I’m all flesh and bone, darlin’. Real. This ain’t no dream you’re gonna wake up from.” he lets out a deep, shuddering breath. “So if you want to stop, better tell me now.” 

You look into his eyes. You know that he means it. You know that if you show even a hint of reluctance, he would stop, no questions asked. He’s a good man. You can tell he’s trying very hard not to avert his gaze so you don’t think that he’s lying. Your heart beats steadily, every slow pump loud and deafening in your ears. Lifting your hand, you cup his cheek. His reaction is imminent. You feel the scruff of his cheek scratching the inside of your palm. The chafe alone to rising goosebumps over your warm skin. Somewhere you hear a clock. In his eyes, you see Dali’s Persistence Of Memory; colorful clocks melting away like cheese. Time is fleeting. Crumbling away. You’ve never felt that notion as strongly as you do now. As if the world is coming to an end soon; your body reacting and trying to warn you—SEIZE THIS MOMENT BEFORE IT’S GONE. 

Tears prick at the back of your eyes. Your steady heart now beating a mile a minute. You’re having trouble understanding what’s happening. Joel is here. He’s not going anywhere. You’re not going anywhere either. So why is your body reacting like it’s about to cease to exist? 

“I want this,” you gasp, voice quivering. “I don’t want to stop, Joel. I don’t want to waste any more time.” 

“Neither do I, darlin’.” 

Joel strips you slowly, stealing kisses as he lowers the zipper at the back. His fingers dance over the exposed skin and slide up to your shoulders. He pushes down the straps of your dress. Your breath catches in your throat. Joel doesn’t allow the dress to fall, instead, he holds it gently and pulls it down, kneeling as he does so. You feel his lips on your bare thighs. He moves up to your clothed sex and presses his lips against the mound, inhaling your scent. Arousal builds sticky and wet underneath the fabric. Your legs start to tremble, prompting Joel to grip the back of them, steadying you. He makes his way up leisurely. Kissing your stomach, the skin above your sternum and following a path to your neck. 

By the time he reaches your lips again, you’re begging him to touch you. His name a prayer exhaled from your lungs. His tongue follows the seam of your lips and as you open up for him, he undoes the clasp of your bra. It falls to the floor softly, joining your dress. He takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring. Joel presses into you, his large hands cupping and kneading your breasts as he shoves his tongue deeper, groaning into your mouth. You mold into each other. He leaves no room to breathe, suffocating you, his tongue sliding over yours. You’d happily die in his arms. 

Both his thumbs simultaneously swipe over your peaked nipples and you break away. The sudden flow of oxygen makes your world spin. He’s still hungry for you. Dipping into your neck and sucking the sensitive skin. Your head falls back, his one hand slips to your back, holding you. 

“Let me taste you,” he mutters. 

Joel falls to his knees once more. A sign of worship. He slips his fingers under the elastic of your underwear, pulling down the fabric. You hiss when the cool air chills your soaked folds. He hums in approval, his eyes glued to you as your underwear joins the pile of clothes. Mesmerized, he pushes to fingers between the lips, stroking your clit and feels your growing wetness. 

“Shit, sweetheart. What a pretty cunt. This all for me?” 

“Yes,” you swallow audibly and he smiles, his eyes meeting yours. “All of it is for you, Joel.” 

Numerous nights you have thought of him; his fingers, his tongue, his cock. But none of it—none of it could’ve prepared you for the actual thing. 

Your knees buckle at his first taste of you. He squeezes your thighs, smoothing his palms over your tight flesh. You can’t help it though, you’re shaking like a leaf. Joel doesn’t seem to care. In fact, it looks like he enjoys how quickly you submit to him. He groans into your cunt, tongue delving deeper between your folds as his nose nudges repeatedly against your clit. Every stroke of the warm muscle a pRickling sense of pleasure that sears your skin. 

You whimper, “J-Joel—I…It’s t’much. I can barely stand.” 

His eyes flicker upward to meet yours. Mouth still buried in your pussy, wiggling his tongue as you coat his chin with slick. He observes you for a moment. Takes in your heavy gaze, your parted lips, your sweat-soaked skin. 

Joel briefly removes himself from you, a string of saliva following his lips. You swallow. 

“Fine,” he rasps, his drawl heavier than usual. “Lay on the floor.” 

“W-What?” 

Immediately after you’re tripping backwards, his hands coming around you to cushion your fall. You can't help the giggle that escapes your throat.

“Joel, there’s a bed right there.” 

“Later,” he murmurs and dips into your heat again. “I haven’t had my fill of you yet and I’m out of patience.” 

There’s something wildy erotic about being on the floor, spread out for him. Like a tired warrior finally collecting his spoils. He pushes your legs over his shoulders, saliva-filled mouth hovering an inch away from your pussy. He breaths heavily, watching you pulse and drip. Joel spreads you with two fingers, pointed tongue swirling around your clit before he dips lower, stroking and massaging you with his mouth. Your head falls back, pleasure raking over your skin. Joel is still fully clothed. You love being exposed to him like this. So needy, and bare, and open. He takes it, happily—takes every part of you and cherishes it. It almost makes you want to cry. He’s so willing. And he’s making you feel incredibly good with his mouth. He’s lost in you, and you’re lost in him. 

“Does it feel good?” he groans, not bothering to look at you. Despite him not being able to see, you let out a whimper and nod frantically. He nips at the skin right under your pubic bone. “Tell me it feels good, honey.” 

“It does,” you choke out with a strangled moan. “God, it feels so good. I think—” 

I love you— 

You cut off before the words can spill. You can’t. Not now. Not when you just got him. You blame the heavy fog that settles over your brain. You feel for him, this much you both know— but your feelings can’t be that strong yet. It’s just the hopeless romantic in you that wants to take control. 

You’re not sure if Joel fills in the blanks of where your sentence was leading to. Your thighs bracket his face, soft flesh closed over his burning red ears. The only indication that gives you a hint that he heard you is from the way he groans and tilts your hips up, pushing his tongue into the tight ring.  

A loud gasp rips from your throat. You nearly scream his name, covering your mouth at the very last second. You’re positive he noticed that. Heat coils under the soft flesh of your stomach. He wiggles his way deeper, pushing, pushing and pushing. His mouth moves languidly between the slit. A gentle caress from his lips. You grip his head, back forming the perfect arch as you start to grind down, chasing your lingering orgasm. 

But then you lose him, and you nearly sob. 

“No,” he says, his voice scratchy and deep. “Let me make you come. I want to explore you, sweet girl. Want to see what makes you tick.” 

“B-But—” 

“Do you trust me?” 

You dare and look down. His eyes are rounder, charcoal pupils eating at the color of his eyes, dilated with lust. Swallowing thickly, you nod. You catch his mischievous smirk as he dips back down between your legs. 

Before you feel his mouth again, without warning he purses his lips and spits—loudly. It lands on your clit, the gentle force of it making you jump and hiss between clenched teeth. He starts rubbing your clit, wickedly, and when he’s satisfied with the extra shine of your pussy, he spits again. Seeing him makes your eyes roll back, a string of spit connecting him with you. Your chest heaving, you feel another gush of arousal rolling down your sensitive skin. He’s unbelievable. You’ve never expected him to be so raw and visceral. 

“My pretty neighbor all spread out for me,” he groans, rubbing two fingers over your aching clit. The sudden pressure makes you jolt. “God, honey, I could just spend the rest of my days between your legs. Tasting you, watchin’ you go stupid for me.” 

You garble out something inaudible. Joel grins and lowers his mouth, swiping his tongue over you before looking up again. “What was that?” he teases. “I couldn’t quite catch what you said?” 

You swallow and lick your lips, your mouth drier than sandpaper. “Mouth.” you say, the rest of the words dying on your tongue. 

“Mouth?” he grins. “Mouth where?” your breath catches in your throat when instead of feeling him on your throbbing pussy, you feel him against the inside of your thigh. “Here?” he asks. “Or…here?” then he presses his mouth above your mound, taking in a deep breath. “Oooor—” 

“Fuck, Joel stop,” you snap, tugging at his hair. “My pussy. I want your mouth on my pussy—Please…” 

Time slows. His gaze moves to you languidly, flitting across your face, taking in the state you’re in. He reaches out, swiping a tear that had unknowingly escaped the confinements of your lashes. 

“Okay,” he whispers, the trace of cruel mocking gone. “You look so pretty right now. You know that right?” 

He says it so earnestly that, despite not truly believing it, you nod. This seems to comfort him because his swollen lips close over your clit, sucking hard. A moan rips from the back of your throat. Your nails biting into his scalp. He sucks again, tongue lapping at the sensitive nub rapidly. His name falls from your lips. Your legs trembling as it frames his face, the burn from his beard a pleasant one. He moves down and pushes his tongue inside you, fucking you with it. Two fingers deftly circle your clit—It’s too much. He’s giving you everything, all at once. Spit drips down to your chin, your mouth dropping wide with no noise. 

Heat rolls in your stomach, spreads all across your body. Your skin prickles and your walls start to flutter, squeezing his tongue. 

Your orgasm rips away from you. It’s violent, lingering over the line of being downright painful. Your eyes snap wide, panic flares in you when you realize all those voices you held back started to bubble from your lungs and move up your throat. Your vocal cords shaking with a need to shout. Your nostrils flare, your lungs expand, his name is on the tip of your tongue, about to burst. All the while your orgasm still rolls over you, leaving you dizzy and aching between your legs. But before your fear of your brother hearing you comes into reality, Joel clamps a hand over your mouth, his heavy palm muffling the voices. 

The strokes of his tongue become softer, slower—sweeter. Like cool velvet on your burning skin. You exhale through your nose, the remnants of your orgasm fading. Your breathing evens out and his hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb stroking the skin gently. He kisses the swell of your stomach and you whine at the loss of his sinful tongue. 

“Wow,” he croaks, making his way up your body. His lips glistens with slick, his mustache damp. A lazy smile blossoms on your lips. “You taste amazing. Best thing I’ve tasted in my life.” 

“I guess dinner wasn’t good then.” 

He chuckles, wet lips brushing over yours. “That ain’t what I meant, sweetheart. Your chicken was great.” 

“I’m glad.” 

You slightly shift to get more comfortable, and when you do, Joel let’s out a strangled moan. With a look of mischief, your smile shifts into a grin. He’s embarrassed, his eyes dropping to your chest instead of holding your gaze. A beautiful shade of red spreads out from his chest and darkens his neck. Still smiling, you lift yourself and press your mouth into the crook of his neck, sucking the sweat-soaked skin tenderly. 

“Joel?” you ask and he hums, eyes fluttering closed. “Do you want to fuck me now?” 

He grunts, “God, yes.” 

“Do you want to move to the bed?” 

Joel mulls over your question for a moment. His chin shifts to one side then the other, then, with a shy smile, he meets your gaze. 

“I—” he clears his throat. “I kinda like it…being on the floor. If that’s okay? I promise after that we’ll get on the bed.” 

Your smile never faltering, you nod. You’re happy you’re not the only one enjoying the  instinctiveness of being on the floor. His hands skim down your body, one finding purchase between the curve of your back and the floor. He gently cups your hip, pressing his fingers into the flesh. “Are you uncomfortable?” 

“Not at all.” 

He’s been waiting for that answer because as soon as you give it to him, his hand is between your bodies, unzipping himself with one hand and pulling his cock out. You salivate when you feel the heavy weight of him over your stomach. A bead of precum sticks to your skin, he rolls his hips, smearing wetness over your lower abdomen. You sigh blissfully, head falling and your legs parting to accommodate the width of his hips. 

Sitting back on his knees, he slowly touches his cock, watching your pliant body overcoursed by tremors. With a deep sigh, your eyes drop to his length. It shouldn’t surprise you that he has a pretty dick. Your mouth waters. He’s thick, and the thought of him stretching you makes you clench and drool all over the carpet underneath. He’s definitely been blessed and you keen at the sight of him poking through his jeans. His palm swipes over the head, coating himself in a sheer amount of precum. Soft, dark curls crown the base. You imagine yourself taking him between your lips, feeling him throb deep within your throat, constructing your breathing. 

With a soft moan, your fingers trace the slit of your sex, you’re so wet. 

“You’re temptin’ me to just come like this,” he coos, stealing the air from your lungs. 

You change the subject, eager to see more of his sunkissed skin, “Aren’t you going to take off your clothes?” 

“Later,” he dismisses again, aligning himself with your entrance. You feel the tip of his cock and shudder.

“Oh, you like this hmm?” you purr, watching his brows pinch together with confusion. “You like having me all naked and vulnerable—completely at your mercy, while you’re still fully clothed, only your dick out—ah,” you pant heavily as he starts to fuck you with just the tip, working you open. A smile tugs at his lips. “Don’t worry, I love it too—god, I love it so much. I love opening up myself to you, Joel. I wish I could rip my chest open and show you all of it.” 

He doesn’t answer with his words but with his body instead. He burrows himself into your space, his mouth finding yours in a sloppy kiss. Tongues and lips moving haphazardly, a confession of sorts. He sinks into you, inch by inch. His weight presses down on you, and you feel a familiar tingle spreading from your toes to your spine. He breathes praise into your skin. Telling you how good you feel, how well you’re taking him. You accept the whispered words with an eagerness that surprises even you. Your arch into him, body bending in a way so that his cock slides further in. 

You wrap your arms and legs around him, pulling him closer as he fills you up completely. It’s overwhelming. Your walls flutter to accommodate to his width. Hot breath ghosting down your cheek, he decorates your face with delicate, fleeting kisses.

“Can I move, sweetheart? You feel so fuckin’ good.” he accentuates every word with the slow roll of his hips. “I’ve thought about you like this. So many times.” 

“You have?” 

Joel takes that as his cue to start moving, his hips grinding against yours in a slow, steady rhythm. The warmth between your legs spreads throughout your body, and you can feel yourself getting lost.

“I have. But none of it could compare to the actual thing.” 

His hands roam over your body, tracing the curves and valleys of your skin as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You arch your back, offering yourself up to him, and he takes the invitation eagerly. His thrusts become harder, faster. You wrap your hand around his neck, pulling him in for a deep kiss. This time you’re the one to slip your tongue into his mouth, tasting him and pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. He groans into the kiss, hips stammering forward. His chest heaves. 

Joel breaks the kiss to bury his face in your neck, breathing heavily as he pounds into you. You tighten your grip around him, urging him on. A moment later he’s pushing your legs up, hamstrings stretching and thinning. It aches. Into your skin, he’s whispering that he’s close, and it’s followed up by frantic apologies that dampen your neck. Your nails bite into the muscles of his back. You breathe heavily through your nose, biting back moans. He’s drilling into you, a sensation akin to being split in half warming your body. With every snap of his hips, you pulse around him, clenching and squeezing him tight as he fucks your next orgasm out of you. It’s too much, too sudden, and you’re crying. Silent tear pools down from your lashes. 

Joel hears the way your breath catches in your throat and moves away only to press his lisp into your eyes. He’s still sputtering out apologies, telling you that it’s okay, that it feels so good and that he has you. Warmth blossoms in your chest and you melt into the floor, your body only for him to use. 

With a high pitched sound dropping from his lips, Joel pulls out. His movements sloppy and eager, he rubs his hard length over your mound, the head catching against the swell of your stomach. You shudder when he groans, it’s raw and animalistic. He coats your trembling body with his seed, warm and wet, dripping down and staining the rug. You let out a stuttering breath and Joel leans in to kiss you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, lips brushing your hairline. “I wanted to last longer.” 

You smile, nuzzling up to his neck. “That’s okay,” you answer. “I take it as a compliment. Nothing more sexy than someone being so into you that they lose a bit of themselves, right?” Joel nods, knowing well what you meant. You press your lips against the bald patch of his beard. He smiles. “Besides, you can make it up to me. If you really want to.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, dipping down for another kiss. “You can't even begin to imagine the things I'm about to do to you.”

A soft orange light caused by a street lamp nearby trickles from between the curtains. The light forms a sharp streak from between the windows to the bed. Your clothes glow golden on the floor, alongside with Joel’s. It’s late. The sky a shiny black as the rest of the neighborhood sleeps soundly. It’s been long since August’s bedroom door echoed closed into the night. Joel had his hand pressed tightly against your mouth. Your nostrils flare with each breath. Your stomach sinks into the matress, his hips slowly rocking into you, soft, wet sounds making your skin prickle with pleasure. His body a comfortable weight above you, screaming comfort. 

“Such a perfect cunt for me to fill,” Joel breathes into your ear. You shudder, a muffled moan bouncing against his palm. He clicks his tongue. “So noisy. I’m startin’ to believe you want to get caught with all the trouble you’re makin’ me go through to keep you quiet.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, your hips jerking to meet his slow thrusts. A sharp exhale leaves your nose. You’re burning all over, sweat clinging to you like a second skin. He grinds himself deeper, pinching your nose with his thumb and forefinger, you jolt only for Joel to shush you. 

“I think I just hit the nail on the head,” he mutters. Your chest expands, your lungs starting to burn and head growing dizzy. “Fuck—Sweetheart, you’re squeezin’ me so tight. You want the world to hear don’t you, how much you love takin’ me? So perfect, so so perfect. I love fuckin’ you nice and slow.” 

You pulse around him, soaking him as slick trickles down your thighs and wets the bed. Your eyes roll back and your body juts uncontrollably. The lack of air adds pressure to your temples, but it feels so good. You want him to control everything like this. You want him to be in charge as you roll about life, only to come back to him. 

He removes his fingers, oxygen filling you once more. His palm is still heavy over your lips. Joel drags his nose up the frame of your face, gently nipping the skin above your cheekbone. 

“Jesuus,” he groans. “Did you come, darlin’? Just from that?” he sounds almost delirious, joyful. His strokes become faster, harder. You squirm underneath. Joel’s hand moves up from your mouth to your hairline, pushing sweat-soaked strands away from your forehead. His lips touch your cheek. “Such a needy thing.” 

You close your eyes and breathe heavily through parted lips, a half smile curving at the corner of your lips. You were needy. You don’t ever want to let him go. You want him to hold you like this until the end of the earth. 

You want this night to last forever.

It’s the early hours of the morning. You stir awake with hands gripping tightly at your waist. You blink away the dampness of your eyes. The street lamps are turned off, the sky now a muted, grayish blue. Joel’s hands skim down your body, still reaking of sex and sweat. Your ass is bare, and he caresses the warm flesh. His cock is heavy and hard, pressing between himself and the small of your back. You sigh, rolling your hips. He lets out a choked out sound, his lips now touching the back of your neck. It feels like a dream; laying naked with him here. It’s a beautiful thing. Exquisite. 

“You can’t sleep?” you ask silently, afraid to disturb the approaching day. 

“Too many thoughts,” he grumbles accompanied by a soft movement from his hips. You let out a sigh. 

“What thoughts?” 

He wets his bottom lip, “Borin’ stuff. But the main focus is always how I want to bury myself into this here sweet pussy of yours.” 

“You have quite the mouth on you, Mr. Miller,” with a smile, you shift and turn to him. His hand falling to your waist. You don’t want to think of what these “boring stuff” were. But you do have a sneaking suspicion it was to do with You, Tommy…Sarah. He’s thinking of all those who might get hurt by this, or affected. In all honesty, you don’t think Sarah would mind, but then again, you don’t really know much about her relationship with her mother. Being the nice neighbor is one thing, being in a relationship with her father is another. 

“Hey, where’d you go?” 

Blinking, your gaze meets Joel’s. He smiles and his thumb comes up to swipe the skin under your eyes. Where he touches burns. You mimic his expression and smile back, then you shake your head. 

“Nowhere,” you answer. “I’m right here. And what you want can be arranged, you know?” 

He hums, eyes dropping to your chest and pebbled nipples. “Can it, now.” 

Joel cups between your legs, middle fingers sneaking between your soaked folds. He tenderly circles your clit. “You sure you aren’t too sore?” he asks. 

“Hmmm, I don’t think I can handle you fucking me into oblivion again, but I can most certainly warm your cock. Help you sleep.” 

“What an angel.” 

You bark a humorless laugh. “Yup, that’s me. Miss angel, right here.” 

“You’re thinkin’ about him aren’t you?” he asks, pushing a finger in. You suck in a breath, your body starting to shake. Joel massages your walls, working you open as his gaze searches for something in your eyes. “You’re not alone in this. I hope you know that. He’s my brother, if anythin’ I should be the one takin’ the weight of this. Not the other way around.” 

“That’s not true. We’re both responsible about what might happen,” you sigh, heat licking the base of your spine. His lips brush your forehead as he pulls out his fingers and them with the head of his cock instead. You shuffle closer. “I think I’m just scared. This is all so new. Losing you is the last thing I want.”

“You ain’t gonna lose me,” he quickly says. “And we don’t have to tell anyone right now,” he adds with a whisper. He fills you, and it’s the most glorious feeling in the world. You throw your arm over his shoulder, pulling his chest flushed against yours. A faint pain blossoms between your legs, you moan at the feeling. “It can be just this. We’re in no rush.” 

You have so much more you want to say. But you don’t. Instead you revel in the feeling of him inside, pulsing, and throbbing. He so close that you can hear his heart beat. He’s right, there’s no need to rush this. Maybe a weak later you would return to just being the woman that lives next door, who’s to say? There’s no need to stir anything in your already chaotic lives. 

Joel nuzzles your neck, kissing the hard interior. He rests his forehead there, taking deep breaths of your scent. You want to move closer —if possible— but you’re afraid that when you do, you’ll won’t be able to hold yourself. And you’re enjoying the feeling of him inside too much to want this to end. 

“Better?” you croak out, playing with the damp ends of his hair. He nods. 

“It’s way better,” he murmurs, voice deep with sleep. “See you in the mornin’ neigbour.” 

“See you in the morning.” 

a/n: wooooo we got a new moodboard! Isn't that exciting??? I also have another one I made for a specific arc that'll last a couple of chapters but other than that, this one will probably be staying until the end so I hope you like it!

Also I'm stupidly happy to finally be writing smut for these two dfvfdvbf no one warned me that writing a slowburn would be essentially edging yourself lmaodfvdf many more horny chapter are to come! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and if you have any questions or things you want to see happen, let me know! Sending kisses and hugs to the lot of you 🧡

[misc-obeyme]

Solomon Alone

Okay I am having some health issues, but I've been feeling pretty good today. And since I have some energy, I'm also kind of on a roll with writing tonight. I don't think I've ever posted two things in one day, but hey I'm just gonna go with it.

It's another Solomon story because I'm obsessed with him. This is a pretty short one about how he might be feeling after Lesson 12. This is assuming he doesn't have ulterior motives or anything.

It's a bit different from my usual fluff... I would say this one is all angst, but listen I don't question my muse when that slacker finally shows up.

Solomon x GN!MC

Warnings: Hurt/angst and SPOILERS for Lesson 12 of Nightbringer

Solomon watched as you lost consciousness. He heard himself asking Thirteen what to do, heard her say she couldn't help. He heard the brothers crying out your name, hoping you would somehow wake up. He saw the look of anguish on Lucifer's face, even as he held the grimoire that you had handed over to him.

Through a fog, Solomon helped the demons bring you out of the reaper's cave. When they were prepared to bring you back to Cocytus Hall, he told them to take you to the House of Lamentation instead. He convinced them that you would be most comfortable in the spare room there.

And Solomon went back to Cocytus Hall alone. He walked through it in a daze, not at all registering the environment around him. His mind was fully occupied by the sight of you falling to the ground, struck by the magic of the fountain.

When Satan came to talk to him about researching curses, Solomon listened. He agreed to help Satan look through all of the books they could find on the subject. It was a welcome distraction. It slowly pulled him out of the fog that had clouded his mind. He spent hours and hours reading through those books. All day and all night, he tried to find the answer to what had happened to you.

Because now that he was thinking a little more clearly… wasn't all of this his fault?

Solomon was the one who brought you to Thirteen's cave, to the Fountain of Knowledge. If he hadn't done that, if you hadn't been there when you made that promise, then you would still be awake right now.

That guilt was something he couldn't afford to think about too much. He threw himself into the research to prevent it from crushing him entirely. Not now, not while you still needed him.

He could face the shame of what he had done when you were awake again. He knew he would have to. He wouldn't be able to look into your eyes or see your brilliant smile without also feeling the heaviness of knowing he had caused your suffering.

It was easier with you resting at the House of Lamentation. He must have known that subconsciously when he convinced the brothers to take you there. He knew each of them would be spending time by your side, taking care of you. It allowed him to stay away so he could focus on fixing the mess he'd made.

It was only one of the many reasons he had sent you with them, though. The fact was, there were seven of them and only one of him. He couldn't take care of you the way they could. He could try to give you everything he had, give you all of his love, all of his knowledge, every part of him. And still they would always be able to give you more.

Solomon was sure you'd have an opinion on his thoughts if you were here to express them. Even so he felt himself reverting back to being nothing more than your teacher. You were his adorable apprentice and he would always be proud of you. He would do all he could to make sure you knew the magic you needed to survive and thrive in the Devildom and the human world.

He would teach you all he could no matter what, but he knew he couldn't hold onto you forever.

Solomon sat alone in his room at Cocytus Hall. A room you had poked your head into to ask him about this or that. A place where you sometimes looked for him to talk to him about your day or ask him questions about things that were on your mind.

It seemed like anywhere he went in the hall, there you were. The ghostly memory of you, standing in the kitchen making breakfast or sitting in an overstuffed chair in the library, reading. He saw you everywhere and the reality of your absence pulsed through his bones, settling into a dull ache. He was so good at ignoring this pain while he worked, it was days before he admitted to himself just how much he missed you.

And while working and researching was the only thing that was keeping him from falling into that pain, there was a little voice of doubt in the back of his mind. He couldn't help having the suspicion that your curse would break without him. That it didn't matter how much time he spent going through piles of books, that in the end it would be your tie to the brothers that would wake you up.

That once again, he would only be able to stand by and watch as magic beyond his control altered you and your life.

More than anything, Solomon was afraid that he couldn't save you.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[pupyr0arz]

May we have a crumb of kidnapper!Gaz cuddling with his beloved? After bringing them nice gifts just bc so ofc theyd let him love on them bc he treats them like a deity?

Ask and ye shall receive 🫡 it gets there eventually. I might write more straight fluff after this.

He watches as you flip through the glossy catalogue. He gives you new ones every other day, it feels, leaflets and cutouts and magazines. Women’s clothing, men’s clothing, food, perfume, watches for you to show any interest in any of the pictures. He still doesn’t trust you with anything electronic, even with him in the room, and gave you a tight smile when you asked. You ignore the guilt you feel for bothering him about his rules, the welling shame that he’s stressed over you when you refuse to eat. Leftover, misplaced reactions. You haven’t seen another  in months, it feels, he’s taken up the spots of your friends and family when you got particularly depressed, and you’re stupid brain is transferring that onto him.

You snap out the scented cardpaper that came with the magazine, activating it with a rub of your fingernail. It smells like flowers more than it does chemicals, hearty and thick. He doesn’t seem to have much of a budget, like some kind of cartoonish villain that spawned from somewhere. Some lonely rich man refusing to fed his dog anything but imported caviar. 

“Do you like it?” He interjects, leaning forwards with his hands on his thighs. They twitch, and you know he wants to grab you, but he doesn’t touch you. He never does. What kind of man kidnaps someone, and then respects their boundaries afterwards? “It’s a nice brand.” He encourages, like he’s asking a toddler to eat their vegetables, like when he’s bothering you about your health. “I’ve found myself a fan.”

You already know he wears perfume. You set the card down before you crush it, not wanting to dwell on that memory with him in the room. “I think it’s fine.” You say roughly, and you know you’ll wake up with it on your nightstand like everything you show the tiniest smidge of approval for. The angry tone of your train of thought sputters and stops as a smile breaks out over his face, eyes softening. 

“Thank you,” he says like you’ve just jumped into traffic to save his dog’s life, and you have to cling on to the head of resentment that he’s doing this to fuck with you. It’s the only thing in this goddamn room you can hold on to, your fingers will slip on silk sheets and his stupid outfits and nice words.

“When do I get out of the dungen?” You prod, and a flash of annoyance crosses his face. He hates what you call ‘your room’, carefully insists upon it being your home now, like some kind of refuge. You aren’t of the opinion that anything involving chloroform counts. 

“Sweetness,I want you to get settled in first, you know that.” He chides softly. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t hit you, doesn’t do a goddamn thing but treat you like some fucked up stray he picked up off the street. Your eyes dart to his hand. He doesn’t have a bandage there anymore, and you resist the impulse to reach out, open the floodgates and feel for any remaining damage. “You don’t need to be more stressed than you already are. I promise, when you’re feeling up to it I’ll take you out. Wherever you want.”

“My house?” You jab and he leans back, gives you a conflicted look like he cares and you cut him off. “What if I never get better?”

His brow furrows. “You’re improving.” He says, but you have him on the back foot now.

“It’s been months, hasn’t it? I’m still not ‘adjusted’.” The magazine crumples in your fist. “What if I don’t break like you want me to? If you can’t fuckng Stockholm syndrome me into your pet?”

Kyle doesn’t look scared, or even upset. His face had smoothed out sometime during your rant into warm, affectionate amusement. “Darling,” he says, tone indulgent, “My career gives me some insight here. We might be taking it slow, but you’ve made so much progress. We’ve made so much progress.” He gets off of the bed, raising a hand to cut off your attempt at retort. His anxiety is replaced with his calm, confident conviction. 

“I promise, everything is going to work out like I told you.” He pauses, and adds in a more condescending voice, “do you think I  don’t know what I’m doing?”

You drop the baller up magazine on the ground, bile welling up in your throat, and flop onto your bed. You bury your face into your soft pillows like some kind of stupid teenager, fear and helplessness making you clench your fists because he believes it, he absolutely believes it'll work, that he can wear you down, and he’s not going to let you go. 

He picks up the magazine before he leaves. He’ll be back in what you’ve taken to calling half an hour, give or take, ready to start prying at you again. It’s still at least eight more days of this before you have the chance for a short break, if he vanishes off to work where he studies psychological torture and kills people with the million guns in his car.

You can’t help but believe it too.

—

You wake up feeling uniquely reckless. You’re alone right now, which is probably better because if he was here you might lung at him, if just to soothe the unplaceable itch underneath your skin. You can’t help but think of it as a game some days, some fucked up chess where you gain some by lashing out but lose more because of the way he smiles at you while he holds an ice pack to your jaw, apologizes for holding you down while you scream and thrash at him.

You want to tear up your sheets, but you can’t muster up the energy when he’ll have them replaced without a second glance. It feels like you can’t make mistakes here, like he doesn’t want a single thing from you.

You know what he wants.

You roll out of bed, flipping off the security camera in the teddy bear on your nightstand. He coats everything he does in pastels 

and soft words and sweet things and it’s like punching a goddamn pillow. Not a speck of resistance, not a sign you’re making progress convincing him you’re a bad captive to have. 

You take a sandwich and a carton of milk out of your mini-fridge, wanting to get it out of the way before he decided to come down and needle you to stick to your meal plan. You sit down at your little dolls-table, on your little dolls-chair with your plastic utensils. Maybe if you’re lucky he’ll go out today, leave you in the quiet for a few days. Long enough to remind yourself that glass breaks and you can bleed without him there to wipe everything spotless. Short enough that you don’t start rotting inside. It’s never that lucky, you’re always left trying to keep from watching the door, pretending you don’t hope that it’s his smiling face ready to carve away your memories of times without him.

You don’t know how many more points of failure you have left in you before you have to give up the ghost. You unclench your jaw, sticking your tongue beneath your teeth so you don’t grind your teeth together. You’re developing too many stress habits. He doesn’t tell you you’re being hysterical, but as you sit on a cushioned seat in a room full of all your favorite things, while eating your favorite foods, you’re starting to forget the taste of chloroform.

—

You wake to the side of your bed dipping under Kyle’s weight. He smells like gunpowder and wet leather, unfamiliar and harsh in the enclosed vivarium that’s become your home. Kyle’s wearing his outside clothes, usually so careful to keep the glossy barrier separating you from his work intact. You stare into the dark, not turning over as your limbs lock. Old, bad habits. He knows you’re awake.

“Sweetness,” he mutters in the dark, “can I touch?” He doesn’t say please, but you can imagine the word hanging heavy behind his lips, his pleading eyes locked on you.

“Yeah,” you mutter back, rolling onto your back. His hands come up immediately, shoving under your shirt and you yelp at the touch of his icy fingertips. Kyle tuts, pressing his head into your cheek, shushing you like some hysterical mutt. He’s glued to you in what must be seconds, determined to tangle your limbs together like every time he touches you it’s the last. 

It doesn’t burn, but it melts something in you, angry scattered half thoughts of pushing Kyle away or denying him crumbling into inconceivable dust when he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek. Tentatively, you twine your fingers with him and his breath hitches, and then he sighs, ecstasy incarnate, relaxing on you with his full weight.

“I love you,” Kyle tells you like it’s a secret every time, like the words are something he’s stolen and fought and killed for. He has, and he’s come to present them to you like the jewels and the books and the presents. “I love you with my whole heart, every inch.”

You swallow, tucking Kyle’s head under your chin, feeling the warmth of his breath on your neck. “Okay,” you say, your voice very small and not quite there, but Kyle’s hand squeezes painfully tight for just a second. It’s the first time you’ve said a single word when he tells you, and you know it’s as good as at this point.

“So much,” Kyle says, voice wrecked like you’ve done something to him, tugging him undone with just your voice.

“Yeah.”

[bueris]

not going home club (hiori yo)

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angst, hiori parent bashing, 1.9k words

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Music blasted in his ears, as loud as he could stand it, heavy bass and raggedly screamed lyrics drowning out his roommates conversation. God, guys his age could be so fucking loud and for what? To be stupid? Yeah, he was being salty but when wasn’t he, he just made sure no one else saw it.

Hiori remembered the sentence that made the headphones get brought out, it wasn’t even a full one…

“When I go home-” and that’s all he heard before he decided to tap out of the conversation. His headphones were in his hands and turned on before he really recognised what he was doing, getting frustrated with the way they refused to pair with his phone. They did eventually though, thank fucking god for that, and metal was playing through them soon after.

Sure, he felt slightly guilty for getting pissed over some small and insignificant comment his friend said. But he didn’t do anything, didn’t yell or get pissy so maybe he shouldn’t beat himself up so damn much. Still, though, he felt silly for getting so worked up for something so small but hey, he had his reasons.

The thought of going home felt physically repulsive, like he wanted to rip out from his skin and get as far away from the thought as possible. Whenever the thought crossed his mind it felt like his whole brain came to a full stop, like it hit a brick wall that prevented him from continuing along those tracks. 

Of course he didn’t want to go back, he had no plan to, actually. His parents didn’t give a fuck about him, Yo, the child they had, no they only gave a fuck about what he could do, pressing him into their shitty mould to coping with being second rate halfwits who couldn’t succeed with their own lives. Seriously, Yo’d seen those American pageant videos online, you know the one, dozens of little kids forced into the stupidest, most invasive procedures to live out the half baked dreams of their mothers who only wanted to live through them by dressing them up like they were a doll and not a person.

He related to those kids so fucking much it hurt, yeah he liked doing football now but in no way did that mean that he forgave his parents for being like that. The way waking up felt pointless and empty because the day would be filled with doing shit you had no fucking say in built up over years and crushed him with its void-like weight, soul sucking and soul crushing.

Sometimes he feels like he’d betrayed himself, his young self, the one who hurt his ankle and realised his parents didn’t really love him in the same few minutes, the one that desperately tried to be good so they’d keep loving him and more importantly each other, by learning to enjoy football in his own way. That petulant child kicked him on the inside, cleat covered foot driving its too-firm outsole into the backs of him eyes, reminding him of everything that drove him insane.

Yo didn’t really feel guilt about the resentment he harboured for his parents, no, he couldn’t. They really were exceptionally stupid, emotional creatures that were so desperate for the centre of the limelight that they just had to make a whole new person about it? He felt angry on behalf of his younger self too, how dare they do something so fucking selfish? How dare they play with him like he didn’t have his own personhood? How fucking dare they.

Ever since the incident on the stairs he’d doubted every ‘kind’ action they made, doubted the sincerity in them, doubted their motivations. It always felt forced but now he knew it absolutely was, there only just to fulfil his basic needs so he wouldn’t have a breakdown mid match or something, or god forbid, end up in therapy when he could be practising.

God it made him feel mental, how long could someone go without genuine human contact without losing it? He found out, sixteen years. Sixteen years and he still clung on. And he was mad he was clinging on, because he shouldn’t have to fucking cling to the edges of his stability with often-forced politeness, he deserved better.

And that’s why he would never go back home, when Blue Lock was over and he’d ultimately failed because being a striker wasn’t even his goal anymore he’d leave for Tokyo instead of home the second he was left unattended and disappear into the grey jungle and make it alone no matter what. Going home was the same as being stuffed back into a display home, and on top of that he’d have to deal with his parents coping with his failure.

The thought brought a smile to his face, actually, wouldn’t it be so fucking funny to watch their faces fall when his foot crossed the threshold? To watch as half of their lives crumbled into nothing with his very presence, to try and wrap their tiny minds around the fact they’d never get the spotlight they wanted. It was a gleeful feeling, to imagine they’d be crushed with hopelessness, folding under the weight of disappointment the same way he did when he realised he was only worth as much as his football was to them.

Often though, the anger and its accompanying vengeful joy shattered into pained fragments, stabbing and poking at him with an overwhelming sense of loss. If only his parents actually loved him, if only they could look at him and truly see him, witness his truth that strayed from the path they set out and still cradle him in their arms with love and sweet words.

It ached, that longing, constantly. Sometimes it was ignorable but most of the time he could tell it was there, looming over his head like the worst, most decrepit kind of shadow. An all consuming void that soaked up genuine praise like a parched sponge, but never felt full, never satiated. Sometimes he just craved to be held like he should’ve as a child.

Other times, that being most, the waves of anger intersected with the waves of sadness and they dulled each other out like opposite colours being mixed together, red and blue forced to co-exist in the childhood shaped hole in his mind. They cancelled out, filling the base of his being, the root of his psyche with a nothing colour that felt like it could block out the sun. That nothing feeling was so normal, it was everyday, it felt so weird because it was like walking around half deaf. The numbness didn’t feel like much, because he didn’t feel like much and he hadn’t for a very long time, the only breaks from it were filled with ugly feelings he’d rather ignore.

He felt tired a lot of the time, a consequence of the numbness sometimes and a result of his anger burning too bright at others. The tiredness after a bout of anger felt so bone deep, probably because it was, he had nowhere to put it and it dug through the fibres of his muscles and into his bone marrow and from the blood they produced the tiredness spread and filled him. Yo wished his anger could go somewhere, disappear off of his head like steam from water when he put his head on the pillow to finally sleep, he really wished it could.

Blue Lock felt like a monumental chore at first, playing along until he got far enough for his parents to not disown him instantly then quit and disappear. Oh, he wished he could disappear, pack his life into a bag or two and vanish from the face of the earth. Not only that, no, he wanted it to hurt. He wanted it to hurt his family, to watch them mourn the idea of their missing son, the tears they’d shed over their hopes dissolving in front of them as an intangible spectator. He wanted it to hurt him, to feel the guilt and the horrible impending doom of no longer existing as he stuffed clothes into bags until there was nothing left but the mementos that tied him to his parents that he would leave behind forever to collect dust in his empty room that was never really home.

It was a stupid childish fantasy, and a tragedy that he could only imagine half-genuine tears of half-genuine care being shed over him when he wasn’t there. But he could, if he wanted to, disappear into the city and never come back, be swallowed by its crowded streets never to be seen again.

It would be awful, the life of a teen runaway would never be easy, especially in the city. He’d considered the countryside too, miles of forest to hide in and less people to catch him. It would be easier to physically do too, to hop off the bus taking him back home, wait for it to leave and walk in the direct opposite of his house. But he wanted to live properly, live freely in society when he was of age and no longer required to be in his parent’s ‘care’, and he could only do that with a good job. Safe to say, he’d been planning this for a while, since he was a child.

God isn’t that awful? A childish plan that lasted so long it evolved, and all because two people decided to be selfish.

Yo sighed, the paper in front of him wasn’t getting any fuller, what a waste.

He wondered if his parents would’ve been happier if they hadn’t had him. Maybe they would’ve divorced and found something healthier to do with their time than reminisce, maybe his mother would’ve gone somewhere with her life instead of ending up as a miserable stay at home mother, maybe his father wouldn’t be so distant with her. Maybe, just maybe they would’ve moved on from their early peak and been happy.

And so, he felt guilty for existing sometimes, without him they could’ve moved on, had a happy life untethered by accomplishments they didn’t quite get, maybe even had a child they could love right. He kicked himself a little every time a ‘what if’ burrowed its way into his brain, that would never happen and thinking like that is useless because he’ll end up killing himself, and he intends to live long enough to abandon them.

Still, he rewatched the U-20 match sometimes, telling himself over and over that it was for the game play, but only focusing on the interviews at the end. With the glossy eyes of a child he’d watch them, watch as his peers spoke of their families, watch as their families spoke of his peers. There were highlights and social media posts that captured them embracing, the high emotions and the tears and the tight grip they had on one another that spoke of immense pride in them. 

Oh, he wanted that, he wanted it dearly because when they did it, it meant something, it was more than some self-congratulatory act. He wanted it, and he mourned all the times he never got it everyday.

And so, no matter what he’d leave them. No more watching himself from someone else’s perspective, no more living for anyone else, from the moment he stepped foot outside his parents property he’d become a member of the world’s loneliest club. The not going home club.

Yo gave up with the paper in front of him, putting the pencil down and taking his headphones off. The chatter had died down, everyone focusing on their work. Next to him, Isagi shuffled closer, their legs brushing. It was a small act but it fit a lot of worth into it, not going home meant finding a new one. He wouldn’t be alone.

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also available on ao3!

thanks for reading ily <3

[be-the-glenn-to-my-maggie]

Not really bored this time, just don't want to work on these questions my history professor has given us so allow me to procrastinate by sending you another ask. I know this pairing isn't really our focus rn but honestly I find the Jake/Neytiri/Tsu'tey thing kind of cute.

For one I totally agree with your 0 romance between Neytiri and Tsu'tey take. I think they are really close friends but could never be romantic partners.

I imagine it's Neytiri who tells Tsu'tey to wake up and realize he likes Jake. She gets tired of him grumbling about him non-stop and is finally like "For Eywa's fucking sake just kiss him already".

For some reason the thought of not just Neytiri but also Tsu'tey reacting to the realization of Jake's betrayal gets me. Like, Tsu'tey had begun to fall in love with this man, but not just any man. A man who is working for the people responsible for killing the love of his life. And after months of building trust and finally thinking that he can let this person in Jake admits to his initially less than innocent intentions. Crushing.

I think that it would take Jake and Tsu'tey longer to mate before Eywa. Not exactly sure when or if Na'vi culture even permits it, but I think they would just because now Jake is Tsu'tey's mate for life as well.

I feel like Tsu'tey would commune with Sylwanin all the time in the beginning and tell her about Jake, especially during the very start when he's just beginning to feel these emotions towards him and feels not only guilt for "betraying" Sylwanin and having feelings for a Sky Person but but also just a yearning to get her advice.

I like the idea that somehow Jake gained the nickname "American Boy" from Tsu'tey one day, probably when he made some correction to a comment Tsu'tey made and was all like "technically I'm American" and Tsu'tey latched onto it. At first it was just used to tease but now it's a fond nickname.

I picture Jake taking them on separate date nights. Neytiri and him fly on their ikrans every friday evening while Jake and Tsu'tey go for evening rides on, like, saturdays after a long week of olo'eyktan duties on Tsu'tey's part (for some reason my mind just associates this man with pa'lis even though I know he has an ikran?? Like???). I like to think that Jake never really manages to vibe with any of the pa'li for the longest time and Tsu'tey enjoys watching the struggle and so he insists on pa'li rides (plus I feel like a part of him would see ikran rides as Jake and Neytiri's "thing" and want to do something different) but after awhile Jake finds one that he just kinda clicks with and by that point pa'li rides have become his and Tsu'tey's thing. Once a month all three of them will do something together too like have dinner or go for a swim or basically whatever else they feel like doing.

Don't even get me started on when the kids come into the picture. I'm fully committed to Neteyam being a mommy's boy with Neytiri and Kiri being a daddy's girl with Jake. Lo'ak is a daddy's boy too, but with Tsu'tey. From day one I picture Lo'ak just deciding that daddy #2 is his favorite person on the planet lol. Jake pretends to be offended, but both him and Neytiri are secretly really happy that Tsu'tey is getting to experience what they're experiencing with Neteyam and Kiri respectively. When Tuk is born she goes back and forth between all three of them with seemingly no preference.

I like the idea of Tsu'tey speaking mostly Na'vi with the kids, Jake speaking mostly English with them, and Neytiri switching in-between. Due to this, it became clear very quickly which parent had more influence on which kid when they began talking. Neteyam's first word? A weird hybrid of the English and Na'vi words for "where" (Neytiri handed him over to Jake and Neteyam reached out towards her retreating form and said "where" as if to ask where she was going). Kiri's first word? "Dada" in English (Jake stepped into their tent and Kiri saw him, perked up, and cried "Dada!"). Lo'ak's first word was "no" in Na'vi (he went through this phase where whenever Tsu'tey would try and put him down or hand him to Neytiri or Jake he would cling to Tsu'tey and say "no" over and over again. If they still managed to get him into someone else's arms he'd start crying and just throw a major fit). Tuk's first word was "'Teyam", which Jake claims doesn't count for anything since it's a name but he sure wasn't saying that when Kiri said dada (they may or may not have turned this into a competition).

When the kids are younger they love it when Tsu'tey takes them on pa'li rides and Neytiri or Jake takes them on ikran rides.

Also, when they are infants Neytiri, Jake, and Tsu'tey apply the "divide and conquer" method to them. Neytiri takes Neteyam, Jake takes Kiri, and Tsu'tey takes Lo'ak. Put them all in baby slings and boom, that's one less problem to worry about. I feel like Kiri outgrows the sling first but it's anyone's guess with Neteyam and Lo'ak.

I fully support the "Norm and Max reopen Grace's school" idea I've seen along with your "language beast Norm" idea. I picture that part of the reason he opens the school is for his 50+ adopted children who he wants to introduce to English but also he just loves sharing knowledge with others. I think he would introduce new things to the school that Grace maybe hadn't considered, like his horrifyingly extensive lecture on looming on Earth as a way to bring in an important part of Omatikaya culture but also educate them on English looming terms and human looming culture.

At first both Neytiri and Tsu'tey aren't all that keen on the idea of the school reopening, but Jake is all for it and they talk about it for weeks before Tsu'tey finally brings the idea to the children of the clan. A surprising number of them (of which Norm's adopted children make up a suspicious majority) agree to give the school another shot and so Tsu'tey and Neytiri agree that letting their kids go would be a good thing.

When it comes to Spider I'm uncertain. I know Tsu'tey would side with Neytiri far more than Jake when it comes to how he sees the boy, but Neytiri lost her sister and father whereas Tsu'tey lost the love of his life so maybe Neytiri would still be the more intense of the two? Feel free to give me your thoughts on it. Part of me wishes they would adopt Spider but I think we both know that with both Tsu'tey and Neytiri in the picture that would never happen.

I love the idea of Tsu'tey and Neytiri both just being so fascinated by Lo'ak and Kiri's little eyebrows and four little fingers. Like, Lo'ak's little baby eyebrows scrunch up and they're all like: "My Jake, look at them 🥺, What does it mean?" And Jake, who sees eyebrows as completely normal is all like: "Haha oh yeah, they do that. Might want to check his diaper."

I like to imagine that when it comes time for the alphabet in Norm's little preschool section of the class Jake gets everyone on board with singing the apples and bananas song. "Okay guys, one more time! I like to ate, ate, ate, ay-ples and banay-nays!"

Norm and his boyfriend definitely babysit for them on date nights lol, and they expect the favor to be returned whenever the situation calls for it.

Tsu'tey still communes with Slywanin a lot, but now there is nothing but happiness in the stories he has to tell her.

This somehow turned into a whole Neytiri/Jake/Tsu'tey as parents thing I apologize 😂

So many things I love about this first paragraph:

First, the boredom era escalating. I love that ur the same anon every time I guess we name u Boredom Anon I'll go backtag. Any anon can feel free to be named lol.

ALSO the idea that we are all on the same thing on this blog at all times, I love that sm I was worried I was forcing you all into a nocorro era. But literally no worries hit me with anything at any time, I love it.

-EXACTLY Neytiri and Tsu'tey can be platonic soulmates.

-Tsu'tey is like THAT'S YOUR MATE and Neytiri's like "Jake has... two hands??? You can hold the other???"

-DUDE TSU'TEY LET HIM IN AFTER SYLWANIN. Jake knows that trusting him was so hard, and the betrayal Tsu'tey must've felt like he'd done to Sylwanin? Insane. Not only did he forget her and move on and fall in love again, but it was with one of the people who caused her death. Yeah Jake wasn't there but he's one of them.

-Absolutely Tsu'tey and Jake would take longer to mate before Eywa, this man does not make impulse decisions like Jake and Neytiri. He had thought through every consequence and every worse case scenario fifteen times. He's probably convinced himself if he even looks at Jake wrong he's Avatar will collapse due to some butterfly effect.

-Oh lol you hit the guilt angle too! Can you tell I'm responding to each one as I read it so my thoughts are all fresh? Sylwanin is very encouraging, to the point that she goes full in in hopes of scaring him into it like "no I bet Jake is good at sex u gotta find out" and Tsu'tey can't go back to the Spirit Tree for like a week.

-I LOVE the separate date nights, that's so cute. How did this man Jake Sully stumble into the forest and just steal Pandora's two most influential and eligible bachelors, what's next, Tonowari??? He's insane. Jake only vibing with one Pa'li is canon and sometimes Tsu'tey has someone take that Pa'li away so Jake is all fucked up.

-THE CHILDREN I'm obsessed. I love the idea of Jake pretending to be offended by Lo'ak preferring Tsu'tey. He's like "that's not your Dad, Lo'ak, I helped make you!" and Lo'ak is like "gross, get away from me." Jake is always insisting this entire operation falls apart if he isn't at the center (of the sleeping pile which is where he sleeps) and then everyone always almost unanimously pretends to vote him out of the family.

-Norm in his school, teaching all the kids to knit and telling them all Tsu'tey needs a sweater: i'm gonna ruin this man's whole career.

-I agree, I don't think we'd get Spider Sully here. I do wonder how him and Lo'ak's relationship is affected if Tsu'tey is Lo'ak's favorite parent and Tsu'tey is against Spider. I don't see Lo'ak not standing up for Spider, and I see this causing a rift between them faster than it would between Neytiri and Lo'ak just because Lo'ak's relationship with his mother is different than with his fathers. I think the issue would've been pushed sooner, and Kiri would jump rIGHT the fuck in as soon as it started.

-HOW DARE YOU ACKNOWLEDGE NORM AND HIS MADE UP BOYFRIEND RITU TO ME I'm crying real tears this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Although, you have given me a thought... Why have we never considered... Tsu'tey surviving and then HIM being Norm's boyfriend....

nEVER apologize for sending me long headcanon asks, wether they are for me to enjoy or just situations you want to to write about or expand on. It's called 'we are mindmelding get in' for a reason, we are all melding minds. I love them sm and I hope I do them justice!

[ijwrff]

Prisoner-Part 8

This one ended up being longer than I planned for it to be XD But it was very fun to write, so I hope you enjoy these twisted demons as much as I do!

@thattiredanimator1t0mblr @serenitydusk @viciouslyyearning

Tw; swearing and blood (yandere typical stuff)

Word Count: 1,680

“YOU FUCKING WHAT?” Anti went to lunge at you, but Dark stopped him. Anti fought, and thrashed at him, as electricity emanated from his body. “LET ME GO!” Dark had his arm wrapped around Anti to prevent him from doing anything rash. You were grateful for that, but it was still terrifying. 

“Anti. Calm down.” Dark’s words were TOO calm. It only served to make you more afraid…something was seriously wrong here. Dark’s aura was everywhere, and you felt his energy. Angry, sad, but composed nonetheless. Then it shifted into something…different. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it was quite frankly terrifying. 

“I-I’m sorry…I want to go home. Now.” You said, trying not to show how completely anxious you were at that moment. Would they even let you go home? What was waiting for you when you got there? You weren’t even sure how long it had been…was your boyfriend worried about where you were? Surely it had been at least a few days. 

“If that’s what you wish.” You looked up to Dark to see him smiling. A guarded smile, trying to hide his real feelings from you. What was even more concerning, was how Anti stopped fighting Dark to glare. As they shared a look, something clicked and Anti stopped fighting altogether. “I will grab your things, and you’ll be back to…your boyfriend.” He nearly spat the word. 

Anti walked a few paces, then completely disappeared. But you were more excited than anything. You could go home! You missed your boyfriend so much…but you barely had time to think about it with how crazy and chaotic this whole situation was. They were…really gonna let you go? After all this, they were going to send you back home? It didn’t click right, but you had hoped it would be fine. 

Dark walked closer, and he looked a little TOO composed. You kind of crushed his heart…you felt bad initially, but you loved your boyfriend. All you could do was hope Dark and Anti would understand. Your time with them…has been hit or miss. They’re angry, they’re excited, they’re quiet, they're loud. You never knew what you were getting yourself into with them. To think they’d be livid was no far stretch, but if it meant you could go home…then you’d deal with the confusion and guilt. It’ll be okay!

When Anti returned seconds later, he tossed the few belongings you had here at your feet. Dark looked irritated at the action, but walked up to carry those belongings to you. A scoff from Anti, as you stood there confused and maybe even a little nervous, while the two displayed their opposite personalities. One being collected, the other…being completely unpredictable. 

However the second you blinked after picking up your belongings, you woke up at home. This was it! You were really home! The excitement was overwhelming. You really hope you didn’t lose your job from being gone so long…and hopefully J wasn’t mad if you weren’t answering his calls or texts. Speaking of which, your phone was ringing while it charged next to your bed. 

You jumped up to grab it, and smiled wide when you saw J’s name pop up. He was calling you! It seemed like it had been weeks at least since you talked to him. Even a little giggle left when you answered the phone. “Baby! Oh my god I’m so sorry, I missed you so much!” You couldn’t help but laugh, especially when he laughed too. 

“What are you sorry for? We talked last night right before bed!” He laughed again, and said back, “Though I also missed you too! One day we’ll be able to live together and spend every single morning waking up, cuddling in bed.” J sighed happily at the thought, but you were too confused to reply just yet. 

“Last…night?” You frantically checked your phone. He was right. It had only been one night's rest since you went to the void…since you saw Dark and Anti. It couldn’t have been a dream…you remembered everything so vividly. “Uh, sorry. I’m just being a bit silly…” You let out a nervous laugh, and hoped he’d drop it. 

“You don’t sound so good, want me to come over?” He sounded as concerned as ever, “If something’s going on you can tell me.” You could practically hear the worry in his voice, and the pleading eyes of him that always convinced you to tell him anything and everything. “It’s okay. I’ll come over anyways, I can make you breakfast and we can talk about it!” 

With that he ended the call, and you didn’t know if you should be relieved or nervous. How could you possibly tell him? That those two demons held you captive and wanted to court you? Both being terrifying in their own ways? There was no way to logically explain it, and J wasn’t one to believe in demons and that kind of stuff. You didn’t necessarily believe either, at least…not as much as you believed now. 

You sat and waited, knowing he wouldn’t be too long. Trying to think of a way to explain it without sounding crazy proved to be difficult…but you couldn’t lie to him. You loved him, but if he said something like what you had to tell him, you wouldn’t know what to say or do either. Maybe it was just a dream…a really weird one that made you feel helpless. What if they were real and tried to come after you for turning them both down?

With a knock at your door, you ran up to it and swung it open excited to see J after so long of being held by those demons. Even if for him, it had only been a few hours. You had a smile on your face, and were fully prepared to tackle him to the ground right there in your doorway. However what you saw, you never could have been prepared for. 

Dark and Anti were there, with Anti holding J tightly around the back of his neck. J looked awful, blood dripping from his nose and forehead, and bruises covering his arms. It made you take a step back in shock and terror. That feeling only intensified when you saw the wicked grin on Anti’s face. If you had any doubts he was a demon, they were laid to rest. It was hard to believe anyone or anything can look so…wistfully happy and evil having hurt someone. 

“W-What are you doing!? Don’t hurt him, please!” Tears fell down your face, and Anti looked angry as can be, hearing your words. You didn’t want this! You loved J, was it even really him that you talked to on the phone? Or was it a trick from these demons? Part of you hoped it was the real J, but you couldn’t be too sure. Not at all. 

“Just proving a point, darling.” Dark spoke, with a small smile on his face. But even his smile was warped and twisted. It might have been warm in any other circumstance. But the two of them had hurt your boyfriend. The man you loved so dearly. “We told you, no one can protect you better than us.” 

You backed up further and further, until your back hit the couch in the living room. “Stop…please…” Was all you could say as they threw J down to the ground in front of you. He couldn’t even speak, with his busted lip and glazed over eyes. He was still alive, his grunts of pain and labored breathing proved that. “J!” You screamed and almost went to kneel down and help him, but one look from the demons stopped you. 

“Anti.” Dark said, and gave the other demon a look. You couldn’t decipher it, but when Anti smirked it meant nothing good. “Go ahead.” He continued. Go ahead with what? Something told you neither you, or J would make it out of this safely. 

Anti made direct eye contact with you, with that evil smirk on his face. He pointed one singular finger towards J, in the shape of a gun. He let out a “bang” sound and a ray of lightning shot at J’s head, causing it to burst open. The blood splattered all over your room, and your own clothes and skin. It all happened so fast, and you fell to the ground screaming. You had to look away, the sight too gruesome to even look at for half a second more. 

Anti came closer and picked you up roughly, “It’s either me or him.” He whispered in your ear. “No one else is allowed to be with you like that.” He rubbed your back, but it was anything but soothing. “You’re coming with us, you have to make your decision.” He chuckled, and you just continued to scream and sob. 

Dark approached, but you could barely see him or Anti through your tears. “You don’t need to make your decision now, we still need to spend more time with you.” He reached over and put a hand on your head. You flinched at the action, and he frowned. “No one will ever hurt you. That’s our promise to you.” 

No one would hurt you…how messed up is that? They may not physically hurt you, but you were in turmoil. You didn’t want to accept that J was dead. Even if they didn’t ever physically hurt you, they just proved that they’d hurt anyone who was special to you. With that thought, you had no choice but to go with them. If they could kill J, they could kill anyone else in your life. You couldn’t live with that…

You became emotionless, and simply nodded. “Okay…” was all you said. It made them smile, but you felt…nothing. Only small traces of fear. They would take you back to the castles, and “protect” you as they put it. But all you wanted was to be in J’s arms again. Kiss him, hug him, anything. But he was gone. 

And he was never coming back. 

[sir-adamus]

My absolute favorite thing about ATSV is the narrative repetition of not only literal religion but wanting to do both things / two things and the callbacks to walker scenes. Miles trying to catch Gwen after he startles her and the Spot kicks her vs her trying to save him from falling during the chase and he snaps the line on purpose

Miles and his two cakes and Pavitr saying “I can do both!” as we see he cannot hold the bus and save captain singh and the girl (but with help they do indeed save everyone)

Miles literally has DNA from two different dimensions he’s literally always been both since he got bitten!! That’s the point it’s so good!!

Spider-Man doesn’t always win. They don’t always save the day. But with this unique technology they have a chance to learn and make friends and new connections. If the issue was just universe hopping then the whole spider base thing would be a bad idea. I can’t wait for the power of friendship and trying even tho it seems hopeless to kick ass in Beyond it’s gonna be so good.

Gwen also has an "i can do both" thing - trying to keep the canon event happening and save Miles (and thinking she failed when he gets buried under the rubble, which is why she was so panicked in that scene, because she was right back at the night of the dance and seeing Peter crushed under the rubble)

and yeah the thing is it's like

this movie is hanging a lampshade on the idea that Spider-Man needs to have these personal tragedies happen to be a better hero - that these events aren't just unfortunate happenstance but Fated Incidents that have to happen in order for them to be correct in the role (and uh, just a note... doesn't apply to Miguel - literally none of his story lines up with the Peter archetype)

like - the Uncle Ben death is a tragedy because it could have been prevented, it was something Peter could've stopped and didn't because of his pride, and the resulting guilt of that forms his 'with great power must also come great responsibility' thing (which also a note, not originally an Uncle Ben line, it was just a narration bit, only got applied to Ben later) - but the point is it's a code he forms in the wake of tragedy, not a predestined event meant to teach him a lesson

and more importantly Miles in these movies never needed to learn that - because he outright quotes the line to Peter B during the first movie, and of course he did! he's about 13/14 in Into the Spider-Verse, Blond Peter had been Spider-Man for a decade and he marketed the hell out of it; every kid in New York grew up knowing the line (which is actually a factor i don't see people discussing when it comes to the 'Earth 42 Miles and Earth 1610B Miles swapped fates' thing, we don't know what kind of Spider-Man that the Earth 42 Miles would've become, or how our Miles would've ended up if he hadn't been bitten)

Uncle Aaron's death is rather erroneously framed like Ben's by Miguel, but a) it wasn't something Miles could've prevented but didn't, he very nearly died himself, and b) it's reinforced later as 'sometimes you can't always save everyone'

so in terms of 'canon events', Aaron's death fits the George Stacy death more than it does the Uncle Ben death, where it happens in a moment it is impossible for Spider-Man to prevent it as a result of the main villain of the story (Aaron is even trying to save Miles in that moment, who was wearing the red store-bought Spider-Man costume, and pointedly the kids George and Inspector Singh try to save in those moments are also wearing red) - however ultimately it's trying to fit all these personal, different tragedies into a specific box that's the problem, because that's not how life works (nor is it how the multiverse works, but Miguel thinks it does and he's convinced others of the same and refuses to accept any alternatives). Aaron's death isn't a variation on Uncle Ben's death, George Stacy's death or anyone else's death. it's the death of Aaron Davis

also, introducing other Spiders completely changes the surrounding context and the stakes - if Inspector Singh had died there, would Pavitr have come to the conclusion that he couldn't always save everyone? or would he have been angry and resentful that the people he thought were his friends sat there and did nothing when they could have helped? because he wasn't alone in that situation, which completely changes the ballpark even if no one else interferes, it would affect how he responds to it

so it's all questioning why these events need to happen - if we're looking at it in-universe, these things are just unfortunate tragedies. looking at everything bad that happens to you as predetermined fate meant to teach you a lesson is both incredibly unhealthy and fucking dehumanising to your loved ones - a community of Spider-People can help each other and mentor the younger ones to convey the lessons and codes the elders pieced together so they don't have to go through the same shit, be forced through the same pain under the bullshit logic that the suffering will make them 'better'

and from a meta-narrative perspective, the 'canon' is the stakes of the story; Earth-65B continues to run even with George quitting, because dramatically speaking, learning Gwen is Spider-Woman and nearly losing her forever, while Gwen avoids going home because she's terrified that her father hates her and - compounding that - is scared that if she does go home, he'll already have died. that drama is 'good for the story' and can resolve without anyone dying

Peter B literally only has Mayday because of Miles, the 'original anomaly', and yet Earth-616B is perfectly fine with a child who - according to Miguel's logic - should not exist. why? because Peter B has started putting in the effort to make his life work, 'making adjustments at half-time', and earning his happy ending

whereas Miguel deciding to skip all the hard work of trying to make his life better by just inserting himself into a happy life that belongs to someone else, and that reality crumbles apart because he didn't earn it - so the stakes had to be raised, and the resulting guilt is what turns Miguel into the uncompromising anti-hero we have in this film

Spider-people are capable of incredible things, and are capable of even more incredible things when they have each others' backs - they've just gotten too caught up in their guilt complexes to realise that

[hawkyon-days]

Max is 13 when she and her stupid family move to some hick ass nowhere town in Indiana. Billy is angrier than before, more violent, always one wrong move away from exploding. She needs to be more careful around him. She's upset that those weird boys from school who seemingly wanted to be her friends keep excluding her from things. One of them tells her a story about a missing boy and a girl with superpowers, about secret government labs and monsters from another dimension. She doesn't believe him, but she really wants to be friends with these boys, so she'll go along with it for now.

Max is 14 when the mall on the outskirts of town opens. There's no school, no homework, so she and her friends ride their bikes there under the burning sun almost every day, because it is new and exciting and there isn't much else you can do in small Hawkins to keep yourself busy. Her boyfriend is kind of a dork and he has more affection for her than she knows how to handle. She's surprised and a bit wary when the girl with actual superpowers, the hero of this story, amazing and untouchable El asks her for advice, but she's not going to waste the opportunity to get to know the other girl better. Summer continues and the days feel endless.

Max is 15 when every day feels the same kind of empty. It's always the same cycle of waking up from nightmares, avoiding her friends at school, watching her mom pass out from drinking, and staring at El's letters, wanting but not finding the energy to write a response. Lucas keeps trying to talk to her, even after she called it quits. If only he knew, then he'd definitely want nothing to do with her anymore. He deserves so much better. The crushing feeling of guilt sitting in her chest is slowly consuming her. More days than not, she wonders if it wouldn't be better to simply disappear.

Max is still 15 when she's about to die. She's trapped in a red hellscape of a mind, and there's no escape as He stands before her, claw like hand slowly reaching for her head. She's scared. So, so scared. Oh god! Please, no! Don't let this be it. She's not ready. She doesn't want to die. Please- It's no use. She doesn't feel anything for a long time after this.

Max is 16 when she slowly learns how to be open with people. It's a mortifying process that makes her skin crawl, but it is necessary, and it does help. She still wakes up from nightmares most nights and physical therapy sucks and her mom is always tired, but she doesn't drink anymore. And as she watches a movie with her friends - leaning against Lucas, who occasionally whispers explanations about the movie to her, softly combing her hands through El's hair whose head is lying in her lap - she feels a tentative hope. She can't see and there is a persistent ache in her bones that won't ever really go away again, but for the first time in a long while she thinks it's worth looking towards the future.

[meowww-ffxiv]

Truly, Liios did not need to treat with his voidsent -- actually, level his reaper -- that desperately. His pistols and machineries were perfectly serviceable.

But the fact that he retreated from the Source and even Estinien for days at a time to go to the First, whereupon he practiced his reaper skills, wasn't just about not being asked awkward questions.

It was about...

Liios's clan, the one which no longer existed, because of a direct choice that he made-- they had always existed close to the Void. Toxic and ultimately fatal as their bonds were, those things in the ways of culture and legacy were important to every member. Liios never had any of that. His clan deemed him childish and unready, for all that he was a good hunter and warrior. Because he clung to his brother, and their father in turn shielded them from the further steps into their "customs" that would have stripped one of his life and the other of a piece of his soul.

Their being gone, all, was probably a net good to the world. Still, one of the last of these practices, and out of some inexplicable guilt he couldn't put a name to in order to banish, Liios sought... some sort of familiarity in his contract to Maires.

It was, of course, like replacing sugar with sand in a recipe for cake. It wasn't nearly the same. Maires was a benign voidsent, and would be deeply offended if someone questioned his honor, even. He nearly died for real in the Source on the stipulations of the original contract he had of Liios, forged in the stupor of rage and panic and madness he was under when he killed his father and the hunters of his tribe to get his brother away from them. Because even if Liios didn't remember the contract, Maires had still refused to break the pact on the ignorance of his contractor.

And this renewed one was the same. Absurdly, hilariously harmless in its nature. Maires asked for no offer of blood, and wouldn't even bother fighting had it not been because Liios wanted to "give these Garlean techniques a try".

In Liios's clan, to gain the Goddess's power -- that most powerful thing that had puppeteered his people for generations so that it might eat -- you gave up a pound of your flesh. It really wasn't your choice. You were deemed worthy to be her limb, or you were consigned to her bottomless appetite. Still, in the delusion that it was honor and privilege and fair trade, you hold out your arm and she bite it off, and in the crushing of bones and tearing of sinews, her powers flow into your veins.

Maires curled around Liios's shoulders like a cloak. Even when he moved to rend into their enemies, his armored body arched over Liios's head like he was trying to shield him with what meager corporeal presence he had.

In his accompaniment node, he played the games Liios had designed with long-forgotten technology and would bump into his head to wake him in the dead of night, if only to show him a new high score.

You need to be crueler to me, Liios wanted to tell his voidsent. Be crueler to me. Be as the Goddess. Just-- someone do SOMETHING about me, I've killed my entire family, I killed sixteen brothers I weathered ten winters with to save the one.

Just someone, someone come to me, with the scourge and at least some scolding to tell me that I deserve pain for what I had done.

Liios did not say these things. He wanted to, but he didn't. He wanted to dig his fingers into his eyes and under his skin to rip out the writhing worms he had no words to describe whenever he thought about his clan and what he'd done to them. But he didn't do that either.

Even his body was no longer something secret. Estinien would notice. Ptolemy would notice. Even Alisaie, once so radiantly and ignorantly confident in the "Blade of Eorzea", would say something, and her instincts were impressively sharp.

Their kindness suffocated him. It wasn't a matter of them offering him something he did not deserve, but rather... it was like pouring salve on a cut that should have been scored but never was. He had broken the hand that would hold the whip.

Why did he, now, and even after all these years, want to weep for that hand? He should be gleeful. At the very least, Liios was sure he should be relieved. Even without the promise of salvation from the Miqo'te scholar who would herself be a better mother to him and Ptolemy than the one that gave them life, he would've eventually died some futile death to defend his brother's. If only to reassure him that someone was willing to die for him. And none of that had come to pass. Liios should be glad.

But he did. He did weep for the hand that should have held the whip.

Something felt incomplete, in this fevered reality Liios had found himself in. Where every path had aligned to deliver him and his brother from hell, without their giving up anything they couldn't do without.

Liios's pact with Maires asked for no blood from its contractors. No sacrifice of flesh and bones and sinews. The down payment had already covered all of it -- Liios dragging himself back to the scene of his crime like any murderer were bound to, Maires still waiting there all this time.

--It wasn't that the tale was incomplete, but rather that it was completed without Liios getting the thing he felt he should get out of it. The traitor returned and delivered himself, and suffered no punishment. The bloody-handed orphan dragged himself out of the house that once he shared with his family, only to the sound of relief and welcome from the world outside those walls.

The story Liios was in, that told him he was the main character, loved him so much. Even the one who should hate him the most, Emet-Selch, still loathed Liios only for the love they once had that was fractured by the sundering.

It was suffocating. It was suffocating.

Liios continued plying his blade as a reaper, Maires trailing in his wake. He visited the Viis once or twice. He continued to program new levels for the games his voidsent liked to play, in exchange for making Maires process his data for him.

The whip never came down. After those intrusive, violent bursts of thirst for pain, Liios felt perfectly fine. His mind shoved it off the table, because it didn't know what the hell to do with such a thing.

Liios couldn't remember the faces of his kin anymore, save those who escaped and now welcomed him whenever he wandered into the forests north of Garlemald. He couldn't remember the lullabies and the coldness that always seemed to cling to his village, whenever he visited as a youth.

It was like if a seed missed the poisoned flower that had created it. Flung too far from its source, all it could do was grow on its own.

But he continued to grow his powers in conjunction with Maires. And he couldn't (dared not?) examine the longing he was trying to sate with his irrationality too closely.