#when the lights go out and stay out for so long that you begin to forget what it’s like to see | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thebarneschronicles · 2 days ago

Text

Steady (Closer To Home)

A Closer To Home side-story

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

You and Bucky have been dancing around a fragile intimacy for months—close to comitting, but never crossing the line. Despite being somewhat settled, Bucky still has his bad nights—haunted by dreams that tear him out of sleep and away from your arms. But this time, when he returns home shaken and silent, the rhythm between you shifts.

What begins with coffee and warmth turns into a conversation that redefines everything—labels, love, and the future you're building together. From a phone background to a blushing soldier, to a question that changes it all, this is what it means to choose each other, every day.

Trigger Warnings: Bucky Barnes (he needs a warning of his own); nightmares and implied PTSD; references to emotional trauma and past violence; fear of loss and emotional vulnerability; intimacy; light sexual content (implied foreplay, heated kissing, groping, innuendo); mild possessiveness, dominance, and suggestive dialogue; mentions of bruising from prior sex; discussions of romantic labels and commitment anxiety.

Closer To Home Masterlist

Author’s Note: Surprise, surprise: I have returned after an insane few months. I am so sorry it took me this long, but genuinely, life took over in a way I couldn't even comprehend. I missed these two so badly though and hopefully you have too. Give me your thoughts! Love, B xx

It was too early. That strange, in-between hour where the world was still waking, where the sun barely stretched past the horizon, and where the warmth of your bed felt impossible to leave.

And yet, here you were—blinking sleep from your eyes, drawn from the comfort of your blankets by the faint sounds coming from the kitchen. The quiet clatter of pans. The slow scrape of metal against a skillet. The low hum of something that might have been a sigh, or just the house settling.

You knew the real reason you were awake.

Bucky had a rough night.

You felt it before you even opened your eyes—the restless way his body tensed behind you, the sharp, ragged breaths fanning against the back of your neck. When the tremors had started, you didn’t hesitate. You turned into him, wrapped yourself around him, grounding him with your warmth, your steady hands, your quiet presence. For twenty minutes, you held him, whispering soft reassurances into the space between you, running your fingers through his damp hair, waiting for his breathing to slow.

And then, just like that—he was gone.

Slipping from your arms. Pulling on sweatpants and a hoodie with that blank, withdrawn look that made your chest ache.

You didn’t stop him.

Because sometimes, Bucky just needed to go—to run, to move, to fight against something only he could see. It was still dark when he left, and though part of you wanted to stay awake and wait for him, sleep eventually pulled you back under.

Now, the smell of coffee and the quiet rhythm of him moving through the kitchen had pulled you back into wakefulness.

Bucky was already making breakfast by the time you dragged yourself into the living room, still swaddled in one of his old sweaters, your feet tucked beneath you as you curled up on the couch. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

He was lost in thought, stirring scrambled eggs absently, his vibranium fingers tapping against the handle of the pan in an absent rhythm. His hair was damp from the shower he must have taken when he got back, a lone strand falling across his forehead. His shoulders, broad and still faintly pink from the heat of the water, flexed slightly as he worked. He was shirtless, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, and the soft winter light streaming through the window caught on the metal of his arm, making it gleam in the quiet morning air.

You watched him in silence.

It was rare—these quiet, introspective moments where he wasn’t a soldier, wasn’t fighting, wasn’t running from something unseen. Just Bucky. Barefoot in your kitchen. Lost in a world of thoughts you weren’t sure you could pull him from.

If he needed you, he’d come to you.

If he wanted to talk, he would.

And if he didn’t? You’d sit here, offering him the kind of company that asked for nothing in return.

But God, he was beautiful like this.

You reached for your phone without thinking, lifting it just enough to snap a photo. He still hadn’t noticed you, the faraway look in his eyes making it easy to capture a few more. The quiet intimacy of the moment was too much to resist—the way the golden morning light softened the sharp edges of him, the way the steam curled from his coffee, how utterly real he looked, standing there.

But then—his gaze flicked up.

He caught the movement, blinking like he was just now registering that he wasn’t alone.

"What you doing up?" he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, still thick with whatever weight sat heavy in his chest.

You grinned, tucking the phone away. "Missed you," you admitted easily, offering him a lazy, sleepy smile from your spot on the couch. "Was worried."

Bucky huffed softly, shaking his head as he grabbed another mug from the counter. "You didn’t have to be," he said, pouring a second cup before making his way over.

You took the coffee from his outstretched hand, watching as he sank down next to you, his arm draped along the back of the couch, close but not yet touching. He smelled like soap and fresh air, a little like the night still clinging to his skin.

You turned slightly, pressing a kiss to the crease of his elbow, your free hand wrapping around his bicep, thumb skimming the underside of it where smooth skin ran over hard muscle. Bucky let you, saying nothing, but his fingers found the back of your hair and flexed slightly, just once.

You hesitated, debating whether to push, before deciding against it. Instead, you just said what you already knew.

"You had a nightmare."

It wasn’t a question.

Bucky sighed, nodding reluctantly before tipping his coffee to his lips. Vibranium fingers gripped the mug, and you didn’t miss the way he used the motion to shield the slight downturn of his mouth.

You caught it anyway.

"Yeah."

Your voice softened. "Hydra?"

"No."

That made you pause.

Most of his worst nights—the ones that left him trembling, breathless, drowning in memories he couldn’t control—were tangled up in his past. But if it wasn’t Hydra…

Your grip tightened slightly around his bicep, thumb brushing gently against smooth skin over strong muscle. "Should I ask what it was, or should I leave it be?"

A muscle ticked in his jaw. His gaze flickered to yours, and for a second, you weren’t sure if he was going to answer.

Then, quietly—"It was you."

You stilled.

"Me?"

Bucky exhaled sharply, his vibranium fingers tracing along the rim of his mug, eyes fixed on a point on the floor. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "You were… gone."

Your heart clenched.

You swore you felt his words crack something inside you.

“I couldn’t— couldn’t help. Couldn’t bring you back." His throat bobbed, and when he spoke again, his voice was rougher, quieter, and you had a feeling he was sparing you whatever gory details had sent him running into the night. "I kept trying, I looked for help everywhere, but you—” Bucky’s eyes squeezed shut. “You were gone. It felt… real."

Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest.

Bucky had lived through nightmares most people couldn’t even imagine. He’d been broken, controlled, forced to be something he never wanted to be. But somehow, the thought of losing you was what sent him running into the cold morning air, like it was something he could outrun.

You set your coffee down on the table, shifting closer, tilting his chin toward you so he had no choice but to look at you. Fingers warm from the coffee, you scratched against his stubble, eyes locked on his.

"I’m right here, Buck."

He blinked slowly, eyes flickering over your face like he was memorizing every detail, every breath, every reassurance. His fingers found the nape of your neck, threading through your hair, and you let him pull you closer until your foreheads touched.

"I know," he murmured, but there was something fragile in the way he said it, like part of him wasn’t convinced.

You pressed a lingering kiss to the bridge of his nose, staying there for a beat, letting him feel it. "I need you to hear me," you whispered against his skin. "I am safe. I am healthy. No one will hurt me. And I’m not going anywhere. Not in your dreams, not in real life. You’re stuck with me, James."

The corner of his mouth twitched—just the faintest ghost of a smirk. You saw it. Felt it.

"Lucky me."

Your heart swelled with quiet relief, and you huffed, nuzzling against him, letting your nose brush his. "Damn right."

Finally, finally, his arm slipped from the back of the couch, wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his warmth. You tucked yourself against his side, letting your head rest against his chest, feeling the warmth of him, the solid weight of him against you.

Silence settled over the two of you, thick but no longer heavy. You traced absentminded circles against his chest, and slowly, you felt the tension in his body ease, the tight coil of anxiety unraveling bit by bit.

He was safe. He was here.

The quiet almost had you drifting back to sleep, but then his voice broke through it—low and rough, like gravel.

"I’m sorry I left the bed."

You shook your head, turning your face into the crook of his neck. "It’s okay. You came back."

And that was what mattered.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just tightened his hold on you, like he was testing the weight of those words—you came back—letting them settle over him like a blanket.

You waited until his breathing evened out before speaking again, this time with a teasing lilt. “But if you ever leave our bed at four in the morning again, I’m chaining you to me.”

You felt the shift before you heard it—the way his chest shook just slightly beneath you, the subtle way his lips pressed together like he was trying to contain it.

Then, a small huff of laughter.

Quiet. Barely there. But real.

“…Kinky,” he murmured.

“Bucky!” You gasped, swatting his side. “You’re hanging out with me too much… I’ve corrupted you.” He chuckled deeper this time, the sound low and warm against your skin, vibrating through you in a way that sent something heady curling in your stomach.

And this time, when he tipped your head up and kissed you—slow and deep, fingers threading into your hair—it wasn’t about grounding himself.

It was about you.

–

Weeks had passed since that quiet morning, but the warmth of it still lingered, wrapping itself around the two of you like an unspoken promise.

Things between you and Bucky had settled into a rhythm—soft, steady, something unspoken but deeply felt. He still had bad nights, but he came back to bed more often. When he needed space, he’d at least leave you with a kiss, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t running from you—just from the ghosts that still clung to him. And when he was ready, he’d let you pull him back, let you ground him in the safety of your arms.

Sometimes, you caught him staring—like he was trying to make sense of it all, trying to understand how he had ended up here, with you, with something so… real. Little did he know you wondered the same.

Life felt easier than it had in a long time—like the universe had finally pressed pause, giving you both a moment to breathe. The world, always so chaotic, had granted you this reprieve, a chance to settle into the simple, domestic routine of being together. Bucky continued to spend more time at your apartment, despite your attempts to make his feel more like home. He always had a counterargument—yours was better, cozier, you had a bed, and more importantly, you were there.

You couldn’t quite argue with that one.

And so, you let yourself fall into what it meant to be loved by Bucky Barnes. It wasn’t perfect. There were moments when you felt helpless, when his mind dragged him somewhere you couldn’t reach. There were nights you worried—worried that one day he’d wake up and decide he didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve you. But still, you held on. Because it was good. Because he needed good. It was calm. And he needed calm. It was loving. And god, did he need to be loved. It was passionate, and that—well, that was something you both needed in equal measure.

You felt, for the first time in a long time, like a teenager—caught in the all-consuming pull of something new, something that made the rest of the world feel distant, insignificant. He was everywhere. In your bed, in your arms, against your skin, in your thoughts. It didn’t help that he was also, technically, your boss—your sort-of, kind-of boss. But that didn’t stop the way your world seemed to orbit around him.

And somehow, without you realizing it, he had even claimed a place on your phone.

The picture you had taken of him that morning had slowly but surely become your favorite. It had started small—just something you’d pull up when he wasn’t around, a quiet reminder of the way he looked in the soft morning light, lost in thought but undeniably beautiful. But as the days passed, you found yourself reaching for it more and more, until finally, you caved and set it as your background.

It felt silly, juvenile even, but you let yourself have this one thing.

It never even crossed your mind that he’d see it.

It never even crossed your mind that you’d be the reason he’d see it.

You didn’t even think about it, leaving the phone on the bathroom counter after you got out of your shower. You were practically done getting dressed when you remembered, calling out to him from the bedroom.

“Buck? Baby, could you get me my phone? It’s on the bathroom counter!”

There was a pause, just long enough to make you wonder if he hadn’t heard you, before he answered. “Yeah, I got it,” Bucky called back.

You went back to pulling up your panties over your hips, dragging one of his hoodies over your head and dragging a hairbrush over your tangled locks while you heard the quiet scuff of his socked footsteps. It wasn’t until he crossed the threshold of your bedroom that you realized something was… off.

He had your phone in his hand, sure, but he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes were locked on the screen, brow furrowed, lips just slightly parted like he was in the middle of trying to figure something out.

“Is this… me?” he asked, voice lower, slower, as he lifted the phone just enough to show the screen.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Heat rushed to your face and you scrambled for something, anything, to deflect. “Uh—no, it’s… uh—”

Bucky arched a brow, tilting the phone toward himself, as if double-checking. “It’s me,” he said again, this time with something different in his voice. Not teasing, not mocking—just curious. Maybe even a little surprised.

You hesitated, caught between embarrassment and the sudden, crushing realization that—honestly? This was a big deal. Or at least, it was starting to feel like one.

You sighed, crossing your arms, leveling him with a look. “Yeah, it’s you. Don’t make it weird.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, that barely-there almost-smirk that drove you insane, but his eyes told a different story. He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t mocking. He was curious.

“I’m not making it weird,” he said slowly, his voice quieter now. “Just… didn’t expect it.”

That, you believed. Bucky wasn’t used to people holding onto him like this. Keeping pieces of him close. He wasn’t used to the idea that he was something someone wanted to look at, to remember.

Your chest ached a little at the thought, but you brushed past it, rolling your eyes to cover the sudden rush of warmth in your face.

“Well,” you muttered, turning away, “I like the picture.”

Bucky hummed, glancing down at your phone again before lifting it slightly. “When’d you take it?”

You kept your back to him, rifling through your dresser for socks as if this was the most important task in the world. “A few weeks ago.”

“When?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the fabric in your hands. “...After you had a nightmare.”

The room went still.

You could feel his gaze on you, heavier than before, as if he were working through something in that head of his. When you finally turned back, your stomach gave a sharp twist—he had stepped fully into the bedroom now, standing in the doorway like a force of nature. Unshakable. Unstoppable. Your phone was still firm in his grasp, but he wasn’t looking at it anymore.

He was looking at you.

“Why’d you put it on your screen?” His voice was closer, softer—but no less insistent.

Your pulse jumped.

Jesus, what was this? An interrogation?

“What’s with the Spanish Inquisition?” you scoffed, laughing a little too nervously. You turned back to your socks—because if you kept looking at him, you knew you were going to combust—clumsily yanking them on before you darted past him, making a beeline for the door.

You almost made it. Almost.

But before you could slip away, before you could pretend this conversation had never happened, his hands were on you.

Large palms gripped your hips, pulling you back into the solid heat of him. You yelped, your momentum halted so suddenly that you barely had time to catch your breath before he was right there, pressed against your back, his voice low and teasing in your ear.

“Hey, now—wait a second.” His fingers tightened slightly, grounding, steadying. “I have questions.”

“Oh my God—”

“Let’s talk about this.”

“No, let’s not—”

“Let’s definitely talk about this.”

You grunted, trying to wiggle free, but it was useless. His grip was firm, unrelenting, the sheer strength in his arms making any escape attempt laughable at best.

“God, you’re so—annoying!” you groaned, shoving at his forearm, but there was no real heat behind it. You were just embarrassed. Embarrassed that he caught you being soft, caught you simping, caught you—

Bucky chuckled, breath warm against your neck. “Annoying, huh?”

“Yes!” You twisted in his grip, but that only made things worse, because suddenly, your ass was pressing back against his front, and—

Oh.

A sharp inhale left you, and Bucky—that bastard—must’ve noticed, because his grip on your hips tightened.

You cursed under your breath. “What do you want me to say?”

Bucky was quiet, waiting. Watching.

You exhaled sharply, closing your eyes for a brief moment, before finally turning your head slightly to glance at him. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—those damn eyes—were burning.

You swallowed. Hard.

“That you’re handsome?” you muttered, voice quieter now, a little breathless. “That I like looking at you? That I miss you when you’re not around?”

Bucky’s fingers flexed against your hips.

“That I wanted something of yours to keep?” Your voice dropped even lower. “That I need a visual for when I—”

You caught yourself just in time, slamming your mouth shut, but it was too late.

Bucky stilled.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you, thick and charged.

Then—

“When you what?” His voice was deeper now, slower. Smug.

You gasped, immediately trying to pull away, but his arms caged you in.

“Oh, no, no, no—”

“None of your business, Barnes!”

Bucky laughed, actually laughed, and the sound of it sent a rush of warmth flooding through you.

“You absolute menace—let me go!” You struggled, bent forward in a desperate attempt to pry his hands off you, but in doing so, your ass pressed firmly into him again, and—

Oh, fuck.

There was definitely something there.

Bucky let out a low grunt, grip tightening, and—shit. That was not helping.

“You were saying?” His voice was rougher now, the teasing edge still there but undercut with something else. Something darker.

You clenched your jaw, mortified. “Fucking super soldier serum,” you grumbled under your breath.

Bucky grinned. You felt it against your skin.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips brushing just below your ear, the heat of his breath making you shiver. “Just tell me.”

Your resolve wavered. God, he was so unfair.

“I cannot have this conversation before I’ve even had my coffee,” you argued, exhaling dramatically as you gave up and went limp against his arms. If he was going to hold you hostage like this, you might as well get comfortable. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt him—solid, warm, inescapable.

Bucky chuckled, arms tightening around you, pressing you more firmly against him until you were practically weightless in his hold. “I’ll let you have your coffee…” he promised, voice dripping with amusement. “But we’re discussing this while you drink it.”

He huffed, shifting his grip, turning you around and before you could blink, he was lifting you. You gasped as your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, arms locking around his neck as he carried you with frustrating ease.

“That was nice,” you sighed, unable to help the giggle that slipped out when he effortlessly adjusted his hold. You nuzzled into his neck, voice muffled against his skin. “Remember when you weren’t a menace?”

“What do you mean weren’t?” He pulled back just enough to shoot you an indignant look. “I’ve always been a menace.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight your smile. “Yeah, but it was more of a brooding, dangerous menace before. This?” You gestured vaguely between the two of you, still wrapped around him. “This is a smug, cocky menace and I don’t know if I like it.”

Bucky smirked. Smirked. “I think you do.”

You scoffed, burying your face into his shoulder, squeezing your arms around him tighter—not just to shut him up, but because you could.

And because… you needed a second.

Because there was something in the air between you now—something shifting, stretching, growing. Something unspoken but suddenly very loud.

Bucky was looking for something. Waiting for something. You could feel it. The careful weight of his gaze, the way his arms settled so securely around you, like he wasn’t just holding you but keeping you. And the realization that he had been thinking about this—about you, about where the two of you stood, where you were going—it shook you.

You knew this wasn’t casual. It never had been. Not after everything in D.C., not after what you both admitted—what he admitted. Not after the way he loved you.

And now? Now he wanted to talk about it.

Shit.

You barely realized he had walked you both into the kitchen until he set you down on the cold surface of the island. The moment your bare thighs made contact with the freezing countertop, you yelped, clinging to him instinctively.

“Could’ve warned me!” you cried out, squeezing your arms around his neck in retaliation.

Bucky laughed. Full-on, unabashed laughter. The warmth of it curled through you, but you refused to acknowledge it, choosing instead to scowl at him as he pulled back slightly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” He didn’t sound sorry at all.

“You’re pushing your luck, Barnes,” you grumbled, reluctantly releasing him as he stepped back, heading toward the coffee maker.

“I’ll take my chances,” he sighed, shooting you a smirk over his shoulder.

You huffed, watching him move around your kitchen like he owned the place. Which, honestly, at this point? He practically did.

No matter how much effort you’d put into making his apartment feel like a home, he spent more time here—left his boots by your door, tossed his jacket over your chair, claimed half of your closet without even trying. And you let him. Because no matter how much you pretended to be exasperated by it, the truth was, you loved it.

“Here.” Bucky’s voice was warm as he handed you a steaming mug, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second too long. “Drink up.”

You accepted it with a grateful murmur, curling your fingers around the ceramic, letting the heat sink into your skin. You took a sip. Then another. Then a third.

He didn’t move.

You frowned, glancing up at him over the rim of your cup. He stood right there, hands planted on either side of your hips, his body caging you in—not in a way that made you feel trapped, but in a way that made you feel… held.

His blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, steady. Waiting.

Your stomach flipped.

“So…” His voice was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way he was watching you. “The picture.”

Your fingers tensed around your mug.

God, he was relentless.

“You are insufferable,” you muttered, taking another sip, as if coffee could save you from this conversation.

Bucky tilted his head, lips twitching. “And you’re stalling.”

You groaned, setting your mug down beside you. “I told you—I like the picture.”

He nodded slowly, gaze unwavering. “And?”

You frowned. “And what?”

Bucky let out a soft huff, stepping closer, the warmth of him pressing against your knees. His hands found your thighs, rubbing slow, lazy circles into your skin. The touch was grounding, familiar, dangerous.

“And why’s it your background?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“I—”

“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart.” His voice dropped, softer now, rougher. “Let me hear it.”

Your heart pounded.

He wasn’t teasing anymore. There was something in his voice—something careful, something raw.

Your breath hitched as you exhaled slowly.

“Because you’re handsome. And I miss you when you’re not here,” you admitted, voice quiet but unwavering. “Because I like looking at you. Because it makes me feel… close to you.”

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just listened.

You swallowed, suddenly so aware of the weight of the moment.

“It’s… the 21st century equivalent of having a picture of your girl on your wallet. It’s just… something romantic partners do.” The words were out before you could stop them, and your stomach plummeted as realization crashed over you.

The air between you shifted.

Bucky’s fingers flexed against your thighs.

“What’s this about romantic partners?” His voice was careful, cautious.

Your grip on the coffee mug tightened.

You hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to throw it out there like it was nothing when it was actually… everything.

You cleared your throat. “You’d catch on to that, wouldn’t you?” you muttered, eyes darting anywhere but him. “It’s not like we’ve, uh, talked… about labels.”

Bucky studied you, pulling back, arms crossing over his chest, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he worked something out in his head.

“Should we?”

Your breath stalled.

“Bucky—”

“It’s a genuine question,” he cut in, his voice lower now, almost grumbly, like he was bracing himself.

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temple with your free hand. “We don’t have to,” you said, finally setting your mug down. “It’s not a requirement. And I wouldn’t want to do it if it’s something you’re not comfortable with.”

Bucky shifted, leaning in a little, closing the distance between you, fingers curling along the edge of the counter like he needed something to anchor himself. His voice was even, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were so intense you felt like you were drowning in them.

“But it is something people do nowadays?”

You squinted at him, trying to pinpoint exactly what about this had him all twisted up. His expression was blank—frustratingly so, that careful, calculated mask he wore when he wasn’t sure how much of himself to show, but it was clear his mind was working through it.

“It’s something people have always done,” you pointed out, tilting your head. “Didn’t you ever discuss going steady with your dates back in the day?”

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Doll, back then, if you went on three dates, you were practically engaged.”

You blinked.

“Excuse me?”

He smirked, leaning in just a little. “You heard me.”

“That’s insane.”

“That’s the ‘40s, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Were you ever engaged?”

His smirk softened, turning into something smaller, something almost shy.

“I never got to the third date,” he admitted, and you couldn’t stop yourself—you pinched his waist.

Bucky jerked slightly, laughing, his hand grabbing yours to stop you from doing it again.

“That’s ridiculous,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“What?” He grinned. “The ‘three dates’ rule or me never getting to the third date?”

“Both.”

His fingers grazed the curve of your hip, slow, thoughtful.

“So,” you drawled, narrowing your eyes at him. “By your standards, I should already have a ring on my finger?”

The second the words left your mouth, you saw it.

The way he looked at you—how something flickered across his face. His throat bobbed slightly as he swallowed, the tips of his ears going pink.

Oh my God, he’s blushing.

Your breath hitched.

And fuck.

There it was again.

That shift.

That unspoken thing hanging between you, thick and undeniable, inevitable, something you hadn’t named but had been building, piece by piece, since the moment he walked into your life.

Bucky wet his lips, fingers still tracing slow, absentminded strokes against your hip. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter.

“Would that be the worst thing?”

Your stomach dropped.

The air changed, the teasing burned away in an instant, leaving something raw and exposed in its place. You could feel your pulse in your throat, a heavy, thudding thing, your heart hammering against your ribs.

His fingers flexed against you, just slightly.

You hesitated, inhaling sharply. “New… relationship rule,” you muttered, heat crawling up your neck as you lifted a finger and poked the center of his chest.

Bucky barely moved, but his eyes flashed.

“You don’t get to joke about marriage,” you told him, voice firm despite the warmth in your face.

His lips tugged, but there was something else there now—something dark and interested.

“Who said I was joking?”

Your stomach flipped.

“James, I swear to God—”

He was looking at you, watching, like he was working something out in his head. Like he was measuring the weight of this moment, testing the limits of what could be said.

And then—

“Do you wanna go steady with me?”

Your lips parted.

Your brain stalled.

Bucky Barnes just asked if you wanted to go steady.

It should have been funny.

It should have been outdated.

But the way he said it—so serious, so low and real—made your entire body go up in flames.

He must have caught the way your breath stuttered because he pulled you forward, closer, his grip tightening just a little around your thighs, grounding you, steadying you.

You swallowed thickly, fingers curling into the fabric of his henley.

“You’re serious,” you murmured.

Bucky nodded, his gaze unwavering. “Yeah, sweetheart. I am.”

Your heart thundered.

It wasn’t just the words—it was everything behind them.

It was the months of falling asleep next to each other, the mornings making coffee, the way he always grabbed your hand in a crowd like it was second nature. It was the fact that he already had half his shirts living in your drawers, the way he kissed you like he was memorizing you every damn time.

The truth was, you’d already been his.

This was just the part where he made it official.

Bucky, the menace, pressed again, voice quieter now, more certain—like saying it one more time would make it real:

“Do you wanna go steady with me?”

Your head was spinning.

Not just from the question, but from him. From the way he stood there, broad and unshaken, all squared shoulders and tension, like he was gearing up for a no. Like he’d been so damn sure before, teasing and smug, but now—now, he was nervous.

Even after everything.

After the nights tangled together, after whispered confessions in the dark, after the I love you’s that had slipped from your lips more times than you could count now.

Even after that ridiculous jealous fit you’d thrown over Sharon Carter in D.C., after all the ways you’d reassured him that you weren’t going anywhere.

He still had doubts.

Your heart clenched.

You wanted to press yourself against his chest and tell him a thousand times over that yes, of course, yes. That there had never been a moment where you weren’t his.

But instead…

You decided to tease him.

Because why not?

You shifted slightly, arms wrapping around his neck as you tilted your head, feigning deep thought.

“What does ‘going steady’ mean exactly?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, the blue suddenly sharper.

“You know what it means.” His voice was gruff, but there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze, something that said he knew exactly what you were doing.

Still, he indulged you.

His hands gripped your thighs and spread them further, stepping between them like he owned the space, pressing himself against you.

Heat licked at your spine, curled low in your belly, but you forced yourself to keep your composure, lips twitching.

“Hm, do I?” You cocked your head, your fingers toying with the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “I’ve never dated an old man before. I don’t know what that entails.”

Bucky’s hands tightened on your thighs.

“Why don’t you give me some examples?”

He exhaled sharply, and you could see the moment he decided to play your game.

“Alright, doll,” he rasped, tilting his head, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “Going steady means I get to hold your hand whenever I damn well please. Even if it’s just to steal your warmth. Even if it’s just to feel you.”

His fingers traced down your arm before intertwining with yours, squeezing gently, like he never wanted to let go.

“It means I walk you home, make sure you get there safe, even if you swear you don’t need me to.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “It means I take you dancing—if we make it out the door. And when we inevitably don’t, it means I’ll just have to sway you around the living room instead. Press you against the wall. Whisper things in your ear that’ll make you blush.”

Heat flickered low in your belly, sharp and insistent. Your breath hitched as he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression suddenly raw.

“It means I’m the guy who shows up when your shower isn’t working, who carries your bags even when you argue you can do it yourself, who remembers how you take your coffee…” His thumb brushed against your cheek, voice dipping lower, more certain. “It means I’m the guy who gets to kiss you whenever I want. Wherever I want. It means I get to have you under me, above me, wrapped around me, moaning my name like it’s the only one you know.”

A shiver skated down your spine. Your thighs squeezed around his hips instinctively, and he smirked, eyes dark, amused.

His voice was a husky promise when he leaned in closer, lips barely brushing yours. “It means I’m yours, and you’re mine. No second-guessing. No wondering. No what-ifs.”

His gaze burned into you, steady, unshaken. “It means you never have to doubt where I stand, 'cause it’s always right here—with you.”

Your teasing resolve cracked, shattered under the weight of him—his words, his presence, the way he was always so damn steady.

Your throat felt tight.

“Oh,” you whispered.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah,” he murmured, dropping his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “Oh.”

Your fingers curled around the front of his shirt, clinging. He was so close, so warm, so Bucky that you couldn’t remember what life was like before him, and you didn’t want to.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost testing.

“What was your question again?” You breathed out, shaky.

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose. His patience was running out, and still… “Do you wanna go steady with me?”

This time, his voice was different. Lower. Rougher. The kind of voice that sent heat curling down your spine, settling deep in your stomach.

You bit your lip, letting your nose brush against the rough stubble of his jaw before pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the pulse point in his neck.

“James Buchanan Barnes...” you murmured, your voice teasing but thick with emotion. “Are we boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Bucky inhaled sharply, chest rising against yours, his breath hot as it left him in a slow exhale. His hands on your hips twitched slightly, fingers flexing as if he was resisting the urge to pull you in even closer.

“Am I not too old to be a boyfriend?” His voice was low, edged with something rough.

You grinned against his skin, pressing another lingering kiss just below his jaw, loving the way his grip tightened instinctively at the contact. “Would you prefer manfriend? Would that fit you better?”

A low sound rumbled in his chest, a mixture of amusement and warning. “Shut up.”

“Make me,” you whispered, lips barely brushing his skin now, your breath warm against the column of his throat.

The teasing evaporated.

The air shifted.

Bucky wasn’t nervous anymore.

His blue eyes flickered over your face, your lips, your throat, dark and heavy with intent. His grip flexed at your waist, thumbs brushing just under the hem of your sleep shirt, a silent tease of what was to come.

“You didn’t answer me,” he murmured, his voice lower, deeper, dripping with quiet authority.

Your heart pounded.

He was right there. Close enough that all you had to do was lean in, tilt your chin, and—

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his Henley, fisting it tight as you pulled him in until there was nothing left between you but heat and the electric charge that hummed between your bodies.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice unsteady.

“Yes?” His gaze flickered to your lips, his thumb grazing your hip bone, slow and deliberate.

“Yes,” you repeated, softer this time. “I’ll go steady with you, Buck.”

His breath left him in a slow exhale, something shifting in his expression, in his body.

And then—

He kissed you.

Not slow. Not teasing. Fierce. Unrelenting. Like he’d been waiting forever and couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer, and his hands tightened on your hips, tugging you flush against him. His lips were warm, insistent, like he was staking a claim—like he wanted to make damn sure you knew exactly what you’d just agreed to.

His lips were warm, insistent, claiming you in a way that made your stomach clench and your thighs tighten around his waist. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty—just Bucky pressing himself into every inch of you, as if trying to brand the moment into his skin.

And then his hands started moving.

Slow. Purposeful.

Dragging up the hem of your hoodie, rough palms mapping the soft skin beneath. A shiver rippled through you as his fingers teased higher, sweeping over your ribs, grazing the underside of your breasts in a way that made you gasp against his mouth.

Bucky groaned, low and deep, and you felt it everywhere.Your legs locked tight around his hips, drawing him in until there was no space left, no room for doubt—just the heavy, aching pressure of him, firm against the heat of your center. A shaky sound slipped from your lips, and Bucky swallowed it with a kiss that was nothing short of greedy.

His hands never stilled—one sliding slow beneath your hoodie, fingers memorizing the soft give of your waist, the curve of your ribs; the other gripped under your thigh like he needed to anchor himself to something before he came undone. He rocked into you with a controlled grind that had your head tipping back, your breath catching.

He chased the sound like it was the only thing keeping him grounded, his mouth trailing down your throat in open, possessive kisses that made your breath catch.

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, your voice hitching on a laugh that dissolved into a quiet moan. “Is this what claiming me looks like?”

You said it at his ear, half-teasing, half-breathless—just as his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties. He froze, just for a beat, then let out a short, rough laugh against your skin.

“You did just agree to date me,” he murmured, voice low and threaded with heat. “You really surprised I’m taking that seriously?”

You pulled back to look at him, a grin tugging at your lips as your fingers slid into his hair. His cheeks were flushed, his pupils blown wide—but behind all that intensity was a softness that made your chest tighten.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you whispered, nose brushing his, “I think you’re drunk on commitment.”

He let out another low laugh, one that sounded like it shook something loose in his chest. His lips curled into a smile before he pressed a kiss to your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah,” he said, voice quiet now, certain. “I think I am.”

Then he kissed you again—slower this time, no urgency, no second-guessing. Just a man who knew exactly where he belonged.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan

175 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 10 hours ago

Note

… maybe bob with a reader who also has mental illness? And has low self esteem also. :3…. not super fluffy but it can become fluffo

'why do you like me?' you asked Bob after having not been in the best mindset for the past couple of days, it had hit you out of nowhere, but it was still enough to have you sitting within your room with the curtains drawn and burrowed in your own multitude of blankets as you let your own void consume you.

Bob was suprised to hear you say such a thing, he was always the one to ask you why you liked him, so seeing you look at him with such hopelessness and saddness only made his heart ache as he didn't hesitate to take a seat next to you and grabbing ahold of your hand. He didn't like seeing you like this but knew -that just like him- you had your down days as well as your best ones and he was going to be the grounding force you needed however he could, whether it be just sitting here and holding your hand as the day passes you by or otherwise then he'll do it a thousand times over just for you.

'How could i not?' Bob begins softly, 'you are the kindest person i've ever met and the most genuine soul that never felt the need change for anybody and remain to your truest self, the one person who always managed to keep their head held high when the situation seemed bleak.' He kisses the side of your head and allowing you to rest you head against his shoulder, allowing him to be your light within this dark moment of yours, much like you have been for him in his. 'The strongest person that never once gave up when the going gets tough, yet sometimes forget that you're human and not every day is going to be a good one.' he finishes as you look at him through your eyelashes.

'what if i can't get out of this...emptiness? what if i just accept that most battles are too hard to win and think i'm deserving of being forgotten and or left behind like i'm not worth the trouble of comforting?' You were just saying the things that had been within your mind for a longwhile now, things that you knew you'd never you would never get an acceptable awnser for even if it was a believible one, you'll still always have that lingering doubt within the back of your mind that they were just saying it for the sake of saying something that sounded plausable...for a while until you get like this again.

So you wondered how long it would take until Bob grew bored of reassuring you, of getting ride of the sour thoughts that plauge your mind all too frequently nowadays, of having to hold your hand when the darkness clouded any sembelence of light from passing through. However what you weren't willing to see in your current state of mind was that Bob would in fact gladly reassure you as many times as you needed, chase away the sour thoughts time and time again until you were ready to come out of your room, hold your hand and guide you through the darkness until he could effortlessly do so with his eyes closed.

He didn't like the idea of leaving you alone with your thoughts, especially not when they were making you second guess eveything about yourself, not when you were within a room devoid of leeting any light in, allowing the worst of your thoughts to be let in without warning and stay to fester; up until all you could think about was the supposed worst traits you possesed and how you didn't think you were worth any ounce of attention. So Bob was more then willing to be stubborn and stern with you, even if it meant getting through your head that you were more then worth every ounce of attention and support given, that you were worth going back for ten times out of ten.

'i won't let you.' Bob replied frowning. 'i won't let you becuase i'll stay here with you as long as it takes, as long as you need until you do feel wanted and seen becuase you didn't leave me with my mind when i wanted you to, you stayed with me until the early morning looking tired as hell but happy that i finally stepped out of the shadows.' He tucks you futher into his side, his body guarding you from the dark of your own room as though he was the only one who could keep you safe from it all, keep you protected from the worst yet to come and within his arms you felt the safest you've ever had in a long time. 'So why would i ever leave you to face your battle alone?' Bob asks.

You shrugged, geuninly at a loss on how to awnser him, but far too content within his arms to move away from the warmth he emitted. 'i'm not worth all of this Bob, i'm not worth your efforts but yet you still stay here as though there is nowhere esle you wanted to be-'

'There is nowhere i want to be other then right here, with you. i won't let you think any diffrently about yourself, out of anyone in the Watchtower i can't think of anyone but you to spend my days with, no matter if we're sat like this or doing the dishes together.' Bob cuts you off, looking at you with those sofe blue eyes that you swore could see into your soul and thensome. 'As long as i'm with you my day could never be wasted at all, i want to be with you on your worst days as well as your best days, all you've got to do is let me in instead of shutting me out.' He finishes earnestly, holding you closer to him as you burrow your face into his neck, your hands were gripping the back of his sweater as though you were scared to let go of Bob in fear that he'd dissapear.

Bob noticed how tightly you were gripping onto him and began rubbing your back with his large hands in soothing motion. 'i'm here. i'm not going anywhere, not without you, never without you okay?' he says and hears you hum in agreement as you made yourself comfortable against him, even offering your blanket to cover him somewhat before finding yourself inable to fight off the need for sleep, and Bob rubbing your back didn't make matters better either as you were esscencially lulled into drifting off; the scent of vanilla or perhaps chamomile and new books invading your senses as you murmurered agaisnst his skin. 'Thank you for not giving up on me.'

'never.' Bob whipsered back, leaning back against the wall for some brief shut eye, all the while making sure you stayed close to him as his back caresses soon slowed and came to a still, finding their resting place at your waist that he'd occasionally grip as though trying to tell you he was there in some sort of morse code that he'd hope would reach you in your dreams where he would be too; only for him to fall asleep completely soon after.

bonus;

Later that day Yelena, Ava, John and Alexei were walking through the hallway, wondering where you and Bob were, only to come across your slightly ajar door where Yelena peaked inside and smiling upon seeing you and Bob cuddled up tightly together asleep on the floor. 'i found our little lovebirds.' She says to the rest of the group as they too poked their heads inside soon afterwards, similar smiles plastering across their faces.

'That doesn't look pratical.' Ava said as she notes your sleeping possitons, knowing that both of you will wake up complaining about your aching necks, but she couldn't help but find you both adorable in this situation.

'At least we don't need to send a search party for them both now.' John says, wincing when Alexei claps him on the shoulder, wiping away a tear that had fallen from his eyes.

'Bob is protecting his love even in his sleep, how valient of him.' He adds as Yelena and the group decided to make boht of your situations a little more comfortable for you both. Yelena and Ava would put pillows behind your's and Bob's head, Alexei would shift you both slightly into more suitable positions for you both, and finally John would adjust the blankets so they would cover you both properly with the intent on keeping you and Bob warm and safe.

The group, once satisfied with their work, left you both be and shut the door behind them as they did in order to give you both the rest and privacy you both nedded.

123 notes · View notes

paulyenvol6 · 5 hours ago

Text

Made To Take It

Jackson!Joel x Jackson!Tommy x female reader

Okay so I'm definitely going to hell for this one. This is dirty, filthy, raunchy and SO thirsty, but I'm a slut for Joel and Tommy, I'm sorry. Enjoy these 13,000 words of (almost) pure smut and meet me in hell.

Contains: Oh lord, where do I begin... smut, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving and it's rough and messy af), fingering, degradation, humiliation, objectification, gagging, choking, boot riding, slapping, fat age gap (Joel and Tommy are in their 50s, reader is 24), sort of innocent kink, dacryphilia, mentions of somnophilia, dom Joel and Tommy (obviously), subby/whiny reader, everyone involved is a little drunk, dubcon (gonna put this here just in case because at some point reader is in pain and doesn't give clear consent), flirting, mentions of alcohol and cocain, use of words like bitch/slut/whore, descriptions of pain and discomfort, they're cumming over reader's breasts and face

Wordcount: 13,115

Masterlist

Joel hated it.

He didn't exactly hate you, but he hated what you were doing. The words coming out of your mouth, your smiles and your sparkling eyes.

When he thought about it, maybe it was more about the things you made him feel than what you said, but it was much easier to blame you.

You didn't have to wear that tiny excuse of a skirt or that tight pink top that showed off every curve of your body in a way that made him want to bang his head against the table in front of him just to make those sinful images disappear from his mind.

He felt awful for even just thinking about you that way, a girl almost 30 years younger than him. But what made him feel even worse was when his eyes stayed on you for just a little too long. Long enough to glance at your beautiful legs and your waist and imagine what you would feel like.

Joel inhaled the air which was definitely too thin in here and searched for a window or a door to open. Just when he was about to turn to his left someone sat down in a chair to his right and he spinned around only to look into a pair of brown eyes that looked very much like his own.

"Tommy. Didn't know you were comin'."

Joel tightened his grip around his glass and then emptied it in one go. If he already felt miserable dreaming about you like that, he better be drunk at least.

"Didn't know you were comin' either. You alright? You look awful."

"Thanks."

Joel darted at him, the corner of his mouth lifting as he noticed the hazy veil in front of his brother's eyes that hinted at the fact that he wasn't entirely himself either. Tommy exhaled and then leaned back in his chair, his eyes staring into space, but then Joel felt an arm around his shoulders.

"Seriously, though, why the fuck you here? You hate this kinda stuff."

"Thank you for tellin' me what I like."

Joel pushed his hand away and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table.

"You pissed?"

"No," he growled, rubbing over his forehead with his hands that were cold from the icy liquid in his glas and hoped that it would calm his racing mind.

"Alright."

Tommy was quiet for the next few minutes which was why Joel eventually decided that from you, himself and Tommy, the latter was the least to blame so he gave him a conciliatory grin and toasted with him. That was communication enough and the two brothers silently watched the scene before their eyes until Tommy quietly chuckled.

"She's puttin' on quite the show, isn't she?"

Joel's heart jumped, his head throbbing as he tried to figure out who he was talking about and when he followed his little brother's gaze he almost choked on his own spit.

"Yeah, I guess," Joel nevertheless replied, trying to play it cool.

"She's an adorable 'lil thing though. I get why all these boys are head over heels for her. If I'd known her back when I was her age, god… the things I would've done just to get to touch those pretty legs for once."

"Jesus, Tommy," Joel hissed, rolling his eyes at his brother's light chuckle.

Nice one, Tommy. Not that he had needed it, but now he felt even worse.

"Fuckin' relax, Joel. Don't act like you would've been any different. Actually, she's more your type than mine. She looks a bit like… that one girl from music class in highschool, god what was her name again…"

"Georgia."

Tommy laughed out, slapped his thigh and then shook his head.

"Yes, Georgia. I remember her… That summer, I swear you were so goddamn useless. In your fuckin' room all day to practice the guitar to impress 'er… God… I would really like to know what happened to 'er."

Joel averted his gaze, looking down at his hands, which were resting on the table, and flinched when Tommy punched him lightly in the back.

"Anyway, the point is she's cute. But I swear to god, she's trouble. Just look at her. She's gonna break one heart after the other…"

Joel craned his neck back to look at the now familiar scene and felt his heart pound as he saw you whirling around, your hand gripped tightly by some guy's claws, as if he was afraid you would slip away if he let go. His fears were not unfounded because with a glance at the people around you it was clear that a number of guys seemed to be waiting for you to be free for a minute so that they could claim you next.

Goddamn stupid… Joel shook his head and dropped his gaze, but Tommy seemed invested now, an occasional chuckle leaving his mouth and his hand poking Joel's side when something of interest happened.

"Look, Joel. That one's out now." He giggled. "And look at his face… I hope he doesn't start a fight with that guy."

"Jesus… Can we stop now?" Joel grunted and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Tommy on the other hand shrugged, but finally averted his gaze from you and your little crowd of admirers.

"Alright. Don't know what the fuck's wrong with you tonight, but okay."

"I just think we have better things to do than stare at her an' get involved in this fuckin' teenage drama."

Tommy frowned, took another sip of his whisky and then lightly thumped Joel's shoulder with his fist.

"You makin' me sound like a creep."

"Yeah. Goddamn right," his older brother scoffed, but with these words the topic was finally dropped.

The brothers started talking about work and soon ended up talking about the patrol they were due to go on the next day. Time passed and Joel finally felt the lump in his throat resolve, the tension in his body easing and his mind capable of thinking about something that didn't have to do with you.

But the redemption was short-lived. It was around 11pm when a shadow approached the two brothers who were deep in a conversation, which was why they only noticed you when you were right in front of them.

"Jesus fucking christ," Joel cursed, bringing his hand to his chest to calm his rapid heartbeat that had gone through the rooftop by your unnoticed appearance. Tommy giggled again, his breath thick with the scent of whiskey.

"Good evening, gentlemen," you said with a smile and propped yourself up on your hands on the table which caused your t-shirt to ride up slightly. Joel felt his breath catch in his throat and he had to force himself not to look at the thin strip of skin exposed by your careless action.

"Hello, gorgeous," Tommy grinned and his brother involuntarily rolled his eyes. It wasn't just that Tommy was naturally a much bigger flirt than he was, it got even worse when he was drunk.

"What you're doin' here all alone? Did your admirers leave you? Not such gentlemen, huh? Leavin' a pretty thing like you here so late."

You tilted your head, swung your weight from one foot to the other, and somehow it only made Joel more nervous.

"No. They'll be back. They're… gettin' some other drugs," you whispered with a blink of your eye and brought a finger to your lips, signalising the Miller brothers to keep it a secret.

"What?" it was Joel now who hissed.

"Relax. It's just a bit of coke, I guess. Nothing I can't handle."

Joel glanced at Tommy, who had a frown on his face, although he looked more like he was enjoying the game.

"You shouldn't take some drugs you can't identify and don't have any experience with," Joel insisted, shaking his head and straightening up in his chair like he was preparing himself to jump to his feet and personally prevent you from just going near those drugs.

"Yeah. That's why I'm gonna try it. So I gain experience with it."

The smile on your face had faded, and Joel definitely preferred the sweet glint in your eyes to the crease between your brows, but there was no way around it now.

"No, that ain't my point. You don't know these guys, you don't know what they have in mind and so you definitely shouldn't take anythin' they offer you."

"You don't know if I know them," you claimed, defiantly raising your chin, but Joel knew that he had hit a nerve. God… he could read you like a fucking book.

"Don't lie to me. You don't know 'em well enough to trust 'em like that. Tommy, you wanna back me here or what?" he asked, elbowing Tommy's arm. The addressed cleared his throat, looking as if he'd just woken up from a daydream.

"Oh yeah. I agree with Joel, you gotta be more careful, kiddo."

The pout on your lips intensified as you flashed your eyes at them, but Joel remained uncompromising.

"S'better for you that way," he whispered, his voice softer now.

"I don't even know why the fuck I'm listenin' to you," you growled as you pulled up a chair and sat down.

Joel's heart fluttered, his insides clenching with a strange combination that felt like a mixture of fear and excitement and his hands becoming sweaty.

"'Cause you're a good kid," Tommy chuckled and reached for a glass to his right.

"Are you allowed to drink that?" he asked, hesitating only when he already held the bottle in his hand.

"I'm 24," you rolled your eyes which earned you an approving nod from Tommy.

"Behavin' like an 18 year old sometimes though," he then grumbled as he forcefully put the glass on the table in front of you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you asked and defensively raised your hands.

"Means you're stubborn and don't listen," Joel joined the conversation, his teeth gritting when you narrowed your eyes.

"Yeah, as if you're not stubborn, Mr I-know-everything-better-and-refuse-to-change-my-mind-even-though-I-know-that-you're-right."

Joel exhaled, but felt the blood in his veins throb at your sweet laugh. That sweet laugh he sometimes heard at town meetings, when you giggled with your best friend, or when he passed you in the street, your arm intertwined with that of a friend or sister. But he hated the sound of it when you were talking with boys, immature foolish boys who certainly didn't know how to handle you, let alone deserved to hear your sweet angelic laugh.

But now you were laughing because of him or better about him and he liked that a lot better.

"I can admit when I'm wrong," Joel said, shrugging his shoulders and then frowning as Tommy to his right slapped him on the back.

"Oh no you can't, big brother. She got a point."

Tommy and you shared a smirk and although it felt like a kick in the stomach, he was just glad you were enjoying yourself after he and Tommy had robbed you of your night with your friends and their various drugs.

"Where did you leave your 'lil friend, by the way?" Tommy wanted to know, turning the whiskey glass in his grip as he watched you over the edge of it.

"You mean Nicole? She's sick. At home."

"Oh yeah? So you had no choice but to hang out with those little boys of yours."

You rolled your eyes, you lips forming a pout, but you looked amused rather than offended.

"I like hangin' out with them. They're funny."

"No, they're not. They give you attention. That's what you like 'bout 'em," Tommy corrected, a crooked smirk on his lips that made Joel slightly shake his head. Was his brother seriously flirting with you?

"That's not true," you said with a frown, spinning your own glass in your hand, but then putting it back on the table to rest your chin on your hand, and Joel felt his throat dry up at the adorable image. Your head was now tilted as your eyes darted between the two brothers, making Joel grit his teeth, afraid to give away how much your little gestures were affecting him.

"It's fine. A girl like you surely gets a lotta attention. S'okay to enjoy it. Everyone likes attention. Especially if it's positive."

You shrugged and dropped your eyes, glancing at Joel and Tommy's hands around their glasses, then up at them from under your lashes. Joel almost had to surpress a growl, his pants painfully tightening around his dick at your wonderful doll eyes.

Jesus Christ.

He had to control himself, but along with the effects of the alcohol in his blood he felt overloaded with feelings. You were so fucking gorgeous and the way you moved and occasionally bit your lip, the sweet pout on your mouth and now this submissive look… You were progressively killing him and Joel didn't know how much further you could go before he would have to leave. For his own good.

"Maybe I like it. I just don't like it when they try to impress me. They're so fucking predictable sometimes. But sometimes I play along 'cause it's funny."

"Oh sweetheart. You know it's not nice to play with those boy's hearts. Gonna break a lot of them if you go on like that," Tommy said, his voice more quiet and dangerous now and Joel squeezed his eyes shut trying to process what his brother was doing right now. He couldn't seriously flirt with you.

"Maybe I like that too," you whispered and brought a thumb to your lips to nibble at it. "Maybe I like the thrill."

Tommy folded his hands on the table in front of him and then leaned in until his mouth was close to your ear.

"Yeah, but maybe you'd like to be the one to be played with for once in your life… These boys seriously know how to handle you? Do they know what ya need?"

Joel closed his eyes, sighing deeply and bringing a hand to his temple to massage his pulse point.

"Tommy," he said, pulling his brother back by his arm, but he just gave him a stern look and then returned his gaze to you.

"I know you're a wild one," Tommy smirked and it only intensified when a mischievous smile appeared on your face, your eyes provokingly sparkling.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about…"

You crazy little thing actually seemed to enjoy this. Joel couldn't believe it. Of course he knew that you were a tease, he only had to open his eyes at the town meetings and count the number of different boys he had seen you holding hands with over the past months to know that you most certainly weren't shy with people of the opposite gender, but the fact that you seriously jumped at his brother's attempts to flirt with you? Joel was fucked.

"I think you do know what I'm talkin' about. 'Cause I think you need more than some teenage boy who's buyin' you flowers 'n' shit and think they can win your heart with it, huh?"

Suddenly Joel sensed a change in your expression, your eyes rounding and your smile fading, and as he turned to his brother he realised that Tommy must have put his hand on your thigh under the table.

Fuck. This was… Joel didn't even know what this was. And then the fact that you were wearing this dangerously short skirt which meant that Tommy had placed his hand right on your naked leg.

"You're a pretty thing," his brother continued like he was the most confident man in the world and Joel wasn't sure if it was the whiskey talking or if he seriously believed that he had a shot with you. Not just the fact that you were thirty years younger, but you had a line of worshippers only waiting for you to give them the faintest hint of a smile. Why would you want to let someone like Tommy touch you?

"Yeah?" you whispered, shifting in your seat and then sucking your bottom lip into your mouth. "You like what you're seein'?"

Neither of them paid attention to Joel right now and he didn't know if he was supposed to feel grateful or neglected.

"I do. Yeah. An' I like what I'm feelin'."

You giggled and moved closer to the edge of your chair, giving Tommy more access and then your teeth sank down on your lower lip when he reached the inside of your thigh.

"Jesus… you really are touch-starved. Your pretty boys give you attention but not enough attention to feed your desires, huh?"

You swallowed hard and then gave Tommy those pretty doll eyes again and Joel couldn't help but wish it was him instead.

"No, they don't. They just kiss me 'n' fuck me 'n' cum inside of me and then leave."

Joel's mind went blank.

You seriously hadn't just… He clenched his hands in fists, focusing on his breathing so you wouldn't hear his loud panting.

Tommy seemed surprised by the obscenity of your words as well, but was quicker to collect himself.

"Ohh you poor girl. So they don't know how to touch a pretty girl like you?"

"No they don't."

Suddenly Joel's little brother leaned back in his chair, slightly spread his legs and took the whiskey glass in his hand again.

"Think you should come with us then. Think you should let us show you how a sweet thing like you should be treated."

Us. Joel's heart skipped a beat or maybe even two as the word echoed in his head. It wasn't like Tommy and he had never done fucked-up things like that. At the height of their freaky past, they had fucked three or four girls they had picked up in a bar in a dirty hotel room only to sneak out at dawn, but Joel had believed this to be long in the past. Or perhaps he had misheard his brother. But then as you turned your gaze to him, he knew that he hadn't. He gulped at your beautiful innocent eyes that looked like you only now remembered that he was part of this conversation too.

"Is he in too?" you whispered and once again rested your chin on the palm of your hand, looking a lot more innocent and shy than you were. Tommy smirked at his brother's profile, putting a hand on his shoulder and slighty rocking his body.

"Hell yeah, he is. Right, Joel?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, was the mantra in his head although part of him figured that this was going wonderfully. All this time he had been pining for you, his eyes lingering on you far too long and your face involuntarily appearing before his eyes when he masturbated… and now you wanted to know whether he would join you and his brother? Or what if the opposite was true and you would refuse if Joel were to be part of it?

He hesitated, his eyes small but determined as he trailed his gaze down your flushed cheeks and he wished he knew what was going on behind that pretty head of yours.

"Would you like that?" he asked because he didn't know what else to say, but instantly regretted his choice of words. It didn't sound playful or flirty at all, especially out of his mouth. Tommy had always been better at this, he was more charming, more confident in what he was doing –

"I think I'd like that," you whispered and looked… Shy?

Joel's heartrate picked up, his throat so dry that he craved a glass of cool water, which might also serve to calm his overheated body, and he suspiciously observed your pretty face, now drawn with a mixture of curiousity and timidity.

"Then why don't you come with us, pretty girl?"

Joel would have liked to bang his own or maybe even Tommy's head on the wooden table because how could he be so straightforward, so direct. Where the hell did he take his confidence from? But before Joel could ask himself any more questions, you had suddenly risen from your chair, Tommy's and his eyes following you as you threw your hair back and adjusted your shirt.

"Alright. But you better not disappoint me."

The Miller brothers stood up as well and Tommy was quick to wrap an arm around your waist, gently yet firmly pulling you to the door of the church that was serving as the party location. Joel followed like a puppy, gritting his teeth and using his elbows to separate the crowd.

Outside, the cold wind hit him so intensely that it knocked the air out of his lungs and he needed a moment to get a hold on himself. The silence was a stark contrast to the noisy party, and the smell of alcohol, sweat and smoke that he had become so used to over the past hour was gone, too, replaced by the clean smell of wet grass and damp earth. Joel rubbed his hands together to warm them up and then lifted his head just as Tommy whispered something in your ear.

There was a sharp sting in his belly. Not one caused by jealousy, he believed. It was rather… a feeling of longing.

"C'mon, brother. Ain't got all night!"

"Yeah, I'm comin'," Joel shouted and then followed the two of you with fast steps. Big, doe eyes stared up at him as soon as he was close enough, and Joel felt his mind racing with excitement and nervousness.

"C'mon, now. It's fuckin' cold out here," Tommy complained and turned up his collar, but your eyes were still on Joel.

Why were your eyes still on him?

"Can I kiss you?"

The words didn't reach him at first, but when they did, they hit him like a mighty wave, and he felt as if he had just been knocked to the ground. He swallowed to fight the dryness in his throat, but then felt his fingertips tingle.

"Yeah?" Joel whispered, smirking to hide his heavy breathing. "You want that?"

You nodded and came a little closer and without glancing at Tommy, Joel leaned in to press his lips on yours. You tasted of whiskey and something sweet, but perhaps that was just the way you always tasted. The kiss was a little shy and curious, but it had something daring about it, Joel thought when you pushed yourself closer, your lips opening to give him access to more. He had brought his palms to your face, gently holding you in place while your tiny hands tugged at the hem of his jacket. When a quiet moan left your throat, Joel thought that he might lose it and ended the kiss just in case he would go too far, especially considering the fact that you were still in the middle of the street.

"I'm not watching for a second and the two of you really can't fuckin' hold back, right?" Tommy chuckled, but didn't look offended when Joel slid his arm around your waist and pulled you with him to head to his brother who was a few feet ahead.

The kiss had not only increased his desire, the warmth in his stomach now spreading throughout his body, it had also taken away some of his doubts. Maybe you actually wanted him; why would you have asked him to kiss you if you didn't?

Thoughts swirled and raced in his head as they took you to Tommy's, and Joel didn't listen to his brother's flirtatious attempts and your answers. He was just glad when the three of you finally walked through the door, his jeans tight and uncomfortable around his center and the burning desire to feel you having increased enormously since you had kissed him.

"Make yourself at home, darlin'!" Tommy said with a welcoming gesture to present you his living room.

You took a few exploratory steps towards the couch in the middle of the room, a pair of curious eyes following the paintings on the walls and the bookshelves until your gaze landed back on Joel.

"It's nice," you said, but something about the way you had said it made him think that you weren't talking about Tommy's home.

"Glad you like it. Bedroom is over there."

"Jesus fuckin' christ, Tommy…," Joel interrupted him and ran a hand through his hair.

"You really have no fuckin' manners. You wanna drink somethin'? Or you're hungry?" Joel wanted to know with a glimpse at you who giggled and looked boldly from one brother to the other.

"No, but thanks. I… I think I'd like to see the bedroom."

Joel gulped and had to stifle a sigh because, if he wasn't mistaken, he'd seen you blush. You had said the most obscene things in the middle of the party in front of everyone you knew and now you were blushing because you wanted to see the bedroom?

"Sure thing, hon. Just follow me."

Tommy determindely headed to the door and Joel found himself behind you, putting a hand to your waist with a pounding heart and then smirking when you peeked behind your shoulders and leaned in to his touch.

"Don't let 'im intimidate ya, sweetheart. He can be crazy. Especially when he drinks a lot."

You lowly chuckled and nodded, but then bit your lip.

"Don't worry 'bout me. I think I can handle it."

"Oh I think so too. You made it this far…" Joel squeezed your flesh and then turned his attention to Tommy who was standing by the bed, his eyes shamelessly wandering from your ankles up your naked legs to where your shirt tightly hugged your breasts and then to your face.

"You wanna get on the bed?" Tommy asked and placed his hands on his hips, his lips curling into a smug smile when the blood rushed to your cheeks again. "Don't ya get all shy on us now, angel. C'mon."

Joel and Tommy's eyes were burning holes in your back while you climbed onto the bed and sat down in the middle, your legs slightly parted and your eyes wide, eager and curious as to what was going to happen now.

"Good girl," Tommy growled, sat down on the edge and reached to his shoes to unlace them.

"Don't take your clothes off. Gonna let us unwrap you like a sweet 'lil gift," he then whispered and kicked his shoes off. "Joel, get the fuck over here. Need someone to take care of 'er while I undress. I know she's the kinda girl you can't leave alone for a second, huh?"

Joel made what sounded like a mixture of growling and laughing, but obeyed to his brother's demand, sitting down on the other side of the bed and connecting a hand with your cheek to cradle your head.

"Hey there," he whispered and bit the inside of his cheek when you closed your eyes. "Nuh uh… Eyes on me. At all times, alright?"

Your eyes snapped open again, and you gave a quick nod.

Jesus. You listened so well, seemed so eager to do as you were told and it looked like you were just waiting for him or Tommy to throw you around. Joel inhaled the tense air in the room and then removed his hands from your face only to grab the hem of your tight pink shirt.

"Gonna take this off now, okay? You good with that?"

A nod of your head told him to continue and he carefully pulled the fabric up your torso and then over your head, only to then toss it behind him without even watching where it landed. He was too distracted anyway. You didn't wear a bra and the sight of your bare breasts and stomach was almost unbearable.

"Goddamnit, you're beautiful," Joel mumbled and didn't even see your sweet smile as you followed his eyes traveling down your body.

"Look at that, Tommy," Joel said a little louder, but still refused to take his eyes off you.

Joel couldn't help himself; without waiting for his brother he cupped your breast, savouring the warmth in his palm and began to gently knead the flesh while his other hand lingered at your waist. Within seconds Tommy had moved to your other side and seemed to be eating you alive with his hungry, flashing eyes.

"Holy shit…," he hissed and then suddenly slapped your left breast that wasn't covered by Joel's hand making you yelp.

"God damn it, Tommy," Joel cursed and soothingly stroked your sensitive skin with his thumb. You whimpered when Tommy's hand came closer again, but this time he just touched you the way his brother did, his hand massaging your breast and occasionally squeezing it in his large palm.

After a while you relaxed again, your eyes almost closing before you remembered Joel's command and fixed your gaze on him and your limbs loosening as two hands took care of your chest. Their palms pressed into your flesh, fingertips tracing the swell of your breasts and when they rolled your nipples between their fingers from time to time, you whimpered or moaned, your own hand coming up to grasp theirs before they pinned your wrists to the side of your body.

Along with that, Tommy and Joel showered you with praise and compliments that somehow made you feel both proud and small. Maybe it was the fact that they were towering over your sprawled body or maybe it was just that they were physically stronger than you, but you felt yourself drift into submission the longer their hands remained on your chest.

"Pretty 'lil girl… Jesus, Joel… Look at her. Look how she bites her lips… Gonna bite them all bloody, babygirl," Tommy growled and then shoved two fingers inside your mouth without a warning.

Something about the two men talking about you like you weren't in the room aroused you so much, you felt dizzy. The whiskey in your system only added to the feeling of being drunk with pleasure and excitement.

"Suck 'em, yeah… Show me what a good girl you can be…"

His left hand left your breast as well and wrapped around your throat, applying light pressure which made your eyes round as coins while Tommy laughed at your stunned expression.

"Holy shit, didn't expect 'er to get all shy 'n' dumb in the bedroom… Just needed the hands of some real men on 'er body and we got 'er whining for us."

Now the older brother laughed as well and forcefully twirled your nipple which made you whince in pain, but it also enhanced the heat between your legs.

"There ya fuckin' go…," Joel hummed, twisting his lips and taking care of your other breast as well now that Tommy was busy with your mouth and neck.

Speaking of, he thrust his fingers in your mouth at a steady pace, making sure you glided your tongue around the digits and reminding you whenever you forgot.

"You'd like that to be my dick?" Tommy whispered, pushing deeper until your gag reflex kicked in and your eyes watered. "You'd like to gag 'round somethin' else? I know a slut like you would like that."

You choked and clung to his wrists, your nails scratching his skin as you desperately tried to fight the tears gathering in the corner of your eyes. Without success, of course. Combined with the restriction of air from his hand around your throat, it became too much and you writhed under Tommy's penetrating fingers, jerking away had Joel not had you secure under his touch.

"No… no, uh…," the younger brother made and only pushed deeper, his deep brown eyes on you like a predator observing his victim. "You're stayin' right here. We only just got started, haven't we?"

He chuckled lowly and moved closer to you until his knee was right next to your arm.

"Careful, Tommy. Don't give 'er too much," Joel warned.

His brother grinned, hooking his fingers behind your lower teeth as he released his hand from around your neck, giving you a moment to catch your breath before he tightened his grip again, leaving you gasping as your lungs desperately craved a few steady breaths.

"Don't worry, she can handle it… Isn't that right, babygirl? You can handle it… Show Joel how you can handle it, pretty girl…"

You weren't sure if you could, actually. The sensation was overwhelming, so intense, that you barely even registered Joel's hands on your torso anymore which you regretted because his touch had been soft and beautiful despite his rough skin that was marked by years of heavy fighting and working.

You gurgled something that neither you nor any of the brothers was capable of understanding, but Tommy seemed to find it amusing because he pushed even deeper until he hit the back of your throat and you couldn't help yourself and buckled, your shivering hands desperately clutching his stronger and bigger ones and your feet kicking as a sign that it was too much. The crease between Joel's brows deepened and he put a hand on his brother's shoulder to get his attention.

"Enough, Tommy. I don't want 'er to get sick all over the bed or have 'er suffocate."

Tommy shook his head, the wry smile glued to his face, but actually listened to Joel and slowly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, a string of spit connecting the pats with your mouth. You greedily inhaled, your chest heavily rising as there was finally enough air to enter your lungs and Joel was relieved as he saw your pupils focusing on him through the veil of tears.

"Good girl… Did so well for him," he praised and cupped your cheek, not minding the mess on it. You gave him a soft smile and Joel was just about to lean in to kiss you, but Tommy was already planning on how to take you next and interrupted the intimate moment.

"Fuckin' Christ, she already struggled to take two fingers… I'm gonna feed her my dick next, wanna see her cry 'n' gag around it."

Joel lightly tapped against your cheekbone, enjoying the view before Tommy took hold of your waist and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

"Get on your knees," he ordered, sinking down on the mattress to sit with his legs spread while you rushed to do as you were told.

"She's a fuckin' dream," Tommy growled with a glance at his brother, then unbuckled his belt in order to pull down his jeans and boxers.

"Get behind 'er, Joel, an' play with her pussy. I wanna get 'er real messy and fucked out while she sucks my dick so she won't fight so hard when I fuck 'er throat."

Joel shook his head in disbelief, but couldn't hide the amused smirk.

"So now I'm takin' fuckin' commands from you?" he chuckled, but climbed off the bed to stand behind you, his hands situated on his hips while he watched the scene unfold before him. You crouched at Tommy's feet, your gaze fixed on his hands, which had now freed his cock and were pumping his length and your own palms flat on the floor.

"'Course you are. If your 'lil brother asks so nicely…"

"I'm gonna let 'er ride my boot. I think we should make 'er work for it a little, mhm?"

Joel circled you, stroking your head which really made you feel like their pet and then sank down to sit next to his brother with a sigh, the mattress creaking under his weight.

"Open your legs, little one," Joel said and then pushed against his brother's arm. "Move a little. Needa get my foot under her."

Tommy complied, but grabbed a handful of your hair to move your head with him, keeping it close to his center. Your body was slanting now, your knees almost directly in front of Joel while your lips were inches away from his brother's throbbing manhood.

"Open your mouth. Wide 'n' nice like a good girl."

Fuck, you were scared now. Of course you had sucked dick before and had often made your boyfriends finish with your mouth, but you knew that this would be different. Tommy and Joel were different, the torment of his two fingers had shown that much. What if you wouldn't perform the way they wanted?

Still, you tried your best when you unlocked your jaw and parted your lips as wide as you could. It felt like your eyes were already stinging with tears although nothing had happened yet, but it didn't get past Tommy.

"Jesus, this bitch is already cryin'. Didn't even start yet…"

He wrapped a hand around his dick and guided the tip to your lips to smear his pre cum all over them while he held your head in place.

"You just enjoy cryin'? You enjoy tearin' up whenever things don't go the way you want 'em to?"

He teasingly inserted his tip into you, gasping softly when your lips closed around it and started to suck on it, but he didn't grant you much freedom, his grip on your hair tight and uncompromising.

"Check it out, man," Tommy hissed and although it was directed at Joel, you looked up as well, your pupils flickering between the two brothers.

"We got ourselves a perfect 'lil slut. Just look at 'er. Fucking hell…"

"Lift your hips a little," you now heard a slightly softer voice and automatically obeyed the gentle sound. Joel slipped his foot beneath you and positioned it so your clothed pussy was hovering right above the rough and creased leather of his boot.

"You're gonna be a good girl 'n' ride my boot, okay?"

Your watery eyes were now on the older brother, your pupils flared and your lids fluttering in panic. All you wanted was to be good for them, but what if you couldn't give them what they wanted from you?

"I-I don't know h-how," you truthfully whispered and yelped when Tommy pushed your head down his length to shut you up.

"Jesus, s'not a fuckin' science," Joel growled, pushing his foot up to apply pressure. "You just roll your hips and rub your 'lil clit against me, alright? You know where your clit is?"

That last part sounded more like a statement than a question, and finally you could nod your head in the affirmative and rejoice at the generous nod of Joel's head.

"Good. Just make yourself feel good. You're gonna need it to take our dicks in your 'lil pussy later so you better be good."

The blood in your veins throbbed at his words, the prospect of taking both brothers in your clenching hole arousing you so much, the view around you became blurry, but perhaps this was also caused by Tommy's cock that was now deep inside your throat. He was merciless when he made you take every inch, not giving you any time to adjust and then the next thing you felt were his balls pressed against your face and your stomach dangerously rumbling.

"Holy shit," Tommy panted, his nails painfully digging into your scalp. He ignored your retching and moaning, his head thrown back and his eyes closed like he didn't even notice the way your body resisted.

"She must be fuckin' kiddin' me… Look at that Joel, takin' every inch like goddamn whore. She was fuckin' made to suck dick."

Joel grinned and slowly moved his foot underneath you until he saw your body tense and the knew that he had touched your right where he wanted to. Then he gave you a sharp slap on your bottom, his dick twitching at your whimper, and tightly squeezed your flesh in his hand.

"I said I want ya to get off on my boot. You're gonna start movin' now I'll make you."

A cry went past your lips, which was muffled by Tommy's dick, but the words seemed to have reached your mushy brain because your hips began to shift.

"There ya go… Good girl… Just need a smack on your cute 'lil ass and you behave yourself."

Your lashes fluttered, your pussy clenching around nothing at his words, but Joel sensed it in the way your center pushed down against his boot with more eageness.

"Jesus, Tommy… She's gettin' off on this. She likes it when we talk to 'er this way."

"I know she does. She's a 'lil whore and I knew so from the start. The way she enjoyed all these boys lookin' at 'er… She's an attention whore even though she just wants someone to put 'er in 'er place," Tommy smirked and ran a hand down to your neck to threateningly stroke your skin almost like he was about to choke you again, but wanted to taste your fear a little longer.

"Yeah, you like that?" he whispered, grinning as he ran a thumb over the pool of wetness under your eyes that your tears had created.

"Like gettin' that pretty throat o'yours fucked while we talk you down? Like bein' a dirty set o'holes for us? An obedient 'lil pet? S'what ya are, mhm?"

His tip in the back of your throat twitched which caused you to gag and without Tommy's secure grip in your hair you would have jerked away from him.

"Not so fast," he growled and pushed you down even deeper as a punishment.

At this point you were a mess although it had only been around 20 minutes since you had entered the house. Tears were streaming down your cheeks, your whole body shaking and trembling in a mixture of pain and pleasure, your chin soaked with pre-cum and spit. Tommy didn't help matters by spitting right onto your face and laughing at the way his drool got stuck in your eyelashes, making it even harder for you to see.

"Fuck me… She's a mess."

You had stopped riding Joel's boot even though it had felt divine to rub your aching clit against the leather tip, but you had to concentrate fully on your breathing in order not to suffocate. Joel let you feel the consequences of your disobedience and delivered another forceful slap to your back that made you cry out around his dick and your head dropped, resting on Tommy's thigh while he still didn't let you catch your breath.

"Do that again, Joel," the younger brother said under breath and pressed your head against his muscular leg to keep you still while he moved the hair out of your face.

Joel suddenly stood up, made his way around your crouched body and knelt down behind you which unsettled you as you weren't able to see what was happening. At least it's Joel and not Tommy, you thought. Joel had been kinder to you so far, his hands more tender and careful and he had even restrained his brother when he feared that he was being too rough with you. You definitely had more trust in Joel, but still anxiously squirmed when you felt two large hands grabbing your hips.

"Hold still," Tommy grunted and buckled his hips, which caused you to gag once more.

Joel changed your position on the floor slightly, lifting your hips and forcing you down on all fours while pushing up your tiny excuse of a skirt. At this point you were so fucked out that you forgot Tommy's request and therefore squealed when his hand came down on your ass once more, leaving a sharp, cutting pain on your backside. Your back arched to flinch away from Joel, but he didn't hesitate to pull you back and press a hand to the small of your back right where it met the crease of your ass.

"That's right…," Tommy whispered and slightly pulled out of your mouth to listen to the delicious wet noise only to thrust back in, his eyes rolling back at the warmth your throat offered.

"She always whines so wonderfully when you hit 'er. Creates the perfect vibrations," he told Joel and pursed his lips when you coughed around his length.

"Aww, s'too much for you?" He pulled your head off his dick by yanking you back by your hair, allowing you to inhale so deeply that you had to cough again, which made the two men laugh. Joel hit you again, but somehow you were immune to it, instead struggling to calm your pounding heart and swallowing to fight your sore throat.

"Answer me," Tommy fizzled, shaking your head with his hand tangled in your messy hair.

Joel reacted too, slapping your pussy this time, and you closed your legs, whimpering softly as new tears fell from your waterline.

"Stop fuckin' cry 'n' use your voice," Tommy warned you and leaned down so his hot breath that smelled of whiskey brushed over your ear.

"I know ya can use it so well… I hear it all the fuckin' time when you talk with your 'lil friends, whisperin' an' flirtin' like a cheap whore."

"Yes," you sobbed and closed your eyes because by now your eyes were swollen and sensitive from all of your crying. "S'too much… Please."

You were surprised by how stable your voice was because the state of your throat was bad. It was dry despite the fact that Tommy had made a hell of a job wettening it with his pre-cum and hurt every time you swallowed. So you let the brothers know.

"Hurts. When I swallow 'n' when I talk."

You brought a hand to your neck to show them where it ached and then shrieked when Tommy slapped your cheek.

"I see," he then purred, gently stroking your hair like he hadn't just smacked you across the face and wiped away some of the tears.

"Joel, take her wrists. Can't have 'er 'lil hands get in the fuckin' way all the time."

You didn't know what was happening but when Joel grabbed both of your hands, taking them in one large hand and pinning them on your back you just knew that you felt helpless. You whimpered, unable to complain vocally, and moaned as you saw Tommy's hard dick dangling dangerously close to your face again. This time you couldn't even support yourself with your hands on his legs or the floor and had no control over what was happening as he fed you his dick again, your head resting sideways on his thigh.

"Yeah. That's right… She's amazing, Joel. You should try it out next," Tommy growled, rolling his hips at a steady pace now to thrust in your throat which you definitely preferred over the previous assault because that way you always had a second to inhale fresh air despite his punishing speed.

"I don't know, I really wanna feel 'er pussy. I just know that she's fuckin' tight," Joel lowly chuckled and then parted your knees again to slide a finger through your folds.

"Jesus… she's soaked. You were right, Tommy, she likes this shit."

The younger brother smiled broadly and slapped you lightly on the cheek a few times, your watery eyes flinching each time his hand touched your skin, but when he was finished he rewarded you with a short pause to catch your breath.

"Bet she does. 'Cause she's a slut. Always all innocent and polite, but actually a filthy greedy slut. Shoulda known by how she dresses up."

Your skirt was still tangled around your waist and he gave the fabric a firm tug to move you closer to his center while you nearly lost your balance, your hands still trapped by Joel's. But they had you securely in their hold, Tommy's hand keeping your head snug against his thigh and Joel's hand firm on your hips so your weak knees wouldn't give in.

In the meantime he had started to rub your clit through your panties, finding great joy in watching you squirm and arch at the tight circles he drew around your little pearl and slapping either your pussy or your bottom every now and then when you expected it the least. Your head was spinning with pleasure and pain because the friction against your clit drove you wild, his finger so precise and skilled, but then there were your knees that hurt so much you just wanted to cry.

They were bruised and sore, the hard floor beneath you doing nothing for them and you wished you could ask Tommy to fuck your mouth in a different position even though you didn't believe he would do you the favor. But maybe Joel would? It didn't matter anyway because you were unable to speak, your mouth pliant and open for Tommy to wreck it and he did. You preferred what he was doing to you now to what he had done five minutes ago, but that didn't mean this was easy. He wasn't careful or gentle with you, using your throat like a tool or just some worthless hole to receive pleasure from and he wasn't shy to choke or slap you when you resisted. By now it wasn't just the lower half of your face that was coated with spit, tears and pre-cum, but the wetness was dripping down to his thigh your head rested on as well. Tommy didn't mind though. He would make you lap up every last drop anyway.

"Shit, I'm fuckin' close," he panted and as your mushy brain understood the words and you were already preparing yourself for his load, he suddenly stopped and pulled you off his leaking dick. You must have looked surprised because Tommy chuckled and brushed his thumb over your hot, flushed cheek.

"Don't ya worry, babygirl. You're gonna get my cum later. Just haven't decided yet where I'm gonna put it. How can I, if I haven't even seen you 'lil pussy yet?"

Tommy pulled at your hair, making you raise your head from his thigh and then slapped you across your breasts that were already sore and red from the previous treatment.

"Let's fuck 'er," he then said to Joel, who gave your pussy one last slap directly on your clit and then removed his hands from your core.

"Oh no, wait… I almost forgot," Tommy lowly chuckled and cupped your chin, watching you until your big, misty eyes were focused on his face. He gave it a firm squeeze and then pointed to his thigh.

"You see the mess you made, babygirl? Who's gonna clean it all up, huh?"

You sniffled and darted down to where a mixture of various bodyfluids were glistening on his hairy thigh and then looked up to him again.

"What you're waitin' for, mhm?" Tommy grinned and expectantly watched you. "It's not gonna clean itself up on its own."

You slightly nodded before lowering your head and then lapped up the wetness covering his leg. It tasted musky and metallic, but first and foremost salty. It wasn't the worst thing you had ever had on your tongue, but you weren't exactly a fan of it either so you were relieved when you had finally licked his skin clean and proudly raised your head to show Tommy the result. You had expected praise or perhaps an affectionate brush over your cheek, but he just gently slapped your face and then sighed out.

"There ya go…" With a glance at his brother Tommy stood up and now you finally paid attention to Joel again. While you had been busy cleaning his little bother's thigh he had undressed as well and now your pussy clenched at the sight of his broad shoulders and chest and the hair on his stomach that was a little greyer than Tommy's thick black strands. He still wore his jeans, but you liked what you were seeing so far and unconsciously pressed your thighs together.

"How are we gonna take 'er?" Joel asked his brother, smirking as he felt your eyes on him and leaning down to cradle your head while meeting Tommy's gaze.

"On 'er back. Don't think she's gonna handle bein' on all fours. Can barely even hold 'erself up like this."

He was referring to the way you crouched at Tommy's feet because after their rough treatment your limbs felt so heavy, your knees hurting at the slightest contact and your arms too weak to support your weight.

"Alright," Joel shortly answered and then, without the slightest hesitation, leaned down to slip his hands under your arms and lifted you in the air like you weighed nothing. Instinctively you wrapped your legs around his hips and nestled your face against his neck, inhaling his scent that smelled of smoke and leather and whimpering when he let go of you way too soon.

Joel had carefully tossed you onto the bed, well-aware that you were too weak to catch yourself and now the two brothers were standing on either side of the bed, observing you so intensely, you would have felt embarrassed in any other situation.

"She found a likin' in you," Tommy grinned and put his hands on his hips.

"Yeah? That right?" Joel whispered, returning the smirk and then followed you on the bed. With deliberate and strong hands he parted your legs, revealing what hid in between to his brother with a hungry sparkle in his eyes.

"See that, Tommy? Perfect fuckin' pussy…"

Tommy joined the two of you on the bed and you felt the heat creep up on your face as both men stared at your most intimate and vulnerable body part with such a naturalness and confidence that you couldn't help but look away.

"You wanna taste her?" Joel said, gliding his thumb through your slit just like he had done earlier and then lazily drawing it over your clit, looking so calm and relaxed as if it was just a secondary task.

"Nah, I don't think so. Needa feel 'er."

Joel pressed his tip of his thumb into your clit causing you to moan, but neither of them paid any attention to you.

"You think she can take it though? Without cumming before we fuck 'er?"

"Hell yeah. Look at 'er, she's soaked." Tommy parted your pussy lips, licking over his lips at the milky liquid leaking from your quivering hole.

"Yeah, but she seems tight. Maybe we should prepare her with our fingers at least."

His younger brother rolled his eyes and suddenly his hand came down to your pussy, the blow landing with a wet, gloopy thwack that echoed against the walls.

"Now she's well perfused. She can take it. Just watch it."

"Jesus Tommy… I just don't wanna split 'er apart."

Joel's eyes found your face, which looked somewhere between excited and a little frightened and his expression softened, a hand sliding down your arm until he squeezed your wrist and felt his heart flutter at your shy, yet curious smile.

"You think you can take it, babygirl? You're not a virgin, are ya?"

"No," you replied. "I wanna take it. I can take it, I swear."

"There ya fuckin' go… You're worryin' too much. She said it herself, she can take it. Now either fuck her or move to the side."

Joel exhaled in annoyance, shaking his head, but pushed Tommy's arm away.

"I'm gonna fuck 'er. And you stop pissin' me off, alright? Jesus."

Joel grabbed the inside of your thighs and spread them wider, his breath hitching as your pussy lips parted to reveal your pink, wet entrance that was probably sore from the spankings, but looked so soft, he would have shoved his tongue inside you, if Tommy hadn't been so eager and rushing. He jutted out his lower jaw and placed a hand on your belly while his other began unbuckling his belt. Your eyes followed his movements, a restricted longing moan leaving your throat as he shoved down his jeans, the bulge huge under his boxers.

"Shit, the 'lil bitch is drooling at you," said Tommy, his body vibrating with laughter as he sat down next to you and gave your breast a firm squeeze.

"She prefers me," Joel smirked and ignored the way his brother shot arrows at him with his eyes.

"You do, babygirl, huh?" Joel then whispered, his dick free now and your eyes round as coins. Joel was thicker than his brother, but not as long and didn't possess the same curve as Tommy's girth.

"Look at me. He surely likes the attention, but eyes on my face, alright?" His voice was low and rough, but there was something soft about it that made you fully trust him. While Tommy seemed hot-heated and wild, Joel had a natural dominance about him, but also a protective and caring side that made you believe that you were safe and taken care of. Even now when the fat tip of his cock was so dangerously close to your dripping entrance and looked so huge, you feared that the sting would be unbearable, you knew that Joel would take care of it.

"Yes," you breathed and ran your eyes over his clenched jaw.

"Don't worry, Joel, I'll take care of 'er in case she forgets to be a good girl," Tommy joined the conversation and propped himself on his elbow, his hand petting your head which made you feel even smaller.

"You're ready to take my dick again, little one? I'll give you a few minutes so we can enjoy your pathetic 'lil squeals and sobs and the terrified look on your face, but then you'll go right back to work, suckin' my cock like a good girl."

Tommy laughed about the sheer terror on your face, but Joel couldn't find it in himself to join, instead shaking his head and feeling grateful that he got to be the one to open you up first.

"Shut the fuck up, Tommy. You're scarin' the shit outta her."

"That's the plan, man," Tommy replied, pulling back your lower lip only to have it snap back with a plop.

Joel frowned, hoping that his brother would get the warning from the serious look on his face, but it seemed that he was too distracted by playing with your breasts and lips to give a fuck. Therefore Joel decided to ease your nervousness by gently cradling your head and securing his grip on your waist.

"Don't worry, hon. I'm not gonna go too hard on ya. Just need ya to relax for me and let me in, alright?"

You softly nodded and although your eyes remained wide, you loosened slightly underneath him and it only improved when Joel started rubbing your clit again.

"Yeah, sweetheart… Knew you could do it, just relax for us…," he purred and then glared at his brother. "Gonna fuck her now. Hold her shoulders in case she squirms away."

Tommy gave him an agreeing grin and then buried his fingers into the flesh of your shoulders, pinning you down and kissing your temple while Joel began to slowly ease his tip into you.

"Relax, baby… Yeah…," Joel cooed you, his grasp on your hips firm and rigid so you had no chance to avert his large dick.

Of course it hurt. He was thicker than any cock you had ever had inside of you and even though you were soaked, your walls wet and sticky from your arousal, the burning sting brought tears to your eyes and your instinct was to jerk away. But Tommy was prepared for your resistance and unwaveringly held you down while Joel claimed your aching pussy to the whole.

"Hurts," you choked and buckled your hips away, pressing yourself into the mattress as if you could escape his large dick that way.

"I know it does…," Tommy whispered in your ear and grabbed your hands that were around Joel's wrists, your nails scratching over his skin in an attempt to find release as the pain made your mind dizzy. He took both your wrists in one hand and pinned them down above your head so you were completely helpless.

"Hurts... oh god..." you repeated and a heartbreaking cry left your trembling body, prompting Joel to continue his circles around your clit.

"It's alright. It's gonna be better, babygirl, just try 'n' relax 'round me."

Your body convulsed in pain, your breathing heavy and unsteady and your face grimacing whenever he went an inch deeper. But somehow you made it. Somehow you endured it and then Joel was inside you to the brim.

"Look at that…," Joel made, his voice thick with pleasure and contentment and brushed your hair that was wet from your sweat and tears out of your face until he looked into a pair of hectic and squinting eyes.

"You took it all, little one… So brave 'n' good for us… Wasn't so bad, was it?"

You didn't know why, but you shook your head. It had been bad. It had hurt like hell, but now that Joel was so deep inside of you, his dick filling you so intensely that you literally felt him everywhere in your body and his mouth producing those sweet and kind words of praise, you didn't care anymore. You lived for these tender phrases even when the brothers were talking about you like you weren't in the room or like you were too dumb to understand them. You just wanted attention, maybe that was the core of it all and you had a feeling Joel and Tommy knew better what worked on you than yourself.

"Holy fuckin' shit, Joel, I don't know what you did to 'er, but teach me," Tommy laughed in disbelief and threw his head back while his hand holding your wrists down relaxed a little.

"Tearin' her apart on your dick and she's so fuckin' close to thankin' you for it."

Joel crookedly smiked, but his eyes remained soft and warm. Maybe that was what you liked so much about him, his brown eyes that radiated comfort and safety even when he was degrading you. It made you think that he actually cared about you and didn't just use to dump his seed into you like his brother certainly did.

"I fuckin' know. That one definitely has some issues," Joel chuckled and changed the positions of his hands, tracing his hand from your neck down to your tummy where he squeezed your flesh and then rested his right hand on your waist and his left hand right next to your boob on the side of your body.

"Please," you whispered and cried out when Tommy rolled your nipple between two fingers.

"Stupid fuckin' slut…," he cursed and then slapped the already reddened swell of your breasts.

"Fuck 'er brains out, okay? She don't need 'em anyway. All she's good for is bein' a 'lil fucktoy. Don't go soft on 'er, alright, Joel, I wanna see some pretty tears on those cheeks."

Joel exhaled and slowly pulled himself out of you until only his tip was inside and then slammed back in, making you flinch and whince in pain.

"Can you please stop tellin' me what the hell I'm supposed to do? I'm gonna fuck 'er the way I want. You can have 'er when I'm done and then you can do whatever fucked up things you want."

You writhed with the space the two men were granting you and softly wailed, his words only vaguely and with some delay fighting their way through your hazy mind.

"Fuckin' Christ, Joel. Don't know why you're so sensitive… You like that 'lil whore, don't you?" he then grinned, dropping his piercing gaze to examine your fucked-out frame.

"Goddamnit, no, I don't. You can do whatever you like to 'er, I just want you to stop tellin' me what I'm supposed to do and lemme do with 'er as I like."

Tommy shrugged and began pumping his dick while staring at your chest.

"Alright. Do as you like. As long as you don't wear her out too much and I can still fuck 'er after you're done."

"Don't worry, I think she's also pleasant to look at when she's asleep," Joel wryry grinned and forcefully smacked the side of your ass which made your eyes pop open.

"Oh no, I want 'er awake when I fuck 'er. Wanna hear her 'lil moans and whines and not fuck a lifeless frame. Where's the fun in that?"

Tommy's large hand cupped your chin and tilted your head, forcing you to bend your neck so the tip of his dick was hovering right in front of your lips.

"Open. Wide."

When you didn't immediately react, Tommy spitted right in your face and this time the load landed on your nose and upper lip.

"I said open."

Joel was fucking you at a steady pace, the pain almost entirely vanished now and his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust which made it hard for your eyes not to flutter and for your mind to remain fully there, the prospect of just lying flat and still and giving yourself to Joel's deep pumps too seductive.

But you managed to part your swollen lips and immediately tasted the salty and familiar flavor on your tongue. Now that your mouth worked again your eyes had fallen shut which wasn't to their pleasing. They slapped your body almost simultaneously, Joel hitting you on your ass and Tommy on your cheek and a loud whine was muffled by Tommy's length.

"None of that, babygirl. We talked about it, haven't we?" Joel commented and connected his thumb with your clit.

"Just got one fuckin' job. Keepin' those pretty legs spread and your eyes and lips open an' we're pleased."

Although Tommy was now thrusting his cock into your mouth, you were looking at Joel, which filled him with a primal and profane satisfaction. Who would have thought that you would like him so much, even after he had obviously caused you so much pain by entering you with what was certainly not enough preparation? A thought flickered in his head, a pleasing and delightful one that Joel didn't even dare to finish, too scared that he was fooling himself. But what if you had liked him before? What if you had dreamt about him the way he had or even just spent a few more minutes a day thinking about him than any other of the men in Jackson? You certainly seemed to like him and Joel could sense that in more ways than one.

Not only did you not break eye contact with him for a second, but he could swear that your hands would have been searching for his bare skin if they hadn't been trapped by Tommy. His younger brother was kneeling right next to your head, his left knee pinning your wrists to the bed while his right touched your neck every time he thrust forward to bury himself deep in your throat.

Joel continued for a couple of minutes, savouring the warmth and tightness of your pussy while brushing over your trobbing swollen pearl until he just couldn't restrain anymore and cleared his throat.

"Let go of 'er hands, Tommy," he growled and gently traced your side boob.

"Why," his brother barked, gripping your head so you couldn't move while he steadily rolled his hips, the tip of his dick grazing over the inside of your cheek. "Don't want 'er 'lil hands everywhere. Wanna keep 'er still."

"I'll take them," Joel insisted and bit his bottom lip at the way you greedily swallowed, struggling as Tommy's manhood twitched in your mouth and once again triggered your gag reflexes.

"C'mon, Tommy."

Eventually he gave in and raised his knee so Joel could reach up and grab your hands to clamp them against your stomach, softly applying pressure while your pupils once again franctically danced over his expression until your lids twitched and tears appeared on your waterline at his brother's punishing pace in your mouth.

"Easy…," Joel soothed you and lightly touched the side of your neck to calm your trembling and jolting. "Don't fight it. It's gonna be better if you let it happen, babygirl."

Broken sobs and whimpers left your throat, but you tried to listen to Joel's advice and opened up wide for Tommy who triumphantly smiled at the wet sound that was created when his dripping dick slid past your lips.

"Good fuckin' girl… Jesus, you have to try it as well. She's goddamn amazing." He laughed and it was a high, hollow sound. "Look at how she's takin' it all. I don't want 'er to do anythin' else from now on but suck dick. Every guy on this planet should try her at least once."

The brothers exchanged a satisfied glance before Tommy reached down to your mould to slap your sensitive skin.

"How's her pussy? Seems to be tight, mhm?"

Joel tilted his head at you, flicking your clit to the side to elicit more of those muffled moans that he was convinced weren't caused by pain at this point, and then inhaled deeply.

"A goddamn dream. Most perfect pussy I've ever had. Could've sworn she was a virgin… Maybe all her boys just have tiny dicks and that's also why she can't fuckin' handle all this."

Both men erupted into a rich, resonant laughter, deep and husky like the distant rumbling of thunder and it rang in your head in the most arousing way. Who would have thought that you would like this kind of treatment? Not that you were the most experienced person in the world, but you certainly had tried yourself out with different boys, but none of them had even just lightly slapped your ass. The sex with them was vanilla and soft and frankly, a little boring. Definitely nothing in comparison to this. This was a thrilling, sensational, captivating experience and even the occasional discomfort and pain made your head spin in a way you had never experienced before. They talked you down like you were a dumb pet, like you merely served for their pleasure and they tossed you around like your feelings didn't matter at all and somehow it turned you on so much, your pussy clenched around Joel every few seconds which didn't go unnoticed by him.

"She's squeezing me so tightly, Tommy. Fuckin' Christ, she's lovin' this. What a slut," he groaned and chortled when you flinched at his hand coming down on your clit.

"Let's switch," said Tommy suddenly and pulled out faster than you could process, your mouth agape even long after he had removed his length. All of your senses worked a little slower than usual and you could only silently watch as Tommy crawled to kneel next to Joel, who sighed at the loss of body contact as he pulled out of your other hole as well. Now was the first time in a while that you were free to move, but you noticed that you were too exhausted and tired to lift a limb.

You could just lay still, your heavy lids fluttering and your stomach twisting with a mixture of longing and overstimulation while Joel took his place next to your head where Tommy had previously kneeled and the younger brother situated himself between your parted legs.

"Now she'll learn how a real man fucks," Tommy hissed, his face drawn with amusement, and caught his brother's eyes that rolled at his comment.

"Very funny," Joel said and then tapped his tip against your bottom lip.

You were a little frightened because you had already learned that he was even thicker than Tommy, but you calmed yourself with the thought that Joel didn't enjoy your suffering half as much as his brother. Or at least he looked out for your well-being and made sure that he wasn't giving you more than you could handle.

"Open those sweet lips, angel," he whispered almost like he only wanted you to hear these words and then glided his tip in just in the same moment as Tommy entered you in one go. You were prepared for it by Joel's thick girth, but the stretch was still prominent as he was far from being careful with you.

"S'okay… Just give it a moment, sweetheart," Joel soothed your yelp and just like Tommy had previously done for him, held you down by pressing a hand on your collarbone.

Tommy soon started moving and split your pussy open with deep and forceful thrusts that each pushed you up against the bed, but Joel made sure he kept you in place for his brother. He patiently waited until your breathing calmed down and your heavy panting went evenly and then once he believed you to be ready, started moving in your mouth too. Not that his way of feeding you his dick was in any way comparable to Tommy's. Joel allowed you to use your tongue to twirl it around his shaft rather than deepthroating you and you found such a liking in it that you even had enough strength to bring a hand to his base and hold on to his dick while bobbing your head around him.

"Yeah, you're bein' such a good girl…," Joel praised which made your heart pound with pride and you put even more effort into stimulating his dick in a way that would make him shower you with sweet words and pet names.

"See, Tommy? As soon as she has a real nice dick in 'er mouth she makes an effort."

Tommy grabbed your ass, nails painfully digging into the flesh of your ass and shook his head.

"No, no, no… She's just a cockslut who can't get enough. You're a pussy for lettin' 'er take control though. Should fuck 'er throat until she can't talk 'n' cry 'n' breathe. The moment she sobs, you're doin' something right."

Joel gently traced your hairline, his eyes on you, who seemed like you were deeply concentrated as you looked at your hand pumping his dick while your warm lips repeatedly slided up and down his length.

"Think she hasn't cried enough yet?" Joel chuckled and blindly reached to cup one of your breasts.

"Never," Tommy replied and then the next few minutes were filled with silence except for the sound of Tommy's hips crashing against yours, his balls slapping against your folds and the smacking noise that was created by your mouth drooling all over Joel's dick.

That was until a deep grunt left Tommy's mouth and he gripped your hips so tightly, you cringed under the touch.

"I'm gonna cum soon," he said under breath and ran the back of his hand over his forehead to wipe away the pooling sweat.

"Me too," Joel answered, his heart pounding loudly in his chest and his insides clenching and contracting every time the tip of your tongue touched his sensitive glans.

"You're gonna cum on 'er face? I'll mark 'er tits then."

Joel nodded absentmindedly, his thoughts racing and his throat completely dried out while he approached his orgasm in a record breaking amount of time and then suddenly wrapped a hand around his shaft, pulled out of your perfect warm mouth and pumped himself right above your face.

"Jesus… Oh my fuckin' god…," he growled and the next thing you felt were ropes of sticky, warm cum spilling onto your face.

It mostly landed on your chin, lips and cheeks, but you were still glad you had closed your eyes because the salty seed would surely have burned in your eyes. While you licked over your lips to have a taste of his cum, contently listening to Joel's moans and curses, you felt a hand groping your breast with such a force your body arched under Tommy's grip, but he was merciless as he squeezed your flesh in his palm and then, ignoring your painful whine released as well. He came all over your breasts and the feeling of the warm liquid spurting on your chest was an unfamiliar one, but not an unpleasant one.

"Holy fuckin'…" Tommy didn't finish the sentence because he dropped his head to his chest, breathing loudly and pressing a hand to his heart while he let go off his flaccid dick and sank back to sit with his thighs touching his calves.

Silence filled the room again and it allowed you to calm yourself a litte as well although you hadn't orgasmed. You swallowed a few times to do something about the burning sting in your dry throat and then found a more comfortable position by rolling on your side and bending your legs.

You hadn't even noticed that you had turned away from Joel until a large hand took hold of your knee and moved you to lay on your back again. A pair of brown eyes examined your face for any sign of discomfort, his hand stroking up and down your leg and his breathing still coming in harsh bursts while you coughed a few times.

"You alright?" Joel wanted to know and for some reason the concern in his eyes made your pussy throb.

"Yes," you softly whispered and then your gaze dropped to where he supported his weight on his palm, your hands quickly reaching for his wrist which made him grin.

In the meantime Tommy had sat down on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his sweaty hair and now peeked over his shoulder only to laugh at your painted body.

"I gotta take a picture of this," he said and lazily, his feet dragging over the floor, headed to a shelf, grabbed his camera and walked to the edge of the bed.

"Smile, babygirl," he chuckled and took a picture of your fucked out form that was beautifully decorated with both of their cum, Tommy thought.

"Dirty slut," he additionally murmured and then put the camera back on the shelf.

"Jesus…," Tommy sighed and began picking up his clothes from the floor while Joel was busy drawing soothing circles on top of your thigh.

"I'm hungry. I think I'm gonna head downstairs. You wanna come too? We can clean up this mess later," he then claimed referring to the dirty bed sheets and perhaps to you as well, but Joel shook his head and darted at you.

"I'm gonna make 'er cum, too. She deserves it."

His brother lifted an eyebrow while pulling his jeans up his legs.

"Mhm, okay. You need my help?" Tommy laughed, but Joel moved his head again.

"No, it's alright. You go and eat. We'll join when I'm done here."

131 notes · View notes

muiitoloko · 1 day ago

Note

more frank smut pls?😛🫦❤️🫶😍🫶💋

Title: Strip It Down

Summary: A lonely soldier and a dancer with sharp eyes find something real under neon lights and whispered promises. One night, a private dance becomes the beginning of something neither expected.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Also read on Ao3

Frank Benson settled into a table near the stage, the heavy wood creaking slightly under the weight of his broad frame. The lighting was low—neon blues and purples slicing through the dark, a haze of cigarette smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling fans. He kept his head down, mostly, letting the brim of his cap shadow his face, but he didn’t bother hiding the uniform tonight. It had been a long day, longer week, and he didn’t have the energy for pretense.

Four weeks now. Four weeks of faithfully coming to this place—slipping into the same corner table near the edge of the stage, ordering the same scotch he nursed slow as molasses, waiting for the same dancer. You.

Maybe it was foolish, he thought, tracing the rim of his glass with one thick, calloused finger. Maybe it was pathetic, a man like him getting attached to a girl who danced half-naked for strangers. But then again, what part of his life hadn’t been foolish lately? Two years since the divorce finalized. Two years of empty houses and quieter meals, of restless nights spent flipping through channels and dreading the way the silence in his own home echoed too loud.

Frank wasn’t young. The silver in his hair didn’t lie. Neither did the slight softness around his middle, the way his joints ached when it rained. Midlife crisis, maybe. Or maybe just loneliness that had finally worn him down.

There was only so much detached sex with prostitutes could offer a man before it all started feeling like static in his veins. So he stopped chasing climax for the sake of climax. And he started coming here instead.

Because here, there was you.

You moved differently than the other dancers—smooth, deliberate, sensual without ever crossing into vulgarity. You didn’t get fully naked, not like the others. You always kept your panties on, a tiny, teasing barrier that drove the other men mad and, for reasons he couldn’t quite name, drove Frank wild in a different way. It wasn’t what you showed; it was what you didn't.

He liked that. Liked you. Liked your eyes—sharp and clever beneath the heavy lashes. Liked the way your mouth curled when you smiled, wicked but genuine. Liked the way your breasts swayed with your movements, full and soft, catching the light in ways that made his palms itch to touch.

He’d watched you enough times from afar before finally working up the nerve to request a private dance. He’d thought it would be like every other dance he'd seen. Routine. Mechanical.

It wasn’t.

You didn’t just move your body; you moved your energy, your focus. You made eye contact, leaned in just close enough to let him smell the faint sweetness of your perfume. You let him feel wanted. Not bought. Not rented. Seen.

Frank never laid a hand on you. Not even once. He just sat there, legs spread, leaning back in the low leather seat, watching you sway in his lap—close enough to tease, far enough to stay just out of reach. And when he tipped you—heavily, always heavily—he tucked the bills carefully into the waistband of your panties, slow and deliberate, his thick fingers brushing just the barest bit of skin at your hips.

You never flinched. Never recoiled. You smiled down at him—soft, warm, a little secret tucked in the curve of your mouth.

And you listened.

God, that was almost the worst part. The best part. When the music slowed and the backroom emptied out for a few precious minutes, Frank found himself talking. Not much. Just scraps, pieces he didn’t know he needed to let go of—the traffic on the way over, a story about a bratty junior officer he was mentoring, a vague memory about his son when he was small, back before everything got complicated.

You listened, nodding, sometimes teasing a small smile from him with a well-placed joke. You didn’t ask questions you shouldn’t. You didn’t press. You just… stayed.

And Frank, for the life of him, couldn’t stay away. So he sat there tonight, uniform still stiff from the long hours, drink sweating against his palm, waiting for you to take the stage. Waiting for the part of his week that felt—somehow—less hollow. Less transactional. Less lonely.

And when the lights shifted and the first notes of your song hit the speakers, Frank straightened slightly in his chair, hazel eyes sharpening with focus. Because you were here now, and for a little while, at least, so was he.

You were dressed in purple lingerie tonight—a soft, dusky violet that caught the haze of neon and clung to the curves of your body like a secret promise. Lacy straps framed your breasts, delicate and inviting, and when you moved, spinning slow and languid around the pole, the tiny flashes of thigh and the sway of your hips seemed to slow the whole damn room.

You wore glasses too tonight—thin, dark frames perched on your nose, the lenses catching glints of the stage lights whenever you tipped your head just right. It shouldn’t have undone him. Frank had seen every trick in the book. But somehow, you—standing there in satin and silk, spinning, smiling behind those glasses—made something twist low and hard in his gut.

Men tossed bills onto the stage in lazy handfuls, a rain of notes slipping down around your heels, but Frank didn’t move. He never did. Just sat there, the brim of his military cap shading his hazel eyes, watching you with a stillness most men couldn’t maintain.

And then you spotted him.

Frank saw the flicker of recognition in your eyes—the little spark of mischief you always got when you found him lurking in his corner like some brooding gargoyle. You smiled, slow and real, a private little curve of your lips meant only for him. It wasn’t like the practiced smiles you gave the other patrons. No, this one was different.

Frank dropped his gaze to the table, embarrassed by how quickly it wrecked him. He wrapped his fingers tighter around the glass, scowling faintly at himself. Christ, he thought. Pull yourself together.

When the dance ended and the crowd shifted, when the men whooped and cheered and threw more bills at the next girl climbing the stage, Frank stayed seated, heart thudding too loud in his ears.

Later, after the rounds had cooled and the music softened to a hum, Frank did what he always did—nodded to the manager near the bar, quietly slipping the man a folded bill to arrange a private dance. No fanfare. No shouting across the floor like the younger men who didn’t know any better. Just a glance, a nod, a few words spoken low.

And like clockwork, you came.

You slipped into the private booth with a little bounce in your step, your heels clicking faintly against the cheap carpet, your face lighting up when you saw him waiting there. “Hey, Frankie,” you teased, the nickname now a regular fixture between you, spoken in that warm, teasing lilt that always made Frank’s ears burn.

Frank stood as you approached, pressing the brim of his cap in both hands, worrying it between his fingers like a schoolboy. He wasn’t shy. Not normally. Frank Benson wasn’t built for shyness. He was built for orders and hard stares, for barked commands and dry wit sharper than a whetted blade. In the field, he was rough, bossy, protective to a fault. Hell, after a few scotches he could even get downright cheeky, slinging lazy jokes in that deep, dry baritone that made soldiers snort into their beer.

But with you—Jesus Christ, with you—he felt shy.

You perched lightly on the edge of his knee, careful not to press too close, as you always were with him. Respectful. Sweet. Your perfume curled around him in soft tendrils, warm and familiar, making his chest tighten painfully.

"You came early tonight," you said, your fingers idly toying with the edge of his sleeve, light and innocent, not the teasing touch you used on the others.

Frank cleared his throat, the sound rough, like gravel dragged over stone. "Long day," he muttered. "Needed a better end to it."

Your smile widened, and God help him, it was so goddamn genuine it made him dizzy.

"You never touch," you said softly, almost like you were thinking aloud. "Never even try."

Frank shrugged, adjusting his grip on the cap still crushed in his hand. "Wasn’t raised that way."

You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping conspiratorially. "Most aren’t."

Frank chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm, his hazel eyes lifting just enough to meet yours. "Maybe I'm just old-fashioned."

You tilted your head, studying him through your lashes, glasses slipping just slightly down your nose. "Nah," you said, voice light. "You're just better than the rest."

Frank swallowed thickly, feeling something sharp and dangerous crack open inside his chest. He didn’t know what to say to that. Didn’t know how to hold it without squeezing too tight and ruining it.

So he just sat there, stiff and awkward, while you leaned in and pressed a kiss—light, just the whisper of a touch—to the corner of his mouth.

"Missed you, Frankie," you whispered.

And Frank, big, broad, battle-tested Frank Benson—felt the world tilt quietly off its axis. Because no one had said that to him in a long, long time.

And he realized then: you weren’t just the part of his week that made the loneliness quieter. You were the part that made it hurt less, and maybe—just maybe—that was worth hoping for.

You smiled at Frank, settling more comfortably against his lap, your hands light on his shoulders, careful as always. The muted thump of bass from the main stage drifted faintly under the door, but here, in this tiny private booth, it felt like you and him were tucked away in your own quiet world.

“So, Frankie," you murmured, the nickname rolling off your tongue easy, affectionate. "What’s it gonna be today? A lap dance, a pole dance, or…” you tilted your head, smiling gently, “you wanna just talk?”

Frank chuckled low, that familiar rough baritone vibrating under your palms. He shifted, the heavy leather of the seat creaking under his broad frame. His hazel eyes lifted to meet yours—warm, a little surprised, a little wary like he always was when you saw too much.

He opened his mouth to answer, but you cut in, teasing lightly, “You had that lunch today, didn’t you? The one you told me about last night—with your ex-wife?”

For a second, Frank just stared at you, blinking like you’d knocked him off balance. Then a slow, almost sheepish smile curved his mouth, deepening the faint lines around his eyes.

"You remember that?" he asked, sounding a little surprised. Maybe even a little touched.

"Of course I do," you said softly, brushing invisible lint off the front of his uniform sleeve. "You seemed… nervous about it."

Frank huffed a breath, setting his cap down on the low table beside you. He leaned back in the seat, the tension easing out of his big frame bit by bit.

"Yeah," he said after a moment. "I went. It was... fine, I guess." His voice was careful, measured like it always was when he was picking his words. "She cooked. Chicken and something else. Talked about our son for most of it. Surface-level stuff, you know."

You nodded, encouraging him to go on with a small smile.

Frank hesitated, then added, "She asked if I was seeing anyone. I told her no. She said maybe we should have lunch again sometime. Soon."

You smiled gently, warmth blooming in your chest for him—not pity, never pity. Just the simple, honest affection you’d grown for this big, gruff, painfully earnest man.

“Well,” you said, tilting your head, teasing, “did you at least wear the black shirt I told you to? The one I said makes you look really damn good?”

Frank’s mouth twitched at the corners, a reluctant little smirk peeking through. “Yeah. Figured it couldn’t hurt.”

Your smile widened, pleased. “Good. It suits you. Makes you look...” You trailed off, tapping your finger against his chest with playful finality, “...like the kind of man a woman would regret letting go.”

Frank's gaze sharpened slightly, searching your face. "You think she wants to get back together?"

You snorted, half-amused, half-exasperated at how blind men could be sometimes. You leaned in a little closer, your voice dropping conspiratorially. “Frankie. Come on.”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You ticked the points off on your fingers. "First, she invited you over for lunch. Not coffee. Not a quick catch-up. Home-cooked meal. Second, she made your favorite, didn’t she?"

Frank hesitated, then nodded slowly.

"Third," you continued, "she asked if you were seeing anyone—and sounded real happy when you said no."

Frank's brow furrowed slightly.

"And fourth," you said, tapping the air with your finger for emphasis, "she suggested another lunch. 'Soon.' Not next month. Not sometime. Soon."

You smiled softly, letting your hand settle lightly against his chest again, feeling the slow, steady thump of his heart under your palm. "Frank... women don’t invite their ex-husbands over, cook for them, ask about their dating life, and suggest hanging out again unless they're thinking about something more."

He stared at you for a long moment, something complicated flickering behind his eyes.

You gave a little shrug, your voice softening. "I’m just saying… from where I’m sitting? She’s testing the waters."

Frank let out a slow, heavy breath, rubbing the back of his neck, the muscles under your hand shifting. "Maybe," he muttered, not exactly agreeing, but not exactly disagreeing either.

You smiled again—gentle, real—because you cared about him, more than you probably should. You brushed your fingers once, lightly, over his shirt, tracing the stitching without really thinking.

"And if she does," you added, your voice quieter now, a little sad around the edges, "I'll miss you."

Frank’s eyes snapped back to yours, sharp and intent.

You gave a small, shy laugh, glancing down at your lap. "You seem like the kind of man who doesn’t keep coming to places like this once he's got someone at home waiting for him." You looked up at him again, a little braver now. "And you shouldn’t. You deserve better than this."

Frank didn't say anything right away. His hand lifted, big and warm, and for one dizzying second you thought he might reach for your face, tuck a strand of hair behind your ear the way you’d daydreamed about once or twice when you let yourself get stupid.

But he didn't. He just rested his hand lightly over yours, rough palm covering your smaller one against his chest, his grip firm but gentle.

"You don't need to worry about that," he said, gaze steady, almost stern. "I’m not going anywhere. Even if she wants to get back together... I don't want to."

You blinked at him, searching his face, your fingers unconsciously curling tighter into the fabric of his uniform. "You don't?"

Frank shook his head once, slow and sure. His white hair caught the low lighting, casting silver highlights through the thick strands. He let out a breath, almost a laugh but without the humor. "No," he said. "Not like that. Not anymore."

You tilted your head slightly, heart hammering, your voice soft with cautious hope. "Why not?"

Frank hesitated, his hazel eyes dropping to where your hand rested over his heart. He seemed to consider his words carefully, like he always did, the corners of his mouth pulling down in that familiar, thoughtful way.

"There's someone else now," he said finally, voice dropping even lower, almost shy in a way that made your chest ache. He shifted his weight a little, glancing away toward the closed door, embarrassed. "A beautiful dancer who takes pity on sad old men like me."

The last part was said so quietly you barely caught it, but you did. Before he could retreat further into himself, you reached up and touched his cheek—fingertips brushing lightly over the slight roughness of his five o'clock shadow, guiding his face back toward you.

"Frank," you whispered, your voice breaking just a little.

He let you turn him, his hazel eyes finding yours again, uncertain and raw in a way that made your heart twist. And then, without thinking, without planning, you leaned in and kissed him.

At first, Frank froze.

Then—slowly, achingly—he kissed you back. His lips were warm, careful at first, like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His hand lifted from the table to rest at your waist, big and steady, thumb rubbing instinctively against the soft fabric of your lingerie. His other arm slid around you, tentative, cradling you against him like something precious.

You deepened the kiss, guiding his hand lower, your fingers gentle but insistent as you pressed his palm over the curve of your ass.

Frank groaned softly against your mouth, the sound low and wrecked, his fingers flexing instinctively around the soft flesh as he pulled you closer into his lap, his thick thighs spreading wider to make room for you.

You didn’t break the kiss. Didn’t let him pull away.

And Frank didn’t want to.

He held you tighter instead, the world narrowing to the slow, aching slide of your mouths together, the warmth of your body in his hands, the dizzying, impossible reality of you choosing to be here—with him.

Frank pulled back first, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard in the charged quiet. His hand stayed warm on your waist, fingers flexing slightly like he didn’t quite trust himself to let go.

He cleared his throat, voice rough. “You know the bouncer’s still at the door, right?” His thumb brushed your side, tentative. “If you want to stop this... you just have to say the word.”

You let out a small, almost incredulous laugh, your eyes fluttering closed for a second. God, he was always like this—so careful, so determined to protect even when you wanted nothing more than to be reckless with him.

“He won’t come unless I call,” you said softly, your fingers brushing lightly against the front of his uniform, feeling the steady, hammering beat of his heart beneath the fabric. “We’re fine.”

Frank exhaled heavily, something deep loosening in his chest, but even then—even then—he looked at you like he was waiting for you to change your mind. Like he was ready to pull away if you so much as breathed the wrong way.

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said quietly, his baritone a low, rumbling oath.

You stared at him for a moment, chest tight with so many things you hadn’t said yet, things that had been building for months. And then—God, you couldn’t help it—you rolled your eyes, letting out a soft, breathless laugh that made Frank’s brows furrow in confusion.

“You think I don’t know that?” you whispered, cupping his jaw gently. “Frank, most men…” you paused, letting your thumb brush along the line of his hooked nose, the stubborn set of his mouth, “...most men steal touches. They push. They force. They take what they want without asking.”

Frank’s hand tightened just slightly at your waist, his jaw ticking at the implication.

“But you?” You smiled, a little sad, a little amazed. “You’re the one man I want to do all those things... and you never do.”

Frank’s breath hitched. His hazel eyes darkened, searching your face like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

You leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, raw and aching. “You don’t know how many nights I’ve laid in bed, stuck my fingers in my pussy, and imagined it was you.” You swallowed, cheeks burning, but you didn’t look away. “Imagined it was your hands. Your voice in my ear. Your weight over me.”

Frank’s mouth parted slightly, a soft, wrecked sound escaping him. His fingers gripped your waist tighter, and you could feel the way his body tensed—like a man on the edge of losing every ounce of restraint he had left.

You smiled, softer now, running your hand through the silver at his temple. “I want you, Frank. Not because you’re safe. Not because you’re nice. But because you’re you.”

He still didn’t move—still so heartbreakingly careful—but you could feel the war inside him, the way his body trembled with the effort it took to stay still.

You tilted your head, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, feather-light. "Please," you whispered. "Don't make me imagine anymore."

And something in Frank finally, finally broke. He kissed you, rough, a low, broken sound tearing from his throat as he fisted the back of your neck in one big, calloused hand. His mouth claimed yours, hot and desperate, his teeth scraping your lower lip as he pulled you closer, closer, until there was no space left between you. His other hand found your ass, squeezing firmly, hungrily, tugging you flush against the thick, solid heat of his cock straining beneath his uniform trousers.

You gasped into his mouth when you felt it—felt him—so hard, so real, pressed against your belly. Frank groaned at the sound, the vibration of it against his lips making him squeeze harder, almost like he couldn’t believe this was really happening.

Without breaking the kiss, his hand slipped down, under the skimpy strip of your panties, his rough fingertips dragging over the soft flesh of your ass, feeling the heat of you, the dampness already seeping through the thin cotton. His fingers flexed, possessive, hungry, a low rumble vibrating from deep in his chest when you ground your hips into him, offering yourself shamelessly.

But he didn’t let it stay like that for long.

Frank shifted you with an ease that made your breath catch—a reminder of just how strong he really was under the softness he wore so easily. He lifted you, adjusting you like you weighed nothing, and turned you in his lap until your back was flush against his chest, your thighs spread wide over his thick ones. His hands were everywhere now, big and warm and sure, one arm banded tight across your middle, anchoring you, the other sliding down your belly, slow and deliberate, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

You whimpered, arching your back slightly, your head tipping against his shoulder. Frank’s breath was hot against your ear, his voice dropping to a low, rough murmur that made your whole body shiver.

"Tell me," he rasped, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, circling the edge of your clit without touching it. "Tell me how you imagined me touching you."

You whimpered again, your thighs shaking under his slow, cruel teasing. Your hands clutched his forearm, the thick muscle flexing under your touch.

"I—I imagined..." You swallowed, your voice trembling with need. "That you'd take your time... that you'd be rough, but careful... that you'd... hold me open like this and just... tease me until I couldn't think."

Frank groaned softly, his nose nudging your temple, his fingers finally slipping lower to brush your clit in a light, slow circle. You jerked in his lap, a soft gasp escaping you.

"Like this?" he murmured, his baritone thick and smoky.

"Yes," you breathed, legs falling wider as your hips moved instinctively into his touch.

His fingers pressed a little harder, circling just the way you had dreamed about on those lonely nights when only your own hands and your traitorous imagination kept you company. He rubbed slow and steady, his breath hot against your ear, his cock a thick, throbbing presence beneath you.

"And then what, sweetheart?" Frank asked, his voice a rough whisper, grinding against you just enough to make you feel the impossible hardness of him. "Tell me what else you wanted."

"I wanted..." you whimpered, nearly incoherent now, your body writhing under the slow, relentless pleasure. "Wanted you to... slip your fingers inside. Stretch me. Make me... ready for your cock."

Frank cursed low against your skin, the sound full of raw need. He pressed his fingers more firmly against your clit, rubbing tighter, faster, dragging a soft, broken cry from your lips.

"You imagined my fingers stretching this tight little cunt," he growled, nipping lightly at your earlobe, his voice pure filth and molten affection all at once. "You imagined me filling you up, didn't you?"

You nodded frantically, grinding against his hand, desperate for more.

"Good girl," he rumbled, his fingers dipping lower to tease your entrance, slick and ready. He pushed one thick finger inside you, slow, savoring the tight heat that gripped him immediately. You cried out, hips canting up, but Frank held you firmly against him, keeping you spread open for him to touch and taste and claim as he pleased.

"You feel that?" he whispered, sliding his finger deep, curling it slightly to press against that perfect spot inside you. "That's mine now."

You sobbed his name, your hands clawing at his arm, the muscles flexing under your frantic grip. Frank added a second finger, stretching you wider, filling you, his thumb still circling your clit with agonizing precision.

You could barely breathe, barely think, the pleasure blinding, hot and thick as honey.

"You think about me fucking you like this?" he gritted out, his own voice shaking now, his cock throbbing against your soaked panties. "Slow at first, deep enough you feel it in your fucking soul?"

"Y-yes, Frankie," you gasped, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from how good it felt.

"You think about me holding you open, filling you up until you can't take any more?" His fingers thrust harder now, scissoring slightly, working you open, relentless.

"Yes—oh God—Frank—"

He growled against your ear, thrusting his fingers deep one last time before dragging them out slow, slick and glistening.

"Good girl," he whispered, kissing your temple, the rough scrape of his stubble making you shiver. "You're ready for me now. You're perfect."

Frank slid his fingers into his mouth, slow and deliberate, sucking your taste from them with a low hum of satisfaction. His hazel eyes fluttered closed for just a moment, savoring you, and you watched him, utterly entranced. The sight of it—the roughness of his knuckles, the glint of wetness on his lips, the raw, primal hunger he didn't bother hiding—made your thighs press together, desperate for friction.

You whimpered softly, the sound breaking free before you could stop it.

Frank’s eyes snapped open at the noise, locking onto you. His pupils were blown wide with hunger, the hazel barely a thin ring around the dark. He pulled his fingers from his mouth with a soft, wet pop, watching you with a slow, predatory smile.

Without a word, you slid off his lap, the movement smooth and unhurried, sinking to your knees between his wide-spread thighs. You ran your hands up his legs, slow and reverent, feeling the strength beneath the soft fabric of his uniform trousers. Your fingers reached his belt, fumbling slightly in your eagerness, and Frank—God bless him—just leaned back, spread his arms along the back of the booth, and let you work.

You caught the way his hand dipped briefly into the pocket of his military coat, pulling out his worn leather wallet. His fingers moved deftly, checking for a condom with the same quiet efficiency he handled everything else in his life. He found one, looking satisfied—and when he glanced down and caught you watching him, you gave him a small, wicked smile.

“Take off your coat,” you murmured, your voice low, needy.

Frank arched a brow but didn’t argue. He shrugged out of the heavy coat with a grunt, tossing it aside onto the seat. It left him in his button-down—olive green and clinging to the broad line of his shoulders—his army tie still neatly knotted at his throat, and his gun holster strapped snug across his chest.

You bit your lip at the sight.

Frank caught it, his mouth curling into a slow, dangerous smirk. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” he rasped, voice thick with amusement.

You nodded, almost shy, your hands drifting up to rest lightly on his thighs, feeling the heat of him even through the layers. Your voice was barely a whisper when you answered, honest and trembling with want. “I love it. I love you like this.”

Frank’s smirk faltered, something raw flashing through his eyes, and for a long second, he just stared at you—like he was trying to memorize this moment. You, on your knees. Him, still half in uniform, flushed and breathing heavy, about to lose every shred of control he prided himself on.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, his hands flexing once, gripping the seat behind him.

He let you undo his belt slowly, your fingers working open the heavy buckle, tugging it free with a soft clink of metal. You popped the button of his trousers, dragging the zipper down slow, and Frank lifted his hips just enough to help you shove the fabric down, exposing the thick, heavy line of his cock straining against his boxers.

“Go on, baby,” he rumbled, his voice dropping even lower, the gravel in it thick and dark. “Daddy’s not gonna stop you.”

Your breath caught at the way he said it—Daddy—low and rough, full of possession and aching affection all at once.

With trembling hands, you slipped your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down and freeing him. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, already leaking at the tip. You moaned softly at the sight, leaning forward without hesitation, nuzzling your cheek against the heavy length of him like he was something precious.

Frank groaned, low and wrecked, his hips jerking slightly. His hand found your hair, fingers threading through the strands, anchoring you.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice shaking. “You want Daddy’s cock, don’t you?”

You nodded, mouthing along the base of him, pressing open-mouthed kisses up the thick shaft, savoring the taste of his skin, the way he trembled under your touch. You licked a slow stripe up to the head, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him into your mouth, slow and deep.

Frank cursed, his hand tightening in your hair, his head tipping back against the seat with a soft thud. His hips twitched, but he held himself still, letting you set the pace, letting you worship him the way you wanted to.

“Good girl,” he groaned, his voice a broken wreck of baritone and need. “Fucking perfect. So good for Daddy.”

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking him deeper, your hands stroking the parts of him your mouth couldn’t reach, and Frank just sat there, undone, his broad chest heaving, the holster still cutting tight across his frame like some dark, perfect reminder of who he was.

Your hair fell into your face as you worked him, and Frank, ever the steady hand, reached up to brush it back for you. His touch was surprisingly tender—his thick fingers curling gently behind your ear, tucking the messy strands away so he could see you properly. His other hand, rough and warm, slid down to lightly cup your breast through the thin lace of your bra, his thumb brushing teasingly over your nipple in slow, lazy strokes.

He let you worship him for a few precious minutes, his head tilted back, chest heaving, every rough sound that escaped him a reward you cherished. His cock twitched in your mouth, and when you glanced up at him—your eyes glassy, cheeks hollowed around his thickness—Frank cursed under his breath, his hand flexing in your hair.

But then, with a groan of regret, he pulled you away, his cock slipping free from your lips with a slick pop. You whimpered softly, already chasing him, but Frank only gave you that slow, wicked smile—the one that made your knees weak—and grabbed the condom from the seat beside him.

You watched, heart hammering, as he tore the foil open with his teeth, his broad chest rising and falling while he carefully rolled the latex down his heavy shaft. His hands were steady despite the shaking tension in his thighs, and you couldn't help but moan softly, the sound desperate, needy, as you peeled your soaked panties down your thighs and let them fall to the floor.

Without hesitation, you climbed into his lap, straddling his thick thighs, your bare skin pressing flush against the rough fabric of his uniform trousers. Your hands rested lightly on his chest for a moment—feeling the solid weight of him beneath you, the steady thud of his heart.

But Frank didn’t pull you down onto him right away. He held you there, hands firm on your hips, his hazel eyes searching yours. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to—but you could feel the question in the way he held you steady, waiting, offering you the chance to back out if you wanted. Waiting for your choice.

You smiled softly, feeling your heart crack wide open for him, and leaned forward, wrapping your hands around the thick straps of his holster, clutching them tight like lifelines. You held his gaze, steady and sure, and in one slow, deliberate movement, you sank down onto him.

The stretch was breathtaking. You gasped, your head tipping back, thighs trembling as you felt every thick, impossible inch of him fill you. Frank groaned, a low, wrecked sound that vibrated straight through your core, his fingers digging into your hips as he fought to keep still and let you take your time.

“F-fuck,” you whimpered, your body clenching around him, your nails biting into the leather of his holster. “Daddy… so big—so thick—”

Frank growled, the sound ripped straight from his chest, raw and dangerous. His hips bucked slightly beneath you, instinctive, desperate, but he still held back, letting you set the pace, letting you adjust to the heavy weight of him inside you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he rasped, voice like crushed velvet, his baritone thick with wrecked pride. “Taking Daddy’s cock so fuckin’ good.”

You whimpered, rolling your hips experimentally, feeling the stretch, the perfect drag of his cock against your fluttering walls. You leaned forward, clutching the holster tighter, burying your face in the curve of his neck, inhaling the warm, faintly musky scent of him—soap and leather and something distinctly Frank.

“You’re mine now,” Frank growled, his hand sliding up your back, cupping the back of your head as he rocked his hips up into you with a slow, punishing grind that made your toes curl. “Every inch of this tight little pussy belongs to me.”

“Yes, Daddy,” you sobbed, clinging to him, your body trembling from the overwhelming fullness, the slow, deliberate way he was claiming every part of you.

Frank chuckled low against your ear—a dark, dangerous sound that promised you hadn’t even scratched the surface of what he was willing to give you tonight.

Frank grunted low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he shifted beneath you. Before you could fully register what was happening, his thick arms tightened around your waist, muscles flexing with a strength that took your breath away.

In one fluid motion, he stood up, lifting you with him—your thighs wrapping instinctively around his broad hips, your arms locking around his neck for balance. His uniform pants pooled around his ankles, forgotten, and you whimpered at the sudden change in angle, the new depth as his cock sank even deeper inside you.

"Jesus Christ, Frankie—" you gasped, clinging to him as your body jolted with every powerful thrust.

He fucked up into you hard, deliberate, his hazel eyes burning with something dark and hungry as he braced your back against the nearest wall, using it as leverage. Each thrust rocked you higher, forced soft, desperate sounds from your lips as he pinned you between his thick frame and the cool, painted surface.

"Fuck," you whimpered against his throat, your voice breaking. "Daddy’s so strong... my big, strong bear..."

Frank growled at the praise, a deep, primal sound rumbling from his chest as he drove into you harder, faster, like he needed to prove just how much strength he still had left in his aging, battle-scarred body.

"That's right, sweetheart," he rasped, baritone thick and filthy. "Daddy’s still got it. Still strong enough to fuck his girl standing up... fill her up good and deep."

You nodded frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity, your entire body burning, stretched and trembling with how hard he claimed you. His hips snapped up into you with brutal precision, the slap of skin against skin echoing off the walls.

"You're fuckin' perfect," he muttered harshly against your ear, punctuating each word with a thrust. "So fuckin' tight... clinging to me like you never wanna let go."

"Never," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Never wanna let go, Daddy."

Frank grunted, the strain low and heavy in his throat, his arms trembling slightly from the effort of holding you pinned between the wall and his thick, aching body. One hand gripped your ass firmly, the other fumbling at his neck, yanking at his tie. The damned thing felt like it was strangling him, the stiff knot digging into his throat, trapping his breath in his chest. He tugged it loose with a muttered curse, the fabric sliding rough and clumsy against his flushed skin, his white hair damp with sweat where it curled against his temples.

You whimpered against his mouth, tugging insistently at the straps of his holster, your thighs tightening around his waist. "Frank—" you gasped, your voice breathless but certain, "—put me down. I don't want to hurt you."

He froze for half a second, breathing hard, the commanding part of him ready to argue. But one look at you—your pupils blown wide, your body slick and trembling against him, your fingers tugging pleadingly at the leather across his chest—and Frank obeyed.

Slowly, carefully, he shifted his grip, bracing you tighter as he lowered you to the ground. His knees groaned a little in protest, but he ignored it, focusing only on you—on making sure you landed safe, steady, cradled by his body even now. He eased you down until your back met the scuffed carpeted floor, your legs still wrapped loosely around his waist, your hands slipping from his holster to frame his flushed face instead.

"Bossy little thing," he muttered, voice thick and rough as gravel, a crooked grin curling his lips.

"You love it," you whispered back, brushing your nose against his hooked one, feeling the hot, damp rush of his breath against your cheek.

Frank huffed a short, wrecked laugh, his hazel eyes burning down at you as he adjusted his grip, sliding one large hand beneath your thigh, hitching your leg higher over his hip. He lined himself up again, the heavy, leaking head of his cock nudging at your soaked entrance. You whimpered, clutching at the back of his shirt, desperate for him, aching for the weight of him inside you again.

Frank didn’t tease this time. He thrust forward with a slow, brutal slide, burying himself to the hilt in one steady, breathtaking motion that had both of you gasping. His forehead dropped to yours, the soft silver strands of his hair brushing your skin, his breath ragged and broken against your mouth.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned, voice wrecked, his baritone fraying at the edges. "You're so goddamn tight—so good—"

You whimpered, your body arching under him, your fingers clawing at the broad line of his back as he started to move, slow at first, grinding deep with every heavy thrust, making you feel every thick inch of him dragging against your walls. His stomach brushed your clit with each roll of his hips, sending jolts of desperate pleasure sparking through you.

Frank grunted, sweat sliding down his temples, his hand slipping between your bodies to thumb your clit in messy, desperate circles. "Come for me again," he panted, his forehead pressed hard to yours, his body grinding into you with single-minded determination. "Wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart—fuckin' ruin me."

You sobbed his name, nails digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders, your body tensing, tightening, burning up from the inside out.

"That's it," Frank growled, his thrusts rough and deep now, his voice a wrecked rasp against your ear. "Give it to me, baby. Let me have it. Let Daddy feel how much you need him."

You shattered with a cry, your pussy clamping down around him so tight it punched a deep, guttural moan from his chest. Frank cursed, his hips stuttering, his whole body shaking as he spilled inside you, filling the condom with pulsing, desperate thrusts until he finally collapsed over you, panting, trembling, undone.

He stayed there for a long moment, his weight braced carefully on his elbows so he didn’t crush you, his heart hammering hard against your chest. His nose nudged yours, his breath hot and shaky, his hands still stroking you—gentle now, reverent.

When he finally found the strength to speak, his voice was a low, broken rumble. "Jesus, baby... what the hell are you doing to me?"

You smiled weakly up at him, your fingers slipping into his damp white hair, stroking slow and soothing. "Making you stay," you whispered.

Frank laughed—a rough, wrecked sound full of something dangerously close to hope—and kissed you, slow and deep, like a promise.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #frank benson x reader #frank benson

67 notes · View notes

ujuinluv · 2 days ago

Text

dusk till dawn (nicholas) — nav

synopsis — cuddling with nicholas.

the day winds down slow, like honey sliding down the inside of a jar, and you’re already drowsy by the time the sun dips below the skyline. the living room is quiet, touched with that soft amber glow that only comes in the early evening—lamp light mixing with the last bits of daylight clinging to the windows. it’s peaceful, the kind of calm that settles deep into your bones.

you’re curled up on the couch with nicholas, legs tangled together beneath a faded blanket that smells like home—like detergent, a little bit of his cologne, and something warm and familiar you can’t quite name. your head rests against his chest, tucked right under his chin, where you can hear his heartbeat thumping slow and steady. that sound alone could send you drifting.

his hand is under your shirt, resting lightly against the bare skin of your back. his fingertips move in slow, lazy circles—soft and rhythmic. up, down, a gentle scratch, then a soothing drag of his palm. it makes your eyes flutter shut for a moment, then open again. not because you want to stay awake, but because you want to hold on to this. the softness. the quiet. the way he touches you like you’re something precious.

nicholas' other hand is in your hair, fingers sliding through the strands with all the care in the world. he twirls a piece gently, then lets it fall, then combs through again, repeating the motion over and over like it brings him some kind of peace too. it feels like he’s anchoring you—like as long as he’s touching you, the world can’t pull you too far away.

“you tired?” he murmurs, voice low and close to your ear.

you hum something in response, not quite a word, just a small sound that says yes, but don’t stop. and he doesn’t. he chuckles quietly, presses a kiss into your hairline, and keeps tracing those slow patterns on your back like he’s drawing lullabies into your skin.

your breathing slows to match his, syncing with the rise and fall of his chest. you let your hand rest on his ribcage, fingers curled against the fabric of his shirt, feeling the way he breathes, the way his heart beats. it’s steady. grounding. and suddenly, everything else—the noise of the day, the thoughts in your head, the weight behind your eyes—just begins to slip away.

the only thing that exists is the warm press of nicholas' body against yours, the way his thumb draws a soft line up your spine, the brush of his lips against the top of your head every so often, like he can’t help but kiss you, even in the quiet.

“go ahead,” he says softly. “i’ve got you.”

and you do. you let go. you let your body melt into him, your muscles relaxing one by one until you’re nothing but softness in his arms. your breath evens out. your lashes flutter against his shirt. you feel him shift just slightly to pull the blanket up higher, wrapping you tighter into him.

his fingers are still moving through your hair as your mind drifts into the haze of sleep. even when your thoughts stop forming, your body still feels the comfort of his touch, like a memory it knows how to hold onto even in dreams.

and just before everything fades to black, you hear him whisper something you don’t quite catch. maybe your name. maybe i love you. maybe both.

but it settles into your chest like a weightless stone, grounding and soft, and you fall asleep like that—wrapped in nicholas' arms, safe in his warmth, your back scratched gently, your hair played with lovingly, the world outside fading to nothing.

75 notes · View notes

hopeyoufindalovelikethis · 1 day ago

Text

For You, Always

This story began with a quiet idea—how love doesn’t always roar, but sometimes arrives as a man who waits outside your office every night without being asked. To everyone who has ever longed for that kind of presence, that quiet loyalty, I hope this brought comfort. Thank you for sharing this tender moment with me 🤍

Synopsis | After a long day, you returned home with Sylus, who—despite his empire—never failed to carry your burdens quietly. As he shifted between leader and lover, his care showed in the smallest gestures. That night, you finally asked why he always showed up. His answer stayed with you.

The week had been heavy with back-to-back reports, short notices, field calls, and a mounting to-do list you barely had time to breathe through. Your hallway lights flickered gently above as you entered your apartment, the soft click of your door behind you signaling the shift from public to private, from outside to home. The familiar scent of your space greeted you, a quiet mix of peony and fresh linen—subtle but grounding.

You let out a slow breath as you slipped off your shoes, the weight of the day pressing down on your shoulders, not painfully, but undeniably present. Sylus stepped in after you, carrying your bag the way he always did without asking, slipping out of his shoes neatly. His presence wasn’t loud—it never was—but it filled the space, easing tension you hadn’t realized you were holding.

He set the bag near your working desk, so you could begin sorting your things—your ID card, tablet, notebook, and other pieces—to where they belonged in slow, practiced movements. Your hands moved on autopilot, but your mind was still unwinding, peeling back layers of tension.

After you finished, you stepped into the kitchen and flicked on the warm under-cabinet lights, casting a gentle glow over the quiet space. You moved without needing to think, reaching into the cupboard for the tea canister and setting it carefully on the counter. Two mugs came next, their soft ceramic weight familiar in your hands as you placed them side by side.

Behind you, Sylus paused near the sofa, his gaze trailing you quietly. Then, after a breath, his voice cut through the calm—deep, smooth, and careful.

“Sweetheart,” he said, “would you mind if I don’t help with drinks tonight?”

You turned slightly, looking at him. He stood relaxed, but you could see it—the way his eyes had shifted, focused and sharp beneath the calm, the way his hand had already reached for the black Onychinus terminal tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket. His work had started the moment yours ended.

“There’s something urgent I need to handle,” he added, not apologetic, but respectful—the kind of directness that always came when he wanted you to know you mattered, even in his absence from the small things.

You nodded with a faint smile, waving him toward the couch. “Go ahead. I’ll bring something over in a bit.”

He shrugged off his jacket, and settled into the left side of your sofa—the spot he always seemed to claim instinctively. Within seconds, the glow of his terminal screen lit up against his features, painting them in soft blue light as his fingers moved quickly over encrypted lines of code and silent directives. The shift in him was seamless—from your Sylus to Onychinus's leader—yet never cold. He was still here. Still near.

As you moved around the kitchen, heating water, measuring the tea leaves, and slicing a few pieces of fruit without thinking much about it, you glanced over at him. His expression was calm, controlled, yet his presence still felt like it wrapped around you—like, even when he was working, his attention didn’t leave you completely.

The kettle clicked, a quiet signal in the stillness. You reached for it, careful with the handle, and gently poured the hot water into each mug. The tea leaves danced for a moment before settling, their color beginning to bloom beneath the surface.

You wrapped both hands around one of the mugs, letting the heat seep into your palms, then turned, watching him for a moment longer than necessary. You didn’t mind. You liked watching him like this—composed, intelligent, focused—but still settled in your home like he belonged there. Because he did.

There was something about these moments—quiet, unspectacular—that reminded you how loved you were not in grand declarations or constant attention, but in his choice to be here, even when his world demanded otherwise.

And tonight, as his fingers moved with precision and his voice occasionally murmured instructions into the discreet earpiece barely visible beneath his silver hair, you felt it again.

He was busy. He was powerful. He was feared by half the city and followed by the rest. But, still, he chose to end his day with you.

You felt it again, that familiar ache. Not heavy. Not sad. Just full — a mix of gratitude and something almost too tender to name.

You walked over to the sofa and lowered the mug into his free hand. He looked up briefly, his eyes softening the moment they met yours. He didn’t say thank you. He never had to. The look was enough.

You sat beside him, folding your legs to the side and resting your hands on your lap. He returned to his screen, still sipping, still aware of you. That was one of the things you’d come to love most—the way he never shut you out, even when his mind was elsewhere.

You hesitated for a moment, then found the courage to ask. “Sy… are you really okay picking me up from work every day?”

His fingers slowed, but he didn’t look away from the screen just yet.

“I know you’re busy,” you continued, voice soft, but steady. “I mean… maybe even more than me. And I never asked you to. It’s not like I ever said I needed help.”

Sylus’s eyes finally lifted, focused now only on you. He set the mug down on the low table beside him, and without a word, reached to take your hand—gently pulling it into his, threading his fingers through yours like the answer had already been forming long before you asked.

“You didn’t have to ask,” he said quietly. “I saw how late you were staying at the office. Night after night. The way you pushed to finish everything on your desk so the next day wouldn’t drown you before It even began. You call that being responsible. I call it running yourself into the ground.”

You tried to protest, but he gave your hand the softest squeeze.

“I don’t show up because I think you can’t handle it,” he added. “I show up because I know you would never ask someone to help carry the weight, even when it’s too much. That’s why I started waiting outside your office at night. Not to rescue you. Just to make sure someone was there to take you home.”

Your lips parted, but you didn’t know what to say at first. The ache in your chest had deepened into something almost fragile.

“And the wanderer hunts...,” you said, voice even smaller now, “you always join me every time I tell you I'm on one. Even though you must be drowning in other things.”

Sylus leaned back slightly, letting your hand rest in his lap now, but still holding it.

“I call you when I wake up,” he said, “and when I hear you’re in the field, the idea of you handling it alone while exhausted—it doesn’t sit right with me. So I go. Because I can. Because I want to. And because I know you won’t ever ask me to.”

The room was quiet for a beat. Outside, the night deepened—the sky darker, the streets quieter—but in your small living room, warmth bloomed between you like a second heartbeat.

You looked down at your joined hands.

“I don’t want you to overwork yourself for me.”

Sylus exhaled through his nose, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You think what I do for you is work?”

You glanced up, meeting his gaze.

“This is the part of my day that doesn’t exhaust me,” he said softly. “Everything else does. But this—being here, picking you up, helping you—this fills me back up.”

You leaned into him then, gently, resting your head against his shoulder. He adjusted instinctively, letting you settle there as his arm came around your back.

For a while, neither of you spoke. His screen dimmed automatically beside you, forgotten for the moment.

The silence that followed was easy. Not heavy or awkward—just the kind that settles between two people who no longer feel the need to fill every space with noise. You stayed nestled into Sylus’s shoulder, the quiet hum of his breath beneath your cheek, the rise and fall of it steadying you in a way even rest couldn’t always manage.

You could feel the tension leaving your body in degrees—not all at once, but enough to notice. Enough to breathe a little deeper.

Eventually, Sylus shifted slightly, his voice still low, still smooth. “Give me twenty more minutes. Then I’ll shut it down for the night.”

You tilted your head to look up at him. “You sure? I can go to bed on my own.”

His eyes found yours—softened immediately, then he said, “I said I’d accompany you. I will.”

You nodded, offering a faint smile, then slowly pulled away to give him space to work. He returned to his terminal, but even then, you felt the shift in his presence—less commanding now, more precise, wrapping things up.

You padded into your room, turning down the covers, brushing your teeth, combing your fingers through your hair, and pulling on the soft cotton of your favorite sleep shirt. You didn’t rush. The quiet was kind to you tonight.

When you returned to the living room, Sylus had already powered down his device. It rested on the table, closed. He stood when he saw you, as he always did—a gentleman through and through, even here, even now.

You reached out, fingers brushing lightly along his wrist. “You sure you’re ready to rest?”

He leaned down just enough to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “With you, always.”

The walk to the bedroom was quiet, unhurried. You climbed into bed first, settling into the pillow with a soft exhale. Sylus followed, his movements smooth and sure, and when he lay beside you, he didn’t reach for you immediately—he waited. Giving you the space, the choice, like he always did.

But you moved first this time—shifting closer, tucking your head beneath his chin, resting a hand lightly on his chest. He responded only then, his arm coming around you, warm and secure, fingertips drawing the gentlest circles at the curve of your back. You closed your eyes, letting the comfort settle into your bones.

His voice came again, barely above a whisper, “You work so hard, sweetie. I just want to be the place you can rest.”

You lay there for a few long moments in silence, yet your heart felt too full to let the moment pass unspoken. You shifted slightly, just enough to lift your head and look up at him in the dim light of your bedroom. His crimson eyes opened slowly, as if he’d already felt you stir, already tuned into your every breath.

“Sy,” you said softly, voice warm but a little tight at the edges, “thank you.”

His brow eased as he looked at you, but he didn’t interrupt. He always let you finish when it mattered.

You exhaled, your hand brushing lightly against the collar of his shirt. “You work so hard. I know you carry more than anyone should. And still… you’re here. Every time. For me.”

His gaze didn’t leave yours. There was no teasing in his expression now, no guarded distance — just that deep, unflinching steadiness that made you feel like you were the center of gravity in his world.

“You don’t owe me anything for that,” he said quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. “You are the one thing in my life that doesn’t feel like work.”

Your eyes softened, and your lips pressed together as you tried to keep the warmth rising in your chest from slipping down into your throat.

“I know,” you whispered. “But I still want to say it. I want you to know how much it means.”

Sylus’s hand rose to brush your hair gently behind your ear, his fingertips lingering for a moment against your skin.

“I know, kitten,” he murmured. “And hearing it from you—it means more than anything else I’ll do tonight.”

He leaned in, not hurried, not asking for more, and pressed a kiss to your temple—slow and grounding—a quiet seal on a promise he had already lived out a hundred times.

You nestled back into his chest, and this time, when you closed your eyes, it wasn’t from exhaustion, but peace.

And Sylus, still holding you close, stayed awake just a little longer, as if to be sure the weight of the world would stay off your shoulders for at least one night longer.

Side Notes | I accidentally saved this draft as scheduled, so I hadn't finished re-checking it when it was posted last night. I'm sorry, but I've checked it right after realizing my mistake. Hope you enjoy this story still 🥲🫶🏻

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #lads #lads fanfic #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #reader x sylus #sylus x you #you x sylus

57 notes · View notes

psformybss · 6 hours ago

Text

You’re Losing Me

based on this ask

warnings: heartbreak, emotional distance, long-distance tension, unresolved feelings, lost of angst

It didn’t begin with a blowout.

It began with little things.

A few unread texts.

A handful of missed calls.

An “I miss you” that started to feel like habit, not heartbeat.

Drew was in Serbia filming Hellraiser. She was in LA. Trying not to notice how each sunset left her a little colder. A little quieter.

Like her heart was fading from red to gray.

At first, she blamed time zones. Schedules. Life.

They’d done long distance before. They knew this game.

But this time, love felt like a song slowly fading out—

⸻

He missed two FaceTimes. The first came with a late text: Sorry babe. Long day. Love you.

The second? Nothing.

She sat in bed, screen lighting up with missed calls, his hoodie wrapped around her like false comfort. The soft lamplight—the one he said made her look like gold—cast shadows on her quiet tears.

She told herself not to spiral.

People get busy. People forget.

Drew loved her. He had to.

Still, she kept refreshing Instagram.

He hadn’t posted. But fan pages had.

Photos of him and Odessa between takes. Her hand grazing his chest. His head tilted, like he hung on her every word.

It wasn’t evidence. It wasn’t proof.

But it felt like watching someone else dance to a song she used to call theirs.

⸻

The articles came fast.

“Drew Starkey and Odessa A’zion: Off-Screen Chemistry?”

“New Flame on Set?”

She bit her tongue. Didn’t want to seem jealous.

Didn’t want to be the problem.

But doubt is sneaky. And once it plants itself, it grows through every crack.

She brought it up gently, testing the waters.

“People are bored,” Drew muttered through spotty FaceTime. “They want a story.”

“Yeah,” she said, “but they’re writing ours.”

He looked tired. Distant. Like her voice was a sound he didn’t recognize anymore.

“Are we really doing this now?”

Her throat tightened.

“I just want to know why you haven’t called in three days.”

“I told you—I’ve been slammed.”

“I know. I’m not accusing you, I just… I feel like I’m yelling across a canyon.”

He rubbed his eyes. “Well, you are far away.”

And that? That line stayed with her like a bruise under skin.

⸻

He said “I love you” like a reflex.

Not a promise. Not a plea.

The long, late-night calls turned into dry texts.

No voice notes. No interest in her work.

No “tell me everything.”

Not anymore.

When she said “I miss you,” all she got was “I know.”

Still, she tried. God, she tried.

Sent photos from set. Left sleepy voicemails.

Mailed him a hoodie scented with her perfume—like a lifeline.

He replied: You’re the sweetest. Miss you too.

That night, she curled on the bathroom floor, sobbing into a towel.

Not because he stopped loving her…

But because he didn’t seem to notice she was slipping through the cracks.

⸻

A new video surfaced. Odessa, laughing in the passenger seat of Drew’s car.

Her head tilted. His eyes locked on her like gravity.

He wasn’t touching her. But he didn’t have to.

She recognized that look.

It was the same one he used to give her.

She didn’t mention it for three days. But the silence blistered.

“I saw that video,” she finally said. “Of you and Odessa.”

“Jesus—”

“I’m not accusing you. I just… I need to know if something changed.”

“There’s nothing going on.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the one holding this relationship up by myself?”

“Because you’re letting a bunch of online strangers mess with your head.”

She went quiet.

And he let the silence linger like a dare.

⸻

The lie she fed herself was that things would get better. That this version of him wasn’t permanent.

But the truth was sharper:

She was begging.

Begging for attention.

Begging for scraps of affection.

Begging for the boy who once crossed oceans to make her laugh.

Now all she got were fragments.

A half-hearted “good morning.”

A “Can’t talk, sorry.”

Another tagged photo of him and Odessa, shoulder to shoulder. Always so damn close.

She tried not to ask, “Why her and not me?”

Tried not to wonder if Odessa was now the song stuck in his head while she’d faded to static.

She used to glow in his spotlight.

Now she sat in the wings, waiting for her cue. Waiting for him to look back.

⸻

She asked to talk. Really talk.

He agreed. “Give me five.”

When he called, she was already crying.

“I’m tired,” she said, voice cracked.

“I know. Me too.”

“No,” she whispered. “I’m tired of holding onto something that already let go of me.”

He blinked. “I’m not gone.”

“You don’t ask about my life. You don’t tell me about yours. You say ‘I love you’ like it’s punctuation—not a vow.”

He looked away. “Is that what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think,” she choked out. “Because every time I tell you I’m hurting, you make me feel like I’m making it up.”

His eyes closed.

“I’ve been losing you,” she said, “but what breaks me is how you didn’t even try to stop it.”

⸻

Two weeks later, he showed up at her door.

She opened it because hope is stubborn.

Because a part of her still wished he’d fight.

He brought red tulips. Her favorite.

He cried. Said he’d been lost. That he never meant to make her feel alone. That he thought he was doing the right thing by holding everything in.

“I just didn’t want to lose you,” he said.

“But you did,” she replied. “Not all at once. Just… little by little.”

She looked at him—his face, his eyes, the home she once found in them.

And for the first time, she felt nothing but exhaustion.

“I think I’ve been grieving you for months,” she whispered. “I just didn’t know it.”

He reached for her hand.

She stepped back.

“I love you,” he said.

“I loved you,” she corrected gently. And meant it.

She closed the door.

#drew starkey x reader #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x oc #drew starkey x you #drew starkey #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey angst #drew starkey outer banks #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey obx #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey fanfic #drew starkey fic #drew starkey imagines

43 notes · View notes

hakxs · 3 hours ago

Text

ཻ ﹑ ♥︎ ⌉ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ small drabbles of you warming up to lottie in the wilderness, a bond formed from a slow infatuation for her.

ཻ ﹑ 📝 ⌉ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ I’ve been working on this for awhile !! lots of bumps in the road due to my computer being silly .. as always, point out any mistakes I didn’t really double check :—)

lottie, who always seems weirdly calm when tensions are high and everyone else is constantly at each others throats, whenever fights usually break out between the team she slips away when she thinks no one is looking.

one day you finally catch up far enough to follow her and decide to see what she’s doing. lottie stands way too still when she’s by herself in the open pasture near the camp, trees surrounding her everywhere and arms loose by her sides like she's rooted into the earth.

you catch her eyes fixed on the trees, unmoving, like she’s waiting for something to answer back. for a split second you think that she can talk to the trees, like literally flail her arms around and move like one .. you rule it off as stupid, and you don’t dare bring it up.

after you’ve snuck away and the sun is about to set, you’re just about done with helping a group of girls cut up a stiff slab of meat for dinner. lottie calls you to pull you aside, the girls in your group staring at you with concern as lottie is unbothered, her eyes squinting at you while she looks you up and down, ever so slightly.

" hey, " lottie says. " have you been... following me around? “ she trails off.

you hesitate, racking your brain on what to say next. " .. define following. “ you say, trying to keep it light, joking almost, but your voice comes out a little shaky and awkward. she just stares at you, the silence between you two stretches out long enough to feel like a punishment.

finally, lottie speaks up, " you don’t have to spy. If you want to understand, just ask. “ you open your mouth to give a rebuttal and say you’re not interested, but it’s like she knows all too well and cuts you off.

but she tilts her head slightly at you and whispers. “ sneaking around is dangerous, don’t get caught. “

when you blink and try to process if what she just said to you was a threat or a friendly reminder, before you could ask her she’s already turned her back and walked off, as if she was never really there to begin with.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀

lottie, who always opts to walk behind you when you get teamed up for smaller missions. this was a reoccurring issue, but today you decided to bring it up to her since the both of you were put together to find small twigs to fuel the bonfire so there could be warmth for tonight’s feast, a simple task given by shauna. but you could never grasp why lottie was so persistent on going with you since she usually stayed at the camp during these missions.

“ hey, lottie. why are you always looming behind me?” you ask once, turning around to look at her, lotties very presence behind you made you feel extremely weary, you didn't trust her at all.

“ I'm watching your back, “ lottie stops in her tracks and answers without a second thought, It almost pisses you off cause of how rehearsed her response sounded.

“ i didn’t ask you to. “ you bite back, ignoring her as you continue to walk off. and of course, she’s still following behind you.

⠀⠀

lottie, who’s first instinct is to stand in front of you when there's a sudden noise in the woods near you. her arm out, pushing you behind her. you finally drop the being annoyed at lottie tough guy act and cling onto her arm for dear life. <3

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀

lottie who gives you things and tries to brush it off as her protecting you?? sometimes she just goes up to you, gives you a random flower or twig and says it’ll protect you, it’s a omen that the wilderness told her to gift to you. what does that mean? you’re not sure, it honestly sounds like she’s lying to you, but you keep it anyway, alongside your smaller stash of leaves and flowers she gave you right next to your makeshift bed inside your hut.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀

lottie, who offers you half her rations, doesn’t matter what the meal is, berries? she offers. meat? she offers that too. at first, you try to refuse everytime she gives you the food because you think she’s pitying you. she raises a brow and nudges the food toward you again.

“ you need to eat, “ lottie says, a heavy hint of concern in her eyes. " winter is coming soon, eat more. "

you almost fight her and tell her that you're fine and you ate enough for today, but then you look at her in the eyes, and realize that lottie literally looks like shes about to burst from sadness and she won’t let up this time, you take the meat with no further objections.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀

lottie, who you catch yourself defending while you’re talking in social circles during the afternoon. the topic had shifted multiple times, what you guys were gonna do when you got out, what kind of food you wanted .. how scary shauna was, melissa had alot to say about this topic, so you all let her talk. that was until she started talking bad about lottie.

“ … and then lottie, don’t even get me started on lottie! it’s like her and shauna work in cahoots to see who’s more fucked — “ melissa whispers to the group, you quickly cut into the conversation after this.

“ okay well, what if lottie wasn’t as bad as we portray her to be? I mean, sure, she’s crazy but there are motives for her madness. “ a strange silence follows for a quick minute as everyone turns to look at you. “ I mean– i think she has motives. “ you spit out in a rebuttal, trying to save yourself but immediately failing.

mari snickers from across the circle and she shakes her head, “ well, that’s only because you and lottie are like .. suspiciously good friends. “ mari laughs out, you almost felt like punching her then and there.

lottie, who you catch watching you more often than not. you don't think its scary, even though her staring does creep you out a bit. you think of it as a love language, like she’s trying to read you, or protect you from god knows what.

“ what? “ you ask one day, finally getting embarrassed enough from her gaze to speak up.

“ nothing, “ she says, smiling just a little “ you just look different today. ” lottie hums, you can’t tell if she’s being serious or if she’s trying to fool you. and with that, you blink slowly as you muster out a small “ interesting. ”, you don’t trust yourself to say anything else.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀

lottie, who confides in you after she learns something new. she’ll tell you if her newest experiment worked and she really thinks she’s onto something, like the trees are actually starting to speak in a language she understands, or if she wants you to help her with whatever she’s trying to do for the day. unfortunately for her, you don’t really feel like participating in her latest shenanigan this time after a ton of excuses, she understands.

sometimes, you just let her talk, you really like listening to her speak.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀

lottie, who always convinces you to spend time with her, it doesn’t matter if it’s sitting by the river and splashing eachother, indulging in her strange behavior, or doing the most boring of chores with her, like brushing the goats. you catch yourself having fun with her ever so often and you didn’t realize how close you’d become until you really pondered on it, the unfortunate outcome was pink cheeks, teasings from your friends and ignoring lottie for a day after the realization, though.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀

lottie, who was aware that you warmed up to her eventually, you both lay down on a comfortable pair of leaves near the camp, staring up at the stars in the same clear pasture lottie usually spends her time in.

“ I like you, lottie. “ you say, quietly, like you’re telling her your deepest, darkest, secret. “ I really like you. “

she doesn’t say anything for awhile until she decides to mutter out a small “ I know.” that makes you smile.

#lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets imagine #♫ ⠀⠀lottie.

42 notes · View notes

starkeys-honey · 2 days ago

Text

𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 & 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You’re sitting on rafe’s lap at topper’s party his hand already under your skirt while he laughs at something jj says his fingers flexing against the inside of your thigh like he owns the place like he owns you he doesn’t even look at you when he slides them higher he just smirks when you shift in his lap like it’s a game to him like he knows you’ll never stop him he finally looks at you and his eyes are low lazy and fucked-up he leans in and kisses you full mouth hot and heavy like he’s been waiting for it all night like no one else in the room exists and for a second you let yourself believe maybe he means it maybe he actually fucking means it.

He pulls away slow like he’s teasing you mouth swollen eyes glassy he licks his lips and says you got a lighter you stare at him for a second too long and he just grins like you’re stupid for thinking it was more you hand him the lighter without a word.

you sleep over that night he fucks you in topper’s bathroom with your dress hiked up and your heels still on one hand gripping your throat the other holding your hip so hard you know it’ll bruise he says your name like a curse like a prayer like he can’t fucking help himself and you come on his fingers before he’s even inside you and you’re already gone

he leaves you naked on the tile while he fixes his belt and walks back out like nothing happened

you stay in the bathroom five minutes too long trying to make your face look like you didn’t just fall apart for someone who’s never going to catch you

you lie in your bed the next day with your phone in your hand eyes on the screen like if you stare hard enough he’ll text like if you will it into existence his name will appear no texts no calls no notifications your chest feels tight like someone’s sitting on it and you think about texting him something stupid something chill something that won’t make you sound like you care but you don’t because you know he wouldn’t answer

you check his instagram he posted a photo of a blunt and the beach with the caption: don’t worry about me you want to throw your phone through the fucking wall

he told you he didn’t want a relationship he told you from the beginning no strings no feelings don’t catch anything you can’t kill you told him that’s fine you weren’t looking for anything either and it wasn’t a lie at the time not until he started looking at you like you were something worth destroying

he kisses you like he means it but talks to you like you’re just someone convenient someone easy someone who’ll always pick up when he calls and you hate yourself for still letting him in every time you still let him inside every time

you show up at his house two nights later with nothing but a hoodie on and regret already sinking into your skin he opens the door shirtless his pupils blown wide and his voice low when he says fuck i was hoping it’d be you he pulls you inside without saying anything else he kisses you before the door’s even shut his hands under your hoodie already no underwear good girl he mutters against your mouth you pretend those two words don’t make your stomach twist into something awful

he fucks you against the door rough and fast your leg around his waist his hand on your throat again he knows you like it like that you hate how much he knows you you hate how good it feels when he’s whispering your name while he comes inside you you hate how quiet the room gets after

you lie there on his floor still half-naked your heart beating out of your chest and he lights a joint and doesn’t say a word you sit up you look at him and say what is this he doesn’t even look at you casual he says with a shrug you nod like that doesn’t feel like getting stabbed in the ribs

you see him two days later at another party your stomach drops when you see him but you don’t show it you wear that red dress the one he once said made him think about you for days he sees you he looks at you like he wants to ruin you all over again and you hope maybe he’ll come over maybe he’ll say something he doesn’t he walks up to some other girl wraps his arm around her waist leans in and kisses her neck and you have to step into the bathroom because your chest is fucking caving in

you sit on the edge of the bathtub staring at yourself in the mirror you want to scream or throw up or cry but you don’t you just say it out loud like maybe it’ll start to feel true it’s just casual it doesn’t matter it’s just casual

you leave early he texts you at 2:36am you up you think about not answering but you do door’s open you say he shows up fifteen minutes later stoned and a little drunk eyes glassy lips already red when he kisses you he doesn’t say hi doesn’t ask how you are just pulls your hoodie off and fucks you against the kitchen counter like nothing happened

you ask him why he always comes back he groans and says because you’re fucking dangerous you make me feel too much

then stop you say make me he answers

you cry while he fucks you he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care he kisses the tears off your face and keeps going

you stay in his bed that night he doesn’t cuddle you he doesn’t say your name he just rolls over and passes out

you stare at his ceiling and wonder what the fuck you’re doing

you try to cut him off once delete his number block his socials ignore every message you last four days before you let him back in he climbs in through your window at 1am and you don’t even ask where he’s been you just pull him onto your bed and beg him to make it hurt

he does

you ask him once do you ever think about me when i’m not around he shrugs sometimes you ask do you think about us he laughs there is no us babe and then he kisses you like he’s fucking lying

you tell yourself he doesn’t care you tell yourself you don’t either you’re both lying

you fuck someone else at a party try to prove something to yourself but it doesn’t work you cry halfway through and go home alone

he texts you the next night where are you you say home he says come over you say okay

he kisses you like nothing happened he never asks if you were with someone else you think he knows you weren’t

you tell him you love him one night you’re in his bed it’s raining he’s holding you tighter than usual you whisper it soft like you’re afraid he’ll shatter under the weight of it i love you

he tenses says don’t do that you don’t speak again he leaves in the morning without a word

you don’t hear from him for six days

he shows up at your house bleeding knuckles bruised lip wild look in his eyes you don’t ask you let him in you kiss him before he says anything you let him fuck you on your living room floor like it’ll fix something

he says you make me feel like i’m alive and it feels like being gutted

you weren’t casual about him you never were

he was everything you let yourself bleed for and he never even looked back

35 notes · View notes

ellesthots · 3 days ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

L. “immovable objects”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: you show Bruce around your hometown, the filter between you both rapidly loosening.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, grief, fluff, yearning

words: 6.8k

a/n: i love this chapter name sm, I love all of them, but this one feels extra sweet to me because they AREEE moving !! they are no longer immovable objects, they’re moving toward each other !! big shifts!! also, because I only have a few weeks left of college EVER 🥲 and we’ve been diving into psychodynamic / object relations in class, so it feels very timely, and this whole trip with them feels so psychodynamic!! going back to childhood, roots, disrupting cyclical maladaptive patterns !!!!

Walter ate his kibble across the kitchen, tail wagging. You couldn’t believe he’d eaten, much less that the only reason he had was Bruce. Hunger strike no more: the cure was a tall, pale man who looked vaguely vampiric dishing out the goods. If the house were any less stale, you might’ve laughed at the image of him opening a can of Friskies and pouring the clump into the bowl while trying—and failing—to avoid Walter’s head as he fiended for his bowl. Walter still had some pureed chicken on his nose.

A fading cluster of daffodils sat in a vase by the microwave. The only sources of light streamed in from the window above the sink and hovered below the oven light. The low buzz from the fridge was a constant backdrop to the click of the wall clock—one that looked painted by you at some point in… elementary school? Bruce didn’t want to judge.

You picked at your bizarrely lemony noodles and stared at where the smear of your mom’s blood had been.

“Don’t like it?”

A piece of basil stuck between your teeth and it practically sent you spiralling; it would’ve been less annoying if your mom wasn’t currently being monitored and if she hadn't banned you from coming back.

“Do you need anything from home before I head over?” You stood in the hallway between your room and theirs, trying to gauge what might be most helpful. Slippers? Change of clothes? Bruce had been playing with Walter in the living room—playing used very lightly, as Walter refused to leave his side, and the man looked like he might’ve never seen a real-life cat before.

“The doctors are discharging me Monday morning, stay put. Throw on a movie for you guys.”

“Mom,”

Your dad had chimed in about how ‘right’ your mother was, and that they expected to see more energy in Bruce’s complexion by the time they arrived. “Let that boy sleep.”

The noodles looked slimier by the second. You shoved another shell into your mouth. “Not like there’s anything else.”

“Is there any fast food around?”

“Next town over there’s a Taco Bell.”

You didn’t sound particularly enthused, but maybe you’d like it more than what was in front of you. Bruce finished his second apple, his stomach a rock, only eating so you wouldn’t worry. His hunger cues were made even more fucked since starting the medication. In fact…

“Gonna grab something from the car.” He could’ve stepped across the kitchen, but he didn’t, opting for the long way around. It felt too sacred to step on the linoleum in front of you while you gazed at it so wistfully. Whenever he started feeling helpless, he reminded himself he’d cleaned the blood and soup, and at minimum, brought you here.

He was helping, even if he couldn’t take the pain away.

The brightness scared him when he stepped out, smacking him at the same second as the wind chime at the edge of the porch. The handle to the car burned his palm, and the leather of the seat stung his elbow as he reached into the backseat. Rustling into his bag, pulling out his meds, then a dry swallow. He capped the bottle, shut the door, and jogged up the ramp. He paused with his hand on the rusty doorknob.

He took in the smell of the breeze. Freshly cut grass. No burnt rubber, car fumes, vomit, or cigarette smoke tainting it. Shit. After breathing this all your life, how the hell had you managed in Gotham?

Melancholy called if he dared to linger, so he pushed his way inside. Walter jammed into his ankle again, giving him a small bite that didn’t hurt, nor break skin. Just in the hour he’d been here, he’d learned that meant he hadn’t given the cat enough attention. He knelt to pet it—him, damn—and startled when you emerged. Carpet really muffled foot sounds, didn’t it?

“Actually, there might be a taco truck open. I forgot it wasn’t the middle of the night.”

“Jesus, Bruce.” You sat back in the passenger as he awkwardly loaded his taco with sauce.

Bruce side-eyed the stuff you practically slurped with each bite. Verde sauce was always the mildest; the angry, orange-red hazard you globbed on was the real enemy. He hovered the bite in front of his lips, wary.

“Go for it.” You watched as he loaded sauce on the first bite, and cringed when he tasted it. He was making the same mistake you had a handful of years ago—assuming green meant mild, not holyshitwhatthehellisthis. You hadn’t listened when your dad warned you, and Bruce also seemed the type to learn by fire.

He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments. The flavors were rich, complex; the meat seasoned with so much depth it made the ‘top shelf’ shrimp at the meetings taste like cardboard. An acidity hit him, and an “Mm!” slipped out.

You grinned, never seeing his eyes light that much before. “Looks religious.”

He took another bite, basking in it. Maybe Alfred could learn how to make this. Why hadn’t he before? He went in for a third chomp, not finished chewing, not really caring.

“Oh, shit,” his lips tingled, then burned, and his tongue became very apparent. He glanced at the tea in your cupholder, regret washing over him in waves at the ‘No, thanks’ text he’d sent while you waited in line minutes before.

The backdrop of your laughs quieted him a bit, and he made the mistake of rubbing under his sunglasses in his distraction.

“Bruce!”

“Fuck.” Pain slammed against his eyelid. He heard a crunch somewhere, maybe plastic…?

Glasses off.

“Open your eye.”

You poured the dregs of the bottled water from the hospital into his eye, and it cascaded down his chest and pooled into his lap; he felt the slight coolness start to soak through to his thighs. Blink, blink, blink…

“So you can track every centimeter of a crime scene,” you capped the empty bottle and tossed it to the floor as you sat back in your seat. “But some salsa throws you off?”

“Guess Alfred spares me.” He thudded against the seat, shying away from the hot sun jabbing into his skin like he traced it with a magnifying glass. Was there a different sun here? Wasn’t the Pacific Northwest supposed to be dreary and cool? He squinted on each blink, right eye drenched in lukewarm water and adaptive tears.

You finished your tacos, crumpling the foil and taking a sip of jamaica. Never would he have thought rural America would hold more cultured food dividends than he’d encountered in Gotham. Then again… he never went out during the day.

“Maybe if you went out more,”

Reading his mind again. He folded the wrapper around the rest of his food and buckled his seatbelt. You questioned if he was safe to drive, and he scoffed at the clear two blocks it would take to get back to your neighborhood. “I’m good.”

You followed suit, making quick work as the buckle was in direct sunlight. It wasn’t lost on you how he didn’t even turn the car on until you clicked in. So concerned with other’s safety, but none of his own. Curious.

“Whoa,”

You glanced up to see a tractor hogging the road in front. Some hay stuck between its plates.

“Can they do that?”

You laughed at how floored he was. “You’re starting to make me feel like this place is alien.” Sitting up straighter helped your back, and seemed to soothe him. “I’ve gotten stuck behind tractors hundreds of times. And those tacos aren’t even the best in town.”

Bruce hadn’t turned onto the main road yet, the right turn signal clicking diligently while he peered with a ridiculous amount of suspicion at the green behemoth.

“I know another route.”

He side-eyed you as you made him do an illegal u-turn, which you happily pointed out was precisely in his wheelhouse due to his vigilantism—’just make a quick getaway in this… SUV?’—and had the both of you set on a dusty gravel road, flanked on both sides by old wire fencing, the occasional goat or cow, and thick lines of Douglas Fir. You asked a question you might’ve already found the answer to in the roaming of his eyes, but figured it polite to ask. Bringing a little bit of him here. “We only went to the outskirts of Gotham when it was dark. Is it like this?”

He made a sound that was half-bewildered, half tired. You couldn’t imagine he’d slept on the plane, and who knew the last time he’d slept prior to the accidental post-club nap. “No.”

Gravel’s crunch made up the decibel disparity between here and there, and once you thought a halfway point had been reached, you instructed him to turn the car off. “Hop out.”

Hardly enough warning to bring the car to a complete stop, it startled him when you opened his door. “All the way off, Gothamite.”

He removed the keys from the ignition and stepped out carefully, ensuring his ankle was supported in the thick, slippery gravel, and winced as he shut the door behind him. Body tense. Pupils constricting. But no flashes came. Only your grin and the foggy background of flying dust particles and green fields.

“Quiet, right?”

Quiet was an understatement, silent was too benign. He could practically hear his organs. The sky was bright, and every splash of color felt punctuated. Some orange and yellow clusters nestled in the trees and bushes. Low-hanging clouds fluffed the tops of the trees in the mountainous skyline. There wasn’t a building or human in sight.

“Very.”

Standing with him in boring gray gravel helped you realize at warp speed why you’d idolized the city in the first place: shit was boring. Wanna have a rock fight? Get tetanus trying to climb over the barbed wire to talk to a cow that doesn’t care, maybe get shot by a rogue farmer in the process?

Thankfully, a car pulled off where you had and started down the long stretch. You folded your hands in your lap and pretended to care about what passed the side window, trying and failing not to worry about what he thought past the ‘it’s nice’ comment he’d placated you with at the hastened getaway. Trees, grass, and gravel. Riveting.

A few minutes later, he waited at the intersection that looked like the only one in town; a bar of sunlight fell onto his arm, prickling along the already pink skin. He jumped when you touched him, and tried to work the mechanics on why he’d been so off guard the past day. “I have some aloe in the bathroom. Want to get that before it peels.”

The light turned green, and he tried to focus on the road while battling thoughts of you touching him again. It was too overwhelming here. The trees that towered like skyscrapers herding the city limits. The wind that drowned out every other sound, yet still not louder than a whisper. How, for once, he swore he could hear your breathing when he wasn’t holding you.

Bruce’s hands tightened around the wheel, and you tore at your cuticles. Were you being too overbearing?

You didn’t have time to ask. He parked, unbuckled, and walked to your side like he had somewhere important to be. The thought of him opening the door for you was agonizing, so you stumbled toward the porch before he could start and thoughts could meander. If you paused too long to think about how alone you both were, you knew you’d clam up. Not very conducive to being a good host.

Walter ignored you to make a beeline for his new best friend, and as you motioned for him to follow you down the hallway, you wondered if you shouldn’t keep them apart. At this rate, Walter might prove more devastated by his absence than you.

“Is that your room?”

Yellow-gold light popped on in the bathroom with a pfh, a familiar sound you’d never noticed before. “You can check it out if you want, I need to find that gel.” And I don’t want to be in there alone with you for longer than necessary. I might combust.

Surreal was the word bouncing across his thoughts as he strolled the small, olive-green painted room. It was evident life was lived here; the path to your bed, closet, and desk were worn from the doorway, and the brass finish on the doorknob had become tarnished from use. The bottom half of the door had nearly imperceptible grooves, likely from the cat demanding attention. Some paint was chipped by the light switch. Drawings and pictures hung askew on various walls, but the ones on your desk caught his attention.

Two photos sat on the back of your desk, one framed glittery gold, one rainbow. Dust collected in the corners of them, on an evidently used piece of furniture, like they’d been willfully ignored. In the gold frame, you looked a decade younger, leaning yourself hard toward three other girls. You almost eclipsed from view while they huddled close. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

The glare was hitting from the overhead light on the second one, and a single spiderweb covered in dust curled around his palm when he grabbed it. His chest tightened looking at you on a beach, eyes puffy, looking even younger than the previous photo. You leaned your head on one of the same girl’s shoulders, smiling weakly toward them with glistening eyes. They looked at each other, not at you. They seemed toasty in fleece zip-ups while your lips chapped from the chill. He set it down, heart knocking angrily against his ribs.

“Bruce?”

You stood in the doorframe, one hand on the knob. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah?”

A green tube got tossed to him, and he tried not to visibly deflate at not having your hands apply it. For the better. His body was hot as it roared into hyperdrive.

“How’s your eye?”

“Fine.” You’d been a part of that friend group for at least a few years, and a million questions came to a simmer. Was this the friend group that you’d accurately described as not giving a shit about you? And who had taken that photo? Your parents, theirs, another ‘friend’? What were they thinking not intervening? If these were the ones you framed, too—

“You have to actually use it for it to work.” You leaned against the doorframe with your arms crossed, eyeing the patch on his forearm that looked redder than it had in the car.

Did you feel that way with him, and he just wasn’t catching it? Though, he’d seen your eyes crinkle enough to memorize it and could recognize your laugh in a crowd. Did they even know what it sounded like?

“You sure you’re good?”

He cleared his throat as if that were any defense against his inner machinations, and squirted some of it onto his arm. The mindless slip of it across his skin cooled him enough to refocus. Change the subject. “Alfred is going to your apartment at eight. Got a small moving crew.”

“Oh, right.” You stared at the ground, and he wished he could press a button to spill out things unsaid. Would you miss the place? He’d only been there a handful of times, but even he felt a pang.

“I can call them. You don’t have to move out before you’re ready.”

“No way.”

He wanted to press you, but knew better. He snapped the lid shut on the aloe. “Do you want your things moved to the same room?” Your room, but again, he couldn’t press it. Those photos made him so upset he was about to call the construction lead of the Wayne Foundation, get your name up on Wayne Tower instead of his. How’d they like seeing those news articles after leaving you in the dust?

“The room above yours?”

He nodded, channeling his frustration into the divot on the plastic cap. Or his room.

“Sure. Any room’s fine.”

A gray feline curled his way between your legs, meandering lazily toward where he stood at the desk. Walter stretched his paws up the leg of it and yawned. Bruce glanced at your bed, then to the bags under your eyes.

“You should sleep.”

When you didn’t immediately balk at it, he excused himself, knowing it was long overdue. The cat followed in tow, his tail tapping his shin. You started to move down the hallway, but Bruce wasn’t having it. “You’re exhausted.”

“A little.” Your shoulders hunched forward, and your breathing was deep and slow like you were already there.

Bruce heard his order in Alfred’s voice, and once again, felt a little closer to the old man. “Sleep.”

Walter meowed in agreement, and your mouth tilted into a smile. Bruce swore he could survive off of that alone. “Seems I’m outnumbered.”

“A little,” he teased. How you siphoned off his anger so quickly, he might never know. Walter climbed up his leg, and he reached down to pick him up—under the armpits, not touching the belly. The way your eyes lit up then, that could keep him warm in the coldest Gotham winter. You shut the door, slowly, but kept it open a sliver.

You fell asleep in the single worst position your body had ever been in, one leg off the bed entirely, hand bent hard at the wrist, neck tucked to your chest at such an angle you wondered how the hell you’d managed to breathe.

The cracked window let a frog’s croak into your room, the backdrop of grasshoppers making your head buzz. You sat with your head in your hands, rolling your shoulders to wake yourself. So soothing, the silence… moonlight filtered through the half-broken blinds, hatching patterns onto your comforter.

Oh, shit!

You separated the blinds and peeked up at the sky—cloudless. Yes!

You threw on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt, and grabbed a blanket out of your closet before racing out. Walter batted at Bruce’s knee as he sat up from the couch and stared at you with alarm.

“Is your mother alright?”

“Yeah,” you yanked on your shoes and tossed the blanket at him. “Put on a jacket.” You flashed him a smile to show that it was fine, and rushed to the kitchen to fill a water bottle. The image of his inky hair mussed from your parent’s couch would hold you tight later, when you were inevitably alone in bed again.

Bruce was confused; moving with such urgency so late at night, yet nothing was wrong? Walter swatted at him when he stood. A subtle shhk of water from the kitchen sink let him know where you were—thank god Wayne Tower wasn’t carpeted, or he’d never be able to avoid his surrogate helicopter parent, who he realized he was emulating more and more every day he spent with you.

Was it normal to worry so much about someone?

He realized how tired he’d been after he blinked and you were driving onto gravel. At first it was strange to have you in control, but he moved away from the idea when he started feeling how much he liked it.

It was impossibly dark outside of the car; headlights were the only thing that gave any guidance, but they hardly made a dent. Sitting in a moving car with his hands not on the wheel felt so foreign it took until you parked on the side of a disastrously isolated road to pinpoint the last time he hadn’t been the one driving—and not due to crisis. Years, it must’ve been. Over a decade.

He stilled before exiting the car, only hopping out to be able to protect you against a coyote if one appeared. You’d rolled the windows down for a portion of the drive, and he heard one howl. He’d been stiff the next five minutes, struggling to conceptualize how to apprehend one. Sacrifice himself, hope his meat took long enough to chew on that you could make a getaway?

It couldn’t be normal to worry this much.

You tossed him the blanket after he’d carefully placed it in the backseat, and chastised him for not bringing a coat. “You’re going to get annihilated by mosquitos, Bruce.”

Going to get annihilated by you. A silent prayer rattled within him for a different time, a different world, where he might be anyone else. In a timeline where you might sneak looks at him like he had at you the whole drive, where panels of moonlight framed his eyes instead and your breath caught from the passenger each and every time.

“It’s gonna be nasty laying in a buggy field, but I’m willing to endure it for your first time.”

“My what?” His knees went weak as he felt the blanket’s fabric differently now. He dug his hips into the front fender for balance. First time? Certainly you didn’t mean… did you really think he’d never—

“C’mon.”

Tentatively, Bruce stepped away from the car and followed you off the gravel road, eyes trained on your phone’s flashlight lighting the foot in the front of you. There was no reality where you’d actually want to have sex out here, right now, with your mother still in the hospital. You’d regret that. You were riddled with grief, and he wouldn’t take advantage. Did you see him as a weapon to hurt yourself with? Only asking for sex when drugged, overwhelmed, depressed. Did it help you de-stress? Could he help you with that?

No. Obviously, no. You were just as inebriated now as at Penguin’s club. Your mom was in the hospital, for god’s sake. Thought she was comatose, why was he even entertaining this for a second?

You laid the blanket out and adjusted the corners, pulling them tight before you plopped onto your back. Your phone sat on your chest, the flashlight illuminating your face just enough to tell you were looking at him. He froze in place.

“Lay down here.” Rolling onto your side made more space, and you patted the area right beside you. His cheeks burned, sweat beading on his forehead. He plopped down near you, sitting, not wanting to get closer. You pouted, maybe mockingly, exaggerative, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

“No, lay.”

“What are you doing?” He’d be firm. Gentle, but firm. Very gentle, but firm. He couldn’t seem to draw in a full breath.

“You’re like the worst person to surprise.”

“Let’s go back to your place.”

“Seriously?”

Biting the same spot on his cheek made it start to bleed.

You gestured to the sky, letting your arm flop down on the blanket. “I wanted you to see the stars, jeez.”

He flushed with relief, his brain fighting to catch up. “I was getting in my head,”

“Why’d you think I brought you here? I thought it was obvious.”

You watched him finally lay, the brush of his shoulder against yours cording electricity up your spine, making you sit up to dig into him. “No, really. What did you think it was about?”

He had never looked more nervous, and your interest piqued. “Just a misread.”

Your heart was going through it tonight, currently jackhammering. “Can you stop being so cryptic all the time?”

Heavy, awkward, long-winded sigh. Your eyes flashed. What?!

“When you said first time,”

You gasped, all conscious thought vanishing. “You thought I brought you to this lumpy field to hook up?”

“It was confusing,” he admitted. He could blend in with a tomato, and a glow grew in your stomach.

“Now I know what scares you.”

He scoffed.

“You looked scared, Bruce. Truly terrified.”

“Uh huh.” He didn’t doubt he looked it, but for different reasons than you assumed. Falling into you would be a hole he’d never crawl out of. Even burning with embarrassment, feeling the godawful sear of it on the surface of his skin, he wouldn’t rather anyone see it but you.

“Would it be?”

“First time?” For how much he wanted it, it felt strange to talk about it with you. Strange in an enigmatic way. “No.”

“So you’ve stargazed before?” How many women had been so lucky to live the depth of your imagination?

He laughed under his breath, and the glow in you morphed into something harsher. “A few times.”

“Didn’t know you got out like that. Thought you didn’t have time.” Jealousy was its shape, and suddenly the field, the sky, none of it existed. Just him and his extracurriculars.

“Not anymore.”

Bruce was painfully aware how he had time right now, that he was here with you and not there, and really, really, really hoped that for the first time since he’d known you, you didn’t read his thoughts and pluck out exactly what he didn’t want to talk about.

“Is that really all you do? Be Batman?”

Why did dodging a bullet feel so disappointing?

“Guess I hallucinated all those meetings, too.” He hid it with a playful jab, and it worked, and his body heaved with relief when you nudged him, smirking.

“You know what I mean.”

He turned to the stars, noticing how brightly they twinkled; that wasn’t just a nursery rhyme? Was the smog in Gotham that bad? “Just about. Only the past four years.”

“Got your Bachelor’s in vigilantism.”

He snorted, which made you laugh, which made him smile and everything hazier. “I’m trying to stargaze.”

“Mm. Am I ruining the mood?”

“Everyone’s into different things.”

Light, pleasant sounds bubbled out of both of you, and you relaxed under the moon, settling into the eventual silence with ease.

For a few moments the stars were all-consuming. Fluttering and bright, but slowly pushing him younger, smaller. This compaction had him instinctually looking to you for an escape—but your attention focused on a constellation to your right. The space between distraction curdled his stomach, and forced a pause.

Tension. Weight.

Bruce kept his eyes trained on you; sloping down your cheeks and bridge of your nose down to your chin; equal parts begging to magnetize, to pull himself from this feeling, and seeking to admire you.

Tightness.

He threaded his focus back to the sky, though it stayed buried in the thick of his chest. No sounds existed here. Not even the wind.

A whirl of smoke twisted his stomach, and the tension intensified to a tourniquet. As his vision fuzzed and he pulled out of his body, he focused on a particularly bright star. Iris had always said to grow increasingly singular and intentional in these moments. What was there to do when he felt placed in a deprivation tank? No lights, cars, horns, ambulances, voices.

What would his mind do here if left to itself for too long?

“So, what do you think?”

He was trying not to, desperately in fact. “It’s nice.” It came out too mumbly, and he held his breath.

And there you came knocking. “What’s up?”

Cold breath plunged into his lungs as he locked eyes. “Too quiet.”

“You look tense.”

Bruce looked away and snorted, a bit frustrated—and relieved—that you’d read him. The quilt bunched between his shoulders, or was it a rock? “I am.”

“Why?”

He shifted. Yeah, it was a rock.

“Tell me.”

He shoved words out without care for how they tumbled. “Never been where all I can hear are my thoughts. Especially not since…” God, it didn’t make it any easier, he had these defenses for a reason… “The schizophrenia.”

The word was dry on his tongue, far too severe to be real. Bricks balanced on his Adam’s apple, catching his voice, trapping him underneath. Shame.

“Think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say it.”

He turned sharply at the pride in your tone. No pity, no coddling. His bones filled with helium. “I’m confused why you’re normal about it.”

You shifted, your gaze dropping to your feet. “My best friend had it.” Was he making you uncomfortable? Did you not want to tell him? You didn’t have to tell him. You didn’t have to tell him anything. You owed him nothing. Absolutely nothing. “Didn’t want to make it about me, so I never brought it up.”

He fixated on the word friend like how Walter had the laser he’d grabbed on the key holder by the door. “One of the people who hurt you?”

“You remembered?”

The waver in your expression sliced him clean open, a protectiveness swelling in like a sneaker wave that slipped his filter. “I remember it all.”

Oh. You held his stare a millisecond too long, as if you could measure it with him, like time didn’t fold in on itself with his gravity. “No. She didn’t. Didn’t mean to, anyway.” You stammered on, verging on hyperverbal. “Met her in second grade, she left at the end of seventh. She’d always hear and see things, but she didn’t get diagnosed until fifth grade when they pull you out of classes to do evaluations and stuff. We had a whole game about it. I came up with it to make it less scary for her. We named the hallucinations Oinky. She had a guinea pig that would not stop talking, so, naturally.”

He just watched you, carefully, and your stomach flipped. Fuck.

It made sense now. How gently you held him, the complete lack of hesitation you had when he’d clung to you—and probably scared you with his bugged-out eyes and shaking torso. But maybe not.

You’d done this before. Something so terrifying for him was like coming home for you. Hmm.

“What was her name?” He knew you wouldn’t like it, and since he’d promised, he wouldn’t do it without your permission, but if he could find some photo, some video—

“Don’t even think about it.”

Did he even need to speak around you? He turned to see you staring back with a knowing glance. Like it was his hobby to stalk childhood friends, lost connections. He hadn’t even stalked Tommy, though he hadn’t needed to. Still in New York, being the perfect surgeon. Probably…? Did he have a problem with stalking?

“Cooper.” You admitted, crossing your arms over your chest and biting your lip like he’d interrogated it out of you. “Not getting a last name, though.”

Bruce withheld a sarcastic, ‘Don’t need one,’ and flicked his gaze back to the stars. He didn’t realize he was grinning until he felt your eyes on him and it pulled back the veil. He hadn’t felt so in his body in ages.

Talking about Cooper, with her light brown hair that skirted her shoulders and the hyper way she talked next to you in middle school English, made you sore. How suddenly she’d left without a trace reminded you a lot of him. Like you were on the precipice of the rug pulling out from under you, and feeling all of that again. All for the crime of choosing the wrong seat, and letting yourself get a little too comfortable.

Why was he tolerating you, and why wasn’t he admitting that’s what this was? Your head was a storm of swirling leaves, spiraling toward a tornado.

“Do you just want to fuck me?” It blurted out of you, from a depth of insecurity you weren’t willing to admit to and hoped he wouldn’t tug on. You’d unravel. More than you already were. An unbearable amount.

“What do you mean?” His head snapped to you like a gun had gone off, that furrow back between his brow.

“If it’s not because of guilt about Batman, then maybe it’s this power fantasy of getting to fuck the person who knows, I don’t know.” Oh god, this is so embarrassing. Kill me now. You’d opened a box you couldn’t very well close.

His sigh made you squeeze your eyes shut, tense. “I care about you. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because you’re you.” Well, guess it’s all coming out.

“I’m not inhuman because I have money,”

“No, I mean, I kind of think that, sometimes.”

Bruce’s stare fixed on you with a pressure that could’ve drilled a hole. What were you not saying?

“Outside of knowing, I’m not special. And I don’t mean that in some bullshit flatter-me way, just, logic.”

“No, I don’t just want to fuck you.” And yes, you are. The most. The silence from before, the lack of wind, of cars, of people, became devastatingly, intimidatingly barren. He hoped you couldn’t hear the crack in his heart. At how your tears were barely contained. At the bass in your voice he hadn’t heard before. “Did I make it seem like—?”

“No. I’m trying to find an explanation.”

“You think I’m above you.”

He watched you nod, then shake your head. “I don’t know. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I do. You’re really confusing to me.” Your lip trembled.

“How do we level the playing field?”

You met his gaze to hold it for a few seconds, as if to say you were thinking about it, too. About bitter words shouted on the way to the subway neither of you arrived at. About immovable objects. Mutually-assured destruction.

“I don’t know. You can be really warm, then really cold. I don’t like it. But I don’t want to change you. Then it’d be fake. And I hate that.” And I deserve the coldness, you bit back.

Hate rolled off your tongue with a cutting ferocity. He adjusted, nervous; this felt prickly. “But you still don’t trust me.”

“I trust you. Just not about me.”

“Interesting.”

“What?”

“I’m reliable about everything but you.”

“I’m the only one who knows.”

He held the gaze you wouldn’t meet. “You’re fixated on that.”

“Of course I am. It’s like being—”

“What if I like that you know?” His heart pounded. What if you knew that he liked you, too? What if he told you, right now, and settled the score for good?

You laughed. His shoulders sank.

“I do.” Indignance deepened his furrowed brow, fire burning in his throat.

“Yeah, right.”

“Hated it initially. Now it’s relieving.” It became a vow; it was suddenly his life’s mission to convince you.

“Ha-ha.”

“What will convince you I don’t have an ulterior motive?” Would he have to overstep and spill it all? What if he admitted that he treasured every touch, glance, syllable from you, that each minute he spent made him more sure you were absolutely perfect, that everything might’ve happened for a reason; that ecstasy overwhelmed him whenever you smiled and laughed, even right now when he was frustrated, when you didn’t believe him, when you didn’t believe in yourself. Admitted that you weren’t the problem, he was, that he wasn’t good enough for you; that he was a monster, a curse, and he couldn’t bear to bring you into it any more than he already had. That he burned, ached, died against every word unsaid and every restrained touch.

“Nothing.”

The balloon popped at how plainly and surely you spoke. Your profile, half in view, reminded him of how you looked with your friends. Resigned, isolated. Defeated. It wasn’t fair.

He heated with anger, the injustice surging him with newfound energy, and he propped up on his elbow to stare into you. “I saw the photos on your desk. With your friends. From what you’ve told me about them, they didn’t care about you.”

He could’ve sworn the bottom of your eyes sparkled with tears under the moonlight. You didn’t respond.

“And you said they were your closest friends?”

“Yeah.”

Dejected. Worn. God, you didn’t deserve this! “Look,”

“Bruce,”

“I’m not them.”

“I know you aren’t.”

“I’m not like the people at the meetings, either.”

“Obviously.” A bit of you was creeping back in, and you successfully sniffed up tears.

He hadn’t made it easy. He saw it so clearly now, pale blue waters stilling to inspect the mossy bottom; how he kept you at a distance, and how you’d taken it: as rejecting, as not being enough, as him not caring. He cared so much it scared him. Was it possible to tell you without pulling you under? “I’m sorry for being cold. It’s not you. I’m really not used to this.”

When you looked at him, there was something you hadn’t seen before to this extent. Like his mask had fallen off. Something in his ‘really’ gripped you like a vice. He wasn’t used to this at all. He meant it like stumbling in the dark in a room you’d never been in, like trying to speak a language you’d never heard. You hid a tremble. Tried to, anyway.

He meant he’d never navigated this. It felt impossible to imagine him as anything but popular; for his family name and legacy, for how he looked, for his bank account. When had that changed, and the haughty man you cursed became an unparalleled comfort?

He was dry. Nerdy. Insular. Shy. Desperate, reaching. Intent on being understood. Intent on being understanding, and you did the same with him. Because you’d never had it.

Two truths slotted into place with an intimidating thunk. Bruce was kind and self-sacrificing, but Bruce was also honest and straightforward. Which meant… you swallowed, hard. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t want to be. And fuck, that scared you.

“Let me show you something different. Let me care about you.”

It was like he’d shanked you—at least, what you imagined it might feel like. A sharp, deep ache in the stomach from an external force that was currently rearranging your organs. Vulnerable. Laid-out. Seen. By the most observant man in the history of the universe.

You wanted it. You wanted it so badly you wanted to throw up, but it would kill you if he cared and you let yourself feel it, really feel it, and then he stopped; you clung to every breath your mom took, watched her breathing every night through the crack in your parent’s door ever since you thought that you might lose her. Let me care about you = let me kill you when I pull the plug.

Was it better to feel this than nothing? Under the duress of these fucking blue eyes, your footing slipped. He cared. And wasn’t that all you ever wanted—someone to choose you when they didn’t have to? Now that someone was, you couldn’t breathe.

You’d meant some plebeian from high school you forgot about. You’d meant a cashier in this forgotten town that had the same shift as your day job. You’d even meant an ex coming back and apologizing, some big romantic gesture momentarily overwhelming the suffering they put you through. Not Bruce. He was too…

He said your name with a question mark, sloping and tender.

Him. Too big, too consuming, too real, and overwhelmingly elusive. Your heart bruised itself against your ribs as you struggled to grasp the reality of Bruce Wayne.

Way, way too real. With a big, consuming, terrifying knife that broke skin at Arkham, bled when you wailed into his shirt, and hit deep tissue when he’d hugged your mom like they’d met a thousand times. Why couldn’t he be around that long?

“O-kay.” Stuttered on the dismount, but that was alright. He made you feel like everything was alright, and nothing was.

“What do you want to do tonight?”

Cry. Kiss. Cry some more. Stare at Walter. Hug Mom. Hug him. Shove him away and bolt the lock. “I don’t know.”

“What did you not get to do with your friends?”

You’d only dreamed someone might look at you like he was right now. Like the cosmos orbited you alone. You looked away just in time to see a shooting star—or maybe it was a regular one smeared by the moment. A fluffy childhood dream fluttered to you, and you alluded to it quietly, letting him know it was okay to go back to cold, distant Bruce and stop drinking you in. “It’s dumb.”

“Let me.” He didn’t look away, didn’t flicker in intensity. Like he’d do anything if you asked, with or without reciprocation, because he only existed for you. “No judgment.”

You hated the hope that filled you at his earnestness, and how helplessly you followed him; like a loose petal giving in to a caress.

taglist: @noisylime @jonathancranesgf @hedonisticwomen @vampiresvengeance @serynstorylover @crayzmarvelfan800 @dreamer7black @sarcasticwalrus0 @sad-ghouls @smellingbats @eddiew-k @kha0sblossom @omithemonki @badbishsblog

48 notes · View notes

nocturnebite · 1 day ago

Text

⟡ 𝙒 𝙃 𝙀 𝙉⠀𝙒 𝙀⠀𝙒 𝙀 𝙍 𝙀⠀𝙒 𝙃 𝙊 𝙇 𝙀 {pt 6} 𝙒 𝙃 𝙀 𝙉⠀𝙄 𝙏⠀𝘼 𝙇 𝙇⠀𝙁 𝙀 𝙇 𝙇⠀𝙄 𝙉 𝙏 𝙊⠀𝙋 𝙇 𝘼 𝘾 𝙀 ⟡

⟡ 𝙒 𝙃 𝙀 𝙉⠀𝙄 𝙏⠀𝘼 𝙇 𝙇⠀𝙁 𝙀 𝙇 𝙇⠀𝙄 𝙉 𝙏 𝙊⠀𝙋 𝙇 𝘼 𝘾 𝙀... You don’t remember everything—just flashes. Pain. Fear. Jungwon. He stayed, even when you forgot why he mattered. But now, the past is resurfacing, one broken piece at a time—and with it, the truth he tried to protect you from.

⋆˙⟡. tw: memory loss || slight trauma/PTSD || kidnapping references || medical recovery || past violence || organized crime || dissociation || ⋆˙⟡. pair: crime fighter jungwon x female! reader ⋆˙⟡. wc: 2.51K

⋆˙⟡. ash's notes: HEY! this is it! finally finished! thank you for all the notes and support on my first fic! its been so fun to write and get some feedback! i'm currently working on a few more works so stay tuned for those! in the meantime i hope you enjoy the finale of... 𝙒 𝙃 𝙀 𝙉⠀𝙒 𝙀⠀𝙒 𝙀 𝙍 𝙀⠀𝙒 𝙃 𝙊 𝙇 𝙀 ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

You’ve sat up again. Your hand rests gently on the top of your head—right where he touched you. He smiles softly. And leaves.

It’s been about three months since you left the hospital.

You’ve been home now—familiar walls, familiar furniture, none of it feeling quite real. Your body is healing faster than your mind. The memories come and go like shadows: some distant, some sharp enough to sting. You still don’t remember everything. And Jungwon… he hasn’t left.

He keeps his distance, but never fully disappears. A good morning text. A soft knock on your door before he drops off food. The way he lingers a second too long when you catch him outside your building. He’s always around. Always hoping.

You don’t know why, but sometimes—on the heavier days—you ask him to come with you. You never really explain why. You don’t have to. Today is one of those days.

The doctor’s office is quiet. Sterile. You sit stiffly in the chair, nervously fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve while Jungwon sits across from you, watching quietly, his leg bouncing slightly. His presence feels like gravity, like something tethering you here. Keeping you from drifting off completely.

The checkup goes well. You’re stronger. Healing. Physically, you’re okay. But then they ask you to meet with the psychiatrist again.

They begin the memory testing.

At first, it’s simple things—your name, the date, your address. You answer as best you can, but when they pull out the photos, everything shifts.

A blurry image of a dimly lit room. A bloodstain on concrete. The frayed ropes that bound your wrists.

You stiffen.

The air feels thinner. Your fingers twitch. Your head starts to pound.

You don’t know why, but your chest is tightening, your breath coming shorter. The pictures blur in front of you like you’re falling back into something you barely escaped.

Jungwon notices. He stands up.

“That’s enough,” he says sharply, stepping between you and the therapist, gently covering your eyes with his hand.

“She needs to push through this,” the therapist insists.

“She’s shaking,” he says firmly. “She’s done.”

You don’t remember much else—just his hand slipping into yours, grounding you, the way your feet carried you out of the building before you realized where you were going.

The car is silent.

You sit curled against the window, your heart still racing. Then, out of the corner of your eye—

The restaurant.

You sit upright.

“Pull over.”

Jungwon turns slightly. “What?”

“Pull over,” you say louder, breath catching. “Please.”

He swerves gently to the curb. Before the car fully stops, you’re unbuckling, flinging the door open, and running.

“Wait—!” he calls out, scrambling to park and follow you. “Wait, slow down!”

But you don’t.

You stop right in front of the glass doors, panting. Staring at the familiar lights. The way the neon flickers. The smell of fried food lingering in the air.

His footsteps slow behind you.

He reaches out, breathless. “What’s wrong? Talk to me—”

You turn to him.

And there’s a tear running down your cheek.

His whole face softens.

“What is it?” he asks, voice low.

“I remember something,” you whisper.

He goes completely still, hand hovering near your face.

“What do you remember?”

You meet his eyes. “The date. You took me on a date before. Here.”

He smiles faintly, emotion flickering behind his lashes. “Yeah… I did.”

You take a shaky breath, staring down at your shoes, trying to sort through the pieces.

But your face falls.

And his heart drops with it.

You look up again, expression trembling. “You lied to me,” you say quietly. “You were hiding something from me.”

The blow lands hard. His whole body stills.

“I—” he tries, his voice caught in his throat. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

You step back. Just a little.

“Let’s go home,” he says gently. “We’ll talk there.”

The car ride is silent.

You stare at your hands. He grips the wheel tighter than he needs to. Every red light drags.

At your apartment, he opens the door for you. You walk in first, sinking into the couch. He follows slowly, quietly.

You look at him. Cold. Distant.

“Explain,” you say. “Because right now, all I see is a liar who hurt me—and I don’t even know why I’ve let you stay close this long.”

He swallows hard. Hands shaking slightly. He steps forward, then pauses.

“I never meant to hide from you,” he starts. “I told you about the bullying. How I trained to get stronger. That was all true. But I didn’t just stop there.”

He breathes deeply, begins to unravel it all—slowly, honestly.

You don’t say anything.

Your silence is heavy, so he continues—voice low, almost trembling.

“It started with this kid… he was younger, getting picked on by some older guys. It reminded me of how things used to be for me. I stepped in. Didn’t think twice about it.”

He shifts his weight, runs a hand through his hair.

“But I didn’t know… the guys I messed with? They weren’t just random bullies. They were part of something bigger. A gang. Real organized. Money laundering, trafficking, violence. I didn’t know until it was too late.”

He looks at you, eyes searching your face for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything.

“They came for me. Not at first. At first it was just warnings. Weird phone calls, notes on my bike. Then someone showed up at my house. Told me I had a choice: work for them… or watch everything I love fall apart.”

You tense at that.

“They knew about my mom. My sister. All my friends. They even knew about you.”

His voice catches for a moment, but he pushes through.

“They said if I didn’t work for them, they’d start with my family. And if that didn’t scare me enough… they showed me a picture of you walking home one night. Alone.”

You flinch.

“I couldn’t let anything happen to you,” he says. “To any of you. So I agreed. But on my terms.”

He begins pacing slowly, trying to control the growing storm in his chest.

“I told them I’d do what they wanted—but they couldn’t come near you again. I’d collect the money they were owed. No violence. Just in and out. And if I did that, they’d stay away from the people I cared about.”

You look at him, wide-eyed. He’s not defending himself. He’s just… explaining. As if he knows nothing will make this right.

“There were times I let people go. People who couldn’t pay. I didn’t hurt them. I couldn’t. That’s why I came home with bruises. They beat me for it. Said I was soft. Said if I messed up again, they’d ‘remind me what’s at stake.’”

He stops pacing. Swallows hard.

“But I wasn’t just doing what they said. I started working with someone. A detective. Quietly. Passing along information. I was going to bring them down from the inside. Every job I did for them was another piece of evidence I could give to the police. We were building a case.”

Your brows knit slightly. Something shifts in your chest.

He notices. He always notices.

“I was so close. The night we went out—” his voice cracks again “—that was supposed to be our last night before I handed everything over. It was supposed to be over.”

He pauses. This part hurts the most.

“But you saw my phone. The messages. You didn’t understand… how could you? You probably thought I was involved in something awful, and you left to find the truth out for yourself.”

He looks down at his hands, clenched into fists.

“Then they saw you. And before I could even stop it… they hurt you.”

You both sit in silence.

“I never wanted to lie to you,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was just… trying to keep you safe.”

He doesn’t reach for you again. He just waits, eyes glimmering, heart in his hands.

“And they took you,” he says, voice breaking. “Because of me.”

Silence hangs heavy between you.

You don’t say anything for a while.

You just… sit there, absorbing it all.

You don’t say anything at first.

Your breath is shallow. Shoulders trembling. Your fingers press into the couch cushion beneath you like you’re bracing for impact.

Then—suddenly—flashes.

They hit you all at once.

The cold. The floor. The binds.

Your wrists ache, like they remember before you do.

The shouting. The panic. The voice.

Jungwon’s voice.

Your breath catches.

A loud bang. The glint of a blade. The smell of blood. The sting in your side. His hands. Holding you. Trembling. Tears on your face that weren’t yours.

You gasp and clutch your head.

Jungwon lurches forward. “Hey—hey! Are you okay? What is it?”

Your eyes squeeze shut. The pain blooms behind your eyes like a migraine. You shake your head, jaw clenched.

“I…” you whisper. “I remember…”

His entire body freezes. “What do you remember?”

Your chest heaves. Your voice is unsteady, cracked. “You—were there. You found me. You… you were fighting them. You—tried to save me. And… I was bleeding. You were crying.”

He nods slowly, swallowing hard.

“You kept saying it was okay,” you say, a tear slipping down your cheek. “You told me you were there. That you wouldn’t let go.”

His hand twitches in his lap, aching to hold you, but he doesn’t move.

“I remember the pain,” you whisper. “I remember being so scared. But then—then you were there. And I wasn’t scared anymore.”

You lift your eyes to meet his. They're filled with confusion and heartbreak, but also something else — belief.

“I thought I imagined it,” you whisper. “In the coma. That boy. It was you.”

Jungwon's eyes fill with tears, but he blinks them away quickly.

“It was always me,” he murmurs.

You inhale shakily. “I didn’t know. I didn’t… I didn’t want to believe I forgot something like that.”

“You were in shock,” he says softly. “You had every right to forget. I should’ve told you everything sooner. But I wanted to protect you. Even if you hated me.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t hate you.”

Your voice trembles, but your eyes are honest. “I’m scared. I’m hurt. And I’m confused. But I don’t hate you.”

He breathes out like it’s the first breath he’s taken in months.

“I believe you, Jungwon,” you say quietly. “It hurts… but I believe you.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just nods, holding back the sob that threatens to break free.

The silence that follows isn’t cold anymore. It’s fragile. Tender.

You look down, curling your fingers into the hem of your sleeve. “I don’t know what happens now.”

“I’ll wait,” he whispers. “However long it takes. I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes, pressing your lips together to stop the new wave of tears.

“I’m tired,” you say.

He stands. “Okay. I’ll—um—I’ll give you some space.”

But before he can take a step, your hand reaches out and lightly brushes his.

You don’t grab him.

You just… hold.

It’s enough to make his knees weak.

You look up, your voice small. “Can you stay a little longer?”

His lips part like he wants to say something, but all he does is nod.

And quietly—carefully—he sits beside you again, like this time, maybe, you’ll remember what it feels like to let him in.

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

Time passed, but not in the way it usually does.

Not in clean lines or neat stages. Recovery came in uneven waves — flashes of memory followed by days of silence. Some days, you would look at Jungwon and swear your heart knew him before your mind did. Other days, even his name felt unfamiliar.

But he never left.

He never pushed, never asked for more than you could give. He stayed. Quiet. Constant. There — even when you didn’t know how to ask for it.

Tonight, he’s back again, sitting across from you in your living room. He looks tired, but still smiles when you glance up.

There’s something unsaid hanging between you. It’s been like that a lot lately.

You shift, pulling the blanket tighter around you. “I remembered something today,” you say softly.

He straightens just a little. “Yeah?”

You nod, eyes fixed on the mug in your hands. “It was raining. And I was crying. You were... holding me. We were in your room, I think. You didn’t say anything. Just held me like it was the only thing you knew how to do.”

Jungwon’s face softens. “That was the night your dog passed. You cried for hours. I didn’t know what else to do but sit with you.”

You finally meet his gaze. “That’s what I remember. The sitting. The warmth. How safe I felt.” A pause. “Even now… when I remember you, it’s never loud. It’s always just… quiet. Safe.”

He swallows hard, like he’s trying not to fall apart at the edges.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever remember everything,” you continue. “Sometimes it feels like trying to grab water. It slips right through.”

Jungwon nods gently. “That’s okay.”

“I don’t know what we were,” you add, voice barely above a whisper, “but I think I want to find out.”

His breath stutters. For a second, he doesn’t speak — afraid if he moves too fast, this moment will vanish.

You shift slightly toward him on the couch.

“I just… I keep remembering pieces,” you whisper. “But when you’re here, they don’t feel so scary anymore.”

And before you can stop yourself, before the nerves convince you to pull away — you lean in.

Just a little. Just enough.

A featherlight kiss, barely there, pressed against the corner of his lips.

You feel him freeze under the contact — his breath catching in his throat, his eyes wide with disbelief. You pull back slightly, about to apologize — but then his hand rises, trembling just slightly as it touches your cheek.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t deepen it. Just kisses you back — just once — like a memory he’s afraid to break.

Then he pulls away gently, resting his forehead against yours. His voice is soft, rough around the edges.

“I’ve waited so long for you to come back to me,” he breathes.

You close your eyes, a weight easing from your chest. “I’m trying.”

You sit like that for a long moment — your hand on his, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. No pressure. No expectation.

Just being.

You lean back, smile faintly through a swell of emotion.

“I don’t know what we’ll be. But I want to get there… together.”

Jungwon nods, his voice quiet and full. “Me too.”

The rain begins again outside, light against the windows.

You close your eyes, breathing it in — this peace that’s starting to return. This presence. This version of yourself that still remembers how to hope.

And then, almost to yourself, almost too quiet to hear, you whisper:

“Maybe this is how we find our way back. To when we were whole.”

Jungwon hears you.

And for the first time in a long time — he doesn’t feel like he’s waiting anymore.

Just being. With you. Not perfect. Not healed.

But whole — in a new way.

previous < > (complete! find my other works here!)

⋆˙⟡. tl: @vixensss

(read rules before asking to be added to any list ᥫ᭡. )

28 notes · View notes

cece693 · 21 hours ago

Text

Okay, so this was sent as a request, but I didn't know if the person wanted to make their ask public, so I changed it to anon. Request is as follows:

Going to silently ask for a male reader x Enoch🤭 Readers peculiarity is Shadow Manipulation. (Can absorb shadows, manipulate shadows and such) he’s from the 1700 in Germany and he’s 17. when he speaks it’s thick with a German accent. And it’s hard for the other kids to understand what he says (kind of like Enoch lol) I don’t really know a scenario rn but maybe when Miss Peregrine introduces the reader to the other kids and Enoch falls head over heels?😭

Miss Peregrine waits for the clock to strike three before opening the study doors. The children mass in the corridor, fidgeting with the kind of practiced curiosity that comes from meeting newcomers every decade or so. Enoch lingers at the back, arms folded, face arranged in its usual half-bored sneer. New arrivals seldom interest him—at least that’s what he tells himself.

Then he steps through.

The boy can’t be older than seventeen, yet something about him feels antique—a burnished look, like a portrait come walking. His clothes are plain black breeches tucked into high boots, white shirt fastened at the throat by a silver clasp worked into a crescent moon. But it’s the shadows that prick Enoch’s attention: every lantern-flame in the hall gutters as he passes, their silhouettes stretching toward him as if greeting a lost king.

"Children," Miss Peregrine began calmly, gesturing toward the newcomer, "this is Y/N. He will be staying with us from now on. Do be patient, he's from Germany so his English is limited."

"Guten Tag," Y/N murmured, voice deep, thickly accented, each syllable drawn out and wrapped in his Germanic roots. Immediately, confused glances exchanged among the children.

"What did he say?" Olive whispered, floating slightly above the ground.

Enoch rolled his eyes dramatically. "He said hello, Olive. Honestly, listen better." The children turned to look at him bewildered, yet he paid no mind, opting to stare at the ymbryne.

Miss Peregrine wore a tiny smile. “Thank you, Enoch.” She refolded her gloved hands. “Y/N, would you like to show everyone your peculiarity? Only if you’re comfortable, of course.”

Y/N’s gaze swept the hallway—wide planks, honey-light, so many curious faces—and settled on the long patch of darkness beneath the staircase. He nodded once. “Ja. I can…show.”

He stepped into the gloom. At his heels the shadows lifted, as if the house itself exhaled ink. Murmurs rippled through the children—Hugh’s bees chimed like distant bells in his stomach, Olive drifted higher on a gasp.

Y/N drew a measured breath. The darkness pooled to his palm, thick and shimmering, until it formed a sleek lupine shape. A shadow-wolf—eyes twin coals, muzzle flickering between substance and smoke. It padded forward, silent, and pressed its phantom head beneath Olive’s dangling foot. Startled, she laughed and used the makeshift step to ease herself down until her shoes kissed the floorboards.

“Danke,” Y/N said softly to the wolf; the creature wagged a liquid tail before melting back into his sleeve. As the light restored itself, every lantern in the hall burned a fraction brighter, like candles after mass.

Enoch had gone very still. He prided himself on looking unimpressed at just about anything, but now his heart ricocheted against his ribs. Marvelous didn’t begin to cover it.

Emma whistled, flames twirling at her fingertips. “That beats fire tricks, I’ll grant you.”

Bronwyn clasped her big hands together with a happy crack. “Fancy doing that again at croquet later? Could use a hound on our team.”

Y/N worried his lower lip, searching for words. “I…sorry. English is… schwer?”

Enoch pushed off the wall with a sigh that tried—and failed—to sound exasperated. “He means difficult, Bronwyn. Schwer is ‘difficult.’ Now stop gawping before he thinks we’re savages.”

Miss Peregrine arched one dark brow, but the small curve at the edge of her mouth betrayed her amusement. “Thank you again, Enoch. Now, if our newest arrival is willing, I believe tea and cherry-almond cake await in the conservatory.”

Olive’s ribbon-pinned shoes clanked as she drifted forward. “Come on then! I’ll float you there myself if you’re too lost.”

A half dozen voices chimed agreement, but Y/N’s gaze flicked instinctively to Enoch—as though the room had already decided the doll-maker was his interpreter, his anchor. Enoch pretended not to feel the heat of that attention, or the warm-prickle of pride that came with it. He jerked his chin toward the archway. “This way, Shadow-Boy.”

TIME SKIP

Over the next few months, Enoch found himself increasingly annoyed. Not at Y/N himself—but at the other children, who constantly surrounded the German boy. Horace begged Y/N to demonstrate his powers, Emma cheerfully engaged him in conversation despite their language barrier, and even Bronwyn seemed taken with his mysterious presence.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Enoch muttered, watching Y/N from afar as Hugh buzzed around excitedly. His chest tightened with irritation every time another person stole Y/N's attention.

Olive, noticing Enoch's brooding stare, hovered beside him with a knowing grin. "You look miserable. Jealous, are we?"

"Shut it, Olive," Enoch growled, cheeks darkening slightly. "I'm simply concerned that he’s going to pick up all your rotten habits,” Though the protest sounded thin even to his own ears.

Olive’s grin widened. “He’ll start floating and wearing ribbons, will he? Face it, doll-boy—you have a crush on him.”

“Do not.” “You absolutely do.” “Olive, I raise corpses for fun. You think I’m sentimental?”

Olive drifted upward until they were eye-to-eye. “I think you stitched a poppet with a moon-silver clasp exactly like the one on his collar. I saw it under your pillow.”

Enoch’s retort strangled itself; his ears burned so hot he could have animated a furnace. Before Olive could gloat further, a fresh ripple of laughter drew their attention. Y/N stood beneath the willow, shadows fanned like peacock feathers while Horace examined the shapes through a lorgnette, uttering marvellous every five seconds. Emma punctuated each compliment with a miniature firework. Hugh’s bees traced figure-eights overhead, spelling GUTEN MORGEN, which, given the time of day, made no sense at all—but Y/N applauded anyway, delighted.

Enoch clenched his jaw until it clicked.

Olive bumped his shoulder. “You know, he keeps looking this way.”

True. Between every trick and halting bit of English, Y/N’s gaze flicked toward Enoch as if checking whether the only opinion that mattered was being offered. That should have soothed Enoch’s nerves; instead it made the jealousy taste metallic—sharp enough to cut.

“Go join him,” Olive urged. “Or keep sulking and turn green—your choice.”

“Fine,” he snapped, dusting off nonexistent lint. “I’ll rescue him from that circus before someone asks him to juggle shadows.”

Enoch strode outside, boots crunching the scattered leaved deliberately loud. “Hope none of you are tiring him out. Miss P won’t be pleased if her new boarder keels over from party tricks.”

Horace adjusted his ascot, huffy. “We are merely appreciating his talent.”

“And I’m ensuring he still has enough left to spell go away next time you bother him.”

Emma smothered a snicker. Horace sniffed and flounced off, taking Hugh with him. Bronwyn ruffled Y/N’s hair—careful as a bear with a butterfly—then lumbered after them.

Silence settled beneath the willow, soft as dust.

Y/N tilted his head. “You…angry?”

“No,” Enoch lied, then folded his arms. “Maybe. Not with you. They��re like magpies—flash something shiny, and they swarm.”

Y/N’s shadows curled protectively around his ankles, mirroring his uncertainty. “I do not mind swarm,” he said, accent coloring the vowels. “Is good to have…friends.”

“Friends,” Enoch echoed flatly. The word thudded where it shouldn’t have.

Y/N took a cautious step closer. “But…you are wichtig.” He frowned, searching. “Wichtig…more than friends?”

“Significant?” Enoch offered, throat sudden dry.

“Ja. Significant.” Y/N’s smile was tentative but luminous. “You teach me words. You listen to me even when I speak German. And you give me this.” He reached into his coat pocket and produced the very moon-clasp poppet Olive had mentioned, the tiny stitches immaculate. “Found under pillow. Is…me?”

Enoch’s heart slammed. “It was a prototype. Not finished.”

“It is Schön.” Y/N stroked the porcelain cheek; shadows bled from his fingertips, tinting the doll’s eyes midnight. “Looks like yours and mine together.” He cradled it as reverently as a relic. “Danke, Enoch.”

The anger drained away, leaving him raw. “I didn’t want everyone pawing at you,” he admitted, voice low. “Every time they laugh with you it feels like—like they’re nicking pieces I haven’t had the courage to claim.”

Y/N blinked, parsing. Then: “You wish…to claim?” His cheeks pinked. “Like, hold?”

“Like hold,” Enoch confirmed, barely louder than wind in grass.

Slowly—giving Enoch every chance to retreat—Y/N closed the remaining distance. The shadows rose up behind him, forming a charcoal cloak that arched around them both, dimming the world to pewter hush. Within that cocoon, Y/N took Enoch’s hand and pressed the poppet between their palms.

“I keep?” he murmured. “It’s yours,” Enoch managed.

Y/N’s fingers laced through his. “Then I belong here.” He tapped Enoch’s sternum, precisely over the frantic drum of his heart. “Not swarm.”

A shaky laugh escaped Enoch—half relief, half disbelief. “Blimey, you’re direct.”

“Blimey…good?”

“Blimey perfect.”

At that, Y/N leaned in. It was awkward—the height difference, the uncertain angle—but the tentative brush of his lips against Enoch’s felt like a spell cast true. Shadows threaded through Enoch’s hair, cool and affectionate, while deep inside his chest something stitched itself whole.

When they parted, Y/N whispered, “No more jealous.”

Enoch smirked, but the edge had dulled to fondness. “Maybe a little jealous. Keeps the magpies at bay.”

“I will learn word for that.” Y/N pressed forehead to Enoch’s. “But first, learn…kiss again?”

32 notes · View notes

t1red-twilight · 2 days ago

Text

through the ages

part 6

content/warnings: gn!reader, angst, r lies to spencer quite a bit, abusive boyfriend (not spencer)

wc: 2.6

masterlist series masterlist s. r. masterlist

prev. part

you walked the distance from your car up to spencer’s house. if you were being honest with yourself, you were quite worried on how it was going to go. the past few months were stressful; you moved in with ian, just to quickly realize that that was not the best idea. quickly your life was becoming consumed with him.

your nights flooded with complaints about dinner and how messy the apartment was, and how you were never home when he needed you. any weekends that you had off of work it was expected that you curate all your time for him.

you were fine with that. alas, ian let you pick where you got food and folded the laundry some times. it was fine, great even. you just would have to get used to the idea of someone constantly invading your space and always needing your time. this was just how relationships worked, right? you were an adult.

it was a while since you had last seen spencer, seen any of your friends. with ian needing so much all the time, it was hard to do anything with other people. your job was demanding, you knew that. it was only fair that he got dibs on you first. and, like he always said, ‘they see you at work. i never see you.’

you reached spencer’s door and rapped your knuckles against it. almost instantaneously, spencer opened it. a large, toothless smile graced his features. the warm, dim light of his apartment backlit his lithe form. not a single overhead light on.

spencer’s apartment felt so homey, so cozy. you wished that you could stay there all the time; maybe you could watch all the seasons of doctor who with him, while he explained all the lore to you. maybe you could coax him into trying a few new foods, because you knew that he liked eating the same 6 things, two of which were coffee and tea.

you would just have to settle for waiting months in between hangouts, when ian would hang out with his friends and not make you come with. this time, you had convinced ian that he should be perfectly fine on his own. (he did not not take it well, and rolled his eyes whilst protesting loudly. you were sure that you’d be hearing more from him later.)

“hi,” spencer said. “come in, please. i have a few movies picked out that maybe we could watch. i have some hot chocolate on the stove, if you want some.” spencer grabbed your wrist gently and ushered you inside. you wondered if he had a candle or two going with the soft musk that wafted into your senses.

you looked around, taking in his apartment. he always had books covering every surface, and would never move them. ‘a method to his madness,’ he called it once. ‘i know where every book is, so i don’t see the point in moving them.’

spencer grabbed your bags and placed them on his kitchen counter, while you took off your shoes and set them in the doorway. “i haven’t seen you outside of work in so long,” he started. “i was beginning to think, that maybe you didn’t want me around.” with the tone his voice was taking it seemed like he was joking, but a lilt of honesty resided underneath his words.

you waved in apology. “sorry!” you fidgeted with your fingers. “ever since i moved in with ian, i’ve just been,” you paused, wondering how to phrase it properly. “ian has just been,” another pause. “i’m just getting used to living with someone, that’s all. its a little difficult to time manage around a whole other person.” you smiled as big as you could.

spencer tilted his head in what seemed to be confusion. “you moved in together? why didn’t you tell me?”

the look on his face sent a punch into your gut. you hadn’t told him, had you? “oh, yeah. i moved in with him. don’t worry though, i didn’t need help transferring my stuff or anything.” you tried to keep your tone as casual as possible. truth is, ian did not want you taking much of your ‘stuff’ to his apartment. that made sense though, he already had furniture and decor. why would he need you to change what he already had?

the look on spencer’s face did not dissipate completely. “okay,” he responded, sounding unsure of himself. “well, i got out your mug and cleaned it twice just to be careful. do you want any hot chocolate?”

your shoulders relaxed and you nodded. that sounded great. tonight you just wanted to relax and unwind with your best friend. spencer was what you really needed right now. he was always so grounding in a way that was so very comforting.

“do you have any snacks, spence? i’m a little hungry.” you followed him into the kitchen, watching him pour the hot chocolate into your mug.

“yeah, of course. you can eat anything you find, what’s mine is yours.” he handed the mug off to you. the warmth of the ceramic heated your cold fingers, you had been so cold lately. the spring rainstorms were really getting to you this year.

you opened his fridge and found something small that you could eat. there were extras of the item, so you wouldn’t feel guilty about eating the last of something. when you turned back around, you saw that spencer had fled the kitchen in lieu of the living room couch.

you followed suit and sat down next to him, your feet planted on the ground as you sat. spencer murmured your name, and you turned to him. “you can relax,” he said. “you’re sitting so straight, that cannot be comfortable.” you couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not. but, you rolled your shoulders back and slouched into his couch.

spencer’s couch was so comfortable, but maybe that was just his effect on the room. any room would suffice if he was in it. from the corner of your eye you could see that spencer too had sunk into his couch, but part of him still seemed a little on alert.

he kept glancing over at you from the corner of his eye. he cleared his throat, “I was thinking that maybe we could watch…” spencer’s voice trailed off as you zoned out. your vision blurred as you became very aware of your surroundings. did you still look too stiff? had ian texted you yet? there was a possibility that he would need you to come back to his apartment and help him with something.

spencer repeated your name, and you shook your head to free you of your thoughts. “yeah! that sounds great.” (what you had just agreed to, you had no idea.)

he proceeded to start something on his tv, and it looked to be something in the science fiction genre. you had expected doctor who, or maybe star trek, but this looked to be something completely different. “-the terminology they use within this is actually surprisingly accurate! some of the things that they cover weren’t actually discovered until after it was released, so it is very interesting and exciting that it has stayed so accurate over time.”

spencer had a habit of talking over shows and movies, especially when it was a piece of media that he liked. the last time you had come over (you couldn’t quite place the date), you picked the movie so this time it was his turn. you always looked forward to hearing him over-explain concepts and plot points. his face always lit up, and he got lost in himself. the lack of peering eyes and hypothetical jeering remarks provided for the best version of spencer. completely unfiltered, unadulterated.

“wait, i’ll be quiet for a second. this is my favorite scene.” the light from the television screen bored into your eyes, and you blinked in an attempt to relax them your eyes began to water just a tiny bit, so you rubbed at them with the palms of your hands. “are you alright?” spencer asked.

“yeah, i’m fine. i think i’ve just been up for a long time.” you smiled, and waved him off. you reached forward to take another sip of your hot chocolate and sat back against the couch.

spencer was silent for a moment before he asked another question. “how long have you been up for?”

you scrunched your face together, sifting through your brain as you tried to remember. for the life of you, you couldn’t recall what time you had gotten up this morning. ian had needed something, was it breakfast? and he had woken you up earlier than you had wanted. “i don’t know the exact time. ian asked me to make him eggs or something this morning. he wouldn’t let me go back to sleep.”

if you had been looking at him, you would have seen spencer pinch his brow, and open and shut his mouth a few times before speaking. “he wouldn’t-he wouldn’t let you go back to sleep?”

your eyes widened and you turned to face him. “it's not like that, he just-” you swallowed quickly. “he just needed me to run some errands with him, that's all. he doesn't like grocery shopping.”

spencer looked at you quizzically. “okay,” he said curtly. his brow was still pinched, and he began to fiddle with the tv remote in his hands. his posture had straightened just the smallest bit. you chuckled awkwardly, and tried asking him about the scene that was playing. “does he do that a lot? not let you sleep, i mean.”

your mouth went dry. why was he acting like this, like something was wrong? “sometimes?”

“what do you mean, ‘sometimes?’” it was then that you noticed he had lowered the volume of the television.

“it’s nothing to worry about,” you smiled at the tail of your statement. “his friends are important to him, so we go out with them some nights a week. he doesn’t like to leave early.” you waved it off. friends were a very important thing, and it was very crucial that ian’s friends liked you. even if they weren’t the most cordial people and called you terms you didn’t want to repeat. ian made room for your things at his place when you moved in, it was only fair you give him as many nights as he needed.

“are you okay?” spencer’s voice was hushed, his tone almost hoarse. the look that swam in his eyes made you worry.

you nodded as soon as he finished his question. “i’m great! i’m just still getting used to ian’s schedule, and i’m sure he’s getting used to mine.” you smiled again, but dropped quickly when spencer’s jaw clenched.

spencer’s head turned away from you and he stared at the wall, looking to be in thought. you mirrored him. “you know that you can tell me anything, right? i’m always going to be here for you.”

you paused, of course you knew that. spencer was your best friend and had been, practically since you met him. spencer’s hand plopped on the couch cushion in between you, palm facing upward. slowly and carefully, you placed your hand into his.

his hands were soft, and if you found the right spot you could feel his writing calluses. he squeezed your hand once, and then another time.

you sat in your thoughts for a long few moments. it had been longer than you wanted since you had last seen spencer. far too long. when would ian be demanding too much of you? you had not been immune to penny noting that you never go to the bars with the team anymore, or derek noting how much of your schedule involved your boyfriend. wasn’t this just how relationships went, though? but, how many nights had you spent thinking about him?

this silence between the both of you felt uneasy, not something you were used to. you were used to needing to fill the silence. but this, this was nonexpectant. you did not have anything to say, so you didn’t say anything.

“actually,” you broke the silence. you gulped, trying to swallow your doubts. “there’s this one thing that has bothered me.” you looked down at the floor, attempting to memorize the shade of spencer’s carpet.

he looked over at you, brow pinched. from the corner of your eye you could see him crane his neck to try and look at your face. “what?” he mumbled. you tapped your fingers against your knees, contemplating whether or not you wanted to say what you were thinking.

you glanced over at him, and took in the worry on his face. you quickly looked back down. you released your hand from his to rub at your eyes, but he gently grasped it and pulled it back down. this time, you were able muster the courage to look at him. his eyes were flicking all over your form, from your upright spine to your shaking hands.

you knew the answer to what you were going to ask him. “ian, he-“ spencer leaned in. “he wouldn’t let me celebrate my mom’s birthday.”

his brow knit even further together, if that was possible. “what? he wouldn’t let you see your mom?” he blinked furiously. “why not?”

“spencer,” you started. you clenched your fist open and closed once or twice. “spencer, my mom’s dead.” the silence from before filled the space between you, but this time it was deafening. spencer’s lips parted as he looked at you in shock. he squeezed you hand a little tighter but did not let go.

he looked down and frowned, then looked back up at you. “oh.” his voice softened. he licked his lips. “i’m sorry,” his words were short, but they were sweet nonetheless. you could tell he was being genuine, and that felt rather novice.

“ian’s friends are really important to him, and- and he wouldn’t let me stay home and make cookies or something. he said that i had to go because-“ a sob cut you off. your shoulders shook and your free hand moved to you face to wipe your tears. spencer scooted closer to you.

he let go of your hand in favor of wrapping his arms around you. you mirrored his actions, and tucked your face into his neck. there it was; his familiar calming scent. it was his laundry detergent, if you recalled correctly. you had asked once and he told you he had to get a special kind as to not irritate his skin.

spencer set his cheek on top of your head and pulled you tight to him. part of you was shocked that he was okay going this close to you, given his aversion to germs. “but spencer, germs.”

“i can manage when it’s you,” he began. “i don’t mind when it’s you. plus i know that you’re clean.” you laughed a little at that. you tightened you arms around his waist. “that’s not okay of him, no matter what you say. and i’m sorry about your mom.”

you pulled away and shook your head. “it’s fine, really. he’s not usually like that. i don’t think he realized how much i wanted to stay home.” spencer cocked his head to the side. “he’s not close with his family so his friends make up his family.” you smiled to try and lighten the heavy mood.

spencer didn’t speak for a minute. you reached up and swiped at his jawline with your thumb. “hey, don’t worry about it. if something was really wrong i’d tell you.”

his big brown eyes returned to you, and you couldn’t tell if he believed you or not.

next part

#lee’s writing <3 #spencer reid #x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic

42 notes · View notes

bluebeary-jay · 1 month ago

Text

Crawlin' back to you

Joel Miller x f!sunshine!Reader

Summary: you ask Joel for help while preparing for your upcoming date with another man. (or so it seems)

Tags: grumpy x sunshine, idiots in love, sweet sweet fluff, age gap, a drop of angst, peepaw is insecure abt his age :(, Jackson era, Joel is kind of slow but it's okay we still love him (pookie doesn't realize how hot he is), me dancing around the smut like i'm a fucking circus acrobat

Word count: 4K

A/N: sooo very long time no see 🙈 ever since the start of 2025 i'm telling myself to get back into writing but it still felt like a chore lol. but i REALLY wanted to finish this fic before tlou s2 drops so here it is!!! i'm really proud of how it turned out and i hope to write more in the near future. love you all so so much and as always, happy reading!! 💕

dividers by @saradika 🩷

Joel Miller didn't have friends.

He had a couple of buddies before the outbreak with whom he used to watch the game sometimes, but nothing more than that. Tommy didn't count, of course, because he was his brother and therefore had to be nice to him. The only other person who could put up with him was Ellie, but the kid was… a kid. As for the other people in Jackson, they were wise to keep their distance from Joel, not wanting to hang around a shadow of a man such as him.

He didn't mind. He liked the peace and quiet, and it didn't bother him one bit that everyone seemed to give him a wide berth, whispering about the danger that he was.

Well, almost everyone avoided him. You, the exact person that should stay far away from a man like Joel Miller, gravitated to him with an almost effortless ease. Even amongst all the hopeful people that created Jackson, you were the purest, brightest ray of sunshine, always helpful and compassionate towards anyone who came your way. And even though Joel wasn't exactly welcoming to you in the beginning, you never gave up and persisted – and eventually, befriended him.

And ever since the first time you spoke to him, he didn't stand a chance. You were young and pretty, and so charming with your innocent optimism… Before Joel realized, he was fantasizing about you during the lonely evenings, dreaming of your voice late in the night, and looking for you in the crowd when he was out of the house.

He was way too old to feel this kind of way, and every now and then it felt like he was balancing on a tightrope between being stupid and borderline creepy. Such a sweet girl like you wouldn't look twice at an old man like him if she knew the things that sometimes ran through his mind when he was seeing other men flirting with you, seeking the same warm light that Joel grew addicted to.

That was the poison mixed with your sweetness – even though it was irrational, with you everything seemed easier than it was.

…even falling in love.

And fall Joel Miller did. It was an embarrassing, tainted experience, especially when he remembered how much older than you he was. But he couldn't help it, and once this burning want became clear to him, he didn't really want to fight it, either.

You were everything he should stay far away from – young, pretty and so bright with your smiles, your hope, your innocence. A sinner like Joel Miller had no place in your life, and yet he couldn't muster the courage to let you go. It was selfish of him, he knew, but spending time in your company was one of the few brightsides of his life… and he didn't have many of those, lately. He genuinely enjoyed being near you – a lot more than he probably should.

That's why, when he noticed you skipping his way with a bright smile splattered across your cheeks, he felt his heart instantly lighten. It was a hard day of work at the construction site and he was relieved to finally be heading home, but just the sight of you made the weariness disappear from within his bones.

“Joel! Hi!” Something must have stirred you quite strongly, for you were practically bouncing with excitement. The words were spilling out of your mouth before he even had a chance to say hello. “I need your help, right now. Please.”

“Slow down, darlin’,” he chuckled, letting you drag him by the arm to a wall of the nearest building and away from the crowd. “You alrigh’?”

“Yeah, yes, of course.” You waved to someone passing by, totally unfazed – or maybe just ignorant – that you were being seen with him in public. “I just need your help.”

“Well, what is it?” he repeated the question and finally, you turned to face him. Joel couldn't help but match the pretty smile on your face, but it quickly faded when you blurted out your next words.

“I like someone.”

That short, simple sentence wrecked Joel’s world by the foundations. For a couple of seconds he just stared at you with his mouth slightly agape while you fidgeted with your hands nervously, but still overjoyed.

“Wh– uhh, sorry?”

“I like someone,” you repeated excitedly, as if your words weren't piercing right through Joel's heart. “And I need your help.”

All of the sudden, the world lost all its colors, as if all the meaning was sucked out of the universe just by your words.

Why it was such a surprise to him, Joel didn't know. Of course you'd sooner or later get together with someone. He should have expected it. You were young, pretty and such a joy to be around, people were gravitating towards you instinctively. Like moths to a flame.

Just like him – yet he was always destined to only get burned.

“Joel?”

You leaned closer and Joel's eyes instinctively focused on your lower lip worried between your teeth. You were obviously oblivious to his feelings, as well as the effect you had on him – otherwise he doubted you'd tempt him like that, unknowingly making his mind fixate on how perfect your lips would have felt under his touch.

But no, it wasn't his caresses you wanted. There was someone else, someone far more deserving of you, and you were asking Joel only for his help. And though it hurt him – it killed him to lose this small sliver of affection you had been giving him so far – he nodded supportingly.

“Wha… what do you need help with, sweet girl?” he asked softly, trying not to show how devastated he felt inside. Joel had no desire to hear about whoever was fortunate enough to gain your favor, but again, luck wasn't on his side.

“I made a plan to meet him,” you explained enthusiastically, grabbing his forearm. Joel looked at where your fingers touched his skin, barely listening to your words. “Tonight. And I need you to come with me.”

That woke him up from his reverie. Joel huffed and shook his head sharply, looking at you like you were out of your mind.

“No.” His tone was almost biting, but through his firm refusal, a trace of panic was slipping through. You pouted, squeezing his forearm lightly.

“Oh, come on, please? I just want to make sure everything’s perfect.”

“No,” Joel repeated, much weaker this time. “Hell no. Why would I–” Then, a dark thought bloomed in his mind and his face turned concerned. “You're worried he'd do somethin’ to you?”

“Oh, no, no!” It was your turn to shake your head, and you actually cracked a smile at Joel's worried tone. “No, he'd never hurt me.”

Your voice got softer; your smile turned serene. Joel wanted nothing more than to turn away when your eyes started to wander across his features, but again that proved to be too herculean of a task compared to the hold you had over him.

“He's kind,” you continued absentmindedly, and on the edge of consciousness Joel remembered your hand was still on his arm, tracing small lines with your thumb. “Respectful and thoughtful… A real gentleman.”

“A-and who’s he?” Joel found the courage to ask, breaking you out of your daydreams. You smiled happily again – that damned, sweet smile of yours – and removed your hand. He immediately started missing the feeling of your touch.

“You'll see.” You looked over your shoulder when someone shouted your name a street away, and waved from the distance. You gave Joel one last pleading look, clasping your hands together. “Come to the Tipsy Bison at 9. Please? You can just sit in the corner but I'll feel so much better and safer with you there.”

Once Joel looked into your beautiful, pleading eyes, he was a goner. He never could deny you anything either way.

Even when he would kill for a chance to go on a real date with you.

“Okay,” he finally caved in. “Alrigh’. I'll be there.”

The overjoyed smile you gave him was almost enough to soothe the hollow pain in his chest.

Almost.

Great. Fucking great.

Joel made another turn around the street, trying to build up the courage to approach Tipsy Bison. The flannel shirt he wore was itching uncomfortably, but he was already half an hour late and there was no time to go back home and change.

He regretted ever setting foot in Jackson. It was a nightmare situation for him, having to spend the evening in a room full of loud, drunk people and watch as you go about your date with another man. Joel thought a dozen times about making up some excuse as to why he can't chaperone your date after all. He even went as far as to beg Tommy to accompany him, just that he wouldn’t have to suffer alone, but his younger brother just gave him a pitying look, saying something about spending time with Maria tonight. Joel could always cancel, lie that he can’t make it after all… but then he remembered how hopeful and thankful you looked, and all his resolve was wavering again. He couldn't ever say no to you, even though he desperately wanted to.

He looked at his broken watch, sighing at the hour. He delayed the inevitable long enough, so with heavy steps he approached the bar at last. You asked him to go through the back door, for whatever reason, and he was too tired at the time to point out there’s nothing back there except for the kitchen and storage rooms. Whatever. You probably were already in the main hall, with your date, and either you were angry at Joel for being late, or not thinking about him at all. He wasn’t sure which one would be worse.

Once he stepped over the threshold, he carefully closed the door behind him. The racket from the bar was muffled here, but from the nearest room he could hear someone muttering. Joel swallowed heavily and cleared his throat to alert whoever was on the other side of the wall.

“Joel?” he heard your voice before you appeared in the doorway. At the sight of him your shoulders dropped and with confusion he noted that you didn’t look angry or disappointed – you seemed relieved. “Goddammit, finally you’re here. You took your sweet time, huh?”

Before he could answer, you walked forward and took his sleeve, half-dragging him behind you. Words of protest bubbled on his tongue, but they all died quickly when Joel saw the room you emerged from.

The storage shelves were decorated with fairy lights and in the middle of the room stood a small table with two chairs opposite each other. The only other source of light were a couple of candles on the table and around the room. There was food on the table – probably cold by now – and a bottle of wine. But most importantly – there was no one else in the room except for Joel and you.

While he was looking around like an absolute fool, searching for an explanation for this situation, you cautiously closed the door and walked around the man, coming to a stop by the set table with your hands clasped in front of you.

“...Well?” you asked after an uncomfortably long silence, letting out a nervous laugh. “What do you think?”

Joel blinked, not sure if you were talking to him.

“Where's the guy?”

You threw him a confused look, but truly, it was the only thing Joel could think of. He glanced around the room again, as if his mysterious competition was going to jump up from behind one of the shelves, but there was no trace of anyone else here.

“Your… your date,” he clarified after a moment and cleared his throat once more. A spark of understanding flashed in your eyes and you pressed your lips together. “It's late. Is he… He didn't set you up, did he?”

“That depends,” you finally answered softly, keeping your wary but hopeful eyes on him. “Are you finally gonna sit down?”

A cog clicked into its place in Joel's mind and he turned his head, not sure if he had heard you right. You smiled nervously and motioned to the table.

“The food’s probably cold by now, but I can heat it up. It’s your own fault, though, since I asked you to be here forty minutes ago–”

“I don’t…”

He didn’t understand. Nothing made sense, but he had to make sure, “So there’s no… there’s no date?”

You were clearly nervous, judging by the way you were fidgeting with your hands, but you sent him a shy smile nonetheless. “I mean, you’re here…”

Joel didn’t answer – frankly, he didn’t know what to say. So many conflicted emotions were swirling in his chest, blocking his throat from squeezing out even a sound. It created almost a physical pain between his ribs, especially when your eyes were still on him, so hopeful and patient.

After another pregnant pause, you let out a quiet breath and took a step forward, throwing him a lifeline since he clearly must’ve looked like an idiot. “There’s no one else coming, if that’s what you’re asking. I made all of this for you – for… us, maybe. I just…” You half-shrugged, and only now Joel realized how nice you looked, wearing a dress he never before saw you in, “didn’t know how to tell you.”

Joel swept his gaze over the room once more – the dinner, the lights, your pretty dress… and you. And it was all for him, apparently.

“Why?” he breathed, the weight of his age almost making him collapse to his knees. He desperately wanted to say something more profound than one word at the time, but his voice was failing him. Thankfully, you were always kind enough to fill in the silence.

“Why did I lie to you or why did I drag you here of all places?” You rounded the table, eyeing the decorations with a proud smile. “Well–”

“No, darlin’, why…” He shook his head. Everything felt too unreal, too sudden. And he felt so tired. “Why me?”

That made you pause and you turned to him with a surprised look, like what he just said was the last thing you expected to hear.

“What do you mean, why you?” you huffed incredulously, leaning forward against the back of the chair, and though you tried to look casual, the nervousness in the tension of your body was apparent. “You’re just… I mean, it must be pretty clear that I really like you… And I thought you might have felt the same. You know, with all the ‘darling’s’ and looking at me, and stuff…”

Was it a dream? You always looked like you were out of a dream, but something about this moment… the fairy lights, your shy demeanor, the words he never thought he’d hear from you… Joel didn't know if he was still alive or maybe that's what the afterlife looked like.

“...You could say something,” you half-joked with a trace of worry in your voice, obviously growing uncomfortable at his lack of reaction. “You know, Tommy only let me have this place ‘til midnight before they come by to restock the bar. We can at least eat and talk a little, right?”

“Did Tommy put you up to this?” Joel asked bitterly, unable to stop himself at the mention of his brother’s name. He recalled the look Tommy gave him earlier today, his excuses as to why he can’t come with him... What other explanation could there be for such a gorgeous, young woman to be interested in Joel of all people, if it wasn’t just a product of his kin’s poor humor? However, he instantly regretted asking you this when your soft smile disappeared altogether, and you wrapped your arms around yourself.

“You can just say if you don’t feel the same way,” you said dryly with an angry and hurt furrow on your brow. “No need to be a dick about it.”

You walked by him, apparently done with Joel’s accusations and grumpiness, but he quickly caught your arm before he could think better of it. You spun around, probably ready to tear into him, but he wouldn't hear a word either way – no while a vortex of doubts and questions raged in his mind. Joel didn’t know how or why you’d ever take interest in an old man like him, but he was now certain of two things.

One, you were telling the truth. For whatever reason, you really liked him – enough to plan and prepare a whole dinner date just for him.

And two, if Joel let you walk out now, he’d regret it for the rest of his life.

You must’ve noticed the change on his face when his eyes flickered to your lips because you froze, the words of hurt and disappointment drying out on your tongue. Joel swallowed and wet his lips, looking for any sign of hesitation or regret on your face, but there was nothing in your eyes but pure, fragile anticipation. He delicately put his hand on the side of your face, the rough pad of his thumb brushing your cheek slowly. Your eyelashes fluttered closed and you let out a shaky breath, and that was all it took for Joel to lean down and press his lips to yours.

The kiss started delicate, but almost immediately turned into a fervent, hungry thing, which you ardently reciprocated. Joel wanted to take his time, to test the waters and build up the anticipation until you were ready to beg for him, but he didn’t expect just how fucking good kissing you would feel – and how eager you were for his touch. The smell of you, the feel of your hands on his chest and arms… it was driving him crazy with want, and without thinking twice, he spun you around and pinned your back against the edge of the table, making you whimper into his mouth.

“Goddammit, baby…” The term of endearment slipped out before he realized it, but judging by your reaction you didn’t mind at all. Your breath hitched, making him smirk to himself as he started to realize just how much power he held over you. It certainly shouldn’t excite him as much as it did. “Are you absolutely sure that’s what you want?”

“Joel, if you don’t stop questioning me…” you started, and although your words were firm, your voice leaned into a deliciously needy pitch, the kind of which he yearned to hear for far too long. Joel groaned into your mouth, moving down to press hot kisses against the line of your jaw and down your neck, greedily drinking in the noises you were making.

“Tell me, darlin’,” he asked in a low voice, experimentally running his palm up your thigh under the pretty dress you wore. The effect was immediate, and you pressed your body closer to him, seeking his touch the moment it left your skin. “I need to know if you really mean all this.”

“For fuck’s sake, Joel–” You made a surprised noise as he hoisted you up and onto the table, but it turned into another needy whimper when he knocked your knees apart and slotted himself between them with ease. You glanced behind you, worried that you'll push the silverware off the table, and Joel took this moment to resume the onslaught on your neck, kissing and sucking every inch of skin he could reach. You choke back a moan as his touch made a shiver run up your spine. “Joel, please…”

“I need to hear it, sweetheart,” he murmured lowly against your skin, slowing down to tease you when he felt your heartbeat quicken up beneath his lips. “Need to make sure you know what you're gettin’ into.”

“I do, I promise,” you assured him fervently while your hands went to the back of his head, fingers tangling into his gray locks. “You have no idea how many times I thought about this. I wanted you for so long, Joel, please…”

“Wanted you, too, darlin’.” He put one of his hands on the small of your back, pulling your lower half closer to the edge of the table so you could feel what you were doing to him. “God, every time you smiled at me it was all I could think about… So kind and beautiful, never thought you'd look twice my way.”

You didn't bother to answer this time, instead angling his head up to kiss him deeply again. The doubt and fear were still present in Joel's mind, but he honestly couldn't focus on them with you in front of him. You were so warm under his palms, so pliant and eager, a literal putty in his steady hands. He could never imagine how incredible it felt to be wanted by someone so much, but at the same time he knew he had to take his time. As much as he wanted to keep going, to make you see stars and sing his name, it was more than just lust with you.

So when you reached for the buttons of his shirt, he gently grabbed your wrists and moved them away, finally regaining his self-control. You whined disapprovingly, but the crease between your brows quickly disappeared when Joel kissed your fingers softly, not taking his eyes off you.

“Shh, sweetheart, don’t rush,” he cood, earning a small disappointed pout. He had to close his eyes, lest he caved in. Fuck, the sight of you before him – your pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his ministrations, your heavy breath and the dress bunched around your hips… Joel was sure you’d let him do anything to you right now. And God, he couldn’t wait. “Let me do this properly, yeah? Have a nice date with you, then maybe take you home if you don’t change your mind…”

“We can skip the dinner,” you quietly offered, your breath still uneven and cheeks flushed. He huffed a laugh with fondness and leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead, his own breathing also slightly erratic.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured against your skin before taking your face in his hands. “Someone did say I’m a gentleman, no?”

You seemed to regret your previous choice of words, accentuating it with a disappointed whimper and a buck of your hips. Joel groaned and kissed you deeply again, almost able to taste all the impatience and desire on your tongue. Surprisingly, you didn’t fight him further and instead obediently slid off the table, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck to be as close to him as possible.

Joel was grateful for this moment of calm before even more excitement – and he didn’t mind spending it by watching you, standing so close and smiling up at him as brightly as the sun itself.

“You believe me now?” you asked teasingly, stifling your giggles when Joel rolled his eyes playfully. “Good. You will have to make it up to me, then.”

Worry crept back onto Joel’s face, but you were quick to calm him down with a tender kiss to his jaw, and then another one lower, on his pulse point. “You were late. If you got here on time, we could’ve been doing this at least half an hour longer.”

Joel chuckled and lifted your chin with his finger, before kissing you briefly one last time.

“Baby, let’s enjoy the dinner you prepared, first. After that, I swear I’ll make it up to you in however many ways you want.”

Judging by your smile, you didn’t seem to mind at all.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller x y/n #tlou hbo #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #grumpy x sunshine #the last of us fic #joel miller x you

4K notes · View notes

invoncible · 2 months ago

Text

BLUFF ✰ mark grayson & mohawk mark w/ childhood bsf! fem! reader cw. canon compliant themes (ex. distress)

SUMMARY. when mohawk mark doesn't find debbie at his childhood home, he goes after the next best thing: you. he thinks you're together in this world too, and when he realizes you're not... well, how could he possibly give up such a perfect opportunity? / wc. 6k oops

— i started this to train my writing skills but it got out of hand T-T anyways enjoy <3

You didn't even notice your phone ringing. It must've been the third time it buzzed on your kitchen counter but for the life of you, you could not look away from the news. Invincible was laying waste to all the major cities of the globe, seemingly unprovoked.

Your breath caught when the news broke to process new information, senses finally tuning into the whirring behind you. You swiped your phone, barely glancing at the caller ID before answering.

"Hel—"

"Y/N, thank goodness." Debbie gasped on the other end.

You stood rigid. You've known Debbie your whole life. You and Mark were inseparable growing up—it was a rare occurrence to hear her so unnerved. Her unease was contagious, zapping through the wireless connection and taking root in your conscience.

"Are—" You cleared your throat, clutching the phone tighter. You walked over to the window, dragging down the blinds with two fingers and peeking outside. "Are you okay? You sound—"

"Fine, I'm fine." A shaky exhale was what you were met with, along with the sounds of a car starting up. "Honey, have you seen the news? You need to stay safe." A pause followed, too long to be natural. "Do you have anywhere else to go?"

You scrunched your brows in confusion. "Um... no, I don't. But from what they're saying on the news, the Invincibles are only targeting big cities."

"Listen. If you stay there—" Debbie's line crackled as you assumed she was driving away, far away from the neighborhood and fast. “—‘ll come for you.”

“No, you don’t have to do that. I've got my car if something goes wrong.” You pulled away from your phone, glancing at the call screen when you got no response. "Hello?"

"In light of new footage, we have information that—"

The TV fizzled out next, the low drone of cable replacing rowdy chatter of the newsroom. A low-pixel message of NO SIGNAL floated around the screen, bouncing off the edges.

You stared at yourself in the black reflection, wishing it would flip on again so you weren't alone with your thoughts. The paranoia was setting in... you could hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Mark is—”

beeeeeep.

"Hello?" You whispered over the phone, desperate for Debbie's familiar comfort. “...Debbie? Mark is what?”

A rhythmic beeeep beep met your ears instead. You glanced at your phone once again—CALL FAILED.

"Ohhhkay." You muttered under your breath. This is fine, you soothed yourself.

The electricity in your house died out, gently setting you into darkness. With the TV signal lost and your phone disconnected, the cell towers and power grid were probably down.

This is fine. As long as you stayed inside, you'd be fine.

You pulled down the blinds once more, letting a shred of the sunset glow into your home. Your gaze travelled to Mark's house; across the street, a couple houses down. So easily accessible yet so distant at the same time.

You and Mark were attached at the hip for seventeen years—your entire lives. Separation should have felt strange. But just two years since growing apart, his absence almost felt... normal.

Almost like he was never there to begin with.

You went off to university. You assumed he did, too, but got more reliable intel when you connected with William. He shared that they both got into Upstate, as well as his girlfriend, Amber.

Girlfriend?

You remember the pause you took to process that information—the moment you realized he was moving forward while you remained where he left you. Facing the reality that you were no longer a part of his life.

"Stop fidgeting," You whispered with a little chuckle. "It's high school, not the end of the world."

"High school is where things start to happen." Mark whined as he pulled down the hem of his sweater. "Grades matter, who you hang out with matters, girls matter."

"Uh-huh."

"You think I would make a good jock?"

"You've got the look for it."

"Dumb?"

"Yes."

Mark rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips as you both walked up the steps to the next phase of your life. "That's not very nice."

"You can be anything you want, Mark." You groaned, deciding to be encouraging. "Literally. You're good at everything. You'll fit in wherever you want to."

"Okay. Too nice." He huffed and bumped into your side. "But thanks. I just..."

Your brows furrowed in concern when his head dipped, distress sneaking its way through his cheerful disposition.

"Stuff's supposed to happen this year. Big stuff." He was mumbling, unfocused like he regretted taking the conversation this direction to begin with. "I don't want to mess this up."

You wanted to tell him high school wasn't that deep. There were complete losers that all turned out just fine. Something about his expression, though... it was heavy.

You weren't sure what he was talking about, but you knew what he needed. You always did. "Whatever stuff you're talking about... it's gonna work out. You'll take it one step at a time just like you always have, and you have your parents at your side.... William, me."

He offered you a little smile. "We'll do this together?" He held out his pinky finger.

You giggle and interlocked yours with his. "Together."

He broke that promise pretty quickly. Different classes were the first step apart. From there, it only got harder to see each other.

Family stuff was Mark's favorite excuse—vaguely explaining family stuff had become 90% of your conversations. You figured he didn't want to tell you whatever he was really going through, which was fine. It hurt, but it was fine.

Before you knew it, you stopped talking altogether. You didn't think much of it at first—you were approaching adulthood, obviously you were going to get busy. You just thought you'd get busy together. You didn't even know what he was up to these days.

You drew back from the blinds with a long sigh, hoping that Debbie and Mark were safe. Wherever they were.

You trudged down into the basement to turn the generator on. The wooden stairs of the unfinished space crrrrrreaked under your feet. You waved away the dust, pounding your chest to cough the particles that snuck their way into your airway.

It was cooler down here, much darker without the ambient lighting of the sunset above. With your trusty phone flashlight, you managed to maneuver your way through the storage buckets and old boxes to the backup generator.

You grunted trying to pull the lever down. "Shit..." you cursed in disgust, feeling the grime and dust underneath your palm. i want electricity i want electricity, you repeated over and over to block out the icky sensation.

"Need some help?"

"Ah—!" you shrieked, spinning around in a panic. Your flashlight illuminated the figure in front of you, shadowed by the soft light of open door upstairs. "What—" who—?!

"Damn. Relax."

Vaulting over your initial dread, you grabbed something—a wrench or a hammer, you didn’t know, you didn't care—and swung it with all your might.

They caught it in their fist. Your breath shriveled up in your throat at how stiff they were, intercepting your attack without even budging. Their fingers curled tight around the tool and yanked you close.

"tsk, tsk," Their low voice chuckled. "Thought you'd be happy to see me, pretty girl."

You shone your light into the intruder's face, the tension in your body dissipating when you recognized—

"...Mark?" You squinted in the darkness, the flashlight just barely illuminating his face in a ghastly glow. "Wha... what are you doing here?" You huffed.

Blood was pumping through your system, telling you to get ready to run. Your nerves wouldn't calm their tingle even though you realized it was just Mark. Cuz it was Mark, right?

"Checking on you."

"Where's your mom?"

"Smart enough to leave home."

"Oh, yeah. She called. I thought you'd be with her..." You trailed off, frowning when you heard him laughing. "What?"

"Nothing." He hummed. "You're just so..."

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Okay..." You gave him a weird look. Then your brain caught up to you: Pretty girl? "Aren't you dating Amber?"

He took a moment to think, tossing the wrench aside and grabbing your wrist in his hand instead. "Am I?"

You pursed your lips, eyes narrowing. "I'm... asking you?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't know."

"What—" You exhaled, brows knitted in confusion. You tried to pull away but he held firm; for every step back, he followed. "Mark, wait—"

Your phone clattered to the ground, the ray of light spinning chaotically through the darkness before it fell on its back.

"I missed you." He murmured lowly, almost reverent in the way he boxed you against the cold generator. "Shhh..." He calmed your trembling frame with his strong arms (when'd he get so strong?) wrapped around your shoulders.

He burrowed his nose in your hair. "It's me, bunny. Why're you so scared?"

This isn't Mark. Your heart pounded at your chest, eyes frozen and piercing into the darkness over his shoulder—Wake up, dumbass. This isn't Mark.

When your tremors refused to quiet, he pulled back with what you hoped was concern. That's when you saw his hair...

"Is that..." You whispered. The soft light from the main floor was fading, but reflected off the shiny sides of Mark's head. "Are you bald?"

What was he doing in the two years since you saw each other?

"Aw..." He laughed heartily, leaning further towards you and flattening his palms over the top of the generator. "Not quite."

He leaned to your side, breath fanning over the shell of your ear as he continued to snicker to himself softly. He grabbed the lever of the generator and shoved it down.

Your body jostled into his firm chest as it sprung to life. It went clank-clank-clank-clank, pumping electricity back into your home. You heard the melodic trills from upstairs as devices booted up again.

The light in the basement flipped back on. It didn't reach you. Mark towered over you and kept you in shadow. But you could see him—rather, who he wasn't.

"What?" Mohawk Mark grinned down at you, sadistic and teasing. "Not who you were expecting?"

No, not who you were expecting. He looked like Mark, sounded like Mark, felt like Mark... But your Mark had a kind face.

"You're not..."

"Nope."

You felt the heat drain from your body as you simply stared up at him, wide-eyed. Run. Where? Why the fuck was he dressed like ... Invincible...

A connection snapped together in your head, synapses clicking together like legos. Oh. Invincible. Everything made sense now, and you felt a little stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

And now one of those murderous variants you saw on the news was in your home.

"You're really out of it, huh?" He frowned, waving a gloved hand in front of your face. He sighed and looked away, "I thought you'd—"

You had the itch to burst into a sprint. You snatched your phone off the floor and ducked under his arm, skipping stairs to the main floor. Car. Keys? Where the fuck did you put them?

A shuddered whimper tumbled off your lips. You felt helpless, mind racing with too many things at once to pick one task and get out of there. You snatched your purse from the sofa, rifling through it to make sure your keys were inside before going outside.

"Come on, come on," You whispered, out of breath.

"Don't run from me, Y/N," Mohawk Mark sang teasingly, drawing out the last syllable of your name. "Hey, I'm just playing with you."

You screamed anyway, the sound harsh and high-pitched. He pouted, hand firmly around your arm to prevent you from breaking away.

"C'mon, baby. You're hurting my feelings. We're just having fun, yeah? A little roleplay?"

First off, you wished he'd stop calling you things like that. It felt wrong, but... good. With every pet name, he let butterflies loose in your tummy. Your heart pulsed, sending heat to your cheeks. Your brain reminded you, this isn't Mark... this isn't Mark... this isn't the real Mark...

Second, what kinda freaky ass fuck did he turn into?

You rolled out of his grip, barely making it a step away before his arm circled around your stomach, pulling you back into his chest.

"Get the fuck off me—" You squirmed uselessly, your phone and bag tumbling onto the floor. You yelped when he threw you over his shoulder, patting the small of your back affectionately as if securing cargo. "Mark!"

He just laughed, taking off through the door at a abnormal speed. Your nose smushed into his back under the acceleration, stomach somersaulted twenty times over as you soared up into the clouds.

He stopped in the air. With a hoarse shriek you clung to him as if he was your lifeline. He was, in this moment, despite everything. Your legs immediately latched around his waist, and he supported you with hands under your thighs.

"Oh, come on, now." He chuckled with a shake of his head. He easily held you and brought a hand to wipe your cheeks. "I'm just playing around. If I'd known you were this sensitive, I would've taken it a little bit easier on you..."

You hadn't even realized you started crying.

He stared at you, eyes trailing over your face. He laughed softly to himself. "Who am I kidding. No, I wouldn't have. You know how cute you are when you cry?"

You glared at him but his grin only grew wider. "What? M'not gonna hurt you! Haven't I shown you that?"

You stared at him incredulously, finally finding your voice and blowing up at him. Your fists curled, pounding at his chest and jabbing a finger in his face. "You broke into my home and have me hanging 100ft in the air?!"

"So? I'm not dropping you, am I?" You felt his fingers tap against your thigh.

"That—" Your cheeks burned. but from being embarrassed or flustered, you couldn't quite place.

"This world's Mark is the biggest piece of shit for leaving girlfriend all alone."

You blinked, "Girlfriend?"

"Yeah, you're..." Mark's head tilted, sharp eyes acutely aware of your confusion. "Ohhh. Don't tell me that fucker didn't lock you down."

You didn't even know what to say. Things were being thrown at you left and right and you were still on the fact that Mark was Invincible. Your mind rifled through all the headlines that had his name... all that pain, death, and destruction... and how you weren't there for him.

He clicked his tongue in disappointment. "Well. I'm a better version, anyway."

[]

The sun finally set on day 2 the war with no hope in sight. Mark just admitted Eve into the hospital—she stubbornly decided to help him with two of his variants and paid the price. Her broken leg was under construction, and she was unconscious.

Mark sighed as he closed the door behind him, looking up to see Cecil waiting for him in the hallway.

"You can't be here, kid."

Mark scowled. "The other Invincibles know about this place. They could kill her to get at me. I... can't lose another friend. I won't."

After Amber, Mark wanted to be with Eve. It was the next logical step, right? Both superheroes, went through a lot together, understood each other... But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not even under Future Eve's advice.

Not when he still held space for you in his heart.

He was an asshole for it, he knew that. He couldn't put a date to the last time you spoke and he selfishly held onto your memory. Were you pining for him like he was pining for you?

His time with Amber taught him a lot. He wasn't going to make you suffer like she did. He wasn't going to ruin the friendship he had with you just because he selfishly wanted your love.

"We're losing this, Mark." Cecil sighed, snapping Mark out of his thoughts. The bruise on his face throbbed with every word. "The world needs you."

"You got every superhero on the planet fighting for you right now." Mark shot back angrily, shutting his eyes only to see you behind his lids.

"Mark. Oliver's out there. Your mother's out there." Cecil pressed, pulling out his phone. "Which reminds me. She left a voicemail."

With his interest successfully piqued, Mark listened as his mother's panicked voice played over Cecil's device.

"I can't reach Mark—if you see him, tell him I'm at Paul's. Oliver insisted on going out there, and I let him on the condition he finds his big brother."

Mark's gaze dropped down to the floor guiltily, a war of emotions swirling inside him.

"I couldn't stop him if I tried. He was going to sneak out anyway, but..." A sharp inhale. "I'm worried. I know they're strong, I know that. But these other versions... they're nothing like Mark." Seconds of silence passed as she collected her thoughts. "Can you check on someone for me? If all these Marks grew up the same, there's a childhood friend on our street that he was never without. I tried to reach her but service went down. Please."

Cecil pulled back his phone. "I already sent agents to her home—"

Mark's head snapped up, gritting his teeth in annoyance. "What did I say about going near my family?"

"I wasn't aware she was family." Cecil raised an eyebrow, pocketing his device and pulling down his cuffs.

"They're my responsibility. She's my responsibility." Mark retorted, running a anxious hand through his hair.

"A thank you would be nice." Cecil mumbled, unperturbed by the boy's argument. "Seeing as you are currently shirking said responsibility."

"Don't—" Mark lurched forward, a threat on his tongue. Cecil flinched backwards, his hand firmly in his pocket finding his controller.

Mark pulled back, dropping his fist. "...Just shut the fuck up, Cecil." He blasted off through the halls.

Cecil watched him leave with bated breath, exhaling slowly when he got the intel that Mark was off the grounds. At least he was out there.

[]

"I killed the Guardians, yeah."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. No big deal."

You raised your eyes in surprise but the notion wasn't as gruesome as you thought it would be. Blinded by love, maybe? Or were you just happy to be talking to Mark again, regardless of the version?

Hours ago, you couldn't imagine sitting in your bedroom with the man who invaded your home. But, genuinely, what were you supposed to do? Pick a fight and lose? Worse, die? You weren't so stupid to waste the goodwill he held for you.

"What happened to me in your world?" You asked, your voice quieter now.

Mark tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. His jaw flexed, like the memory alone was an irritation.

"The resistance killed you to get at me," he muttered, his voice dark, laced with something sharp and unhinged. The crazed gleam in his eye flickered under the dim lighting, like a fire burning just beneath the surface. Then, with an almost amused sigh, he shifted his weight, offering you a small, self-satisfied smile. "Don't worry. I made them pay for it."

You didn’t bother asking how.

Mark’s arm stretched behind you, draping lazily across the back of the pillows, his fingers idly toying with the fabric of your sleeve. Every casual brush of his fingertips sent a ripple of goosebumps across your skin.

"We were a good thing, you know," he mused, voice lower now, softer. gentle. "You didn’t fight me. You didn’t run. You loved me." There was a teasing lilt in his voice that you recognized.

That’s not so different here, you swallowed the thought, masking it with a roll of your eyes. "Did you love me?"

That made him pause. His gaze flicked to yours, brows furrowing slightly, like the question had caught him off guard. Then a slow smirk tugged at his lips, amusement flashing in his expression before he let out a low chuckle.

He leaned in so close you could feel his breath ghost over your lips. "Let me show you," he murmured, voice dark and filled with intent.

The air between you tightened as his hand trailed from your sleeve, fingers dragging along the bare skin of your arm, slow and deliberate. His touch was light, teasing, like he was waiting for you to react—to pull away or lean in.

You offered him nothing but a careful stare and the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes narrowed, delighting in the challenge. His nose brushed against yours, his lips lingering just shy of touching.

Pull away, your brain screamed at you, ringing every warning bell it had in the book. This isn't right.

But his other hand came up, grazing along your jaw... and his fingers slid beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his eyes... all of it felt so familiar, like something out of a dream. And it'd been so long since you saw his brown wells, you couldn't tear your gaze away.

Your daze was broken when you heard him laugh again. He adored the way you frowned in confusion, the moonlight twinkling in the reflection of your eyes.

“Aww,” he cooed, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “look at you. So easy. This world’s Mark has left you all alone, hasn’t he?”

Your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths as he tilted his head, watching you squirm.

“S'like you’ve been waiting for this," he hummed. His hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes darkened at whatever he saw.

“I’ll take care of you,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours—you could feel him smiling. “Since he won’t.”

Stop, stop, stop. You wanted Mark, wanted him desperately, but not like this. Not with him.

You released the breath you were holding when he paused his fixation on your lips, head turning minutely to the side as if he was hearing something.

"For fuck's sake..." Mark scoffed, a low chuckle passing through his lips. "Speak of the devil."

What?

Mohawk Mark heard the whistle of air before you did, only clueing in when it grew louder. It reached a peak when a projectile CRASHED through your window—

You scrambled backwards on your mattress as splinters flew everywhere. Mark caught you before you tumbled off the bed, shielding you from the broken glass and wood.

"What's—" You began to ask, but over Mark's shoulder you saw him—the real Mark.

You just stared at each other for a moment, though you couldn't see much past his tinted goggles. But the slow scowl growing on his lips communicated all you needed to know.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Mark—the real one—growled. "Get off her."

Mohawk Mark laughed into your shoulder, turning to face him. "Why? She's not yours, is she?"

Mark's eyes twitched behind his goggles, abandoning his inhibitions and diving at him, grabbing his variant's hair and yanking him off of you—

"Mark..." you warned, fear bubbling in your gut.

—your caution fell on deaf ears; Mark threw him up and drove him through the floor.

"Mark!" you yelled behind him, feeling the air whip past your face, following him as he crashed into the living room below. "Shit—"

Squeaking as you fought against the slope of the cavity, your feet, only clad in socks, provided the worst possible grip and you began slipping down the gap. Your breath caught in your chest as you felt yourself plummeting—

"Hey." His voice was urgent yet comforting, his arms tightening around your body in seconds, pulling you back from the edge. "I got you."

Your hand instinctively gripped his shoulder, grounding yourself as you realized you were suspended in his embrace. As he gently descended to the floor, your eyes moved quickly, scanning the outline of his goggles.

"You... I guess you know now, then." His voice was low, heavier than usual, like a weight he’d been carrying finally released.

The moment your feet met the ground, you stepped back, your heart pounding. Across the room, Mohawk Mark was sprawled on the floor, blood leaking from his nose, unconscious for now. Your gaze flicked back to your Mark, heart still racing.

"Yeah, I know." You snapped, the anger rushing through you, the frustration and confusion bubbling up.

His expression faltered, something unreadable flashing across his face before he sighed, almost too quietly, as if he were disappointed in himself.

"You’re angry," he observed, his voice tinged with regret.

"No shit, I’m angry!" Your hand shot out, slapping against his chest before it balled into a fist at your side. Every inch of you was yelling at him, every question, every unspoken feeling, everything that had been left unsaid for the past two years. "The first time I've seen you in two years and it's—it's not even you?"

"I know, I know," Mark’s hands moved to his mask, tearing it off with an impatience that only grew when it caught on his nose. He grimaced as he yanked it free, tossing it to the side. The dim light of the room revealed the exhaustion etched into his face, but even through that, you could see him—the real him, just... different. Worn down, tired.

"I can explain."

"You better fuckin start."

"Be mad at me all you want, but look at this." His arms gestured wildly around your place. "I was right to not tell you! It could've been way worse, way sooner if you knew anything about what I was really up to. Why didn't you leave when Mom called you?!"

"The phone cut off, asshole, I didn't hear everything she said, and I certainly wasn't aware that you were the one behind Invincible—"

He shook his head, dismissing the topic. He stepped into your space and held onto your arms. "Did he touch you?"

"Get off me."

"Did he touch you?" He pressed, shaking you slightly as his grip tightened around your biceps.

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the urgent crack in his voice. "Yes, but I let him."

He pulled away from you as if burnt. A heavy silence hung in the air, nothing but the clattering of broken floorboards crashing down from above.

"...He's a murderer, Y/N." He whispered, eyes narrowed.

You knew that. You knew he was right. "I was... vulnerable."

"He killed people—"

"Shut up," You snapped, cutting him off. "Don't lecture me; this is a nonissue. What was I supposed to do? Hm? Want me to pick up my fists and come out swinging like you did—"

"I thought he was hurting you!"

"My hero." You rolled your eyes, the words dripping with bitter sarcasm. You knew you were being unfair, maybe a little cruel, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were exhausted from the many near death experiences you've somehow survived in the last few hours. Strung so tight you felt like you might snap.

Every inch of you was begging to cry and let him hug you like you both so clearly wanted... but the fact that it took something this bad to get him to show up? That hurt more than anything.

Mark stared at you, his face an amalgamation of emotions, like he couldn’t decide on one.

Should he be angry at you for being difficult, for making him work for this moment when all he wanted was to explain? Should he feel pain, the sharp ache in his chest that another Mark got to hold you before he did? Or was it jealousy, searing heat into his face, that another version of himself had been the one to touch you, to be close to you before he had the chance? Maybe... maybe it was the bittersweet happiness, the relief that he was finally standing here in front of you.

He didn’t even care that you were glaring daggers at him—he missed staring into your eyes, albeit hardened and displeased, making his heart race; the way you’d furrow your brow when you were frustrated, the way your voice would call out to him.

Mark’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach out, but he held himself back. Would you even allow it? The distance between you was far more than physical. He had a thousand things to say but in that moment, words felt hollow.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he finally muttered, his voice quieter, more vulnerable than he intended.

Childish.

You scoffed lightly, rolling your eyes again. "All that time and that's all you have to—"

Before you could finish, your world spun. The floor tilted beneath you as Mohawk Mark launched himself into you, sweeping you off your feet and through the door.

[]

"Y/N!" Mark yelled after you, breathing heavy in a panic. "No, no, no, no—" He launched himself from your home, bursting through the roof after you.

You barely heard him over the rushing wind. You clawed at Mohawk Mark's back, the height siphoning the air from your lungs. "Stop..." You ordered weakly.

"Changed your mind already?" He laughed, cradling you in his arms. Your head lolled against his chest. "Don't tell me you buy his bullshit."

"Mm..." The sharp ascent from ground level to the clouds made your head spin, vision darkening as you grew dizzier.

"You're fucking dead!" Your Mark came out of nowhere, shooting up beside Mohawk Mark and bashing his nose in. With a pained groan, he dropped you. "Shit—"

"Look what you made me do, dipshit!" Mohawk Mark snarled, shoving Invincible away and bolting after you.

"Don't—" Mark growled in frustration, racing against time. He watched as your limp body dropped helplessly against gravity.

It never changed. Whether he told you or not, you would end up in these perilous situations regardless. He cursed under his breath, catching Mohawk Mark's ankle and catapulting him into the night sky before pushing forward.

He collected you in his arms before it was too late, wasting no time as he shifted his direction and carried you off to GDA's hospital.

[]

The steady beep... beep... beep of your heart monitor was the first thing you tuned into upon waking up.

"Oh, good."

Your eyes fluttered open, slowly drifting towards Mark. He was bent over your cot, his hand on your forehead while staring down at you with stars in his eyes.

"You just passed out. Nothing serious, but I wanted to make sure." He mumbled, pulling back.

Your eyes drifted back to the ceiling, unfocused and hollow. There was too much—too much to process, too much to feel, too much weighing down on your chest all at once. It pressed against your ribs, thick and suffocating, a tidal wave crashing over you before you could even take a breath. Every nerve in your body screamed with something—fear, exhaustion, embarrassment, confusion—but it all blended together into one overwhelming, crushing force. Your mind was shutting down for its own sake.

The sounds around you dulled into distant echoes, the weight of your own limbs barely registering. Your chest rose and fell, but it felt mechanical.

"Y/N?" Mark whispered, brows furrowing in concern. "Hey." he poked your shoulder.

You shook your head, turning away from him as tears pooled in your eyes. God, you felt so embarrassed.

Mark frowned when you shifted away from him, any comfort he planned to offer dying in his throat. "I'm... sorry." was all he could say.

Nothing.

His leg bounced nervously, chewing at his lip as he fought with his own emotions. "I want to kill him for putting hands on you."

Your brows tightened. Not what you wanted to hear either.

He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. "M'sorry for blowing up at you. It's not your fault—"

"It is." You sniffled. "I missed you... so much, that I pretended that he was you..." you choked on the words, turning your back to him and burying your face into the pillow. "How pathetic is that?"

Mark's heart squeezed, kicking off his shoes and climbing onto the bed next to you. "Stop. Not your fault." He reiterated.

You scoffed and shook your head, laughing wryly. He frowned, and pulled you to face him. He saw your tears and felt his own pile up behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. "I told my.... uh, last relationship that I was Invincible. It didn't end well for her, and I didn't want to put you in that same position. Always unsure, always in danger, always waiting..."

"I'm not her, Mark." You muttered.

"I know." He pursed his lips. "I was gone for months at a time—"

"I waited two years for you, didn't I?" You pushed away from him and sunk back into the cot. "You didn't even give me a chance."

Childish. That’s how you sounded. Because in the end, that’s all you two were—two kids who once grew up side by side finding each other once more, with all the petulant hurt coming through the surface.

A beat of silence passed between you, with nothing but your heart monitor to keep the time.

"You said he touched you." He started.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "...don't bring that up."

"No, I want to know." He shifted his weight, hovering over you. His face was painted with something foreign, green-eyed and greedy. "Show me."

Heat blossomed on your face as you lay in his shadow. "Mark..." You laughed nervously. "It was barely anything."

"You missed me so much you had to settle for that." Mark didn't look away from you for a second. "I want to give you the real thing."

You screwed your face up. Again, the thought passed through your mind: you wanted Mark, but not like this. "I don't want this to be a pity thing."

"No," Mark shook his head firmly. "not pity. Everything I feel for you has been there since... since I can remember. And it fucking boils my blood that a different version of me got to you before I had the balls to do it myself. Please," he whispered. "I need this."

"Need what?"

"You." He answered, like the answer was obvious. To him, it was. "I'm done waiting around."

You blinked at him before a soft smile spread across your face. "Me too."

Mark's lips brushed against yours with a gentleness that made your heart ache. He cupped your face in his hands, and you melted into him, your arms wrapping around his neck.

You let out a soft sigh when his lips parted slightly, allowing you both to breathe. You pressed forward, kissing him harder, feeling the intensity of everything that had been building between you over the years—years of longing, of waiting, of wanting something more.

Mark responded with equal hunger, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer. His chest rose and fell with each breath, his heart pounding against yours.

Where had he touched you? Mark didn't care anymore. By the time he was done with you, you'd know his touch and his alone, and he'd know every inch of you like the back of his hand. He wasn't leaving this room without it. He was allowing himself to be selfish for once; for you, it was worth it.

He sat back on his haunches, tugging his gloves off by his teeth before diving back into you, sliding his bare fingers underneath your shirt, sighing into your mouth as he squeezed your skin in his palm.

"You'll never need anyone ever again," He nosed your cheek, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck. "Promise."

This time, you believed him.

— wayyy too self indulgent lmk if it was boring at places :)

#invincible #invincible show #mark grayson #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #invincible season 3 #mohawk mark #mohawk mark x reader #invincible variants #invincible war #invincible variants x reader #invincible x fem reader

4K notes · View notes