#when i hide in thr tags .

[tetsuskei]

anyways . i think when childe inevitably gets tired of you playing coy and trying to run away (he’s not reeeaally tired of it, of course - he does love a chase) he just picks you up fully off the ground and presses you into the nearest wall and fucks you right there - what are you gonna do when you’re legs are pinned between the two of you and can’t even touch the floor? :3

…

[joelsrose]

Guns and Roses: Chapter 9

hey cuties, this chapter is actually so angsty I might die i love when you guys comment so pls keep it up and let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list !! i fricking love u guys !!

previous chapters

Before they left

Ellie was out with Leo, one of Jackson’s newer patrolmen—a quiet, steady-eyed guy with a calm that felt almost unnatural in a place like this. He’d proven himself useful enough: sharp aim, sure step.

It was her first real patrol without Joel’s shadow looming behind her, his watchful eye dissecting every sound, every flicker in the underbrush, ready to jump in if her instincts wavered. Joel had been more than hesitant to let her go, but Ellie knew how to work around his protectiveness, and he’d eventually relented, grumbling something about her proving she could handle herself.

The route they’d been given was standard—a western perimeter sweep, a routine check of gates, watchposts, and gaps in the fence line. Nothing more than a glance at empty fields, trees swaying in the distance, and the ghostly echoes of rustling animals.

But the clouds loomed low and dark, heavy as lead against the wide sky, threatening rain or worse. The cold bit into her bones, crisp enough to sting, and her breath lingered in clouds of mist before vanishing into the chill.

Leo walked a few steps ahead, his eyes sweeping the treeline with the cool efficiency of someone who didn’t mind the silence. Ellie glanced sideways at him, watching his shoulders rise and fall in a calm rhythm as if the place itself couldn’t touch him.

They’d just decided to turn back, the patrol as uneventful as they’d hoped, when Leo stopped dead in his tracks. Ellie followed his gaze and spotted it, too—a faint plume of smoke curling up behind a ridge in the distance, thin and gray against the dark sky. One look passed between them, and they both knew what it meant: someone was out there, just close enough to Jackson to make them uneasy.

Ellie’s heart hammered against her ribs, and suddenly, Joel’s voice rang through her mind, steady as his hand on her shoulder during a training session. “Never assume it’s friendly. People only hide for two reasons—fear or intent. And neither’s safe.”

She could almost hear him, his tone low, caution edging his words. “Look for cover first, approach quiet. Only move when you’re sure.” Her grip on her rifle tightened, knuckles whitening against the cold metal.

Leo gave her a nod, an unspoken you ready?

She drew a slow breath, reminding herself to stay calm. They moved closer, footsteps careful, every sound amplified in the stillness. All of Joel’s hard-learned lessons came flooding back as they advanced: stay low, eyes sharp, don’t let them see you before you see them.

Quietly, they moved toward the smoke, weapons drawn, each step calculated as they closed in on the campsite. Then they saw them—a small group of raiders, rough-looking men in mismatched gear, their rifles propped against logs, packs scattered around like they planned on staying awhile. The men hadn’t spotted Ellie and Leo yet, so they crept closer, taking cover behind a rocky outcrop, hearts pounding, breaths held.

But then, maybe it was just instinct—one of the raiders glanced up, his hand flying to his weapon. In an instant, chaos erupted. Gunfire shattered the quiet, loud and brutal in the cold air. Ellie’s heart thundered, adrenaline coursing through her as she ducked and returned fire.

One by one, the raiders went down, their shouts fading until only the hush of the forest remained, heavy and grim. The last raider, staggering back with blood staining his side, fell against a wall, his eyes wide, desperate.

Leo stepped forward, his weapon raised, ready to end it, but Ellie held up a hand, halting him. She had questions, a nagging instinct clawing at her gut, and something in the raider’s gaze—defiance mixed with fear—made her pause.

“Who are you?” Ellie’s voice cut through the silence, low and steady, her words edged with a threat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The raider sneered, blood staining his teeth, but his eyes held a glint, something wild and defiant. “We’re here for the girl,” he spat, his voice rasping with a strange, almost triumphant malice. “The cure.”

Ellie felt a chill flood her veins, as if the air had turned to ice.

Her grip on her gun tightened, fingers tense on the trigger as she stared at him.

The cure.

The words twisted in her mind, turning her thoughts into a chaotic storm. “What… what did you say?” she whispered, the strength in her voice slipping as the weight of his words sank in, a cold, sick feeling clawing at her stomach.

Her mind raced, questions hammering at her. Were they ordinary raiders? Fireflies? Or some new group who’d managed to pick up on her past, on the secret Joel had tried so hard to bury? And if they knew… how had they tracked her here, to Jackson, where she was supposed to be safe?

The raider’s smirk only deepened, his face pale but his eyes dark with some twisted satisfaction. “We know all about her,” he rasped, each word a knife. His gaze fixed on her, sharp and unyielding, like he could see right through her.

"You can kill me," the raider coughed, blood trickling down his chin, yet his eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction. "But more will come. And when we do… we’re gonna get her."

Ellie’s pulse thundered in her ears, each beat amplifying the sick, hollow dread spreading through her. His words slithered into her mind, each one striking with cold, ruthless certainty.

Someone knew. Someone out there knew what she was.

The one thing she’d worked so hard to bury, to escape, to live beyond—the secret Joel had kept at any cost—was slipping from her grip, no matter how tightly she’d held on. She’d come to Jackson to be just Ellie, to walk through the world as more than a body bound to a cure she’d never asked to carry. But now, in one brutal moment, that hope felt like dust, falling through her fingers.

Leo, sensing the shift in her demeanor and the tension etched across her face, stepped forward. He didn’t hesitate—a single, precise shot rang out, and the raider slumped against the ground, lifeless. Yet his words lingered, like a dark shadow cast over the silent campsite, a threat that felt too real to ignore.

Leo turned to her, brow furrowed in confusion, his voice low but edged with concern. “What the fuck was he talking about?”

Ellie forced herself to breathe, to steady the churning in her gut. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She met his gaze, holding it just long enough to seem certain, though the lie felt heavy on her tongue.

By the time she returned to Jackson, her face was drained of color. She didn’t say a word to Leo, only gave him a faint nod when he suggested reporting the encounter, and then she disappeared.

The moment she crossed the threshold into her house, she was already packing, her hands working in a blur, stuffing her few belongings into a bag with a mechanical urgency that left no room for second thoughts. She knew what Joel would say, knew he’d tell her the only thing they could do now was run, to disappear before anyone came looking.

As the hours slipped into night, the town settled into a quiet stillness, but Ellie was already outside, her breath curling in the cold air, her feet carrying her through Jackson’s empty streets as if pulled by some unseen force. She stopped at your door and knocked, each second stretching painfully until it finally opened. Joel stood there, his face etched with worry, his eyes bloodshot, but even before she could say a word, he took one look at her and knew something was wrong.

It was settled—they were leaving. The quiet agreement hung heavy between them, each of them knowing there was no turning back.

She watched as Joel turned, his gaze drifting to the staircase, lingering just a moment too long. Ellie couldn’t look at him, the weight of his sacrifice pressing against the raw guilt twisting inside her.

•••

A year had passed.

They traveled endlessly, never lingering too long in one place, drifting through desolate towns and hollowed-out shelters, each as empty as the last. Days blurred together, a relentless stretch of gray skies and quiet roads, of survival routines that left no room for anything but vigilance. They moved like ghosts through a world that had forgotten them, Ellie and Joel—two souls bound by an unspoken promise and a need to stay ahead of whoever might be searching.

But no matter how far they went, no matter the miles they put between themselves and Jackson, Joel’s mind was always somewhere else.

It was always with you.

Every morning when Joel woke, there was a brief, blissful moment—a fragile sliver of peace between dream and reality—where he could almost convince himself he was back with you. In those hazy seconds, his mind softened, his body at ease, and he felt the warmth of your bed, the quiet hum of dawn filtering through the curtains, his head nestled at the base of your neck, his arm wrapped around you like a promise he could hold onto.

He’d breathe in, and for that stolen instant, he’d catch the faintest trace of lavender. That scent lingered in his memory like a dream that refused to fade, one he clung to as he drifted between worlds. Lavender, soft and warm, always grounding him, always pulling him into the shape of you, filling every unspoken part of him with something he dared not name. He could feel you, the curve of your shoulder under his hand, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, the delicate intimacy that felt like home, a rare quiet he hadn’t even realized he could crave.

But then he’d open his eyes, and the cold reality of wherever they were would settle over him like a weight he’d never shake. The warmth, the closeness, the gentle pull of something almost real—it all slipped away, replaced by the hard ground, the empty air, the relentless ache that gnawed at him day after day.

Day and night, you lingered in his mind—a steady, silent ache, a presence that filled the hollow spaces inside him, ones he hadn’t even realized existed until you’d come along. Each day he wondered, turning it over and over in his mind, if things might have been different. If he hadn’t been so guarded, if he hadn’t kept you at arm’s length, would you have known how he truly felt? Would it have changed anything?

He imagined a thousand different versions of how he could’ve told you, how he could’ve let down those walls, let you see the side of him he’d buried under years of loss and regret. But in every version, he hesitated, haunted by the weight of everything he’d already lost, afraid to let himself believe in something good. And now, with you gone, he was filled with regret, a reminder of everything he hadn’t said, every moment he’d let slip through his fingers.

As they walked, he found himself wondering what you might be doing in Jackson, if you still waited by the window or traced the outline of the mountains with your eyes, hoping for some glimpse of him. And he wondered, in the deepest, most selfish parts of himself, if you missed him in the way that gnawed at him every hour, every mile. If you ached for him with the same relentless pull that made each morning harder, each night colder.

But then there was the worry that gnawed at the edges of his mind, the fear he kept buried deep but couldn’t quite silence. He’d never spoken the words, never dared cross the fragile line that had formed between you—a line made of glances that lingered too long, of touches that held meaning but never promises, of feelings he kept locked tight behind his ribs, too afraid to give them a name.

Yet he was selfish, and the thought of you with another man, of someone else in your bed, sharing that quiet warmth, feeling your touch—it was enough to turn his stomach, to make his mouth go dry with a bitterness he couldn’t swallow. He pictured it sometimes, in the dark hours of the night when he couldn’t stop his mind from spiraling, imagined some stranger’s hand on your shoulder, some other voice filling the silence he used to share with you.

He had no right to it, and he knew it, but it didn’t stop the ache, didn’t stop that cold, jealous twist that reminded him just how much he wanted you.

So he carried you with him, in every step, every breath, every heartbeat. You were woven into him, a memory that pulsed through his veins like a wound that refused to heal. He could feel you in the quiet moments when he let his guard down, in the spaces between one thought and the next, a whisper of what he’d left behind but could never fully abandon. It was a burden and a balm, a constant ache that kept him grounded and made each mile that much harder to bear.

And in the quiet, secret places of his heart, he let himself believe that maybe, someday, he’d find his way back to you. Just for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself that hope, that maybe after all the miles and all the weight he’d carried, he’d see you again. That he’d find his way back, and you’d still be there, waiting for him, just as he’d been waiting for you in his own, silent way all along.

•••

One year.

A whole year had passed since Joel and Ellie had vanished from your life. You’d marked the date on your calendar, a small, barely visible reminder—a private, somber anniversary that only you observed. The seasons had cycled relentlessly in their quiet march, warmth giving way to the chill of winter, spring bursting with life, and now autumn, painting the world in hues of burnished orange and fading gold. Each season had carried with it a different ache, a shifting loneliness that settled in like an old companion.

Now, as you watched the leaves fall, scattered and swirling in the crisp air, you felt the bittersweet ache of time moving forward without them. There was something unshakably hollow in the thought that the world could keep turning while Joel and Ellie remained nothing more than memories tucked away in your mind. You’d find yourself pausing on quiet evenings, thinking you’d catch a glimpse of Joel’s familiar figure down the road or hear Ellie’s laughter echoing from somewhere beyond the trees, only for the moment to pass.

In the midst of all this change, you and Caleb had slowly, almost unwittingly, drifted into each other’s lives. It started after that vulnerable night with Maria, when, over cups of tea and whispered confidences, she’d urged you to let yourself find happiness, to stop waiting on shadows of the past.

Soon after, you found yourself leaning into the steady comfort Caleb offered. There was an undeniable ease in his presence—a warmth that settled around you without demands or complications. Caleb’s laughter was open, a soft assurance that made you feel safe, grounded. He had a way of bringing lightness to the quietest moments, an ability to turn the mundane into something unexpectedly joyful. He filled spaces in your life that had felt empty for too long, his steady presence easing the ache you’d carried alone.

He treated you with a gentle kindness, never pressing, never prying, just being there in a way that was soothing and, somehow, exactly what you’d needed. His steady hand on your shoulder, the unspoken reassurance in his gaze—it all felt like a balm against the ache you’d carried since Joel and Ellie’s departure.

Caleb didn’t ask questions about your past, didn’t demand pieces of yourself you weren’t ready to give, but with every passing day, his presence filled parts of the void Joel had left behind, like warm light spilling into a room you’d thought would always remain shadowed.

Your first kiss had been awkward in the sweetest way—two people stumbling, laughing against each other’s mouths, teeth clashing before you pulled back, cheeks flushed, unable to hide your laughter. It was light and easy, no grand declarations or heavy promises, just a moment shared, a warmth that didn’t need to be anything more than what it was. And as the weeks passed, it became obvious to everyone in Jackson, to every friend who exchanged knowing glances, that Caleb was smitten, his eyes following you with a warmth that softened even the hardest of stares.

So, you let him.

You let him in, bit by bit, finding comfort in his steady affection, in the way he made you laugh without trying, in the simple joy he brought into your life. And though a part of you still held on to memories of what you’d lost, the way Caleb looked at you made it easier to feel present, to let yourself be loved, to lean into a kindness that, for now, was enough.

But, it had been a year, and still, you cursed yourself for the way Joel lingered in your mind, haunting the quietest parts of your day. You’d be lying if you said he didn’t slip into your thoughts daily, an uninvited presence that crept in as you drifted off to sleep, or while you were brushing down the horses in the stables, even as you stood under the hot spray of the shower, eyes closed, heart heavy. His memory was like a thread woven into the fabric of your life, one you couldn’t pull free no matter how much time passed.

You tried not to think about what a year could mean, how the world beyond Jackson had a way of swallowing people whole, never to return. Instead, you forced yourself to imagine him somewhere out there—alive, even if he was distant, existing in a place you couldn’t reach. You pictured him like a shadow moving across empty roads, his gaze sharp, his stance steady, a survivor who wouldn’t let anything bring him down. It was easier to hold onto that, to let yourself believe he was still walking through this world, even if it was a world without you.

And sometimes, despite all your efforts to bury it, you couldn’t help but think of how well Joel had known you. One day Caleb brought home tulips, bright and cheerful in their own way, yet somehow missing the mark. You smiled and thanked him, grateful for the thought, but in the quiet of your mind, you couldn’t ignore the tug of memory. It was roses that had always stirred something deeper within you, and Joel had known that. You’d managed to piece it together over time, a quiet revelation that settled into your bones with bittersweet clarity.

It had been him who left that bouquet in your house when your leg was injured. You’d mentioned how you’d have to thank Tommy and Maria for the gesture, assuming the flowers had come from them, oblivious to the truth. Joel had just shrugged, feigning indifference, a quiet smirk playing at his mouth as he mumbled some dismissive response, never letting on that it was his silent confession, his way of saying the things he couldn’t put into words.

Those roses had been more than a gesture—they were a message wrapped in velvet petals, a whisper of all that had gone unspoken between you. And though you tried to focus on the present, on Caleb’s tulips and his warmth and his laughter, you couldn’t help but feel that those roses, left in the quiet space of your home, had planted themselves in your heart. A love that had never been spoken aloud yet lingered in every memory, every thought you forced yourself to tuck away.

Roses—his unspoken promise, his way of telling you he saw you, of saying all the things that a man like Joel couldn’t put into words.

•••

It was another evening spent around Tommy and Maria’s table, the familiar warmth and chatter weaving through the room like an old, comforting song. Laughter mingled with the clinking of plates, stories flowing easily as everyone settled into the simple joy of being together, of holding onto the small things that made life feel whole. The baby slept soundly in the next room, a soft, steady reminder of life’s resilience, of how beauty and heartbreak could coexist in the same breath.

But as the night wore on, your eyes drifted, almost unwillingly, to the empty seat at your side, the one that had remained untouched for so long. You could almost see him there, a shadow in the space beside you, a ghost haunting every dinner. In your mind, he was sitting right there, his familiar silhouette leaning back, arms crossed, quietly listening, his face softened just slightly in that rare way it only ever did when he felt at ease. You could picture him stealing a glance your way, the warmth in his gaze flickering just briefly before he looked down, his hand reaching out to adjust his glass.

As the evening unfolded, you couldn’t help but notice Caleb—quieter than usual, a strange tension in his posture, his leg shaking beneath the table in a steady, anxious rhythm. His gaze flickered over to you now and then, his eyes carrying something unreadable, something heavy. And when the meal was finally done, he rose abruptly, the scrape of wood against the floor slicing through the laughter and easy conversation like a sudden, cold draft.

Maria paused, tilting her head in concern. “Can I get you something Caleb?” she asked gently, her voice soft but curious, but he shook his head.

You looked up, confusion mingling with a growing unease as you caught the glint of something intense in his eyes. “Caleb?” you murmured, searching his face, trying to understand what he was about to say.

He took a shaky breath, his gaze softening as he spoke your name, and for a moment, it felt as if everything else faded into the background, the room narrowing until it was just the two of you. “I… I’ve thought a lot about us,” he began, his voice steady, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of nerves.

“When I came to Jackson, and I saw you for the first time… I knew I wanted you in my life. I know it sounds cheesy, but I never thought I’d find love again—not after the world fell apart.” He swallowed, his fingers fidgeting as he spoke, his words raw and unguarded. “Then I found you. And I can’t picture my life without you.”

Your heart stilled as his hand reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, worn tin. He opened it carefully, and inside, nestled in a bit of cloth, was a ring, the metal shaped into a delicate band, with a small, carefully polished piece of amber set in the center. It glowed warm and honeyed in the candlelight, a humble but beautiful thing.

He held it out to you, his hand trembling slightly. “Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper, thick with hope and a quiet, desperate longing.

For a moment, everything else disappeared—the warmth of the room, the low murmur of voices drifting in the background—all of it faded as the weight of Caleb's words settled over you. A whirlwind of emotions stirred inside you, a rush of unexpected joy tangled up with the familiar ache you’d tried so hard to bury, the one that had never truly left.

“Caleb, I—” you began, your voice faltering, but he held your gaze, his eyes bright, unwavering, filled with a quiet, earnest hope. He was waiting, trusting, laying his heart bare before you. You forced yourself not to think too much, not to let his face enter your mind—though it already had, a ghost lingering just on the edge of this moment.

But you didn’t let it take hold.

You swallowed, steadying yourself, and finally, you found your voice. “Yes,” you whispered, though your voice trembled, betraying the tumult of feeling beneath. “Yes, I will.”

Caleb’s face lit up, his relief and happiness radiating as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his fingers warm and steady against your trembling hand. You could feel the weight of it—the promise, the choice.

The room erupted in cheers, laughter ringing out as Tommy and Maria pulled you into warm, heartfelt hugs. Their joy filled the space, wrapping around you like a blanket, and for a moment, you let yourself be swept up in it, feeling the weight of Caleb’s ring on your finger, his grateful smile lighting up his face as he looked at you with a love so simple and genuine.

But even as you smiled, a quiet wave of guilt coiled around your heart, tugging painfully, reminding you of a truth you couldn’t ignore. Joel lingered there, tucked away in some hidden corner of yourself, an ache that had never fully healed.

And though you’d tried to close that chapter, to bury it beneath the promises you were making now, you couldn’t shake the thought that somewhere, in another life, he might have been here beside you instead.

•••

You and Maria strolled arm in arm, giggling like teenagers, caught up in the novelty of planning a wedding in a world where ceremonies were rare luxuries. With every step, you swapped whispered ideas for practical dresses, scavenged fabric, maybe even wildflowers if they could be found.

Maria’s excitement was infectious; she insisted on small touches of beauty—a bit of lace here, a hint of color there, things you hadn’t dared to dream of in years. Together, you imagined a simple gathering, something that honored love in a place so often touched by loss.

But then, as you rounded a corner, a shift in the air pulled you back to reality. Low voices sounded behind you, muted but tense, carrying a seriousness that was hard to ignore. You exchanged a glance with Maria, laughter fading as a sense of unease settled over you both.

Your heart stopped, every sound around you fading as the murmured words reached your ears. “It’s Tommy’s brother… and that girl—” The phrase lingered in the air, as if the very walls had held their breath.

A surge of disbelief flooded through you, followed by a fierce, aching hope that felt like a wound you’d thought had healed. It was a hope so intense that it was almost painful, something you’d buried deep but never truly let go.

Without even realizing it, you’d already begun pushing through the crowd, instincts driving you forward before your mind could catch up. Your pulse pounded in your ears, every nerve on edge as you moved, your eyes darting from face to face, each stranger a fleeting blur in your periphery. You were searching, each step laced with a desperation you hadn’t let yourself feel in so long.

And then, there they were.

Emerging through the gates, framed in the amber glow of the setting sun, was Joel—a figure you’d thought you might never see again, a presence so achingly familiar it felt like a punch to the chest. The world seemed to go silent, your surroundings blurring as if everything was pulling away, leaving only him standing there.

He looked older, and the sight of him—aged, worn, burdened—stirred a profound yearning within you, a visceral ache that ran so deep it stole the breath from your lungs. Every line on his face, every crease around his eyes, told a story of battles fought and sacrifices endured in brutal silence. His shoulders bore the weight of countless miles, each hardship etched into the way he held himself, his posture heavy with the ghosts he'd carried through a world you could scarcely imagine.

The year had sculpted him into someone both familiar and foreign, a man shaped by time and trials you weren't there to witness. Yet, despite the distance that life had carved between you, the pull you felt was undeniable—a magnetic longing that transcended the unspoken words and lost moments. You yearned to bridge the gap, to reach out and trace the map of his experiences etched upon his skin, to understand the depths of the sorrows and joys that had defined his journey.

The mere presence of him ignited something dormant within you, a longing that was both painful and exquisite. It was as if every unshed tear, every unspoken confession, every suppressed desire swelled up, pressing against the barriers you'd so carefully constructed. In that moment, all you wanted was to close the space between you, to let the unfulfilled promises and lingering glances find their resolution. The weight of what was left unsaid hung heavily in the air, and you couldn't help but wonder if he felt it too—the aching, relentless yearning that time had only intensified.

Your heart raced, a fierce, desperate rhythm that echoed through you like a thunderclap, raw and unforgiving. Every wall you’d built, every attempt you’d made to move forward, to accept his absence, came crashing down in a wave of overwhelming emotion. Anger, relief, hurt, and a longing so powerful it almost brought you to your knees—all of it rose up at once, tearing through the numbness you’d wrapped yourself in over the past year.

You wanted to run to him, to touch him, to let your fingers trace every line that time and hardship had carved into his face. You wanted to scream, to release the anger and hurt that his absence had left festering inside you. The agony of it was still fresh, wounds barely scabbed over that now bled anew, raw and relentless as every buried feeling clawed its way back to the surface. But even as you stood there, helpless, held captive by a tide of emotions you couldn’t contain, a familiar thought hit you, one that stopped you in your tracks, grounding you in a different kind of pain.

Did you even have the right?

The question echoed through you, sharp and unforgiving. Did what you and Joel shared before he left amount to anything real, anything that could survive the void he’d left in his wake? Had it been enough to claim him as yours in some silent, unspoken way? Or was it just a fragile thread spun from stolen glances, from touches that had lingered just a bit too long, from words unsaid but felt in the quiet spaces between breaths?

Beside him, Ellie moved with that fierce, unbreakable spirit that had always burned so brightly in her—a spark that even time and distance couldn’t diminish. Her steps were sure, carrying a quiet defiance, as if she’d faced down every dark corner the world had to offer and come out stronger, sharper. She looked older, too, her once-youthful face etched with an intensity that felt both familiar and heartbreakingly new. She was no longer the girl you’d last seen but something more—a survivor who’d fought her way through shadows you couldn’t imagine.

Around you, the murmurs grew, swelling into a chorus of shock and amazement, voices rising and falling like a tidal wave as people turned, faces lighting up with a mix of disbelief and awe. The name "Joel" rippled through the crowd, a whispered current that surged closer with each moment, brushing against your ears, making it all feel even more real and yet somehow impossible.

You saw him glance across the sea of faces, his gaze moving with an intensity you hadn’t seen in so long. He searched with a quiet urgency, his eyes scanning the crowd as if he were looking for something—no, someone. The weight of his gaze, though it hadn’t landed on you yet, felt heavy, filling the air between you with a tension that made your heart pound.

Maria’s hand found your arm, her face etched with concern as she studied you. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft yet laced with worry. You wanted to answer, to reassure her, but the words caught in your throat. The world began to tilt, the sounds around you muffling as the rush of emotions—the disbelief, the hurt, the longing, all of it—swelled to a breaking point.

The vibrant colors of Jackson smeared into indistinct shapes, the cheerful sounds of the market melting into a distant, muffled hum. Everything around you seemed to tilt, slipping just out of reach as the flood of emotions—hope, shock, grief—crashed into each other, leaving you helpless against the surge. Before you could fully process it all, a wave of dizziness swept over you, an overwhelming rush of sensation that left you weightless and unanchored, as if reality itself were slipping through your fingers.

The thrill and desperate joy of seeing them faded into the background, replaced by a strange, numbing sense of disorientation that tugged you down, pulling you to the very edge of consciousness. You tried to focus, to hold onto the image of Joel standing there, of the life you’d imagined fading away, replaced by something unbearably real and raw. But the world around you grew dim, shadows pressing in from all sides, and the last thing you remembered was that one, undeniable thought echoing in the darkness

Joel was back.

•••

You stirred from the depths of unconsciousness, the sound of hushed voices reaching your ears like distant whispers. The air around you was warm, wrapping you in a cozy cocoon that felt both familiar and comforting. As your senses began to awaken, you registered the faint scent of woodsmoke mingling with something sweet—perhaps the remnants of a candle or a lingering trace of cinnamon from the kitchen.

Gradually, you opened your eyes, blinking against the soft glow of the room. It was a space you knew well, filled with the warmth of home—the walls adorned with handmade decorations, the soft rustle of fabric as a breeze slipped through a nearby window. The gentle crackle of the fire in the hearth provided a soothing backdrop, wrapping you in a sense of safety that felt almost tangible.

As your vision cleared, you became aware of a figure hovering nearby, blurred shapes gradually sharpening into a familiar face. Maria’s worried expression softened into relief the moment your eyes met hers.

You tried to speak, your voice thin and cracked, barely managing a whisper. “What… what happened?”

“Easy,” Maria soothed, her fingers tenderly brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, grounding you with a motherly gentleness. “You fainted when you saw them,” she explained, her tone soft, reassuring. “Just breathe, okay? You’re safe.”

“Where is he?” you blurted, unable to keep the desperation from spilling into your voice, every reined-in emotion surging to the surface. Relief, disbelief, bitterness—they all tangled within you, clawing their way up as panic brushed at the edges of your mind.

For so long, you had carried the weight of not knowing, the unanswered grief that lingered like an ache in your chest, the painful acceptance that he might be gone forever. And now he was here—somewhere in this town—yet it felt too fragile, like a dream that could vanish the moment you dared to reach for it.

Maria’s hand squeezed yours, her gaze steady and full of understanding. “He’s with Tommy right now,” she replied, her voice soft, gentle, as if trying to protect you from the storm that raged inside. Her words were grounding, and yet they ignited a twist of dread and longing deep in your stomach, a wave of emotions that left you feeling raw and exposed.

You weren’t sure you were ready. Facing him meant confronting everything you’d buried beneath layers of resilience and sorrow, everything you’d told yourself you had to let go of for your own sake. Joel had left without a single word, slipping away into the night as if you’d been nothing more than a passing moment. His absence had carved a hollow in you that you’d struggled to fill, a wound that had scarred over but never truly healed. And now, standing on the brink of seeing him again, you felt that scar ache with a fresh, raw pain.

Yet even with the bitterness of abandonment coiled in your heart, there was an undeniable pull—a fierce, undeniable urge to see him, to look into his eyes and find answers to the questions that had haunted you every day he’d been gone.

“Why did he leave?” you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it, more a plea to the silence than anything else. It was as if the past year’s worth of pain—the hollow ache of missing him, the endless stretch of days that had only deepened the wound of his absence—had coiled into those words, raw and unfiltered.

Maria’s gaze softened, her hand resting gently on your arm, steadying you as the storm of emotions churned just beneath the surface. Her expression held an empathy that felt both comforting and heartbreaking, as if she knew too well what it was to bear the weight of unspoken loss. “I don’t know,” she murmured, her voice gentle, almost apologetic. “But he’s back now, and I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

“Baby?” You looked up, a flicker of hope sparking in your chest before reality settled in, the fragile possibility slipping through your fingers. It wasn’t Joel. Caleb stood before you, his face etched with worry, his gaze searching your expression for answers he hadn’t dared to ask yet.

A pang of guilt followed, sharp and immediate, reminding you of the unspoken longing that still tugged at your heart. It wasn’t fair to Caleb, this man who had been there, filling the hollow spaces left behind by someone who’d vanished without so much as a goodbye.

He was the one who’d stood beside you in Joel’s absence, bringing light into the dark days, a patient comfort you’d learned to lean on. And yet, the yearning for Joel, the ache you’d buried so deeply, had flared to life the instant you heard his name whispered in the crowd.

Caleb’s eyes softened, a gentle understanding there that only deepened the ache within you. He reached out, brushing his hand over yours, grounding you even as you felt yourself drifting in a sea of old memories and unresolved feelings.

“I heard you fainted. Are you okay?” Caleb’s voice was gentle, laced with a worry that made guilt tighten in your chest.

“Yeah, I just… didn’t eat breakfast,” you replied, the lie slipping out with a forced casualness that felt thin and hollow. You flashed a quick, pointed look at Maria, silently begging her to keep quiet. She met your gaze, her expression a mixture of sympathy and unspoken curiosity, questions lingering in her eyes that she respectfully held back.

You hadn’t told Caleb about Joel, hadn’t shared that part of yourself that felt both vital and broken, a chapter that still haunted the edges of every moment you’d tried to start anew. It was easier, you’d told yourself, to let that part of your life remain in shadow, a memory locked safely away. Yet, with Joel here, with him breathing the same air once again, that shadow stretched over everything, blurring the lines between what had been and what was supposed to be.

It felt irrelevant, a relic of the past that had no place in the life you were building now. Joel had left, after all, and there hadn’t been anything definitive between you—no confessions, no kisses, nothing that should linger.

But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple.

What you had with Joel was tangled and complex, layered with unspoken emotions that ran deeper than words or actions. It terrified you even now, the way he’d left an imprint you couldn’t erase. No matter how much you cared for Caleb, a part of you had never felt with him what you’d felt with Joel, and the guilt of that truth weighed heavy, a quiet ache you carried in silence.

“Scared the shit out of me,” Caleb joked, his voice soft but attempting to lift the heavy air that hung between you.

You managed a weak smile, grateful for the warmth he always offered so freely. “I’m okay now, I promise. You can head back to the clinic,” you said, trying to inject some lightness into your tone.

“Are you sure?” His brow furrowed, genuine concern reflecting in his eyes. That look—his love and care laid bare—made it nearly impossible to meet his gaze without feeling the familiar sting of guilt.

“Yes, I’m positive,” you insisted, a little too quickly, each word tinged with the quiet desperation to end this moment before it unraveled the fragile balance you’d built.

He studied you for a second longer, then finally relented, his lips curving into a playful grin that softened his expression. “Alright. See you tonight, my fiancée.” He leaned in, pressing a gentle squeeze into your shoulder, a touch that felt both reassuring and painfully kind, then turned to leave.

As Caleb’s footsteps faded, you pressed your hands to your face, hoping the gesture would somehow steady the turmoil raging within you. You barely registered the murmur of voices nearby, Maria’s urgent whisper as she seemed to be shooing someone away, trying to protect your fragile state. But it was all background noise, swallowed by the storm of memories and emotions battling within you.

And then, slicing through the haze like a knife, came a voice—low, rough, and achingly familiar. “Fiancée?”

Your breath caught, hands falling from your face as the weight of that single word hit you. You looked up, your heart pounding, and there he was, standing just a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made everything else vanish.

Your throat tightened, and every carefully rehearsed word you’d prepared over the past year unraveled, slipping through your grasp. His eyes met yours, his expression a guarded storm—intense yet impossible to read. His gaze dropped to the ring on your finger, lingering there for a heartbeat, before rising back to your face, a silent question hanging between you, heavy and unspoken.

Here he was, standing before you, so close and real it left you lightheaded. His hair was longer, the hard lines carved deeper into his face, yet he was unmistakably Joel. His scent filled the room, wrapping around you and making the air feel thick and close.

Part of you wanted to run up and hug him, while another part urged you to stay rooted where you stood. You didn’t know if you should feel anger, relief, or surrender to the familiar longing that had shadowed you since the day he left. All you knew was that he was here, right in front of you, and every boundary you’d built to protect yourself shattered in an instant, leaving you exposed and uncertain.

You met his gaze, and in his eyes, you saw a flicker of something you couldn’t quite name—a silent plea, an apology, a yearning that mirrored your own. For a single, fragile second, it felt as if the world had shifted, bringing you both back to a place you’d thought was lost forever.

And yet the weight of everything unsaid lay between you, heavy and unmoving, a reminder that time, no matter how forgiving, could never erase the pain of his leaving.

“Joel…” The word barely slipped from your lips, thick with disbelief, tangled in the torrent of emotions you’d fought so hard to bury. A raw ache pulsed in your chest, a visceral longing to close the distance. Every part of you yearned to reach out, to feel his warmth again, to let your guard down just this once.

But as quickly as that longing surfaced, a fierce anger ignited, burning through the tenderness with brutal precision. He had left—walked away without a word, without a promise, leaving you to stitch yourself back together alone.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his gaze roaming over you slowly, lingering, as if he were trying to absorb every change, every detail he’d missed.

His eyes caught on the subtle things—the way your hair was now cut shorter, brushing your shoulders, framing your face in a way that seemed softer.

His gaze paused on the small scar near your temple, the faint line you’d earned after slipping on patrol one rainy night.

“Legs all healed,” he said quietly, his voice low, softened with a hint of something unspoken.

A surge of anger rose, fierce and unforgiving.

This was what he had to say? After all this time, after disappearing without a trace, without a single word to explain, to soften the blow of his absence?

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you fought to keep your frustration contained. It was almost infuriatingly, achingly Joel: reserved, withholding, as if the simplest words could somehow disguise the gravity of everything he’d left unsaid.

“I thought you were dead.” The words tore from you, your breath hitching as the weight of your own admission hit like a fresh wound.

You wanted to lash out, to demand answers, to make him feel just an ounce of the hurt he’d left behind. But at the same time, the sight of him—alive, here—brought a treacherous swell of relief, one that you knew could shatter you just as easily.

You could feel his presence hesitate, the weight of his guilt hanging thick in the silence between you. He shifted, his voice low and tentative as he took a small, cautious step closer. “I can explain everything,” he murmured, his tone cracking just enough to reveal the vulnerability beneath. “I had to leave—Ellie—”

But his words only fueled the fire raging within you, the weight of his explanation feeling hollow after everything you’d endured in his absence. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring your vision as the anger finally boiled over, raw and unrestrained, pushing past the walls you’d tried to keep in place.

It was all just too much. You felt your breathing quicken, your chest tight as the words forced their way out. “I don’t want to talk to you, Joel,” you choked, each syllable thick, laced with a raw pain you could barely contain.

You turned away, jaw clenched, every muscle taut as you struggled to keep yourself together, to keep the emotions from spilling out too easily, too freely. You told yourself to let him explain, to give him the chance to say whatever it was he’d come here to say. But you physically couldn’t—not right now, not with the weight of all those unsaid things pressing against the walls you’d worked so hard to build.

He flinched, the weight of your words crashing into him, and for a long, agonizing moment, silence filled the space between you, thick with the unspoken pain that had festered over the months apart. Your back was to him, so you couldn’t see the turmoil in his eyes, couldn’t witness the guilt that etched deep lines into his face, the regret that clouded his expression, or the flicker of shame that he couldn’t quite hide. But you felt it—the heaviness of his unspoken apologies, the remorse that seeped into the air like a confession he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

Behind you, he took a shaky breath,a sound barely audible yet brimming with everything he didn’t know how to say. He wanted to reach out, to touch your shoulder, to bridge the gulf of silence and tell you that he understood, that he was sorry, that leaving you had been the hardest choice of his life.

He murmured your name, soft and tentative, the sound of it almost cracking under the weight of everything left unsaid. “I need you to hear me out. Please. ” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, as though this was his last chance to set things right, and he knew how fragile that chance was.

“Joel!” you snapped, turning back to face him, the force of your voice cutting through the thick silence, slicing through whatever words he might’ve tried to offer. You weren’t going to let him lead this moment, not after he’d surrendered that right the day he walked away. “You don’t get to dictate how this conversation goes,” you bit out, eyes blazing with anger and hurt. “You don’t get to come back here and act like everything’s fine, like you can just pick up and pretend nothing happened.”

Maria appeared in the doorway, her gaze flicking between you and Joel, taking in the elevated voices, the tension that thickened the air. She moved closer, a silent, steadying presence.

“Joel,” Maria said softly, her voice firm but compassionate as she placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding him back. “I think you should leave. Give her some space.”

Joel looked at her, the protest clear in his eyes, but he didn’t argue. His gaze lingered on you, his face etched with the kind of regret that could never undo the damage he’d done, and he nodded, stepping back. He didn’t say another word, only cast one last, longing look your way before turning, disappearing through the doorway.

As soon as he was gone, the floodgates opened. The sobs you’d been holding back broke free, and Maria wrapped her arms around you, her touch a balm against the wound Joel had torn open once again.

You let yourself collapse into her embrace, the weight of everything spilling out as you grieved for the love you’d lost and the anger that refused to let it go.

•••

It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the truth from Caleb. The subtle shifts in your mood, the faraway look that would creep into your eyes at the quietest moments—he noticed. The way you’d pull back when he reached for your hand, or how your laughter came slower, more forced, like it was an effort to keep up appearances. Sometimes, he’d catch you staring off into the distance, your mind clearly somewhere else, your expression unreadable.

You didn’t mean for the walls to build up between you, but every time he leaned in for a kiss, you’d turn your head just slightly, offering a cheek instead. Or when he’d wrap his arms around you, the warmth and comfort that once came so easily now felt hollow, as if you were slipping further away even when he held you close.

Concern etched itself across his features more often now, his brow furrowing as he studied you, trying to understand the weight that seemed to press down on you—a weight you couldn’t bring yourself to explain.

The life you’d begun to build with Caleb now felt tenuous, fragile, as memories of Joel wove themselves into the fabric of your days, filling the quiet spaces with a longing you could no longer ignore.

You felt yourself pulled in two directions, torn between the safe, predictable future you were crafting with Caleb and the inescapable, stormy memories of Joel. You knew it wasn’t fair to Caleb, this man who loved you openly, steadily. Yet the truth gnawed at you relentlessly, clawing at your heart with a ferocity you couldn’t suppress.

The thought of you had been his only constant, his lifeline through a year of darkness. It was your memory that kept him moving, kept him alive, though he’d never allowed himself to hope too much. Yet even so, he’d held onto some small, foolish belief that he might return to find you there, still his, still waiting.

But that belief was shattered the moment he heard the word “fiancée.” The word lodged in his chest like broken glass, tearing through every fragile hope he’d harbored in his solitude. He’d left you—what had he expected?

That you’d wait, frozen in time, clinging to a ghost, while he wandered through the ruins of his own making? Deep down, he knew he had no right to feel this way. But no amount of rationalizing could quell the wave of longing and regret that washed over him, drowning him in sorrow he’d been too proud to admit he still felt.

In his mind, he’d pictured a different reunion. He’d imagined you opening the door, seeing him there, and in one wordless moment, all the anger and confusion would dissolve, replaced by the warmth he remembered so vividly.

He’d let himself believe that, somehow, you’d forgive him. That the last year could be wiped away like a bad dream, that he could slide back into the life he’d left, as if time had paused just for him. But now, standing in the shadows of a life you’d moved on from, he felt the weight of reality crashing over him, sharp and merciless. The thought of you pledging yourself to someone else, to a man who wasn’t him—it twisted in his gut like a blade, a slow, painful reminder of all he had lost.

He could see it too vividly: you at the altar, radiant and sure, your hand in Caleb’s as you vowed to build a future together, while he remained a ghost, lingering at the edges of a life he’d once held close. Every breath felt heavy, each step like trudging through quicksand, weighed down by what could have been, what should have been if he’d only stayed.

Now, faced with the reality of you in someone else’s arms, he saw the truth for what it was—a cruel twist of fate, a cosmic joke played at his expense, showing him just how deeply he’d betrayed his own heart.

•••

Your stomach churned as you stepped into the warm glow of the dining room, each step weighted with the knowledge that Joel and Ellie would be there. The familiar comfort of Maria and Tommy’s home, usually so cozy and inviting, felt stifling now, any sense of ease dissolving the instant your eyes fell upon them, already seated at the table. Joel’s presence struck you like a blow, a visceral ache twisting inside before you could even take a steadying breath.

Maria caught your eye, a silent apology flickering in her gaze, her face soft with sympathy. She knew—perhaps better than anyone—just how deep the turmoil ran, and that quiet understanding both soothed and sharpened the ache within you. You mustered a tight, brittle smile, hoping it would be enough to mask the vulnerability clawing at the surface, the storm of anger and longing that you couldn’t seem to keep buried.

Caleb, blissfully unaware of the tension thickening the air, greeted Joel with an easy, wide smile, reaching out his hand in a friendly gesture. “Good to finally meet you, man! Heard lots of good things from the lesser Miller,” he joked, his voice warm, light, as if this were any ordinary dinner.

But Joel didn’t mirror the warmth. His handshake was brief, his expression unreadable, a careful mask that betrayed none of the raw intensity in his eyes. His gaze lingered on Caleb, sharp and assessing, a look so intense it felt as if he were trying to unearth every layer of the man in a single glance. It was a look that could have cut through steel, and though Caleb remained blissfully oblivious, his attention already drifting back to the table, you didn’t miss the way Joel’s gaze flickered—piercing, as if marking territory only he hadn’t been there to guard.

The unspoken animosity lingered, thickening the air, a silent reminder of everything left unresolved. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you, even after he’d broken the handshake, a silent, smoldering intensity that both drew and repelled you. It was a weight, an ache that you couldn’t ignore, and as the meal began, you steeled yourself, forcing a polite smile, hoping it would hold against the flood of emotions Joel had stirred just by being there.

Throughout the evening, you found yourself slipping into a quiet detachment, shielding yourself behind a protective shell as Caleb animatedly shared stories with the group. His hand rested on yours, his grip warm and reassuring, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gesture that was supposed to comfort.

Every so often, he’d lean over to press a kiss to your temple, his easy affection filling the room with a softness you wished you could fully appreciate. But each touch felt like a reminder of something missing, a bittersweet ache for what once was—or perhaps what had never fully been.

From across the table, you felt Joel’s eyes on you, each glance he stole heavy with unspoken words, charged with a silent intensity he couldn’t quite hide. His gaze flickered to his glass, lingering just a second too long, but you caught the way his attention drifted to your hand, to the engagement ring resting on your finger.

A shadow crossed his face—a sadness, a yearning that seemed to seep into the air between you, carrying the weight of everything left unsaid. It was as though he was reaching out without words, trying to bridge a chasm he’d created.

And despite all of it - Joel looked good—better than you remembered, in a way that stirred something raw and unguarded within you, a heat only he seemed capable of igniting. The year had added a ruggedness to him, etched resilience into his already broad shoulders and forearms, the faint lines of muscle visible beneath the rolled sleeves of his well-worn shirt.

His hands, calloused and rough, rested on the table, hands that had once held you in the dead of night. Somehow, seeing them now felt as if they still did, as if the memory of his touch lingered just beneath the surface of your skin.

His hair was longer too, tousled and curling at the nape in a way that softened his ruggedness just enough to make him almost unbearably alluring. And then there were his eyes—dark, deep, brimming with that familiar, knowing intensity that you could feel across the table like a physical touch.

Each time his gaze met yours, it lingered a beat too long, his stare unfaltering, as though the room around you didn’t exist, as if every glance held an unspoken promise, a shared secret only the two of you could ever understand.

He held his glass of whiskey with a languid ease, his fingers tracing along the rim in a slow, almost teasing motion, his mouth brushing the edge with a deliberateness that felt like it was meant only for you.

Every time he took a sip, his lips—soft, pink, plump —lingered against the glass before he would flick his gaze to you, as if challenging you to look away. And when he licked them after each bite, a small, casual motion, it stirred thoughts you’d fought so hard to bury.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said there hadn’t been nights when you lay in bed, wide awake, caught in the silence, thinking of him, of the things those mouth and fingers could do to you.

You couldn’t stop stealing glances, couldn’t stop the way your eyes kept drifting back to him despite yourself, even though each look sent warmth rising to your cheeks, your pulse racing.

And he’d noticed.

The faint, knowing smirk that played on his lips told you he’d caught you watching, that he was well aware of the effect he had on you, as if he could feel the quiet tension simmering beneath the polite hum of conversation.

Embarrassed, you forced yourself to look away, clutching onto your resolve with both hands, trying to anchor yourself in the life you’d chosen, the path you’d carefully laid out.

For the rest of the evening, you avoided his gaze, eyes trained on your plate, your smile tight as you nodded and laughed at the appropriate moments, barely hearing a word that was spoken. The laughter of others became a distant hum, a background noise to the storm churning beneath your surface as you fought to keep the memories and feelings from flooding over.

You cursed yourself for letting these thoughts creep in.

You were engaged to Caleb, a man who represented everything you’d promised yourself you wanted—a life that was steady, loving, free of ghosts and the painful pull of the past. And yet, here you were, Joel’s presence tugging at you with a force that defied all logic, a gravity you couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard you tried to bury it.

Caleb’s laughter echoed through the room, pulling you from the trance Joel’s presence had cast over you. He was in the middle of an animated story, his voice bright and infectious as he spoke, his hands moving to emphasize each detail.

“And there was this one time—remember the flock of birds that came out of nowhere? She was so slow, I thought she was going to trip over her own feet!” he laughed, looking to you with a playful grin.

A laugh slipped from your lips, genuine and unexpected, the memory of that chaotic day flashing back. You shook your head, letting yourself be swept up in the moment. “I swear, I was running as fast as I could! You make it sound like I was moving in slow motion,” you protested, grinning despite yourself.

Ellie, mid-bite of mashed potatoes, grinned as she interjected, “Oh, come on, that’s not fair! She had a broken leg for a while—cut her some slack!”

Caleb’s laughter faltered, his eyebrows shooting up in genuine surprise as he turned to you, half-amused, half-bewildered. “Wait—hold on. You had a broken leg? And I’m just hearing about this now?” His question was light, casual, but as it lingered in the air, it seemed to grow heavier, drawing a line between the life you’d led before and the one you’d built with him.

You forced a smile, shrugging with as much casualness as you could muster. “It wasn’t a big deal—just one of those things,” you said, hoping to glide over the subject, to keep it light and insignificant. But as your gaze drifted across the table, your heart sank. Joel’s expression had shifted; his posture was alert, his eyebrow lifting with that unmistakable, almost mocking look that said, I guess you haven’t told him everything.

The intensity in his gaze was nearly unbearable, piercing through the room, slicing through the thin layer of calm you’d tried to maintain. His eyes held an unspoken accusation, a reminder of the quiet, unbreakable bond that had once connected you, of the parts of yourself that you’d buried—the memories and scars that only he knew. His stare didn’t relent, as though he was silently demanding that you admit to those pieces of your past, the stories you’d kept locked away, the parts of you that still felt tethered to him.

“Yeah,” you replied, a hint of defensiveness slipping into your tone. “But that was… before we met.” You avoided everyone’s eyes, your gaze dropping to your plate as you absently nudged the carrots and peas around, focusing on the swirl of orange and green rather than the tension gathering at the table. The words felt flimsy, like a fragile barrier meant to shield a history you weren’t ready to confront, a part of yourself you’d carefully tucked away, hoping it might stay hidden.

Ellie leaned back, clearly enjoying the moment, her grin mischievous. “Oh, it was pretty bad. Joel was basically her live-in caretaker,” she teased, her tone light and playful, though an edge in her voice suggested she understood far more than she let on. “Though, honestly, it should’ve been the other way around—get it? Because he’s, like, old!” She flashed a wide grin, glancing around the table, expecting laughter to fill the air.

Instead, her words landed in a silence heavy and thick, one that turned each glance into a loaded question. Caleb’s eyes flicked to you, his brows furrowing, and you could feel the weight of his unspoken questions pressing in.

Ellie’s grin faltered as the silence stretched, her gaze flickering nervously between you and Joel. She’d sensed the shift, the subtle but unmistakable tension she’d accidentally stirred up, and the humor faded from her face.

The past was no longer a distant memory—it was here, sitting at the table with you, unspoken yet painfully present.

Caleb, blissfully unaware of the shift but clearly sensing something beneath the surface, glanced between you and Joel with an innocent curiosity.

“Oh, I didn’t know you two lived together.” His tone remained light, but confusion had crept into his gaze, searching yours as though trying to fill in a part of your story he’d never been given.

You’d never intentionally kept secrets from Caleb, but Joel wasn’t just a secret—he was an entire chapter of your life that belonged to a different world, a version of yourself that no longer felt real, even if the memories still lingered. How could you explain it to Caleb? How could you paint Joel as anything less than the force he had once been in your life?

“It was only for a bit,” you replied, forcing a lightness into your tone as you took a sip of your wine, hoping to brush the topic aside as a minor detail, something insignificant. But as you felt the weight of Joel’s gaze on you, the room seemed to grow warmer, a flush creeping up your cheeks that had nothing to do with the wine. You could feel the heat rising, making it hard to swallow, each sip meant to steady you only accentuating the tightness in your chest.

When had it gotten so hot in here? You fought the urge to shift in your seat, to break the tension you felt simmering beneath the polite surface of the dinner. You glanced down at your plate, hoping to regain some composure, but you knew Joel was watching, his eyes filled with that piercing intensity, refusing to let you dismiss the memories so easily.

Then suddenly, Joel’s voice cut in, low and steady, his eyes catching yours with a glint that held something almost taunting, an edge that refused to be brushed aside.

“Only a bit?” he echoed, his gaze locked onto yours, holding you in place with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, making your stomach twist. “Guess you’ve forgotten all those late nights talking,” he added, each word laced with a quiet challenge, daring you to remember everything you were so desperately trying to downplay.

And he had the audacity to say it so shamelessly, all while taking a casual bite of his food, as if his words were nothing more than light conversation.

Joel wasn’t finished, though. With a slight smirk tugging at his lips, he leaned back, clearly savoring the reaction he was drawing out of you. “Hard to forget, seeing as we spent half those nights sharing that tiny bed,” he added, the words slow and deliberate, his voice low and rough around the edges. He paused, his gaze lingering on you, eyes glinting with both mischief and a darker, unmistakable heat.

Then, almost casually, he turned his attention toward Caleb, as if sharing some harmless piece of trivia. “She’s scared of the dark,” he said, his tone light, but there was an edge there, something that cut deeper than the words themselves. It was a quiet claim, an assertion that he knew parts of you no one else did.

The words hit like a slow-burn revelation, layered with implication that was impossible to ignore. Caleb’s eyebrows furrowed, a flicker of suspicion flashing across his face as he glanced between the two of you, his easy smile fading.

You felt your mouth drop open slightly, caught off guard, and heat rushed to your cheeks as you scrambled for a way to brush it off. The silence that followed was thick, the weight of Joel’s statement casting a shadow over the table, an undeniable hint of a history you could no longer deny.

You didn’t need to look around to sense the ripple of reactions that Joel’s words had set off around the table—the charged silence that had fallen, each person’s unease hanging thick in the air.

Tommy cleared his throat, his discomfort plain as he latched onto the first excuse to escape the tension. “Y’all hear the baby crying?” he mumbled, though the room was quiet. “I better go check on her.” He stood up quickly, his eyes avoiding everyone as he slipped away, relief flashing briefly across his face.

Beside him, Maria’s expression softened, her gaze filled with a mix of sympathy and caution, her lips pressed into a thin, unreadable line. Her eyes flicked between you, Joel, and Caleb, clearly aware of the storm Joel’s words had stirred and how close everything was to spilling over.

Caleb, on the other hand, sat with an uncertain smile, clearly sensing that there was more beneath the surface but struggling to grasp the weight of the moment, his curiosity tempered by a discomfort he couldn’t quite hide.

Ellie, meanwhile, sat back in her chair, eyebrows raised, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. She seemed both entertained and unfazed, her eyes flicking between you and Joel with a spark of curiosity, as if she were watching some long-awaited drama finally unfold. The air between all of you thickened, heavy with unsaid things, each person holding their breath in their own way.

Sensing the tension, Ellie cleared her throat, her voice taking on an exaggerated brightness as she tried to steer the conversation toward safer waters.

“So… anyone got fun plans for the winter holidays?” Her attempt at cheer cut through the thick silence, a flicker of relief on her face as if hoping it would lighten the mood.

But her words were met with silence, the weight of Joel’s remark still lingering in the air, too heavy to brush aside. You felt the heat of everyone’s gaze on you, the pressure becoming unbearable, and finally, you stood, forcing a tight smile. “Excuse me,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, and slipped out of the room.

•••

Later, standing at the kitchen sink, the rhythmic flow of water provided a small reprieve, a focus to quiet the turmoil of emotions still swirling in your mind. The evening had left a lingering ache in your chest, the weight of unspoken words pressing down as you scrubbed each dish with more force than necessary.

Caleb had left with a soft kiss to your temple, his eyes catching yours in a look that conveyed a clear message—we’re going to talk about this later. His departure was marked by a conspicuous silence toward Joel, a small but unmistakable omission that hung heavy in the room long after he’d gone.

Alone now in the quiet kitchen, you let out a shaky breath, your hands scrubbing at a plate that had long since been clean. The weight of the evening settled on your shoulders, memories and unresolved feelings swirling like a storm you’d been trying to outrun. The steady trickle of water was the only sound, but even that couldn’t drown out the ache of everything left unsaid.

And then you felt it—the unmistakable, familiar weight of someone behind you, the air shifting, thickening with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. You didn’t need to turn to know it was him; the space between you filled with the quiet, electric tension that only Joel could bring.

“What do you want?” you murmured, your voice low, edged with exhaustion, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of your gaze. You kept your eyes trained on the plate in your hands, scrubbing at it with a single-minded focus that bordered on desperation, as if the act alone could somehow chip away at the tension lodged in your chest like a stone.

Behind you, you felt Joel, the silence stretching thin and taut, pulling at the edges of your already fragile resolve. And then, finally, he spoke—a single word, low and raw, “You.”

You swallowed hard, clinging to some semblance of control. “You’re drunk, Joel,” you said, trying to dismiss it, to brush off the weight of his confession as if it didn’t send your heart racing.

But the simplicity of that single word—you—struck you, piercing through every defense you’d carefully built. You gripped the plate in your hands like an anchor, as though it could steady you against the gravity of that word, of him standing so close, vulnerable in a way you’d never thought you’d see.

Before you could even truly process the shock of his admission, his voice cut through the stillness again, stronger, rougher, his words spilling out as if they’d been held back for so long it physically hurt to release them. “Don’t marry him.”

The words hung in the air, sharp and uninvited, slicing through the delicate calm you’d tried to cultivate, fracturing the fragile sense of stability you’d clung to.

This was uncharted territory—a truth that neither of you had ever dared speak aloud, not in the hidden moments you’d shared, not in the silent glances or lingering touches. To admit this, to break the unspoken pact you’d both followed so carefully, was seismic, a step into something vast and dangerous.

You turned, slowly, meeting his gaze at last, and the look in his eyes stole the breath from your lungs. His expression was laid bare, raw, the depth of longing there almost too much to bear. This wasn’t a casual confession, and the words weren’t just fleeting emotions flaring up in the heat of the moment.

No, this was something different, something he’d carried with him through every mile, every sleepless night away from Jackson. You could see it—the weight of a year’s worth of loneliness and need, the visceral realization that he needed you in a way that he could no longer deny.

“Don’t marry him,” he repeated, his voice trembling with an urgency that hit you like a wave, raw and unguarded. He took a step closer, his gaze intense, each word pressing into the space between you with an unyielding force. “I don’t want to live like this anymore—pretending like you don’t mean everything to me.”

His hand clenched at his side, as though he was fighting the urge to reach out, to close the distance and make you feel the truth of his words. “I didn’t come back to Jackson just to hide. I’m done hiding,” he murmured, the roughness in his voice betraying how much he’d held back, how deeply he’d buried it all. His eyes searched yours, as if willing you to understand the depth of what he couldn’t contain any longer.

“I need you to know…” His voice broke slightly, the weight of the words almost too much for him to bear. “I need you to know what I feel.”

His words hung between you, each one thick with conviction, and for the first time, he’d made it known—no more secrets, no more hiding behind the past or the lives you’d tried to build apart.

He was standing here, stripped bare, willing to risk it all. And as you looked into his eyes, a chasm of emotion stretched between you, one that neither of you could ignore anymore, a truth that had always existed but was finally spoken aloud.

The pain in his eyes was unguarded, his desperation palpable, and you could see it—an almost frantic pleading that softened the edges of his usual stoicism. But that rawness, that vulnerability, only made it harder to hold onto your anger. You felt the weight of his gaze pressing into you, silently asking for a forgiveness you weren’t sure you could offer, a connection you weren’t sure you could endure.

Though his words tugged at your heart, filling you with the relief you hadn’t even known you were holding your breath for, there was something else there—anger, hot and unrelenting, burning through the quiet yearning. These were the words you’d yearned to hear, yes, but they came wrapped in a pain you couldn’t ignore.

“How dare you,” you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor from your voice, the words slipping out raw and edged with fury.

His gaze flickered, his face drawn tight as he struggled to find the words. “I didn’t have a choice,” he replied, his voice rough, the weight of it hanging heavy in the air, a justification that felt as fragile as it was final.

You scoffed, the anger flaring higher, spilling over as years of unresolved feelings surged to the surface. “There’s always a choice,” you shot back, each word sharp, laced with the bitterness of wounds that had never fully healed.

“You didn’t have to leave me like that, Joel. Without a word, without even a hint that you were coming back. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

You could feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, the burn of them blurring your vision as the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. “I thought you were dead, Joel,” you whispered, barely holding back the wave of emotions crashing over you.

The grief you’d buried, the emptiness you’d carried for so long, all of it resurfaced now with a vengeance. “I had to mourn you—every day, every night, wondering if you were out there somewhere or if this world had swallowed you whole.”

He shifted, his jaw tightening, but he remained silent, his eyes filled with something dark and unreadable as he watched you, taking in every word, every tremor in your voice.

You took a shaky breath, the weight of the words settling over you, but the anger remained fierce, stoking the fire that had smoldered beneath the grief all this time. “And now, here you are, expecting me to drop everything just because you’re back, because you decided it was finally time to show up and tell me how you feel?”

Before you could pull away, his hands came up to cradle your face, fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a rough, familiar tenderness that unraveled your defenses one touch at a time. Your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, clinging to the remnants of your anger, but he tilted your chin, gently forcing you to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes was nearly unbearable—haunted, pleading, raw with a vulnerability you’d never seen before.

“I’m here now,” he whispered, his thumb skimming softly over your cheek, his touch achingly tender against the whirlwind of emotions crackling between you. “I’m here now, and I want you—no… I need you.”

His words settled over you, each syllable sinking deep, loosening the walls you’d tried so hard to build. His eyes, dark and unguarded, searched yours with a desperation you hadn’t seen before, a vulnerability that struck at your core.

He was looking for something—forgiveness, maybe, or hope, something to hold on to, some small assurance that he hadn’t lost you completely.

The air between you felt charged, alive with the ache of love and the bitterness of loss, thick with things that could never be undone. You felt yourself trembling beneath his touch, suspended in the pull between the pain he’d caused and the undeniable connection that still tethered you to him, no matter how hard you’d tried to deny it.

“Well, Joel,” you whispered, voice breaking as the flood of emotions finally surged forward, “I needed you. I needed you here.” The words slipped out, barely audible yet carrying years of hurt. “And you just… disappeared.”

He held your gaze, unflinching, his eyes steady, piercing, as though he could see through every defense you tried to keep up. “Come here, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and insistent, a quiet demand that tugged at something deep within you. Before you could protest, he pulled you in, wrapping you in the warmth of his embrace, pressing your cheek to his neck where his scent, familiar and grounding, surrounded you.

The tension in your body began to dissolve, your walls crumbling under the weight of his presence, the way he held you like something precious, irreplaceable. You felt the tears slip free, wetting his shirt as he held you tighter, as if he could shield you from every ache you’d carried alone.

Slowly, he drew back, his hands coming up to cradle your face, as though he couldn’t bear to go a moment without touching you. His thumbs traced a gentle line along your cheeks while he looked at you with a softness that left you feeling utterly exposed, seen in a way no one else ever had, as though he was reaching through every barrier you’d ever put up, seeing the parts of you you’d never let anyone else find.

His thumb lingered, his touch gentle but deliberate, leaving a warmth that spread through you with each stroke. “I know you feel it too, don’t you, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice thick with longing, every word weighted by unspoken moments, things left unsaid for far too long. His gaze held yours, and in it, you saw everything he’d been holding back, a yearning that matched your own.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, lingering for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes. “I saw the way you were lookin’ at me tonight… at dinner.” His voice softened, dipping to a murmur as his thumb brushed your cheek again, lingering as though he didn’t want to let go. “You can’t tell me that was nothin’.”

His words struck you like a lightning bolt, raw and unfiltered, his quiet confidence cutting through every barrier you’d put up. Your stomach twisted, your pulse racing, the way he saw right through you stirring feelings you’d tried so hard to bury.

He knew how deeply you wanted him, knew that the pull between you hadn’t dimmed, and now, with every word, he was stepping over every line, breaking down every silent rule you’d tried to enforce, leaving you defenseless in the wake of his honesty.

The faint scent of whiskey lingered on his breath, blending with the warmth radiating from him, and you found yourself drowning in the details—the worn lines of his face, the way his lips parted as if waiting for you to respond, to give him any sign.

Your throat tightened, the words slipping away as you stammered, caught between his gaze and the undeniable force drawing you closer to him. “I—I…” Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you could feel every nerve alight as his fingers brushed over your wrist, grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a sad, almost desperate smile. “You can tell me to stop,” he whispered, his voice so low it was barely more than a breath. “But I don’t think you want me to. Hell, I don’t think I even can.” He leaned in, and the air between you thickened, so charged with unspoken longing you felt like you might drown in it.

His face was close enough that you could see every line etched into his brow, the way his eyes lingered on your lips, as though he was just as close to breaking as you were. You hated yourself for it, but you leaned in too, your body betraying the logic your mind clung to.

“Joel…” His name slipped from your lips, barely audible, a breath caught between resistance and surrender. But he was already closer, his breath warm against your cheek, his gaze moving over your face like he was memorizing each detail, each curve, each fragile expression you gave away.

“Say it,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, a touch that felt like a quiet plea. “Tell me you don’t feel it. Look me in the eye, and I’ll walk away. I’ll stop. But if you can’t…”

He held you there, suspended between anger and longing, between the scars he’d left and the undeniable pull that still held you captive. In his eyes was an offering, a choice: to close this chapter once and for all or to risk everything and let yourself open to him again.

And in that moment, as his gaze searched yours, you felt every emotion—the hurt, the love, the longing—flood back in, an unspoken answer he was waiting for, an answer that might change everything.

“Stop.” The word sliced through the air, sharp and final. Gently, but firmly, you lifted his hands from your face, breaking the contact that had felt like both salvation and torture. You took a step back, feeling the space grow between you like an unbridgeable chasm, a boundary you could no longer allow him to cross.

“I can’t, Joel,” you said, your voice trembling, betraying the weight of your resolve. “It’s too late. Just… stop. Stop with the looks, the touching, and what you said tonight about us sharing a bed—what the hell were you thinking?”

The words spilled out, raw and unfiltered, each one coated with a desperation to hold onto the life you’d fought so hard to build in his absence. You glanced up at him, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes

His gaze held steady, undeterred by your anger, his eyes intense and unflinching. “What was I thinking?” he repeated, his voice low, the words thick with an unspoken ache. “I was thinkin’ I couldn’t sit across from you any longer, pretendin’ like there’s not still somethin’ between us.” He took a step forward, reaching for you, but you pulled back, unwilling to fall under his spell again.

“Joel, you had your chance,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together as the pain in your chest deepened, sharp and unrelenting. “You don’t get to come back now and act like nothing’s changed.”

He looked down, his jaw clenched, and when he spoke, his voice was rough, laden with regret. “I know I messed up,” he murmured, each word filled with remorse that hung heavy between you. “But I can’t stand here and pretend you don’t still mean everything to me.” His gaze lifted to meet yours, and in that moment, his eyes held a sincerity that cut through every defense you’d tried to build, making it nearly impossible to look away.

“It’s too late, Joel,” you replied, each word a painful truth you forced yourself to accept. “You made your choice. I moved on. I had to.”

He stared at you, his expression wavering between disbelief and desperation, as if the weight of your words was too much to bear, as if he hadn’t realized until this moment what his leaving had truly done to you. His lips parted as though he might say something, but the words died on his tongue, his eyes searching yours, pleading silently for some trace of forgiveness. But you held steady, your heart splintering with the resolve you’d fought to keep.

“I’m marrying Caleb,” you whispered, each word feeling like a nail sealing shut the door to everything you’d once shared. You watched as the last glimmer of hope in his eyes faded, leaving only a raw, quiet devastation that twisted something inside you, but you couldn’t falter—not now. You had to hold on to the life you’d built, to the stability you’d found, even if it meant leaving this part of you—of him—behind.

The silence that filled the space between you was deafening, weighted with memories of a love that never bloomed and never faded, with words that had never been spoken. Joel’s gaze fell, and in the set of his shoulders, the defeated slope of his posture, you could see the impact of your words settle, the shattering pain of realizing that you were no longer his to lose.

Without another word, you turned back to the sink, the steady stream of water the only sound in the room as you focused on anything but the silent ache building inside you.

Behind you, you heard Joel’s footsteps, slow and heavy, each step echoing like the sound of a door closing.

You held yourself steady, refusing to look back, even as his presence slipped away, the sound of him fading from the room like the final echoes of a memory you’d never fully let go of.

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[ma1dita]

pushover

luke castellan x dionysus!reader

a/n: usually you’re the one stitching Luke up but the one time he gets to do it for you, he knows you’re milking it. no trouble!verse tags, can be standalone -> she’s an ACTRESS okay? who tf wouldn’t want luke to kiss a booboo; this was a forgotten draft for my partners in crime series feel free to read

wc: 1.2k

“OWWWW!”

The sun shines again on Camp Half-Blood peeking through Luke’s dark curls as he towers over you, laughing from his position above. Your knee is scraped after cushioning your fall, or perhaps your attack, after Luke thought it’d be funny to push you again as he walked past.

Well, today’s been kind of boring, so might as well make the most of it right? 

As a daughter of Dionysus, you do love to put on a good show.

There’s a glimmer of mischief in your eye as you do your best to convince him that he’s maimed you but as his eyes fall to the slightly aggravated skin, Luke sighs at the way you look like a kicked puppy, lower lip jutting out as you squint up at him.

“Stop being so overdramatic. It wasn’t that serious.”

“YOU SHOVED ME INTO A BUSH!” 

The howl that leaves your throat catches the attention of other campers, who are familiar with your dramatics and your penchant for picking a fight with the son of Hermes. Luke sighs and runs his hands through his hair, groaning in embarrassment. 

Gods forbid he look like the bad guy.

“Seriously, trouble— you're acting like I pushed you off a cliff,” he grumbles finally crouching down to reach for your leg to check how serious it is. 

It’s not.

“You're a barbarian. Just because you think it's funny to push me around doesn't mean it actually is! Luke.... I can't walk! It feels like my bone is coming through. And I have so much work to do today, and now I'm gonna have to walk super slow…” you groan, still on the ground. Luke rolls his eyes and once he's checked the injury (the whole menacing palm-sized scrape) his expression softens the tiniest bit. He’s still kinda pissed off at you for being a drama queen though.

“Alright, it's not life-threatening so you're going to be fine. Look, I can carry you if I have to.”

Batting his hand away you roll your eyes, “Like I'd let you. You'd probably toss me into the lake again.” 

Luke smirks, “Probably, but I swear to the gods that I wouldn't do anything to maim you. Not on purpose at least.” It’s almost criminal how easy it is to get on your nerves—he thinks you’ve finally shut your trap until he watches you fake crawl away to get a reaction out of him. Quite frankly, it’s embarrassing to everyone watching so he scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing. Luke chuckles softly, wrapping his arms tightly around your squirming frame so you won't fall as he begins walking.

“So difficult. I swear…”

“Me? Never!” you groan, flopping in his arms like a dead body. Your dead weight makes his arms strain a little but his muscles are fun to look at from any angle, so… 

You miss it when he starts speaking again, “You're too much, you know that?” A smirk grows upon your face, “And you can't get enough. The infirmary is the other way, Castellan....” Luke huffs as he turns 180 towards the infirmary, sighing softly at the way you are sprawled in his arms. But he keeps quiet because he knows how to pick and choose his battles. Something about the realization that he’d only do this for you makes him bite his lip in thought. But you think he’s trying to not laugh at you.

“What? You maim me and then you make fun of me? Haven't you done enough?” The words slip by as you peek at him through one open eye, his cheeks flushed and rosy. Hopefully, his brawn won’t expire on the short trek to the infirmary.

“You're lucky I don't drop you right now,” Luke jostles you with a lopsided grin he can’t hide anymore and it steadily gets bigger at the sound of your surprise.

“Don't you DARE, Luke Castellan!” 

Grabbing onto his mop of curls, the boy winces as his nose brushes against your wrist, and the shockwaves it sends through your system are enough to send you reeling. Maybe it’s the way you almost sway with each step he takes, smooth and steady like a sailboat even when he’s carrying you like this.

He ends up having to carry you inside the infirmary and the Apollo kids on shift stop and stare at their two best counselors in the doorway. Luke tries to ignore them, setting you down on an empty cot and getting the medical supplies he needs to treat your wound. He looks at you propped on the bed like a little princess, cross-legged and fluttering eyelashes waiting for him to clean you up. It's not serious enough for ambrosia, he thinks, so he grabs an alcohol wipe instead.

Luke looks like he's trying his hardest not to smirk as he grabs your leg and begins carefully cleaning the scrape.

“Ow! Gentle! When I patch you up after you spar I don't do it maliciously!”

“I am being gentle, stop wriggling!” Luke grits his teeth as he continues to wipe the drying blood away. He's trying to be careful, but he's clearly irritated that you're not making this easy for him.

Tossing your knee over his lap and getting closer, suddenly you go quiet at the proximity. There’s something intimate about being tended to so delicately in a room filled with people. A quiet in the chaos reserved for only the two of you.

“So what, you think I'm too good for ambrosia? Sending me off to heal like a mortal— what type of nurse are you?”

“You drunk on ambrosia for a scrape would definitely make your dad thrilled and have the both of us cleaning the stables for the rest of the week,” Luke lets out a brief snicker as he meets your gaze, rolling your eyes as you lean against the wall. His hand unconsciously rubs circles into the skin above your knee, featherlight yet firm at the same time. You try to ignore the goosebumps that rise in its wake.

Luke doesn't say anything about it while he continues to look at you. He realizes that you look quite pretty even with windswept hair and dirt on your cheek, but he can't let you see that he's noticed. Something shifts in the air of the infirmary, more overpowering than the smell of antiseptic and it bubbles in both of your chests, overflowing and seeping into the small space between you.

Not bad for a boring day, you suppose. You make him piggyback you for the rest of the day in an attempt to guilt-trip him. But the huge smile on his face has all of your campers thinking otherwise.

—

The next day, he sees you walking perfectly fine. In fact, with the way you’re rushing to scold a Hephaestus kid for almost setting the armory on fire, he’s not sure he’s ever seen you move that fast in your life.

Warmth settles on your cheeks as your eyes dart between the kid you’re yelling at and Luke’s narrowing eyes from afar, and you can’t quite tell if the rush of emotions is from what you’re doing versus who you’re really looking at.

Maybe the next time he pushes you around he’ll find out.

[frownyalfred]

Forgive me if this slightly incoherent- I'm sick rn but I had thoughts

The three probationary leagues are young, in a way many capes aren't at their ages (over 18 but none older then 22). The trio are new to being capes, their powers manifesting later then most, and even after their power came in, they took even longer to become capes. The three weren't friends before they joined the league, but as new kids, and the fact all three were always grouped together for training, they quickly became friends.

Being a member of the Justice League is everything they've always wanted, and there is nothing the three wouldn't do to keep their places.

Often training with Batman (they don't understand why a full human has so much power in the league, but they do understand why they hate him- Batman works them past where they thought they could go. He treats everything like life or death, and crushes the glamor of being a hero under fucking paperwork and regulations upon regulations.)

So when the trio learn, the hard way why the justice league has rules on proper item detainment, why, regardless of how normal or mundane the item seems, you tag and collect it, and submit a report on it, why panic.

As probationary recruits, they don't have the resources or access to try and fix this without telling one of the Founders. And the youngest of them, the 19 year old with powers of water manipulation, insists that Batman will kick them out for this, they have to find another way- well, the other two share a look and agree.

They argue about what to do and who to ask for help hiding their mistakes, as they stand in the rubble that was once half of a town of 40,000. After all, tornadoes are destructive, and magical, fire tornadoes? The damage is catastrophic. But in the end, they agree, Nightwing is the best person to ask. He's friendly with everyone, and he'll even swap moniter room shifts with people so he has watch with Batman, who is objectly thr worst to be trapped in small room with for 4 to 6 hours. Plus, he's sat with each of them at least once and promised making mistakes happens and you just have to stand up and keep moving.

So, they go to Nightwing, all three of them feeling a wave of relief when they see his smiling, cheerful face, and beg for help.

"Please, we've stopped the artifact, and it's been properly contained now. We just need you to sign a few things, so no one investigates the damages to the town. This is our dream, and we've learned from our mistake. Please, you always say we need to have each other's back. We just knew you would be able to help and understand."

But Nightwing's face freezes, at first, then hardens, in a way that scares the trio even though the smile never falters. His body, Shifts, in way that suddenly seems... threatening, and the trio nervously share glances, and slowly they start to understand where the real mistakes have been made.

Yes exactly this!!!!!!!!

[fairy-writes]

Fairyy!! Congratulations on the milestone!! For the event, can i ask for prompt 18 with Narumi Gen? Keep up thr amazing work, love youu

STAY

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: “Tell me to stay, and I will be here for as long as you'll have me.”

Fandom(s): Kaiju No. 8 

Pairing(s): Narumi Gen x Reader

Word Count: 0.7k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Implied Abuse (not Narumi/Reader), Comfort, Reader is implied to have longer hair and is smaller than Narumi  in this

Notes: I had “Stay” by Sugarland on repeat in my head as I wrote this

(I also can’t write Narumi as a goof, so we get his serious side in this (and most of my oneshots with him))

__________________________________________________________________________

Gen opened his door to a torrent of rain, and the sight of you soaked to the bone, feeble arms wrapped around your shaking body. He barely had a second to comprehend what was going on before his body moved on its own, and he was ushering you inside. 

He didn’t hide the fact that he noticed you flinched when he shut the door.

“What’s wrong?” Gen asked, no, demanded. Again, you flinched away from his touch when he went to touch your shoulder. You’re clothed in a flimsy sweatshirt—your boyfriend's, if Gen remembers right—and a pair of boxer shorts. You have a pair of sandals on, and he can practically smell the cold on you. 

“Sorry… I didn’t know where else to go… My phone is dead, or else I would’ve called on my way over.” Your teeth chattering garble your words so much he can barely understand you. 

“Wait… You walked here?!” His voice rises to an incredulous shout, but he cuts himself off when you duck your head as if to avoid a blow. 

That alone has him seeing red. 

But Gen doesn’t act on that anger. 

Instead, he practices some breathing exercises Hasegawa taught him and ushers you to the bathroom. 

“Take a shower, you’ll feel better.” Is all he manages, and you simply nod and shut the door softly behind you.

It doesn’t take long for you to drop your soaked clothes and undergarments outside the door, which he takes and throws in the washing machine to wash. Then, he puts a stack of his own clothes outside the door, puts the kettle on, and plugs your phone in. As soon as the screen turns on, the device is bombarded with missed calls, texts, and social media messages from your boyfriend. 

Gen had never liked him. 

Now, he supposed he had a reason why. 

Just then, the water in the shower turns off. The door creaks open and shuts, and it isn’t long before you step out of the bathroom, towel scrubbing at your hair. 

Gen doesn’t comment on your red, puffy eyes.

“Want something to drink?” He asks instead, and you nod with a sniffle. 

“Tea would be great.” You mumble, and he jerks his head toward the kitchenette, where the kettle squeals on the stove.

“I put the kettle on. Chamomile?” He replies, and you nod, the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips. 

That alone makes his heart sing. 

Soon enough, you’re curled up at his side, a mug of tea in your hands, watching him play the latest first-person shooter that held his attention. You lean your head on his shoulder, and Gen can smell his shampoo and body wash on your skin and in your hair. 

But now isn’t the time to be focusing on that. 

Your phone starts dinging in the other room. Another round of calls and texts from your boyfriend is his guess. Immediately, your mood dies, and you get up, slumping to the other room to pick up the cellular device. 

Gen pauses his game and follows. 

Only to find you already in tears. 

“I don’t—I don’t want to talk right now.” You say, and he can hear your partner's berating tone on the other line. 

Again, he sees red. 

So, he snatches the phone from your hands and holds it to his ear. 

“They said leave them alone asshole.” He snaps and shuts the phone off completely. You’re staring, shocked at him, as he fumes and tries not to crush your phone in his hand. Instead, he tosses it on his bed and holds out a hand. 

“C’mon, let’s go to bed.” He says, and you nod, wiping your eyes on the sleeve of the First Division sweatshirt he had lent you. 

The guest bedroom is a bit musty, but you claim you don’t mind. Instead, you crack the window to let in the fresh air and the scent of petrichor. You snuggle under the blankets of the spare futon and bury your face in the pillow. Gen, making sure you are comfortable, goes to leave. 

Only for you to dart up and catch his hand. 

“Stay.” You plead, and he looks back to see your wide, begging eyes. Something inside him cracks, and he only sighs before nudging you over and climbing under the covers. 

“Tell me to stay, and I will be here for as long as you'll have me.” He whispers as you slowly fall asleep. 

[madmachaca]

Hello, hope you are doing well!

You left some interesting tags in one post:

#stefan was born to be undercover#wait! maybe that's why camera 9's file says no one knows his face except for his mom and tve pediatrician:#because he does stands out! (in oppose of him wearing a tiny trenchcoat as a child as I first imagined)

Could you elaborate on that? The standing out/concealing thing, I feel we're on to something here

Hello!!

I mean, I just had the thought he could be one of those people who never stood up. Like the kid parents forget about, the student teacher don't recognize after having them on their class for a whole year.

Thr person who was left locked in in a store because the workers left and didn't noticed hevwas there.

What if Stefan was like that growing up? And, at some point, started doing it on purpose and using it to his advantage?

What if he realized he could hide on plain side and used that for his journalist job?

He is canonically quiet, and I thought he learned to hide during his journalist days, especially after whayever happened that took his nationality away, but it would be fun if he had always been naturally good to conceal himself, even as a kid.

Even unwillingly

Remember when Mike got spooked by him in La notte piu buia?

Doesn't this imply he forgot he was there?

Stefan was born to be unnoticed in the universe and to stand out in our hearts 💕

[zombiemother]

caregiver!gn!reader x regressor!venti

again, I don't play genshin (yet) buuut I think I know enough 2 write abt it ehe >< also can u tell I'm a band kid with my hc's, possibly ooc venti. tagging @theholylyre

he's probably clingy while big, yeah it gets amplified while small. he's stuck to you like a slime

oh my gosh he loves humming and making little tunes while regressed. please remind him to be careful with his lyre. (even if his fingers have gotten used to the strings, don't want em to get cut even a small bit! plus the concern makes him feel all giddy n fuzzy) probably has a flute and some sort of bell set :(

d'you think he draws how he looked like when he was a wind spirit? keep memory of his past self before he took his current form. probably draws other woodland creatures, a seelie every now and then

sleeps better when he knows you're there but usually has nightmares or doesn't sleep for long increments (either that or sleeps for 10 hours at a time)

loves hide n seek, his favorite game other than playing any music related games (if u can't find him and it takes to long he starts giving u hints. little tunes being whistled, thr magical chime of a bell carried by the wind and melodic giggles that follow)

definitely drinks less but he knows if he does relapse he can come to you

very very talkative, atp consider him an info dumper. though he loves knowing he has ur attention. he's ramble about anything and everything. especially different alcohols, taste profiles, etc.

also,, angel and dove regressor. (thinking abt his archon form)

angel regressor flag crd. dove pet regressor flag crd.

ddlg/abdl/nsfw/variants dni! add any of ur own headcanons in the comments or reblogs ! post belongs to me ☆

[abysskeeper]

How about "stop distracting me" for your Tav and whatever character they're romancing?

*looks at my growing list of Tav's* Uh...yeah. Sure. Seriously though, thanks. I should break the dam for writing in this game.

Five Ten sentence prompts. I allowed it only because extensive dialogue tagging doesn't really count...does it? Anyways, on the road to Baldur's Gate, my half-drow bard, Fiona, and Wyll...who I'll probably wind up writing more for because poor Wyll has so little content and Fiona hasn't shut up since I started playing.

***

The evening air was crisp with a growing chill, but he hardly noticed despite sitting far from the night's fire, enthralled as he was watching her practice a performance. She moved gracefully, her feet gliding through thr steps of a well-known dance, fingers plucking the notes of imaginary strings, and her voice humming a lilting tune all while she wore a face that haunted his memories--one not quite her own.

"Stop distracting me, I can feel your stare like the point of your rapier," she said, sing-songing to the melody she hummed. A moment later and her feet stopped, a hand went to her hip, and those silvery blue eyes pierced him with a combination of false accusation and twinkling humor.

"That is hardly my intention, though it does not bode well if one adoring fan is enough to drive you to distraction," Wyll laughed, "Especially when I am merely wondering at the necessity."

"The necessity is in the fact I am the only one who remembers what having an actual job is like, and if we wish to not sleep in the cold for our entire duration at Baldur's Gate then we need coin," Fiona answered, "It's just...been a while since I've has to focus on so much during a performance."

"That is the necessity to which im referring," Wyll said and rose, moving to stand in front of her. He watched as her disguise spell dissipated the moment he reached out towards her, brushing her hair from obscuring her face and trailing his fingers down her jaw, urging those eyes he loved to look back at him--one silvery blue, and one drow red. "I understand, but for your sake I wish you did not feel the need to hide, that you could trust the world enough to show the heart I know."

Those eyes softened considerably as Fiona smiled, leaned up on her toes, and--just before closing the distance between them with a kiss--uttered, "If only the world had half the heart you did.

[ophelie-redgrave]

What once was.

It was a sunny afternoon, Ophélie and her farher had, spent the day playing in their backyard. Her farher, a tall and gentle man with a warm smile, chased her around as she giggled and squealed with joy.

They played tag, hide-and-seek, and even had a tea party with Ophélie's stuffed animals. The air was filled with the sound of laughter and birds chirping as they soaked up the precious moments together. Ophélie's eyes sparkled with happiness, and her fathers heart swelled with love for his sweet daughter.

As the sun began to set, they sat on a blanket in the grass, watching the colors of the sky change from blue to pink and orange. Ophélie's snuggled up to her father, feeling safe and content in his embrace."Thank you for playing with me, Daddy," she said, looking up at him with a smile that could light up the sky. Her father hugged her tightly and replied, " Anytime, princess" placing a loving kiss upon thr forehead of his daughter.

This was a memory, that Ophélie would aways remember, but would also do anything to forget.

Ophélie was only about six years old at the time, in that moment she thought that nothing would ever come between the special bond she shared with her father. Both carefree, both loving and both each others favourite.

She never had been able to pin point exactly where their relationship went wrong. All she knew was that as she grew up, they futher they grew apart.

When you'd yell, I would stay silent You never noticed I was quiet I was taught that speaking up was talking back

Always first to say I'm sorry 'Cause I wanted you to like me And I thought that's what it took to make it last

It's a lose-lose That I don't choose But you don't always choose the ones you love

Apart of her has always wondered if her mother was to blame for the downfall of their relationship. She had always been close and carefree with her father, yet her mother had always cared more about appearances. A scuff of a shoe or dirt to the knee of her daughter simply would not do.

She never had been the one to play, treating her daughter more as a trophy prize to show off than an actual child.

As she grew older, she noticed a shift in her father's treatment towards her. He became less fun, more strict, expected more. He become like her mother in every sense. Their image becoming their main concern.

Soon they no longer played, they no longer laughed or cuddled. Instead he judged.

Was her hair just right? Was she clean enough? Was her skirt long enough? Did she great their guests in the correct manner? Where her grades good enough? Did she walk, talk and smile the right way?

Growing up she watched her brother do and say everything they expected. Fall to their every demand, excess beyond their expectations. It never seemed to phase him, he enjoyed it, being the golden child.

For Ophélie it was a different story, she couldn't simply fall in line with there unrealistic expectations. She didn't see things the way they did, their ideas of importance, simply wasn't important to her. She disagreed with their views, she cared not for what people thought of her.

It wasn't without trying, she tried to be the perfect daughter they wanted. Yet, the more she tried the more she failed, and with that the more she was yelled at, the more she said sorry. Each time she saw the utter disgrace and disappointment upon her father's face.

It wasn't long before she simply gave up, accepting that the love her father once had for her was gone.

She stopped trying, stopped caring and simply allowed herself to be herself. To be the person she wanted to be, not what everyone expected or desired. Even if that did mean destroying almost every aspect of a relationship she had with her father.

[kingofangst]

I have been tagged by the dear @thiamsxbitch, Thank you so much💙💙. I did not see this until now. So I will honor it and show what I have.

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fanfics posted on AO3. (Sorted by date posted) If you have less than 10 fics, posted what you have.

Honestly and sadly, I have 8 fanfics of different fandoms. 1 discontinued and the others are on hold due to life being a pain. But I am invested in Teen Wolf, Cobra Kai/Karate Kid, Kimetsu No Yaiba, etc. I have been interested in DC universe but I have never gotten to write for it so I have some WIPs for DCU and many, many WIPs for Teen Wolf and others.

Coup De Grace (Chemin D'Aconit series/Teen Wolf AU)

This is my Teen Wolf AU fanfic that follows the canon divergence but with some changes and altering of the canon events. A rewrite series with OC characters and world building of the supernatural world. Currently 2 chapters, working on chapter 3.

The town of Beacon Hills to any outsider seems to be just your ordinary and hospitable town in California.

At least that is what they assume. But Beacon Hills is not your ordinary town. Not to the eyes of the supernatural that reside in Beacon Hills, or those who know of the supernatural. A dead body split in half by an unknown serial killer, a burned down estate in the preserve that used to belong to a prominent family, the arrival of a powerful hunter clan trying to eradicate the ominous threat, and finally, a sophomore teenager who is bitten by a wolf.

Some Stranger Things have happened in Beacon Hills, one that will shape the lives of Florence and Cassian Saint-Claire, along with their loved ones.

Not a Bully

This is a Cobra Kai oneshot I made regarding a "What If" AU for Anthony and Kenny. The change and path it would have been for the both of them or rather Anthony's behavior.

What if Anthony didn't try to fight Kenny that night? What if he stood up to Zack and his fake friends? What if he helped Kenny instead of bullying him?

Vulnerable (Season 1)

This is a Cobra Kai AU canon divergence fanfic I have and while I haven't update it in a while, it is a fanfic that is still ongoing with 3 chapters and I am drafting the 4th chapter.

Cameron Collins; a privileged, wealthy, socialite teenager who lives in Encino and attends West Valley High. He has what others envy. Perfect grades, a large house, immense wealth, exotic party planner, a famous plastic surgeon father and a brand ambassador for Giorgio Armani. Despite how amazing his lifestyle is, he's not those privileged encino brats who hurt or judge others. He places himself as a normal human being like the rest. But when a new dojo by the name of Cobra Kai opens in The Valley, what will this do to impact Cameron's curiosity and mysterious wonder of the dojo that was banned since 1985?

Awaken

This is actually my first fanfic ever written and the one with the most chapters. While it has been 2 years since updated, I have it's next chapters in drafts .

The mysterious kid who was put in the orphanage as an abandoned child, later to make friends with two others named Kaneda and Tetsuo. The lone kid's name is Hasegawa Nimura but prefers to be called by his first name as he isn't one for formalities. He joins Kaneda's new gang called The Capsules in their juvenile years and Nimura was fine with the situation he was in. But there's alot of things that neither Kaneda or Tetsuo know about their childhood friend. Does Nimura know what he's hiding or is he clueless as the rest of the pack? How long will this air of content keep up with him until it all collapses?

Ominous

A fanfic I based off from Crazy Rich Asians. A combination of thr novel and the movie. I have a thing for old money family and aesthetics regarding upper class status within a aristocracy system. On 2 chapters currently.

The Young Family, a well known family only known by Singapore's elite, as well as Singapore's powerful and meritocratic aristocrat family run it's reins between it's conglomerate corporation and investments. The Shining heir, Nicholas Young was expected to return to Singapore after his 6 months abroad after he graduated from Oxford University. Instead he remained away from home beyond the 6 months. Now Andrew Young, younger brother of Nick Young, is doing many steps in keeping the family business strong, as well as being the COO of the giant corporation empire and chairman of his own investment firm while helping his CEO and engineer father be able to take some time for himself. Yet, he still faces issues of reality, and is often overlooked in society. Yet what could be keeping Nicky away from home? And what issues could Andrew be facing that he refuses to bring up?

Collison

During my Ajin Phase when I was reading the Manga. I created an OC being the son of a Japanese government minister who is in between the war of Ajins and Humans.

The world is currently on the topic of Ajins. 46 identified Ajins around the world and two in Japan. The 2 Ajins are under surveillance by the Japanese government and away from society. But what happens when the truth comes out? How long will humanity continue to play chess until it takes one bad day to reverse the board on them?

How is Tokui Ishino, son of the Japanese Minister of Health, Labor, and Welfare willing to break through the dystopian chaos that will run amok?

Unravel

I have a passion for Demon Slayer (Kimetsu No Yaiba), it is one of my favorite anime/manga series. While it has been a while since I last updated it, that doesn't mean it is discontinued.

As leaders of the Demon Slayer Corps, the Ubuyashiki clan is known to lead the demon slayers with benevolence, composure, skill, pride, and determination to protect the lives of the innocent from the monstrous creatures called demons. And while this tradition has continued for century after century, what happens when one Ubuyashiki member, Kazuya, follows a different path? A path of his own agenda.

Toxic Revenge (Discontinued)

This is a BNHA fanfic that I have discontinued. No longer working on the series due to getting writers block on constructing the next chapters and phase for this story. May get a rewrite.

Suzumebachi Ronin, a underground villain who works as a spy and informant of Japan's most powerful villain with a terrifying quirk. With Sensei choosing his successor and the rise of the League of Villains, Suzumebachi now stands with his leader to bring the hero society down to it's knees and create a new era.

But Suzumebachi also has a few agendas of his own as a loyal villain to sensei.

Ho Pressure Tags! @rhyslahey @ksbbb @amatchinwater @thiamblogger @chasing-chimeras @ahscotty

[spacedace]

No see you gotta hide things in the tags for your mutuals to dig for, it's enrichment 😂

And haha honestly the second it occured to me that Jason has a type in the form of tall bad ass red heads (see Roy, Kori, Artemis, tho I don't know as much about her admittedly, and now Jazz) I had to make em a polycule. Also I love polycules 😂 why have love triangle when you could have love circle? They can all hold each other's hands while fucking up GIW agents and causing chaos!

And I'm a complete sucker for Halfa Jason, it had to be here during the war between the ghosts & the GIW. Make Jason even more of a menace then he already is, plus potential angst as he figures out his powers and slowly remembers his unlife in the Ghost Zone and feels the pain of losing yet another family (Ghost Writer as Jason's adopted ghostly parent maybe? Who knows this entire AU has been written in a fugue state I swear lol)

I love the AU name! I'm planning to post this on AO3 and I've been thinking of making it thr story name if that's okay with you? I'll make sure to credit you & link your tumblr if it is ❤️❤️❤️

& I always felt like the Spirit of Gotham should be kinda fucked up? Like in my head a City Spirit isn't like a ghost, it's more of like the concept of a tulpa, but on an unconscious level. Just all this energy of people living and dying in the same place, thier shared thoughts and beliefs about the place they call home - and their conflicting ones, plus humanity's innate ability to find human traits and features in literally everything.

I feel like it'd all come together to make something kinda horrifying and inconsistent but also something that very much *isn't* a ghost. As long as people live there and call it home, Gotham would be alive in a kind of unsettling, visceral way. Because it's not a *single* life, it's millions all twisted up together, it's alive with so many lives at once and *you* are one of those lives. It's alive because *you* are, because everyone else in the city is, because you call this place home and you and everyone else are cells moving around giving life to something so much bigger than you.

Idk I just have a lot of feelings about the idea of the Spirit of Gotham lol

I'm glad you like this mad brain worm so far haha!!! It looks like it's terminal lol I have the next part written and have started on part 4 now 😅 and I have even more ideas, yall are gonna be stuck with this one for the foreseeable future it's completely taken my brain over haha 😂

Reluctant War AU Part 2

Part One

...I ended up writing more for that Reluctant War AU...Like. Wrote this before work and started on part 3 with plans for part 4 more.

this was supposed to just be a brain worm what happened (also thank you @catastrophic-crow for the AU name <3 <3 <3 Also, also: welcome to the cult of Ancient of the Speedforce Elle! Membership includes nonsense, shenanigans and chaos haha)

-

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Every corner haunted by death and tragedy.

Every street stained red at least once in its many years.

Every dark shadow holding the faint shadows and shades of the dead.

Gotham was, before all else, a grave yard.

Jason had known that his entire life. Every kid born and raised in the Alley did. Death came fast to Gotham’s streets. Especially for those the rest of the city turned its back on. He did his best to lighten the reaper’s load when it came to the people that called Crime Alley home. Well, mostly. He’d certainly added names to old Death’s list before, when the occasion called.

When the armies of the dead descended upon Gotham, the only surprise Jason could feel was that those white wearing pieces of shit had dared to try and hunker down in his city.

It was a sentiment shared by most of Gotham’s fine citizens. By the city itself - herself? Something to ask later, if there was a later - even if the impossible, living shadow that rose up out of Gotham’s many dark corners was anything to go by. He knew, almost instinctively, that the entity - skin of cracked pavement, mouth a bridge suspended too wide across the face, eyes of CCTV camera lenses and body built brick by grimy, bloody brick of the sharp skyline - was Gotham. Not a ghost but something bigger, greater. Something awfully, terribly alive in all its horrible, noble glory. His city, manifest in the shape almost human beneath the green glow of the torn apart sky above.

Phantom’s armies arrived without warning as they had everywhere else, and their enemies poured out in unforgivably unmarred white suits to meet them. Horrible and garish against the Gotham streets. How they’d ever managed to slink by unnoticed while being so blatantly, clearly not of Gotham Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever know.

If either side thought this would be like the battles they fought before, they were mistaken.

Gotham was a place for Ghosts.

A place the dead piled up, lingered well beyond their deaths. A place where the rules were different from everywhere else in the world. Where crime was rampant and chaos reigned but at the end of the day people said their thanks that they were born to this hellhole and not so cursed to call anywhere else in the world home.

The dead came to fight

And Gotham, a thing so alive it was sickening to look upon, rose up to fight right along side them all.

The agents were ready and prepared for the incursion of the dead. It’d been two weeks since the first volley of attacks. Two weeks spent shoring up defenses and ramping up weapons and strategizing ways to kill what was already dead. They were, as best as they were able to be considering how endless the armies that came for them, prepared.

They weren’t prepared for Gotham.

Weren’t prepared for the city itself to rise up and take spectral, eldritch shape. Jagged building spire and shattered glass teeth bared in a snarl that spanned miles. Screaming rage in a voice made of gunfire and the concussive boom of explosions and the shrieks of a furious crowd.

Weren’t prepared for its people to ignore the gentle ushering of the dead trying to push them away to safety and instead press forward to fight shoulder to shoulder with the ghostly armies.

Weren’t prepared to have brick and bottles and trash and debris rain down upon them from the jeering living. Weren’t prepared for dirty faced children with hard eyes to light up rags stuffed into chipped beer bottles filled with gas and kerosene and throw them with more speed an accuracy than any professional baseball player. Weren’t ready for Gotham’s motley crew of terrifying Rogues to band together with the citizens they so often accosted and worried and bring down wave after wave of chaos and Goons.

Weren’t prepared for Red Hood to swap out his rubber bullets for the real deal and start mowing the fuckers in white down, his own crew at his back, the rest of the Outlaws on their way.

The Justice League was trying to find a peaceful resolution. Trying to play go between to the US Government and the infinite dead. Too wound up in US politics to side with the dead outright, too disgusted by what the American government had done to ever want to stand with them. All it had gotten them was spun wheels and confusion and the slow creeping realization that the time to try and play negotiators had well passed.

Red Hood wasn’t a member of the Justice League.

He had no obligation to try and find a way to talk things out.

What he had was a grave he’d dug his way out of, enough ammunition to arm a sizable country, and a burning need to make things right.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts, and Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

Haunting the streets he’d survived as a child, the city he protected as Robin, the family he’d loved and lost a thousand and one times before and after his death.

The sky cracked open above his home, and it was not an invading army that came rushing out but a native one. Friends, neighbors, strangers on the street you caught from the corner of your eye. The people of Gotham knew their own and fought for them. Only Gotham was allowed to fucked with Gotham and they’d been screwed over enough by the government themselves to know what side they were on.

He lifted his guns and fired, teeth bared in vicious satisfaction beneath his helmet as white was splattered bright red.

A hissing electric whine of a weapon, a flash of green from the edge of his vision.

“Down!”

He was thrown bodily to the cracked and ruined street beneath him, the body shielding him warm and living as one of the agent’s weapon fired a blast of energy right where he’d been a second before. He’d seen that same weapon reduce one of the raging dead to dripping green and screams of agony the dead should not be capable of making.

Before he could shove himself up and respond in kind, the body above him was in motion and the air above him cracking with the snapping-popping-roar of a gun of a much higher power than even what he had. The fucker in white that had shot at him dissolved into a mist of red viscera, body seizing and shuttering in the briefest moment it had before it was obliterated completely.

“Watch yourself.” He looked up - and up - and wondered at the lovely, fierce face he found staring down at him. “Even without shooting at them you’re Liminal enough to trip their sensors.”

She was tall enough to be an amazon, six inches in height on him at least. Body strong beneath the pitch black armor she work - as deep and dark as the depths of space, etched with starlight, a familiar crest upon her chest in the dizzying burst of a supernova - she held herself with confidence. Strands of hair the color of a warning sunrise escaped out from beneath the helm she wore, bright against her pale skin, warming the glass-sharp teal eyes that had pinned him in place.

The hand not holding the gun she’d just used to delete the asshole that had just tried to shoot him - a strange, impossible thing that made him taste lightning at the back of his throat to look at it - stretched out to help him up.

He accepted it.

Something pulsed to life in his chest. A piece forgotten where it’d been left behind, half buried in grave dirt and broken pieces of a casket he’d clawed his way out of. It burned like a hot coal in his chest, froze him with the same aching cold of a blizzard, crackled his nerves to life with lightning even as his brain popped and fried with the same sizzling energy.

On his feet, hair on end and body and Core pulsing with the need to fight, to rend and tear and scream for all done to him, his people, his home, he met the eyes of the woman before him. Her cool gaze softened, just a moment, just a second as she seemed to realize what had happened. Her hand, lighter than the armor she wore should allow it to be, tightened on his just a moment, mouth tilting from determined frown to soft understanding.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

[monstrousvoice]

Heyo! If you don’t write for Heket then please just ignore this one buuut…

What about nsfw Heket with an AFAB follower? I’m just saying, the opportunities with her tongues, power dynamic and size differences are right there 👀

Say she has a consort that gets easily flustered by how intimidating she can be to her other followers and her general grandiose, and she can absolutely tell.

And maybe she pulls them aside when she has a moment of peace to get a better look and taste of them.

Obedience is it's Own Reward

A/N: First off, I am so so sorry that it took so long to get this out! I had a crazy past month and writing had to be put on the back burner a teeny bit. But I finally finished this and I hope its what you wanted boo!

Fandom: Cult of the Lamb

Relationship: Bishop Heket X AFAB Reader

Tags: Smut, PWP, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Size Difference, Gag, Clothing used as a Gag, Slight Exhibitionism, Semi-Public Sex

Read on AO3!

Bishop Heket is truly a sight to behold. She towered over the subjects of Anura with nobility and confidence that left you awe-struck and reeling. You will never understand what you did to not only be graced with her presence, but to be invited to her bed on a near daily occurrence. 

All you were truly even aware of was that your Lord Bishop fancied you to some degree, and you couldn’t be happier. She stood tall and proud next to you, beautiful as ever, with an air of intimidation as she worked. With the season coming to an end the last crop had been harvested and brought to the temple. It was your Mistresses duty to inspect everything before it was shipped off to her sibling’s respective realms.

Lord Heket would never let her siblings be served anything less than pristine. She was so caring and sweet like that… “I don’t care, just get it done. However you have to .” She ordered, the giraffe follower before you both giving a hasty bow before scurrying off tail between their legs. After their departure her four red eyes caught you staring, a glimmer of amusement twinkling within.

“And what is it that has your attention so captivated my little firefly?” Dangerous teeth peaked from her grin as she lowered down closer to your smaller form. Embarrassed at being caught, you ducked your head and shifted from foot to foot.

“I…I apologize Mistress, I was just-it’s very p-pleasing to watch you work…” Her eyes narrow in response as her grin grows ever wider. A long, delicate claw comes close to lift your chin.

“Oh really pet? Hmhm, you are adorable when you get like this…So flustered and shy just because I asked you a question.” She purrs. Your hands grasp the cloth of your robe as you whimper at her teasing. 

“I just…enjoy the way you command so effortlessly…” “Oh? My commands you say?” Your eyes widen as you register how your own words sound.

“I-I mean-!” 

“Hush firefly.”

Your jaw snaps shut with a click. The claw under your chin traces ever so slowly along your cheek and down your throat as she hums.

“Such obedience…It should be rewarded I believe. Come.” She pulls away from you and stands to her full height, towering above you. With her usual grace and dominance she turns and leads you away from the various followers still working around you.

You…you had forgotten they were even there…

You try your best to hide your flustered face and ignore the knowing grins other followers give as you pass. It’s easier in the crowded hallways of the temple, followers parting for your beloved Mistress with no hesitation. Your mind is fixated on her words, the feeling of her stare burning you inside and out as she leaned in so close…

A reward, she had promised. The possibilities had your heart fluttering and heat pooling your lower tummy. You’re so lost in your lewd fantasies that the nudge in your side almost makes you stumble.

“H-huh?” You crane your neck up to meet four scarlet eyes staring down at you, hooded with lustful promise. You turn your gaze to the side to see a door being propped open by her hand, and realize she’s waiting for you to step through. You quickly do so, finding yourself in a temple storage room. 

A deafening ‘ thud ’ of the door behind you seals your fate.

Before you can even open your mouth to speak, Mistress Heket has her hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you into her warm chest. A claw tilts your head up again, but this time you’re met with a fat pink tongue pushing against your lips.

The surprise gasp you give is the opportunity it needs to squeeze inside and fill your wet and willing mouth. A groan leaves you as your eyes fall shut in pleasure. Dutifully you begin suckling the tender flesh pushing against the back of your throat. You feel your Mistresses gaze burning into you as she suddenly starts moving.

A sudden pressure is against your plush ass, and the part of your brain that has yet to turn to mush registers it as a supply box for you to sit on. This frees up Heket’s webbed hands so they can wander over your flesh sending sparks though the sensitive nerves along your body. 

Her claws are relentless in their teasing as she deepthroats you with her tongue - sides are caressed, breasts squeezed and nipples pulled, the only barrier being your flimsy robe. Her tongue suddenly leaves you with a ‘ slurp ’, and you gasp and gulp fresh air while you have the chance. One of your shaking hands lifts to wipe the drool collected on your chin as you meet Heket’s eyes.

“ Look at you… So beautiful and all mine to taste ~” She hisses, fangs bared in a four-way grin.

“ P-please- ” Is the pitiful response you give. 

It’s enough, Heket’s eyes lower towards your hips, where her claws slip under the hem of your robe and push the cloth up and away.

“Hold this up for me, pet.” She commands - and you obey.

You hold your robe bunched up under your armpits, the expanse of your tits and tummy on display for her roaming gaze. This isn’t your Mistresses goal however, as she only gives your breasts a quick squeeze before her hands land once more on your hips.

“ Open. ”

You suck in a harsh breath but do as ordered, parting your legs for her.

“Good girl. Such a perfect, good pet for me~” She praises you as her thumbs hook into the bands of your underwear and gently, slowly , pulls them down your legs. You turn your face away and squeeze your eyes shut as your leaking pussy is put on display for her. You feel your opening flutter under her gaze.

“P-please don’t-don’t look-” You whimper in embarrassment. 

“ Don’t look? Why dewdrop, why would I ever not? Such an adorable cunt should be savored, should be worshiped~ ” You mewl and wiggle in her hold, her words making your already hot blood burn all the warmer.

You peek an eye open at her chuckling to see her staring right at you, at the opening between your thighs with such hunger… One of her top eyes catches your gaze and quickly all four are pinned to yours. 

“While I do find your shyness adorable, I am not cruel. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

You give a tentative nod. What is she…?

“‘I’ll end your suffering sweet flower…by fucking you with my tongue till you can’t even remember your own name, much less any embarrassment~” You open your mouth to respond - to say what, you don’t know and never will because her tongue is on you. 

The noise you make is not one you think you’ve ever made before, and your Mistress laughs deep in her chest. Her tongue is pressing right against your folds, pressure against your opening and clit all in one stroke. With every swipe up more wetness is left behind, a combination of her own slick spit and cum leaking from your pulsing cunt.

You can only sit there and throw your head back as you cry out, your hands balling into fists around the cloth you still dutifully hold.

Suddenly she stops, and your head jerks down to her again, confusion all over your flustered face.

“Ah ah, pet. Can’t have you making so much noise. Don’t want anyone to see you like this , after all…”

Mortified, you realize she’s right, but your mind is too jumbled to think of a solution. Heket has one for you already you learn, as one hand leaves your bruised up hip. Suddenly cloth is pressing against your lips, and you belatedly realize…

It’s your own underwear.

Your wide eyes dart to hers, to the cloth, and back again to her. Heket simply smiles and raises two questioning eyebrows in unison. A whimper escapes your throat as you open your mouth and ever so gently, bite down on your own underwear.

Heket gives a ‘ tsk ’ and pushes the cloth roughly past your lips, her fingers pushing it down against your tongue and securing it deep in place.

Your pussy clenches hardand your hips buck, letting Mistress know exactly how much you enjoy such treatment. She rewards your enthusiastic response by putting her tongue back between your shaking thighs. Your keen of pleasure is muffled by your new gag, and your hips give another hard buck against her tongue.

“Okay firefly, I understand.” She growls, licking her lips. “I won’t tease you any longer.”

With those words the fat head of her tongue is pressing harder against your gushing opening, wiggling and spreading the tight muscles open. Her tongue slips inside with a wet, audible ‘ squelch ’ that has you gasping and arching your back. 

Your Mistress doesn't give you time to adjust, her tongue pushing deeper into your tight cunny, touching the opening of your womb in the most lewd kiss of your life. Your shaking thighs are desperately trying to close, to gain some relief from the onslaught of pleasure you feel as her tongue moves inside you, but Heket stops you.

Her hands migrate from your hips to wrapping around your thighs, holding the weak limbs open with no effort. She’s purring as she pulls her tongue out only to thrust back in, her grin best described as ‘blissfully smug’ as she makes you lose your mind. Thrusting in and out of your fluttering cunt over and over. 

You feel your release coiling low in your belly, right where Heket’s continues to press against your womb as you cry and moan against your gag. It snaps with a flourish, your hips lifting high off the box you sit on as you pull against the cloth you still hold. The seams of your robe strain against your pull as you cum hard on your Mistresses tongue.

She doesn’t pull it out of your spasming pussy, instead pushing it deep and staying there, wiggling the flexible muscle against your gummy walls. One hand moves from your thigh to rest at the top of your mound, her thumb idly starts rubbing your clit, and the scream you let out was sure to be heard by everyone despite your gag.

She keeps this up until your body falls limp from orgasm, your upper body falling back onto your box perch as your legs limply lay on Heket’s broad shoulders. She finally ends your overstimulating torment and pulls away. She gives a few last licks with her tongue to clean you up before once more staring at your still twitching opening. Her two thumbs hook into your lips and gently pull, giving her a perfect view of your gaping hole and engorged clit. 

“Ah, such a beautiful sight…look at how puffy and swollen your pretty cunt is~ Makes me want another taste…” She purrs, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss against your sensitive nub. Prompting another soft whimper from you.

“Time for that later I suppose. We really must get back.” 

You make a muffled noise against your gag, unwilling to move after…all that. Heket gives an amused huff and pulls your underwear from your mouth, stuffing the cloth into a pocket on her robe. She gathers you into her arms and tries to make you somewhat presentable as you snuggle into her chest. Her warm fingers comb through your tousled fur to smooth it out as you nestle into her embrace.

Her heart beat is so comforting…

“Rest my firefly, I will wake you if necessary.” Nestled in the crook of her elbow, you close your eyes and drift away.

[strawberry-nugget]

𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙄 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 | E. Kirishima/ Reader/ K. Bakugo

𝙋𝙖𝙧𝙩 1

𝙎𝙮𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: after weeks of Bakugo distancing himself from you and Kirishima you finally get the chance to talk out what happened the other day, one thing leads to another and...

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, thr*esome, oral (f! and m! receiving), double penetration, fingering, p*ssy slapping, dacryphilia, all characters portrayed are over the age of 20

𝘼/𝙉: I'm so sorry this took me so long. I know this is 6.5k with little to no plot but I hope you enjoy this, hehe, thanks for all of the notes and amazing comments on the last one. I'll be reblogging in a few minutes with the tags in those who asked. Also. This is top Kirishima. Top top top top Kirishima.

It's been two weeks now that you and Bakugo exist in different timelines.

He's never home, lost in patrol after patrol, leaving a hot mess behind him in his room, belts, gear, his back up costume messily sprawled across his room -you guess he doesn't have enough time to clean everything up. Still, the rest of the apartment always looks inhabitable, save for the little mess you make in the kitchen when you cook; he never cleans what's supposed to be your task.

You feel yourself growing sadder every day. It's something Kirishima notices and informs you he feels as well, rooted deep in how Bakugo is treating the two of you ever since that night. And the worst part is you can't do anything about it. He doesn't return his phone calls nor does he ever pick up, and by now you've accepted that he purposely avoids being in the house with you. It hurts even more knowing that he and Kirishima see each other at work every day; at least he knows Katsuki is doing okay, though as he reports, he rarely ever talks more than patrol and business.

You only wonder why he acts the way he does, thinking you don't deserve to get ghosted over for what happened. He's your roommate and one of your best friends, whatever made him feel like he has the right to ghost you with such each is not going to go by so easily and you're not willing to wait it out anymore either.

Thus, this Thursday night you call in sick for work and emerge yourself in the bathtub after checking the clock. 7.25pm. It's still an hour until Katsuki is off his shift, which means you have plenty of time to do some self care. Shave your legs, scrub your whole body with your coconut scrub- anything to calm down that put of anxiety that's starting to boil in the pit of your stomach.

You fear for the worst. That Katsuki doesn't want to be your friend anymore, and losing him doesn't sit right with you. Not over just catching him masturbating once.

There's a ton of things you want to say, or ask him. The lingering thought of him liking Kirishima or you digs deep enough into your brain and plants itself there, getting comfortable right next to the thought of him being jealous of your relationship. Could this be it? Could he just be lonely? He never talks about meeting anyone or having sex -that must be it, he's lonely, that's all.

Your bath doesn't last for long because you're nervous and the water runs cold before you have the chance to enjoy yourself. Maybe it's time to start turning the heating on in the apartment and you curse yourself because you have to talk this out with Bakugo as well -fuck its hard to not live on your own when you have to make shared decisions with someone. To your stomach's turbulence dismay you can't get out of talking to Katsuki.

"No, I literally won't tell you where she is Bakugo"

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of the door unlocking and closing again, followed by your boyfriend's familiar voice. You don't make a single movement to exit the bathroom yet- you're frozen, opting to rest on top of the toilet cap until you hear Bakugo's reply, your gut falling into a muddy pit of panic.

"I swear to fucking god if you two are trapping me to talk about it"

Typically of him, he shouts, barking and chewing a few sounds of what he's saying. Kirishima knows he's all bark and no bite though, you're eager to figure out how he'll oppose him.

"She wants to talk to you, you can't just ghost her like that when you live with her" There's a long pause next "and you should have told me that you're in fucking love with her"

"What?" Katsuki exclaims

What?

"You think I'm an idiot? Or that I can't comprehend basic human behavior? I know how people who feel the way you do act"

"What are you even saying Kirishima? That I'm jealous?"

You blink feverously, trying to take in what you're listening to unfold in the other room. You know a part of you has been wishing that this scenario wasn't true.

"Yeah, that's what I'm saying. You should have told me you liked her in the beginning. I would have never made a move"

They bicker back and forth for a few minutes; Katsuki accusing and Eijiro defending, then switching back and forth before going silent. It's then that you think you should emerge from the bathroom. It feels wrong to not be part of this conversation when you're the reason for their bickering, but at this point the guilt in your stomach is rotting and polluting your insides.

With a sigh, you turn the doorknob and inhale deeply. You tell yourself you can do this. You have to do this, yet your eyes are filled with hot and salty tears as you approach the living room.

Both of them eye you simultaneously, pursed lips and hands crossed over their chests; the only relieving thing about this is that they're sitting next to each other on the couch, their calves slightly touching. You know they'll make up again, they always will, but you're scared you won't be able to be part of that make up. Not with the information that's been poured onto you.

"Hi" You whisper and despite being sure both of them heard you, they make no effort to open their mouths and talk back "I uhm" You clear your throat "I heard what you were ah saying"

"Course ya did" Katsuki growls "course ya fucking did"

"Baku- I-"

"Save it! I'm gonna-" He snaps and makes a move to get off the couch, though Eijiro has other plans; he slams him back down with just a push of his hand

The same hand that's extended to you, overlapping Katsuki's chest, wordlessly asking you to join them on the couch. Your heart warms up slightly. Kirishima always does his best to make you feel included, it's no surprise he's smiling at you when you take a seat next to the blond.

"You're not going anywhere Bakugo. And babe, you can speak now"

Though you smile nervously with your lips, your first word falls silent, in awe of a lung filling sigh. Then by the time you gather some thoughts together your chest is shivering and the tears that you managed to drown before are now threatening to spill from your eyes again.

Kirishima is watching you religiously, pouting as you throw your head to the opposite direction of his to let out a small sob. He tightens the grip of his hand around yours and barely notices Bakugo batting his eyes to that direction.

"Hey, no, don't cry"

"I just don't want to lose Bakugo because of this" you sob and Kirishima shoots a killer gaze at the blond, biting the inside of his lip.

"You're not losing anyone idiot" Bakugo says, clearing his throat, giving Kirishima a strained look as well

"Babe, don't worry, Bakugo and I will be fine, you and Bakugo will be fine"

You sob again, wiping a stream of tears that's falling from your eyes and Kirishima wastes no time on cupping your cheek after bullying Bakugo to do the same. A nice change, you think, two hands reaching out for your face, you could almost get used to this.

"Yeah, you're not losing me" Bakugo tries to soothe, though by Kirishima's demand he adds to his words "I- uhh, I might want you but this has nothing to do with us not being friends"

"Yeah?" You sniffle, looking up

"Yeah"

It's too soft how you're cuddled into their arms instantly, pulled on top of them to sit on both of their laps, held tightly in both of their embraces. You coo into their arms for a while, content when Kirishima kisses your cheek and sobbing faintly when Bakugo rubs your back in circles.

"Do you want a beer baby?" Kirishima asks, softly patting your back and kissing your nape as he leaves you clinging onto Bakugo. You nod into the crook of Bakugo's neck in reply and Kirishima smiles from the other side of the couch.

The sound of the fridge opening is timelines away from what's entering your mind. Is it wrong that you like that cuddle too much? And is it even more wrong that you want more? Bakugo feels nice when you're curling up onto his lap and Kirishima adds warmth and love into everything he's touching, you almost feel your thighs clench at the idea of where your mind's traveling to.

"What if we had a threesome?"

It's so faint when it comes out of your mouth that you're convinced there shouldn't be any loud reaction to it, though you hear the can of beer that's presumably in Kirishima's hand hit the floor, you feel Katsuki's hand freeze on your back. Both of them wonder if they've heard correctly, but never asking you to repeat it.

"A uhm.. Threesome?" Kirishima asks "you'd like that?"

"Yes"

You try to hide your face deeper into Bakugo's neck, but he doesn't seem to approve of it- he pushes you back softly, with a thick hand on your stomach and another still on your back. You feel your face burning as you're forced to face him

"You'd really want a threesome?" You nod and Bakugo gulps "Right now?"

"Mhm" You gulp too, your nose almost nuzzling against his "if- if you want to"

The way you're swamped with attention is overwhelming. From the way Kirishima jumps to the edge of the couch towards you, to the way Bakugo lifts you up and stands on his feet, urging you to do the same as your feet land one by one on the carpet underneath you.

"Fuck okay uh, are you fine with it Bakugo?" The redhead asks, scratching the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I am."

Kirishima gulps when he sees Bakugo latch onto you, placing his hand on your shoulder and coughing up slightly "Should we set some rules?"

"Yes" Bakugo coughs as well, though you can feel him getting hard to where your thoughts are meeting his "wanna suggest anything?"

"Great uh, maybe no kissing between the two of you, since she's my girlfriend? And Katsuki you're wearing a condom too. Are these fine?"

Both of you gulp and nod. It's natural for Kirishima to ask this. Sharing you out of the blue can't completely sit right with him; it almost flicks a switch on inside your gut, making you gulp again when you feel him hugging you from behind.

"Safeword?" Bakugo asks

"Red" You reply cooing when your back finally hits your boyfriend's chest.

You don't even have enough time to count down seconds before you're pounded and squished between the two of them. It's a miracle that you somehow manage to convince them to move it to the bedroom.

Even if making a small stop at the hall wasn't in your original plan

Kirishima's hands are everlastingly on your waist pulling your back into his chest. He's nibbling on the nape of your neck, his fingers light as feathers as they're peeling your T-shirt off of you. He almost grunts at your exposed back, leaning down just to place a kiss on each of your shoulders before latching onto your ear

"It's fine baby, it's fine if you're embarrassed okay?" He blows into you then takes a bite of your ear lobe to which you shiver as you snap your head to his face. “what? Are you that excited?"

You gulp, nodding with your eyes shutting, an expression on your face that looks almost painful -Bakugo can't help but palm himself, searching Kirishima's carmine eyes with his, waiting for a sign that he should make a move or retreat. Anything that doesn't involve him getting a front row seat to how your chest bounces as Kirishima runs his hands on your torso from behind.

"Fuck, I-" He says, swallowijg his tongue in the process, just when Kirishima's hands change paths, now wiggling underneath your sweatpants.

"Enjoying the show Bakugo?" Kirishima's smiles and fuck- when did he adopt such an attitude? "Come 'ere"

Bakugo does as he's commanded, guided by Kirishima, as he trails your torso with his hands intertwined with his, squeezing your upper hips, trailing your belly button, eyeing you with doe eyes before launching a kiss to your navel. You writhe and wiggle in Kirishima's embrace- the feeling of another man too new, too strange to take in in less than a few moments, but Eijiro's got you, kissing your nape, your cheek, softly playing with your breasts above your bralette. Whispering his praises with his hands across your body.

"Good girl" You're sure he whispers in your ear "I got you" But all you can feel is Katsuki's breath as he's placing open mouthed kisses across your tummy, over the valley of your chest, your cheek.

Kirishima is overly alert by this, jumping in between the little scene, capturing your lips with his, using a hand to push Bakugo into the kiss as well, pulling him in as lips as smeared against lips, your saliva trailing out of your mouth. You instinctively rub your thighs together to relieve some of the burning sensation between your legs

Soon enough, Bakugo is taking off your pants, rhen his shirt, Kirishima's taking his off too, managing not to let you go all while pushing the three of you into the bedroom. There's nothing but a trail of clothing in the hallway that could suggest what's happening inside the room once the door closes shut; three pairs of sweats, three different t-shirts and maybe the white ghost of hot and heavy breathing.

On the bed, it's way more comfortable. Your arching back is finally resting against the pillowy mattress, Kirishima's smile from upside down soothing and forgiving, you almost melt away while he cups your face and bumps his nose to yours, giggling slightly, before glaring at Bakugo. He guides your head into his lap, still holding your cheeks, still rubbing circles onto your soft face, pouting hard before facing your friend.

"You good babe?" He asks you and you nod again, humming a small reply to him "you too Katsuki?"

"Yeah, fuck yeah, I am" He gulps, pumping himself twice.

"You're not getting in without prep by the way"

You writhe in Kirishima's lap, gooey eyes and mouth open wide as he leans to pry your legs open, trailing his middle finger across your clothes slit. Your chest jumps when you hear him chuckle. You know he's struck the gold vein he's searching for, your panties swimming in a puddle, completely damp from getting your neck attacked only a few minutes ago.

Katsuki marvels a finger across your slit as well, avoiding your clit purposely or flicking it occasionally, moaning every time his finger touches the chilly dampness of your underwear.

Kirishima pries your legs open wider, hooking his middle finger under your panties and pulling them over and slightly to the side, flashing the blond with a glimpse of you -you swear you see him gulp. Hard.

"Want a taste?" Kirishima asks, chuckling, as if Bakugo isn't frothing at the mouth at the mention of the action, as if he isn't diving in between your thighs like a starved man.

He almost rips your panties by pulling them to the side. Your hands link through his platinum hair and you almost whine at how soft it feels, or, about the moaning sounds he makes as he's digging his fingers in the plush skin of your thigh, swinging your leg wider. You slide a little further along, laid completely flat on the bed -head still on Kirishima's lap.

Sweetly, Kirishima captures your inner lips with his fingers and circles them around before making you hump on him, his knuckles bumping with Bakugo's nose when he chuckles again. You almost tear up by the over stimulating pressure Kirishima's fingers provide for you, but you decide to hold it in; not sure hitched breath leaves your mouth until Bakugo takes an experimental lick across your slit.

With a thumb presses to your clit he retreats for a second, just to watch as he sinks his middle finger inside of you and -"oh my fucking god Katsuki"- he's back at it again, licking at you religiously. Softly, like Kirishima always does, patiently. Just like you love it.

It has your back arching, chest bouncing for Kirishima's eyes to enjoy. He decides he won't have you hanging, bouncing and thrashing. With two huge palms he cups your breasts, flicking your nipples, massaging you for just enough time to make your heart burn, then he wiggles a finger to the hood of your clit, applying throbbing pressure.

The knot in your stomach is tight, your vision blurry, you're sure what you think is silent moaning is probably full-on screaming, mewling or pleas of pleasure that you can't comprehend.

Kirishima is smiling at you from above, still wiggling his finger on you left and right in Bakugo's business and you can't help it- you yelp, pushing Bakugo's face deeper into you. It feels good- too good, like your legs are nothing but jello, your stomach and thighs feeling like they've transformed into liquid smooth. You mewl in Kirishima's arms, coiling, desperately eyeing him in hopes that he and Katsuki won't stop what they're doing.

"M so close" You slur when Kirishima takes a hand of yours away from Bakugo's hair, softly turning it upside down, until your palm is met with the wetness of his foreskin, the pulsing slit of his that leaks precum into your hand.

He whines -"ohh"- when you wrap your fingers around him, instantly pumping your hand up and down, your grip firm and steady as you twist your wrist with every bob of your hand.

"Suck me off baby" Kirishima softly commands, rubbing an experimental circle with his tip on your lips, smearing some of his precum around your mouth. You gulp at how carelessly he pumps his base, until he pries your lips open.

You take him eagerly into your mouth, feeling your stomach churn and your thighs freezing in place by Bakugos movements; so long as you're steadily sucking Kirishima's cock into your mouth, he scissors his fingers inside of you.

"You like that?" He moans into you, eyeing Kirishima "you twitched- fuck you're twitching"

"Show me how wet she is"

Kirishima commands and Bakugo complies by taking his fingers away from your heat and shining them into Kirishima's face. You whimper but how good it feels when he moans against you, blinking as you watch your boyfriend take your friend's fingers in his mouth, sucking in eagerly, before popping the digits out of his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva fall faintly onto the valley of your breasts

"Your pussy's s'wet baby, you're dripping all over over Katsuki's hands" Kirishima thrusts in your mouth "you taste so good" then turns his attention to Bakugo "tell 'er, how fucking good she tastes"

Bulky fingers rub on your clit once more and Bakugos hand secures your tummy in place while pinning you down; you feel it then, the inevitable end of what has been building up in your stomach for such a long while and you can't help but scream at the feeling of coming undone. Shaking, struggling to take a breath without popping Kirishima out of your mouth.

"Fucking perfect"

Your vision is white, your head is buzzing and your legs are frozen. You can feel Kirishima fucking into your mouth once, twice and ever so slightly, depending in how relaxed your jaw is as he's moaning. You don't choke when he hits your throat, you simply moan onto him, too blinded by the afterglow of your orgasm to even react to what's about to unfold.

"Fuck- take 'em off- Fuuck" Kirishima says, you notice. Bakugo probably does as he's told; you hear shuffling and grunting, the soft pop of his dick to his stomach. You want to see-

Bakugo, hazed and drenched in you, cups your womanhood with his hand, landing his thumb on your clit and you yelp again, thrassing onto the bed, finally popping Kirishima out of your mouth. He tugs and drags his fingers away- he's opening you up, of course, that's it- and you can't help but roam your eyes all over him. Searching for his cock, wanting to see it dive inevitably into you.

It's unfair that Kirishima has a better view than you do, but at least, you hope he enjoys the view. You buck your hips forward when you feel Katsukis thighs grace against your own. His skin is unbelievably cold, making the hair on your legs and tummy raise; a tear rolls down your cheek then the moment the tip of his cock touches your clit.

"We've got- ah- condoms in the first drawer. On your left" Kirishima says cheerfully, bucking his hips away from your face, kneeling just to place a kiss on your forehead- your nose- your lips, finally bumping the tip of his nose to yours when he sucks your inner lip into his mouth

"You liked that baby?" Kirishima breathes "You liked Bakugo eating you out?"

"Mhm" You nod, not wanting to break away from the kiss, unlike Kirishima

You can hear Katsuki cursing, slamming the drawer shut as he fidgets with the condom. Everything seems slow, from the way his thick fingers can't grasp the tiny edges of the wrapper, to him finding out what's the right side to put it on -he grunts, inevitably- stealing giggles from both you and Kirishima

"Ah man, you're struggling, come 'ere let me help"

Bakugo grunts once again, although this time it's not out of frustration. Kirishima playfully pulls him close, places a kiss on his navel and extends his hand underneath Bakugo's, politely asking for the condom -you know his lips are pressed into a goofy smiley line right now just by the way his body moves.

Kirishima lets your cheek rest on his thigh when he moves to grab Katsuki's cock, to roll the condom on him while twisting his fist on him no more than twice -unfair- before playfully slapping the blond's ass, urging him to climb onto the bed again.

It's then that your hips are jerked and raised towards the blond, huge palms on your hips, pulling you towards him. Nervous touches, unspoken apologies for potentially harsh movements, his eyes are flickering into yours and his lips are all pouty, scrunched, his cheeks plump with embarrassment. He doesn't know if you notice, nor does he think he ever will, but it's killing him -that he's only allowed to line himself up with you under this circumstance.

Whether you notice the hurt in his eyes or not, you don't comment on it, nor do you spare him any worried look. He doesn't even know if he wants you to take pity on this state of his.

No.

No, he doesn't.

He only hopes Kirishima won't get mad when he cups your face tenderly, nor when he traps your face with his other hand caging you away from the redhead thigh -it's for better leverage he'll say if he's asked to- but you melt into his touch.

And his chest burns.

It's worse when he finally pushes into you. His heart won't stop beating hard and fast and he's scared he's going to have a fall. No-no- he shouldn't think about it, if he does think about it, he'll definitely have a fall.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh," You murmur, feeling the voice come from the depths of your chest.

That's the only confirmation he needs to ignite his ego and light it on fire. You feel good, you're sucking him in deeper and your cheek is still melting into his palm. It's more than enough; he ignores Kirishima's gaze and whatever it may carry behind it. It's for his own sanity he reminds himself.

"You're doing so good babe,'' Kirishima asks you, cupping your other cheek. He's smiling- no need to worry about him not having a positive reaction to Bakugo caressing you

(The rules that had been presented to him were simple- wear a condom and no kissing)

"You're taking it so well, isn't she Katsuki?"

"Fuck yeah" He grunts, thrusting harder

"So, so well baby, we'll make sure you get to come first okay?" You ogle your eyes at Kirishima, teary and soft by his words, clapping your lips together and pouting, begging him silently for a kiss. Only to feel the void when his soft lips don't come in contact with yours

"Oh no, no kiss for baby. You're so naughty, wanting me to kiss you when you're getting fucked by our friend"

"What?" You whine, popping on to your left elbow "Eiji- i want my kiss"

"None can do" He smiles and Bakugo snaps his hips into you "unless you earn it"

Your stomach is tied in a knot again, gummy walls tightening around Bakugo, back arching. It's almost painful to watch you sprawled like this underneath him, reacting in peak with the rhythm of his hips, begging him to go faster, harder. At one point, he's losing himself in the speed he's fucking you with, feeling like he's about to combust from inside out is not helping either

-He thinks, he'll be spent for days after this-

It's guttural, the way you feel as Bakugo thrusts inside of you, the way you mewl and twitch and feel your eyes roll to the back of your head. You feel full, so much that you mutter it, slurred and incomprehensibly at Kirishima. It's more than enough for him to rub your chin with his thumb and buck his hips on your face again. You take him eagerly, smiling with your lips when he lands on your tongue. You swirl it around, pump him deeper into your mouth, suck on his tip until he moans in sync with you.

"Bakugoo" He hisses, biting his lip as he's eyeing you "don't chase your own satisfaction! Go slower and rub her clit too" He takes Bakugos hand away from your face, tracing it down your body before landing on your heat, pinching your clit softly making you moan "ah so responsive"

For a while he doesn't move his hand away, focused on guiding Bakugo's fingers on you, teaching him how to make you feel good while he's fucking and you're on fire, gut churning and chest tight, ovestimulated by how good it all feels. You can't even take a proper breath as Kirishima humps deeper into your mouth. He groans too loud when his tip hits your cheek.

You know this is too much for him, you know he can't hold back any longer, but you grab onto his shaft and twirl your grin on his base, bobbing it into your cheek and popping it out before swallowing it again.

And while Bakugo's thrusts are becoming desperate, Kirishima bursts into your mouth, holding your hair softly, pulling you closer to you- closer, closer, until your nose hits his navel, biting on his cheeks and squinting his eyes so he won't shut them, drunk on the view of you overflowing with his come. He only grubs your chin, swiping his thumb on the white trail that's spilling from the corner of your lips, trying his best to smirk at you without taking a breath.

"Swallow it sweetheart -ah- that's right, you're so -fuck- perfect for me"

Your lower stomach is protesting, bursting slowly as Bakugo is thrusting faster into you. His speed, him hitting that spot in your gut repeatedly, creating the perfect feeling of numbness, it's all too much and not enough all at once, you want to cry out- you gush and you writhe as your legs hook around Bakugo's waist.

Your boyfriend retreats from his previous position, smiling as ever, petting Bakugo's blonde hair, massaging your breast, kissing your nipple, then attacking your upper chest, trapping supple skin in between his tongue and teeth, dragging Bakugo along with him. It's what ultimately leads Bakugo over the edge, his tip feeling numb, blood rushing all over his body, he thrusts a few more times before he pulls out, spilling his own satisfaction into the condom, feeling his heart race faster than ever before.

"Your doing sooo good" Kirishima says once more, pecking your lips repeatedly. "Wanna ride me? Or are you tired? "

"Fuck no, lay down"

"That's my girl" He smiles "Katsuki, come here"

Kirishima rubs your wetness up and down, grunting when he finds your clit, grazing it with the back of his hand, whispering about how wet you are, to which you respond by hugging your arms around his neck, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. You only pull back when he lets you coo into him by petting your hair softly.

You're instantly met with Bakugo's eyes blazing into yours from above- it's not intimidating, rather, it's lustful, but you still need some time to pull yourself back, despite the eagerness in his eyes. You must have missed the point where he discarded his condom, or just how thick he actually is, because he's standing hard and proud before you, nervously searching for Kirishima's approval.

Your boyfriend's approval comes with gripping on him and easing him close to you. You take him in both of your hands, relying on Kirishima to keep your torso lifted, focusing on twisting your hand around him in the same way you did for Eijiro. Too bad you almost lose grip when He snaps his hips into you.

You can feel Katsuki's dick twitch into your hands as you pull him down lower, getting your tongue out of your mouth to place kitten lips all over his length. Eijiro mimics you, licking the tip when you're not licking the base, letting you take control when he ceases his movements for a bit, to lift both of you a little higher, so you don't have to bend your neck as much. He strokes some sweaty strands of hair away from your face, he kisses your cheek and Bakugo is already thrusting into your mouth feverously.

"Fuck"

"You're so wet baby, you feel like you could take us both" You yelp, wide eyes as you freeze on the spot "want to take us both?"

"I do" You yelp with tears in your eyes "I do I do, I do I do"

"Oh, look at you being so desperate, want to get -ah- wrecked, don't you?"

"I do Eiji- you cry out

"Then ask Katsuki to take you too, ask him to shove his cock into you while I'm fucking you too, like the greedy little thing you are"

At this point, you think poor Bakugo isn't going to make it to the end of this.

"Katsu" You plead, watery eyes staring into desperate carmine ones "Katsu fuck me while Eiji fucking me too-"

"Say please" Kirishima interrupts, pinching your nipple "or I'm not going to let him"

"Please, pleaseplease, please"

"Fuck yeah" Katsuki replies "ill fucking wreck you" The sounds he's making are supposed to be words, though they're far from being clear and understandable, his veins are pulsing into your mouth. He's too excited for this, so excited that you know he'll never make it to the drawer to reach for a new condom. So Kirishima is doing it for him, hooking the little rubber between his fingers as he's opening the drawer.

"Come on baby, pull back" He taps on your shoulder and places a kiss on your collar bone, thrusting deeper into you this time. The reaction is immediate, you're throwing your head back in seconds and Bakugo whines at the sudden departure of your warm mouth.

Kirishima allows you to kiss his thighs, his tip, his navel, to squeeze the small of his back and his ass before letting you wear the condom onto him.

You lose track of Bakugo until you feel wet kisses being planted on your thighs and ass, the back of your knees. You feel his hand being placed on your thigh, the warmth of his palm as he's soothingly rubbing it up and down your skin, to prepare you, raising his thumb to graze at your crotch occasionally. You whine every time he thumbs your clit, or flicks it when it meets with Kirishima's navel.

"You good? I'll start with my fingers" You choke on the sound of his words and nod frantically. If only you could actually watch him when he delves his middle finger in you along with Eijiro's cock. Still you whine loudly, when another finger joins the first one, slowly scissoring inside of you "fuck you're gonna take it so well aren't you? Kirishima's right. You love this"

"Answer him," Kirishima whispers, teeth biting down in your lobe. He grabs your face, trapping your cheeks between his fingers, turning you in Katsuki's direction, pushing your cheeks together. You swallow when you see the blind focused on watching you stretch.

"I love it

But Eijiro isn't satisfied with how you're trying to make your words get past from your lips

"Say it like you mean it doll, or I won't let your friend put it in"

You eye him dangerously, putting your lips even further before muttering a soft 'fine' -your redhead doesn't make a comment on your little attitude, probably because he's gotten what he's wanted from you- and Katsuki hisses, fisting his cock faster.

"I love it so much Katsuh"

"And Eiji- you mean. It's not only him that's here" Kirishima smirks and this time he pulls out of you, flipping your body so that your back is facing him. One hand comes to your wetness, spreading your lips apart, stretching you wide open "Try again" He lets go just for a moment, to slap your clit loosely. Once. Twice. Never ceasing when you whine. Your hips buck up towards Katsuki.

"Look at how nice I am, I even gave you a full view. Am I not?"

"You are Eiji. You're the best, the best. And I love this so much, I'm going to combust"

"Oh you will?" Katsuki interrupts, grunting when Kirishima pulls his dick closer to you, rubbing the head on your clit until Katsuki gets the hint. You let out a guttural groan at the feeling, tears starting to form in the corners of your eyes from being too overstimulated for so long

"Yes baby, I will, just please"

"M going in-" Katsuki announces, earning a nod from Kirishima "If he won't let you come, then we don't listen to him 'kay?"

Kirishima chuckles at the one and bites the top of your ears dragging his tongue to the base of it- a warning- to not try and agree with what Katsuki's offering. And being obedient definitely pays off when you feel your boyfriend's head poke against your entrance.

It feels splitting and painful all at once; the tears in your eyes are pouring, and none of the caresses you're receiving is helping. You need time to adjust and both men provide that for you. Minutes pass spent with soft kisses. Kirishima sucking your neck and Bakugo kissing your breasts, the three of you making out- anything until you feel like you can get used to them.

And when you do, they go slow, each at their own pace, simultaneously hitting spots that you don't know could or should ever be hit at the same time.

"You good?" Both men ask and you have to gulp that frog that sits at the top of your mouth if you want to talk, but you can't. Your throat is too tight, your eyes are too watery

"Babe"

"Better than I thought I'd be actually"

You get lost in the haze of their hips, their thrusts and you can already feel Katsuki collapsing onto you, chasing his own pit of pleasure when it hits you. Your gut coming undone for the last time has your heart leaping and skipping beats; you hook your arm around Katsuki's neck, jumping up and down from how fast both men are thrusting into you and you bring your face to his, cooling your mouths together.

When he feels you clamp down on him -and Kirishima- he pulls out, rolls the condom off and strokes himself slightly. You whine at the sudden departure of him inside of you but you quickly clamp down on just your boyfriend, before feeling him shifting from underneath you, finally pushing down the small of your back. You take Katsuki into your mouth while Kirishima slaps your ass, thrusting fast and hard into you.

There's no sweet talk right now, authority and intimidation hiding away as satisfaction is being chased. Sloppily and not carefully at all. It's evident in how you're sucking Katsuki off. There's no consistency in your rhythm, you're squirming as Kirishima is slowing down before picking up his pace again, running his hands through your hair affectionately. When he comes, he coats your insides in white ropes of pleasure, riding off his orgasm softly, until he feels himself stop twitching.

By the time he pulls out you've made Katsuki come as well, hearing his high pitched grunts as he lets it all out in your mouth. Although this time you're not overwhelmed with the amount; it's his second round nonetheless.

Katsuki's hands don't cease to take this chance, even if they're awkward and shaking he's grabbing your cheeks squishing them just like Kirishima did a while ago and kisses you, poking his tongue in your mouth, moaning at his own taste, pulling your lips under his teeth.

You know your lips will be bruised by this. And you don't care. Because when he pulls back, Kirishima is kissing you as well, pulling you into his arms, caging you into his chest.

You even smile as tiny, peppery kisses are pressed onto your skin.

"You did so well" Kirishima smiles "you too Katsu, you both were amazing"

Katsuki smiles, popping onto the bed as well, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling himself onto you and Kirishima. He nuzzles his nose at the crook of your neck and for the first time in a while he feels warm, content, calm and collected. Or so you think by the kiss that's planted onto your back by him.

It's tender and soft, mimicking Kirishima's but feeling nothing like your boyfriend's kisses at the same time. You collapse further into Kirishima's chest and he kisses the top of your hair and your cheek, mellowy.

"Wanna take a bath?" He suggests under his breath and both you and Katsuki nod, sinking further in the sheets with heavy eyes. Maybe when your feet won't feel like they'll betray you, you'll get up and have a warm bath, sandwiched between Katsuki and Eijiro, smothered in kisses, lathered in lavender soap, maybe you'll make a cup of chamomile for the three of of you and cuddle between them before you go to sleep.

Until then…

[averagewriter-inthedark]

The Black Cat Is Born 🐈‍⬛ | T.M Spider-Man series P.4

Follows the events of Spider-Man

Catch up on parts 1-3 -> Series Masterlist | Marvel Masterlist

Characters & Pairings: Tobey!Peter Parker x female!reader/ Black Cat (eventual romantic), tobey!peter x Mary Jane Watson (only for S1), Harry Osborn, Gwen Stacy, Eddie Brock, Norman Osborn, Otto Octavius, J. Jonah Jameson (pretty much every character from the Raimi trilogy)

Content warnings: angst, death, mentions of violence, profanity. References and implications of SA (not explicit) | female reader (she/her)

Premise: After months of preparing for revenge against her ex, Y/n is ready to intact her plan. Unfortunately fate seemed to have other plans. Unable to get justice in her own way, Y/n is at a loss. But maybe everything she’s gained won’t go to entirely to waste.

Black Cat PS4 theme

Note: only one more part for Spider-Man left before we go to Spider-Man 2!! I know I’ve been slacking and I’m sorry. I got out of a reading slump which then put me in a writing slump. I still have the ideas of how I want this to play out, it’s just sitting down to write them has gotten a little slow. I’ll do better I promise. Also can tumblr stop hiding me from tags, that’s another reason I’ve been a little slumped on writing cause it’s being hidden :(

————————————————

Days turned into weeks. Weeks became months and before Y/n knew it over half a year passed following the incident. She felt ready—ready as one can ever be who was planning on taking someone’s life.

Thanksgiving had passed and Christmas was around the corner. School was out for the semester, something Y/n was pleased about for she could now focus on her goal. Hearing the holiday cheer of New York didn’t bring any sense of joy to the young woman. No, the only joy she would find this season would be seeing the life drain out of his eyes.

In the months after the dreadful events of the World Unity Day, the crazed man was dubbed ‘The Green Goblin,’ by the Daily Bugle and Spider-Man was seen more of a menace to society rather than a hero. Yeah he was helping with the crime happening on the streets of New York, but the police were annoyed he was doing better at their job—not to mention his identity was concealed.

Y/n was conflicted about the masked vigilante. There was a sense of admiration for him, but also resentment. Two reasons were responsible for the emotion;

1. He showed up just days after her attack. Not that he would’ve saved her that night, but just knowing there was a hero patrolling the streets of New York may have brought Y/n some form of hope.

2. The fact he saved Mary Jane before swinging way and not bothering to check if she had survived being on the balcony.

Was she being a little unfair? Maybe Spider-Man and his fans would see it that way, but for Y/n it felt justified.

Y/n had rarely spoke to the Osborns in the time following the festival. When she wasn’t working or in school, Y/n was in the gym or the shooting rage. Thankfully she hadn’t run into the madman on the flying glider, but even if she did Y/n was confident she could take him on if he tried.

Well she hoped her skills would give her an advantage.

It was pouring rain as the hour neared ten o’clock in the evening. New York was lit up and the city night life was thriving. People scattered around getting last minute shopping done for the holidays.

Y/n had the hood up of her black vinyl trench coat, covering her face from the downpour while water splashed with each step she took. Every so often she bumped into someone’s umbrella who weren’t paying attention. Each time Y/n sent a glare to the owner, before huffing as she continued through.

“Friday,” she kept whispering under her breath while avoiding eye contact with people, “just a few more days and you’ll do what you prepared for.”

She was mentally prepping herself. It was the only thing keeping her motivated to go through with it. If she started doubting now there was no way she’d follow through—and quitting was not in her nature.

Maybe when one thinks of getting revenge the first they think is to ruin their life. That could be by exposing them to the world, trashing their lifestyle, doing whatever possible to take away any shred of happiness they had.

Y/n could do that. Very well she could sabotage him to the point where he gets kicked out of Columbia, fired from his job, hell maybe even disowned by his family. But it wouldn’t satisfy her. Nothing could satisfy her as long as he is breathing the same air. He didn’t deserve to walk the same grounds as her.

She suffered enough, now it was his turn.

The walk to her apartment was only twenty or so minutes from where she had been in the city—roughly a few blocks and in one of the more safer parts. Taking a taxi was an option, but with New York traffic and trying to save money Y/n felt her best bet was to walk. She was still on high alert when it came to her surroundings, and carried herself at a fast pace so no one attempted to talk to her.

There was also the tiny fact Y/n armed herself anywhere she went.

Pepper spray was always in one pocket of her coat, a switchblade in the other. Even a small pocket knife was tucked into her boot and in either her purse or backpack was a taser.

Yeah, she was taking no chances whatsoever. The cops were of no help and Spider-Man was not always available. So, Y/n was left to fend for herself.

Crossing the intersection, Y/n felt at east knowing she was only a few blocks from her apartment and would be out of the rain soon. As her feet hit the pavement on the sidewalk, the sound of metal crushing against each other had her and several others around jumping with gasps.

It was so loud it felt like it was right behind her.

A woman screamed, followed by a man yelling, “Call nine-one-one!!” People started rushing past Y/n, a man around her age bumping into her before apologizing. Water splashed from people running through the puddles as they rushed to help. When Y/n spun around toward the commotion, her hand came up to her open mouth at the sight of two cars completely totaled in the middle of the street.

It was in the center the intersection she had just crossed. To the eye it appeared one of the cars had tried to beat the light to turn, but failed resulting in colliding head on with an approaching car on the opposite side. One vehicle, a black SUV was wrecked on the front bumper while the small BMW was completely flipped and had rolled away until stopping several yards from the initial impact.

Glass coated the street, sparkling under the rainfall. People were shouting and ordering someone to call an ambulance. Y/n had remained frozen, unsure of what to do. Blinking rapidly and with shaky hands, she rushed to the payphone behind her and placed the coins in before dialing. Someone may have already called, but it never hurts to speed it up by calling again.

“Yes there’s been a accident—t-two cars are involved and I’m can’t see how many but people are saying it’s bad—,” she listed off the streets of the intersection the accident occurred and hung up once the operator informed they had emergency vehicles en route.

Turning back to the scene, Y/n saw a flash of red and blue dropping down from the sky. Recognizing the familiar suit, she pushed her way through the crowd. “Oh thank goodness Spider-Man is here,” a lady she passed said in relief, confirming Y/n’s suspicion. The masked vigilante got straight to work removing the passengers from the vehicles with the help of several civilians. Sirens could be heard in the distant, emergency vehicles speeding to the wreck along with the NYPD.

The driver of the SUV was out his vehicle with obvious trauma to his face from the airbag being deployed. He was grimacing while holding onto his arm—most likely broken—with the help of a young woman. The lady with him was still trapped, her cried could be heard as people worked to get the door open.

Meanwhile, Spider-Man was pulling a man—the driver of the BMW—from the rubble. Y/n got in the front of people to see, and although the rain plummeting made it hard to see, a eerie feeling coursed through her when she caught sight of sandy blonde hair.

The unknown man looked lifeless. Blood was seeping through his multiple cuts and wounds, there was a large gash on the side of his head. No doubt the result of hitting it on the window or windshield from the crash.

Before she could stop herself, Y/n’s feet were carrying her closer to the scene. Her boots splashed the water with each step, the thumping of her heart increasing when Spider-Man laid the driver on his back and began CPR. His back was toward her so Y/n could not see the face of the lifeless man, but the closer she got to the car the more it felt familiar.

It was a four door, silver BMW with black leather seats from what she could see and appeared to be the newest make and model of the brand. A sticker on the bumper was the Columbia University mascot.

Dread consumed Y/n. There was only one person she knew who drove that type of car.

The one who poisoned her dreams at night and damaged her mind, body, and soul.

The one she was planning to kill that weekend.

As fear, panic, and anger began to fill her, Y/n stood frozen behind the vigilante. Everyone around became a blur, even the loud pedestrians signaling over the emergency vehicles. Nothing was clear to Y/n except for the man in red and blur performing chest compressions on the man she hated most in the world.

If revenge hadn’t consumed her for several months, Y/n actually would feel some rejoice and happiness to see him fighting for his life. But she was selfish. She wanted to be the one to end it for him. The satisfaction she would feel by being the last thing he saw was the reason she had spent so long planning the act.

Now here he was about to have an easy way out.

Her hands were in fists, knuckles turning white when Spider-Man’s shoulders dropped, his head falling in defeat. ‘NO!’ She screamed in her head. ‘No, no, no, no!’

Even when Spider-Man stood and looked down at the man—obviously upset he was unable to save him—Y/n remained still. Now she could see his face. As much as her gut was telling her it was him, Y/n didn’t want to believe it. Now there was no way to deny it was in fact the person she wanted to send to hell personally. It was like the universe was against her.

It didn’t want her to have any form of justice. The universe sure must’ve been laughing at her.

Her jaw was clenching so hard it hurt and there were tears brimming in her eyes. Not from sadness, oh no far from it. But to anyone who saw her they would more than likely think she was a loved one of the deceased man.

When Spider-Man turned around, freezing at the sight of Y/n standing tense while looking at the deceased driver with hatred, he tilted his head confused before calmly saying, “Do you know this man, Y/—u-uh Miss?” She was so focused on him she didn’t even notice Spider-Man had almost said her name. Beneath the mask, his eyes were fearful she caught his slip up—it would have for sure given him away.

But Y/n was almost in a trance, it wasn’t until he stepped forward that she blinked and felt a lump in her throat. Luckily with the rain, one could not tell if the water on her face was from the rain or from the tears she was actually shedding. Clearing her throat, attempting to make it look like she was just a bystander in shock from seeing someone dead, Y/n shook her head. “U—uh, no. No I don’t.” She prayed it sounded convincing, willing herself to not glare down at the corpse otherwise Spider-Man could become suspicious.

“I’m sorry,” she started to step back, bidding one last glance at the figure—all while trying not to scream in anger, “I-I must go.” Without waiting for a response, Y/n spun on her boot heel and started to jog away from the scene. She didn’t know where she was going, her body taking control to get her away from what just happened before her emotions could give way.

Passing her apartment building, Y/n slowed and came to a stop in a empty alley about three blocks away. She couldn’t go back to her apartment. Her roommate would be in and would ask questions of her behavior. Y/n was in no mood to explain and frankly she felt like she could hit someone for even glancing at her.

“Fuck,” she muttered, leaning against the brick wall away from prying eyes. Her hands felt numb, and were combing through her hair beneath her hood. “FUUUUUUCCKKKK!!!!” The scream echoed, the rain enhancing it even more. The energy drained and Y/n sank to the ground, not even caring about her jeans greeting soaked.

She was pissed. She was sad. But most of all Y/n was defeated.

First the justice system failed her by dropping the charges, now the universe failed her by killing him before she could. What a fucking turn of events.

She didn’t even want to think about the future. Despite being blessed with a full ride to Columbia, she was struggling to make ends meet after the attack. Her rent was an arm and a leg considering she wanted to be in a safer area of the city, on top of having to pay her trainer and therapist for each sessions and for the medication she was receiving. Her internship paid her but it was barely enough to get through the month with all other expenses.

If it became too much she was going to have to drop out of school and work full time. That would mark the end of her dreams. She had worked so hard and fought tooth and nail for the positions she was given. There was no way in hell she was going to give it up that easily.

Y/n started to think what her dad would say if he were with her. The last time she’d spoken to him was the previous Christmas—and it was a five minute phone call to his prison. It pained her to think of his last arrest. The one that ticketed him a life term in prison for burglary and embezzlement. It was his third and final strike so the courts were anything but lenient.

“Always remember this,” he said to her before they pulled him away, “Everything I ever did, while it was never good in the eyes of the public, was to make sure you were taken care of.”

Y/n always knew in the late hours of the night when her dad was. What started as something he did once in a blue moon became monthly, then once a week until it was nearly every night. Something knew would pop up in their house, which either was kept or pawned off for money. She never asked questions, neither did her mother.

One night in high school when Y/n was bored she found herself following her dad. After pretending to be asleep, she got dressed in some dark clothes and carefully snuck out just in time to spot him leaving the front door. Y/n kept a safe distance, ducking away behind houses and alleys whenever her dad nearly spotted her.

The entire night she watched him sneak into businesses with ease and coming out with bags upon bags of stolen money, jewelry, and the occasional artwork or clothing. At one point she caught him meeting up with another man to hand over the items. It was then Y/n realized her dad was a part of something more than just being the cities infamous cat burglar. It scared her to know the type of business he was in. At any moment the associates could turn on him or the cops would be waiting.

The first time he was in prison it was a small offense when Y/n was only a toddler. At the time she didn’t understand why her dad wasn’t home and her mom was reluctant to tell her. Making up a story didn’t feel right to her mother, so she was left with unanswered questions. The sentence was only a few months in prison with community service. Y/n could still picture the day he came home with a giant teddy bear. It was a happy reunion for the two with hugs and kisses all around. Then his second offense occurred years later which prompted them to leave Flushing and settle in Queens. He had been gone longer this time for possession of stolen property and was in prison for nearly two years. The lawyers were able to get the sentence reduced that time around.

Now her dad was back again in a prison cell for a life term. The charges were enough to take up a notebook considering they had evidence linking her father to organized crime in New York. It appeared the famed cat bulgur was working for some notable kingpins and forgot to erase all evidence that would link the two together. He wasn’t quiet as a cat after all.

As the rain continued to drench her, Y/n already felt her brain telling her what she should do. A little voice was saying ‘no, that’s a terrible idea. You’ll end up in prison just like dad.’ But, there was something in her that gave confidence she could pull it off. The night she followed her father, he never once spotted her. Nor did he ever confront her or give any intention he knew she was there all along.

She had been sneaky. Too sneaky.

Was it a good idea? Probably not. Especially with red and blue spandex guy swinging around. Surely he would catch her eventually, but why did that give Y/n such a thrill? Most likely because Spider-Man was becoming some sort of a hero to the people of New York. And heroes keep the peace while maintaining a safe environment for all.

But peace was out the door when it came to Y/n. Her safety was compromised long ago and no matter what she did, she could not rely on others to keep her safe. Not even some dude in a skin tight costume with weird fluid shooting out from him.

Hero. The world felt far from the reality she was living in. A hero was someone to rely on, and Y/n’s already established she can’t rely on others. And she could not be her own hero. Not after planning to kill her ex for what he did to her.

No, heroes do not kill. They save life—they preserve it.

Villains though, they are the ones who take life. Rather intentional or as collateral damage everyone knows the villain brings disruption rather than stability.

She was the villain in a story she never planned to write. But circumstances can turn one on the opposite path than the one they were initially walking.

Her skills would not go to waste. All the time and money she spent to prep the whole revenge was enough to motivate Y/n to put her mind to this next goal. She would make ends meet and do whatever necessary to survive. Because the only one Y/n could rely on, was herself.

There would need to be rules and restrictions. In no way could she be reckless that would give any indication who she was or make the authorities suspicious. Any slip up could result in everything being taken from her.

Her dad was smart, but even the most intelligent people could make mistakes. She had to be better. Better than she already was.

She could do it. She was the second of her graduating class, a full ride student at Columbia University and a fucking intern of both Norman Osborn and Otto Octavius. If any one had the brains to it off it was her. All she had to do was stay under the radar.

Especially Spider-Mans radar. Although, she could maybe even have some fun with that if she happened to cross paths with him.

Nothing like a little villain and hero tension to throw the vigilante off her trail.

With newfound confidence, Y/n rose from the ground and lifted her head toward the sky to allow the rain to pour down her face as she let her eyes close. Using a moment to breath deep followed by a deeper exhale, she let the defeat she once felt seep through her and into the air. It was replaced by a new urge—one she could barely describe but it was enough to keep her head high.

Dropping her attention forward to exit the alley, she stilled when her eyes landed on a small fur ball hiding in the corner by a trash bin. It’s bright green eyes were staring back at her in curiosity. Small little ears pointed up as it’s head tilted. Y/n took a step forward to get a closer look, and realized it was a black cat.

Had it been there the entire time? Y/n hadn’t heard or saw it before. It must’ve quietly snuck his way to the spot to avoid the rain. Now it was staring back at her in an almost challenging way.

Y/n tilted her head in thought, just as the smirk appeared on her lips. “Hmm.”

………………………………………

Tag list: @todaywasafairytale07, @r0bynsblogins, @edgycatx, @andrewgarfieldsloml, @fuck-goes-on, @m-1234, @secretsthathauntus

[han-shinsuke]

h a n d h e r o v e r

f e m a l e r e a d e r 🌹

m i n o r s k e e p o u t

[ tags, smut, nsfw, anal, foursome, themes ]

—•—

Without prior notice, he shows up in front of your dorm, dressed casually. You invite him inside but declined, telling you to come with him somewhere. You argue with him, insisting that you should change to something presentable but Bokuto seems to be in a rush so you have given up when he uses his puppy eyes. Inside his car, you keep checking your looks and it disappoints you. Unlike him, you look so ordinary. Well, you are someone insignificant. What’s the difference anyway?

“I’m gonna 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 you later, Y/N,” huh? you shot him a confused look at the use of some endearment.

You laugh awkwardly, “what, Kou?” he is your best friend and your secret crush.

“You look like a kid in your clothes and considering your height, you really look like 𝒐𝒏𝒆.” you pout your lips and he bursts out laughing.

It’s his fault! He didn’t even let you fix yourself! You were running around the University’s oval when he calls. Now, who’s fault it is that he’s being accompanied by a lady in core 5 inch shorts in black and a plain hoodie?

“Shut up, Kou. You’re annoying!”

After driving for almost an hour, Bokuto parks his car in front of Sakusa’s house.

Wait. Sakusa’s house?! You grab onto the belt when Bokuto tries mounting off the safety strap.

“Wait, Kou! Why the fuck are we here?!” you panic. Sakusa, you, and Oikawa are both in an unstable relationship. Not romantically, okay! You are their damn victim! They’re not criminals, well closer to that! Those two are your bullies and they are friends with your best friend, Koutaro Bokuto!

He taps your temple and comforts you that everything will be fine, that you won’t be harmed while he’s around, “it’s Omi’s birthday. He invited us for lunch.”

You nod your head. There’s no point in arguing. You were already there. He has your sweating hand inside his palm when you both entered the house.

“Give me ten seconds, Kou.”

Sakusa’s house rule no. 1; leave your shoes outside but if you are his friends, go straight in.

You remove your sneakers and leave your white socks on. You have been there before and you almost familiarised yourself with his rules. Since he considers you as his enemy rather than his subject of bullying, you are not allowed to sit or touch anything inside his home so you remain standing near the stairs when Bokuto runs to Oikawa in the kitchen.

You give Sakusa a nod as he descends from the top landing. He smells clean and fruity tuitee and you couldn’t help but blush when you notice his stare goes down to your feet.

Your insides trembles from the intensity of his gaze and that makes you feel like running away or hide from his sight.

Your breathing halts when he kneels after removing his fur slippers. His warm hand grab your ankle then slide your left foot in his slipper, then your right foot.

He didn’t speak a word. He just pointed you to the kitchen. His footwear is too big for your small ones but you still manage to walk comfortably.

While helping in the food preparation, Sakusa and Oikawa are constantly bumping their muscular arms against your shoulders. They even teases you that you lack in the free access of healthy foods in the fridge in your own home that’s why you’re thin and small. You 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕, okay?! They’re just huge and very athletic that developing muscles and all is no issue to them. And your case is different. Your height is 5'3", you weight right, meaning your body mass index is normal! Again, they are huge people and they look down on your kind. And these men prefers model-like body figures for women!

You let it all pass. You seem immune to all the teasings and soft pinches that those were no longer affecting you. Sakusa leads the way to his theater room, while you, Bokuto, and Oikawa are in charge of bringing all the foods in there.

There’s a long and wide white couch that looks like a king sized bed in the center and there’s also a big screen mounted on the wall. You settle on the lone chair in the viewing room, sit properly and try avoiding Sakusa’s intense gaze.

What? You did nothing to him!

The three men sits besides each other, Oikawa scrolls on the menu of which genre of movies to watch, Bokuto starts picking up some tarts and chews it. And then, there’s still him, Sakusa! Staring at you!

“Hand her over, Koutaro.” your face turn pale when Sakusa pulls his shirt off his body and leans on the couch.

You couldn’t find the will to speak. You stoned on your seat. Bokuto whistles, inching closer to you. He cups your face and whispers soothing words.

“Wh–what is happening here, Kou?” you sound nervous. Bokuto brings you closer to Sakusa. You grab onto your best friend’s arms. “Koutaro... ” a breathe of panic.

“You are his present to me, Y/N. You’re the desserts.” Sakusa pulls you down on his lap, he breathes closer to your hair. Something is growing in between his thighs. You look so scared. He gets even aroused.

“wanna rub my tongue on his pussy, Koutaro,” Oikawa moves closer, too, licking his lips.

“I’m... I’m not—” Oikawa stops you from talking, taking your chin in his hand. “You’re not what, Y/N?” he asks seductively.

“Kou–Kou... help me.” you hold onto his hand, giving him a scared look.

Sakusa tugs on your long hair before latching on your earlobe, “don’t worry, Y/N. Koutaro will help you. He will help you fuck yourself to sleep.”

And the talking ended there.

Oikawa snatches your face and slams his mouth on your opened ones, rolling out his tongue into you before brushing roughly his lips against your lips. Your both hands twitches, the kiss is electrifying. You try to pull away but he restrains you by gripping lightly your neck. You hear Sakusa laughs. He wraps his arms around your body, locking you in restrictions. Oikawa continues kissing you roughly that you can feel his warm saliva dripping from his mouth down to your chin. You didn’t respond to his kisses. You were in shocked. When he sucks on your lips and tongue, you didn’t recognise the moan that passed your lips.

“Undress her quickly!” still in a rush, Bokuto puts his words into action. He separates you from Oikawa’s mouth. You were panting when he pulls out your hoodie, showing your uncovered titsx in broad daylight. They look perfect and round and flushed. The three men growls, pouncing all at one on you. Bokuto has the right breast, Sakusa’s on the left and Oikawa, he moves between your legs, pushing your shorts to the side to take a good look on your rosy folds.

Oikawa licks the slit back and forth until it gets covered with his saliva. He chuckles when your body twitches. He dips his mouth again, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clitx while scratching your inner thighs. You moan loudly, arching your back again and again. Your moan matches the others’ moans and grunts. Both Sakusa and Bokuto are sucking on your titsx and they’re doing it like they’re milking on you. Swirling sharply their tongues and grazing their teeth on its softness. Damn. You didn’t even say yes to them!

Unknowingly, your mouth also salivates as well as your cunt being treated like a meal by Oikawa’s hot and needy mouth. He’s swirling his tongue and he’s sucking you there so noisily.

“Tooru~” you moan his name when he starts pumping digits into you while his thumb is pressing hard on your clitx. Your legs stretches up and down whenever his fingers goes deeper and harder and at the same time, circling his knuckles hard as well on your cunt. He makes you drip like crazy and it’s evident on your oozing core and salivating mouth. He laughs triumphantly, giving you the best finger fuck and tongue fuck. Your body convulses when you come in waves, the two men abandons your chest to join Oikawa slurping your first and rich orgasm.

They pushes your legs up and there are three long and thick tongues slurping and licking your tight pussy that still waves down thick juices. You find support by grabbing on the edges while you were being worshipped by their mouths. A squeal escapes your lips when you feel someone’s tongue poking your anusx.

When they finished, Oikawa pulls you near the edge and kneels in front of your head hanging by on the ends. He’s the first one to get fully naked before Sakusa and Bokuto.

“Kou~” your eyes waters, not in fear but in excitement and other unnamed feelings.

Sakusa goes below you, putting your small body on top of his own while slowly inserting his fat cockx in your tight pussy. You let out a yelp when his balls bumps on your opening. He’s deep inside you!

“Sakusa hnngggg~ sooo deeeppp haaahhh!” you grip his arm that locks your head beside his by putting it tight around your neck. You struggle to breathe properly so you gasp for air. His other hand goes to your stuffed cunt and slaps your folds harshly until he hears you sob and cry.

“Enough, Omi, she’s sore already.” Bokuto slaps Sakusa’s hand away and replaces it by his own, giving soft touches and light kisses.

“Hmm~ Kou... Kou... ” you cry his name, grabbing his hand toward your mouth. You kiss his fingertips and suck on them later. Earning soft moans and heavy breathes from him.

Bokuto takes his hand from your grasp and gives you slow and sensual kiss on your lips. You feel Sakusa inching his length out but you give no enough attention to it. What matters now is how Bokuto kisses your numb lips. He’s good and it feels good.

Your dear friend ends the kiss but not his finger work on your clitx. He’s rubbing it softly.

“My turn baby doll.” you almost forgot about him. Oikawa kisses you again and what he does next surprised you. He shoves his cockx in your mouth, all the way down to your throat. You gag at how big he is but you can’t do anything to remove it not now that he starts moving in and out.

Your moans gets dissolved by Oikawa’s rough fucking inside your mouth. He moans louder than you and his friends and you feel like doing the same so you cooperate with him, sucking him in while he fucks his length harder to your throat.

Down to the remaining men, Sakusa has been hammering your tight cunt with his massive cockx and swear! Your eyes widened when Bokuto positions his big cock head to where Sakusa’s fat one is inserted.

You put your free hand on his abdomen when he hovers over you, slowly joining his friend’s dick into party.

No, Koutaro! You’re gonna rip me with your cockx!

But he didn’t stop. He slides his fat member into your stretched core! Stretching it even wider with Sakusa’s!

Oikawa moans louder and louder and he even dirty talks while spurting his thick loads in your mouth. You gag on it and you do nothing but swallow it all.

When it’s your turn to moan and scream, you give all your best in doing it because fuck, it’s hurt having two fat and long shafts inside your cunt. So you moan and cry and then repeat while ramming themselves into you. Your body shakes and your lips quivers and they huffs and pants and slams their hips until you bleed thick and rich heat again, covering their cocks with your juice and their sperms.

Bokuto and Sakusa only pulls out when they empty all of their loads inside you.

It’s not over, Oikawa pulls you and folds you in mating press, inserting his hard cockx into your leaking hole, pumping faster while kissing your roughly again. He does it again. The rough and deep pumping. The rough kisses that leaves your lips swollen and numb.

“Tooruuu aahhnnggg~ hmmppp~” you shake your head, he’s using you so rough. You can feel the weight of every thrust and you wish for it to be over.

Again, it’s not over even after he cum inside you. He flips you on your stomach, pushing his cockx back inside you. He pounds you harder from behind, groping your chest before slapping your ass as he keeps pounding. You cry. And cry. And cry.

Three times. Oikawa cums inside you three times before handing you back to Sakusa who chooses to fuck you ass up, too.

“Not today, Omi. Her parents would notice. She comes home every weekends.” Bokuto advises his friend when Sakusa put his tip on your anusx.

Sakusa spits on his length and on your anusx, “okay, I won’t anal fuck her hmm~” he says but does it anyway.

He shoves right there! Sliding his full length inside your ass. You let out a loud cry and sob hard. Sakusa laughs. Oikawa, too. Bokuto attends to you and takes your both hands, drawing circles at the back of your hand he’s gripping tightly.

“Kou... Kou... it hurts, please, Kou... ” you cry while holding hands with your best friend.

Sakusa starts grinding his hips against your and that makes you feel the very pain of being analed. Bokuto didn’t leave you. He keeps holding your hand while Sakusa pounds you senselessly, almost adhering you deep against the softness of the couch.

“Ssshhh, baby~ you can take him~ you’ll feel good.” you focus on his words while endurimg Sakusa’s rough thrusts.

“Kou—” you were cut mid sentence. Sakusa pulls you away from Bokuto, flipping you on your back again to face him.

You can feel his loads dripping from your assholex but he’s not done yet. He separates your legs and dips between your thighs, pushing his shaft back.

You wince in pain when he slaps your swollen folds. You tell him it hurts with tears in your eyes but he just smiled. Slapping for the last time before rocking you again and this time, claiming your lips. He kisses expertly and you find yourself returning his kiss even though your lips hurts.

“Omi... ” you cry his name softly and that stuns him for seconds, watching your face contorts in beautiful pleasure. He sees something different in you in that state so he rocks you deep but slow this time, kissing your chin down to your neck and moments later, he’s shooting his loads inside you while still kissing you slowly.

Once again, that moment isn’t over yet, Bokuto takes you inside his arms and brings you in the backyard where there is a inflatable pool set up near the wooden fence.

The sun is up and so is his cockx.

He puts your nakedness in the cold water and slow fuck you there but bruising your whole body with his deep bites and tight grips. He pushes the hair strands that covers your face while ramming himself into you. He looks at you softly and he notices your puffy eyes from all the crying.

“You good, baby?” his voice is gentle so you smile, nodding your head until it slowly falls down backwards. You feel drained and you can’t keep with his deep rumblings while moving up and down on his lap.

He catches your head on time, eyes fluttering from being overworked.

“Kou, I like you. I lied when I say it’s Omi.” you confess before closing your eyes.

Bokuto does your job, he moves your ass up and down his length even though you fell asleep on him. As he shoots his loads inside, he says this, “but Omi found you first, Y/N. He’s afraid to tell you his feelings so he finds another way to get close to you. By bullying you, he gets closer and closer. I just jumped in the scene and befriended you. I like you, too, Y/N. But he likes you first. So, you are his.”

But, you didn’t hear it. You were too tired to fight against the need to sleep.

Two hours later...

You were in the backseat, straddling on Sakusa’s laps, his cockx installed inside your creaming cunt while holding you tight as he kisses your lips torridly.

On your way home,

Bokuto drives the car.

While Sakusa is fucking you mercilessly in the backseat.

With all the bruises and marks of ownership, there’s no doubt you are his.

You are Kiyoomi Sakusa’s property.

[devildom-doll]

Playing With Levi’s Joystick ✨

xxx

A/N: This was one of the first Obey Me fic I wrote back in September I think, fixed it up, and now it’s here~ Also also, I might remake this with a two-dick Leviathan in the future, but I wanna write fics for the other guys first, eueheueue.

Expect either a Luci fic (dunno if it’ll be a dark fic yet) or a fluff fic with a Male MC next ^w^

~Dollie 🧸

xxx

Word Count: 1.6k words

Warnings and Tags: Gender-Neutral!MC x Sub!Leviathan. Blowjob, Some Fluff I guess, yea that’s it

TLDR: Levi gets you to play a fap game to get ya horny, it’ll be your first time giving a blowjob and Levi receiving said blowjob. yay.

Be Warned! You are About to read some Fluffy Smut that really isn’t triggering at all, but still, Please be 18+, ty ty

xxx

It seems that Levi hasn’t been taking his mind off you. Each night, he’d masturbate to his fantasy where he dishevels you senselessly like a hentai character. It was wishful thinking; he waited for you to make the first move but his impatience finally got the best of him, he would be the one to lead you both down that lustful route. Levi has been playing a Nukige he bought from Akuzon, and each night, his ultimate fuck fantasies were reimagined on the screen. He’ll make you play the game to get you in the mood, and when the time seems right, well, that’s about it… you would see through his true intentions and probably see him as some degenerate weeb, but it’s worth the risk, you probably already see him that way anyway, he thought. He called you up last night to come play this “new game” and you’ll think nothing of it… he booted up the game at the start menu like he was seeing it for the first time and waited for your arrival.

~

“Enter MC, I got a surprise for you!” You were greeted by an anxious but smiling Leviathan. He pulled you in frantically and sat you down in front of his PC, and all you did was glance at the game’s home screen menu.

“Here's the game I ordered, I heard it’s very fun! Hehe.” He tried masking the blush forming across his face with an innocent grin that didn't help hide his intentions at all.

“Uh… Interesting, is it a single-player game?” You asked.

“Yeah it is, so, I’ll just be backseat gaming from here,” he took a step inside his bathtub bed positioning himself to face you, “I want you to play it, MC.”

“Uh-huh, okay then,” speculations became confirmation. You actually already played this Nukige way before you met the boys, but for just Levi’s sake, you pretended you were seeing it for the first time. You sat in front of his PC in his comfortable gamer chair then turned back at Levi in anticipation as his blushing face stayed hidden behind the bathtub wall. Everything was going exactly as he planned, but you were just in for the ride wondering how long it would take you to make the first move.

~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~

It was all exactly as you remembered; the graphics, the lewd sound effects, the “gameplay,” it truly was like playing it for the first time. A few minutes of gameplay and you’ve already yearned to make the first move on him. You turned to face Levi glancing at you with alluring eyes while you played, no longer hiding his red face.

“Levi, I feel dirty,” you paused the game and bit your lip, “can I touch you?” As you popped the question, his face beamed like never before.

“Y-yes YES! Get in here,” he brought you into his bathtub and pulled you in for a tight embrace.

You melted in his grasp as you leaned in to kiss his lips, igniting his desires. Levi had to hold his impulses for the longest time, so he took every second to run his trembling hands down your precious body making sure every inch was his to touch. It surprised you when he got a hold of your head to face him; he slid his tongue across your lips and into your mouth as you moaned his name. It was like he was imitating your gameplay, so it was no wonder he was acting so awkwardly possessive over you. It came off more adorable if anything.

Through it all, you feared that he was already going to ejaculate just by exchanging spit through his sloppy kisses, so you took advantage of his position and rubbed the bulge that’s been forming through his pants. He let out a moan realizing he’d almost lost himself.

“Can I play with it, please?”

“Play? Ah, okay,” He nodded as he eagerly helped you undo his pants, all while breathing unevenly from your unexpected request. He slid down his boxers and his dick flung right out. You were stunned at the sight of it; every life decision was made just so you could glance at Levi’s veiny cock twitching and leaking from your arousal.

“Sorry, if it’s not big enough…” Levi pouted, staring down at his half-flaccid cock.

“Aw Levi, it’s not bad.”

It was only half-hard, and even that made it more than enough, but you couldn’t care less about its size. Levi admired your body regardless of how you think of it, it only made sense that you’d do the same for him.

“Levi, can I?”

“Y-yea… please touch it more.”

You gasped as your soft clutch wrapped his now rock-solid dick making him jolt.

“Ahh OMG, MC is touching me!” He hid his blushing face only to glance at you through his fingers. You were only holding it but seeing how flustered Levi was just by your touch never felt so validating; you truly are everything he wanted.

With gentle fingers, you lubed his shaft with his precum and kept your eyes on him as each stroke put him at ease. He removed his hands from his face and placed them close to his beating heart. You laid your tongue down and licked the precum off his tip, tasting its bittersweet flavor. Levi glanced down at you with teary eyes trying to hold back his moaning as more precum came leaking out each time you flicked your tongue across his slit. Having it stroked and sucked at the same time was a sight he only knew from the hentai he’s consumed and little by little his detained moaning grew louder knowing his dick was coated with your love. After running your tongue onto each vein on his shaft, you could only imagine his reaction when you began sucking down on him harshly; sending shivers through his body making him a whimpering mess.

“Ah… MC, c-can you try to deepthroat?” Your vision panned up at his blushing face as you pulled out.

“Yeah, I'll do what I can,” you nodded. It was going to be difficult to bring it all down to your throat, but it was worth a try just to give this envious demon your best cock-sucking abilities. You trace the tip with your tongue and with the help of Levi’s trembling hands, he slowly pressed your mouth down his throbbing member. You made your first attempt slowly but you gagged and pulled back when it hit the back of your throat.

“Ahh! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He held up your face covered in arousal; his hands trembling in a panic, “you okay, MC?”

“Hehe, I’m fine,” you gained back your composure after his adorable apology; knowing how he cares for you made you want to give him more, much more than he’d expect… It was your first time doing something like this, much less to the Avatar of Envy that chose you out of anyone to pleasure him. No matter how you take him, he is aware of your limited human abilities, yet he still wants every part of you for himself.

Levi calmed down from the deepthroat panic after you kissed his palms but pleasuring him was far from over as you went back to planting kisses all over his cock, inching closer to his balls before sucking on them.

“Oh, fu- MC!” Levi let out a throaty gasp while your hand continued stroking his dick.

You’ve tried going back to deepthroating him again and again; attempting to bring his cock deep down your throat without gagging. Sure enough, your constant gagging was turning him on; slowly convincing himself that his dick size was big enough to make you choke on it like he always wanted.

He grabbed you by the head and started thrusting his over-stimulated cock into your mouth as his quickening pace brought you to tears. You were melting in his sudden grasp completely using your pretty mouth as his personal deepthroat toy. He tried his best to hold off his release in hopes that your mouth could never stop tightening around him, but it was bound to end soon as his escalating whimpering made you realize he was getting close.

“I can’t control it, I’m gonna cum!” His voice echoed around his room, and by that point, you couldn’t wait any longer either.

“Just cum then,” your sucking got harsher upon his remark that he had to hold onto the walls of the bathtub to keep him from melting in your stimulation.

“Cum in your mouth?!” His voice was cut off by the quickened pace of your cock rubbing, “Ahh fuck FUCK…” His whimpering got higher each second.

“Ah, MC!! I’m cumming now!!” His movements were staggering and closing into his climax. He moaned your name one last time as thick warm cum shot to the back of your throat. Your mouth could hardly contain it all, all his cum that was left unswallowed was dripping down your face and onto your clothes. Some still dripped down his dick, which was still wrapped tightly in your clutch. His moaning subsided and the last drops of cum dribbled out of his now semi-hard cock, so you looked up at him awaiting his approval.

“Th-thank you, MC, hehe,” Levi’s nervous laugh brought you joy as you helped wipe some tears off his cheek with your clean sleeve. He couldn't do the same with your cum-covered face, but he brought you in closer to lick off what was on your lips soon leaning into a kiss.

“Did I do good?” You ask.

“Mm-hm,” Levi nodded his head, “I never thought this could happen,” the lingering pleasure of your lips on his cock filled his mind once again wanting to replay it over and over.

“Wait… You’re still hard? After cumming that much?!” His dick twitched against your thigh and all he could do was let out a nervous laugh.

“I guess blowing me wasn’t enough…”