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eraserbread · 4 days ago

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go as a dream ft. ex-husband satoru gojo ✧

୨୧ - ten years together, five years married -- it's a long time. too long to be running on borrowed time glued together by the past. leaving is easy, but staying away turns out to be impossible. → afab!reader, modern/no curses!au, slow-burn, long-established relationship, mutual pining, heavy angst, toxic relationship dynamics, mention of pregnancy/failure to conceive, relationship insecurity, emotional sex, oral f!receiving, spanking/slapping, cum eating, mentions of readers relative hair length, mentions of readers family, nsfw → w.c. - 15.3k {1 hour reading time}

a/n: when an idea sticks for me, i head to my graveyard of wips to expand on it. most end up dying, but for some reason the love you guys held for this version of satoru made it stick. make him meaner... then more loving... then spin the narrative - pin it back on him -- all of those thoughts ran my psyche during the month (?) it took me to flush this idea out. happy 3k, my angels <3 i crafted this for you with so much love, sweat and tears. sit with this one for while. let it sink in. part two may come if you guys will it to. with so much of my love, - elly

listen to the soundtrack <3

Your heart is racing, gloss dripping sensually from your lips. Satoru is under you, his familiar face laced with overwhelming stoicism. He’s biting over soft, pink lips, his eyes wide open as he watches you ride him like you never have before.

You’re sad – on the verge of tears, but he doesn’t notice. He just parts his lips, content with the headiness of the pleasure you’re working yourself up to give him. Usually, he’d be telling you how beautiful you looked, how well you’re taking him, but he’s silent. It’s a deadly combination – you sad, Toru silent.

You just want to disappear.

“That’s it, babe. So close… keep going.” It’s like the one sentence of praise needs to be sucked from his very lifeform, because he’s chewing on his words, throwing them at you all mangled and sloppy. There’s no care anymore; gentleness is lost as he grabs your hips and slams them back down on his length.

You’re reeling, so close, yet so far from any kind of release your body’s begging for. You need Satoru to give you something – to touch and tell you he loves you so gently, but there’s nothing. Fucking nothing. Just grinding bodies lost in the tangle of bedsheets.

His eyes snap closed, head tilted back as he bares his neck for you. Two years prior, you would’ve gone in, marking every inch of that luminescent skin with love bites. Now, you watch your nimble fingers spread across the soft, veined expanse, fingers concentrating at his Adam’s apple. You squeeze, he breathes out a moan.

“Ahh – come on, comeoncomeon.”

“Cum for me… please.” You’re trying your best to come off genuine, to dip your tone into a needier drawl he doesn’t see much anymore, just for it all to be over sooner. Right now, you’re just fulfilling your bodily duties as Satoru Gojo’s wife. He did just buy you a Cartier bracelet, giving you apologies with wide, blue puppy eyes. As fucked up as it sounds, the least you can do is get him off before he goes to sleep.

“Mm, say my name, baby. Gonna fill you up, give you so many babies.”

You’re nodding, letting him spill his orgasm thoughts into your lap. You know him far too well, can read his breeding kink inside out. What Satoru doesn’t know is that you went on birth control the second you started drifting apart. There would be no loose ends; you’ve been planning your escape for months.

So you let him come inside of you, calling him baby and telling him lies about how turned on you are. Satoru knows you too well that he’d notice a fake orgasm, so you don’t even try. You just let him have his moment, kissing up your arm with ruffled, white hair, pumping shot after shot deep inside of you like he’s on a mission.

And when he’s drained and limp, you’re climbing off of him, not even offering a word as you head straight to the bathroom.

You and Satoru thought you had it all figured out pretty early. He graduated from university prematurely and got an immediate position doing what he loved – teaching psychophysics as a Professor's Aide. It’s where he met you, not his student, but definitely a co-worker he shouldn’t have approached, because you fell hard. Head over heels, mind over body – you made him your life.

That lifeline only had about five good years once you got married, and now you two are overworked strangers bumping shoulder to shoulder on a shared lease. Though you’ve mourned the relationship that shaped you into the woman you are now, you don’t have any regrets. There’s no hatred for Toru in your heart – quite the opposite. You love him to pieces, but can’t give him what he needs at the cost of you. It’s just not worth it anymore. You feel like an object manufactured to please.

So you chase your solace against the hot spray of the shower, letting it drown out your thoughts as water-mixed come seeps down your thighs.

Now that you’re alone, you can cry. So, you do – for the unborn children you promised you’d give him, for the life and love you manufactured with your bare hands. He didn’t know that you’d be packing your bags and escaping tomorrow. It’s hard for you even to swallow, though you’ve been planning this day for months. Sweet freedom… only hours away.

Why is it, though you’ve wished so hard and lived in daydreams, that you’re afraid? You don’t want to be alone in any form of the word, but you couldn’t stay here. It’d kill you long before you hit your grey years.

Your sweet, smiling Toru with that permanent sparkle in his eye would kill you.

“Suguru and Shoko want to grab dinner tonight after work.”

Toru’s voice is slow and controlled as he steps into the bathroom, naked as the day he was born. His silhouette moves intently in front of the glass shower door, stopping at your soaking wet shadow. He hears it, the sniffle amongst the spray – the way you’re hunched in on yourself, curled in the corner of the spacious area. “Are you crying?”

You scoff, shaking your head as you wipe water from your eyes. “Fucking ignore it.”

“Hey.” He steps forward, pulling the shower door open. Just like he thought, you’re posed like a wet puppy, legs crossed to keep your decency, and arms over your chest in the farthest corner. “Crying after sex is not your style.”

“Just… weird post-nut hormones.” You’re shrugging him off with a distant look in your eyes. More recently, everything turns into pointless bickering, so you feed him lies to keep him agreeable.

But, Satoru’s looking at you like he knows you’re a liar, light eyebrows all screwed up. “But, you didn’t even cum-

“Close the door, Satoru.” You’re grimacing, stepping forward to yank the door closed in his face. “What do you want? What about Suguru?”

“Suguru and Shoko invited us to dinner tonight…” He’s speaking slowly, like he’s trying to gain his bearings. It’s not really an argument, but Toru feels the rush of one in the steamy air. It wouldn’t be the first time this post-sex daze made you two hot-headed. “I was going to say, it’d be good to all be together again, but you’re acting weird… They don’t need to be around that right now.”

You scoff, forehead falling into your open palm. The water burns you from within, but you stand under it like you want to be scalded. “Did you follow me in here just to fuck with me? Huh!? You see me trying to get away from yo-

Then, when the seal breaks and you’re yelling, that’s when Toru starts – deep voice banging off the tile walls. “You’re a livewire! You sat there and let me fuck you, now you’re acting like I’m the biggest inconvenience to ever cross your path!”

“Get out! For once in your life, just leave me alone!”

He really should listen to you – let you have the upper hand because he knows you’re sensitive, but Toru just shakes his head. “A man can’t even take a piss in the bathroom he pays for.” He adds, stepping away from your vengeful, blurred reflection. The toilet is just over from you – he can’t see the shower, you can’t see him.

For those few moments, you’re holding your breath. The shower drowns out the sound of him relieving himself, but you can guess well enough what he’s doing. When you’re married, intimate moments like this go unsaid – even on the brink of divorce. And when he’s done, he’s lumbering back over to the shower, long arms limp as they reach to pull it open again. You roll your eyes.

This time, your back is turned to him, water beading at your shoulder and trailing down the curves in your back sensually. His crystalline eyes catch it, and he parts his lips. “Mind if I join you?”

You don’t answer him, deciding it’s enough just to regard him briefly with a downcast look over the shoulder. You’re still covering your chest with crossed arms, mainly because you’re cold. Toru keeps opening and closing the door like a nuisance. Now, he’s climbing under the spray with you, big hands holding your familiar shoulders. He leans down to kiss your left.

“Maybe if we had a baby…” He mumbles that same tired argument into your wet skin, hoping for a different response. “It would bring you back to me.”

“I don’t want babies with you, Satoru.” The realization is heavy, but you know he can take it. All Toru wants besides you and money is a child – a mini little version of him that you adore to the ends of the Earth. When you became a Gojo, you promised you’d give him what he wanted – every breathless reminder in the heat of the moment was fuel. You two were trying… until you weren’t. Until you were shrugging off to appointments without telling him, taking prescription pills once he tucks in for bed. You just haven’t told him yet.

Now, he’s standing with it, breathing into your skin as he works up a response in his head that covers the devastation. “You know how my family is–

“I don’t care.” It’s a force of habit, you’re leaning back into his cradle. “Bringing a child into this mess is just inhumane.”

Then, Satoru says it – what he’s been wanting to tell you for weeks. Months, almost. He whispers, “Then why do you stay?”

All you can do is shake your head. You don’t have it in you to lie, and you surely wouldn’t tell him that you were leaving tonight. So, you reply, “I love you.”

“Love isn’t enough to keep a marriage going.”

You know that. You know Satoru loves you more than anything, but you didn’t feel like it was right for him to say it. In your mind, he’s clueless to the cool air you’re exerting every time he draws near. You’re not buzzing in his company anymore, going out of your way to be seen by his blinding eyes.

So, you don’t answer him. You nod, easing your shoulders from his grip as you collect the rest of your sanity and move to leave the shower. He watches you go, fine white hair nearly translucent on his pale scalp as he stands soaked.

Toru’s long eyelashes are sticking together, clumped and prominent as he watches you move and dry off through the fogged door. The lingering, soft scent of your signature bodywash sits sensually in the air, wafting from your skin every time you bend or bow. He studies that fuzzy reflection as if it's the last time he’ll see it, and thinks he feels sad. Devastatingly sad, it rises in his throat like bile he must swallow.

You’re slipping into a soft, ivory robe that Satoru’s mother gifted after the marriage; he has a matching one – it’s your favorite robe with his embroidered initials sewn across your heart. He notices your choice to wear it as you walk out of the bathroom, not even offering him a look over your shoulder, and thinks it’s a sign. You’re still sporting him around, telling him you love him even though you don’t want to bear his children.

But Satoru isn’t stupid. He’s far too smart to feed himself lies in hopes of lengthening this relationship that has always had a timer on it. But he is reeling. There’s nothing he falls short on, in his opinion. He treasures and calls you beautiful, any chance he gets. Vacations, expensive gifts, words of affirmation, and mindblowing touches are just scratching the surface of what he offers you.

Alone, he sits with these thoughts, thin eyebrows knitting together as his dripping head hangs between his shoulders. Standing statuesque in the shower, palms pressed to the damp wall, keeping him upright because you’re not here to do it. Mentally, you’re not here at all.

He can hear you in the bedroom stewing about – opening and closing doors, the shuffle of fabric, and the barely-there sound of your breathing. Toru has you all down to a science, now. He knows you’re slipping into bed, likely naked or covered loosely in some silk slip he loves to bury his head in.

That’s where he wants to be now – three years younger, your hair tangled in his long fingers, words of devotion damp in the air. Instead, he’s breathing in shower steam, a cruel metaphor to the heat the relationship used to hold.

Everything is a metaphor, now. Toru sees that when he’s walking out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, wide, adoring eyes glossed over with humidity and exhaustion. Still, they never lose their supernatural sparkle when they fall on you, eyes closed peacefully as you feign sleep.

He was right; you’re in silk, your eyelids twitching as the bathroom light spills a sliver of golden light across your face. Blankets are bunched loosely at your hips. Satoru can’t help but feel the beauty you emit, it’s why he married you – it’s something in your mere presence that makes you so addictive.

Crawling into bed with you, naked and damp-haired, is so familiar it’s almost sickening. He’s leaning over your shoulders, so gentle as he settles over you, and kisses your cheek. In your daze, you shift.

“What?”

Satoru slides up close to you, chest pressed to your back as he winds an arm around your waist. “Good night. I love you so much, beautiful.” He’s whispering in your ear, kissing over the shell with bitten lips. You can feel the cool wetness of his hair brush your bare neck, beads of water falling onto your skin.

He continues, arm sliding right between the canyon of your breasts, pulling you deeper into his body. You’re lifting your head, eyes shut, because you can’t bear the light right now.

“Shh, just lie with me.”

For some reason, you’re taking it. You’re listening to him, pressing your head back into the pillow, sighing softly. Nowadays, you’re impartial to bedtime cuddling, but Satoru insists. It’s become a nasty habit because now he has trouble nodding off if he’s not pressed skin-to-skin.

It’s the only reason you’re not pushing away. Or, maybe it’s the fact that you’re too far gone to be annoyed or unsettled. His touch feels good, just too warm, too close, like he’s slowly trying to ingest you into his bloodstream.

You two stay like that for hours. Satoru falls asleep right on the cusp of Midnight – his breath steadies over, and you’re still awake, gazing longingly at the bedside clock. Hands tucked under your pillow, you’re fiddling with them, doing anything to dull those uncertain thoughts away. In seven hours, you’d be standing in a train station, life passing you by as you leave the city, leave your husband.

You wonder how he’ll act, you wonder if he’ll cry for you.

No, Satoru never cries.

You bite your lip, gathering strength in your bones to shift and turn around in his arms. When you do, he’s mushing his face deeper into the bed, arms constricting back around you once you’re settled face-to-face. You can feel the softness of his breath over your skin, can hear the soft hums behind each of them like he’s dreaming uncomfortably.

Still, he looks so peaceful. Beautifully asleep, like his life wasn’t crumbling and burning all around him.

In that soft, settled face, you’re staring at the boy you fell in love with – bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, flushing and looking away when you’d counter his initial advances. Your friends were always around that early on, egging it all with a jump in their voice. Everyone felt so accomplished when you and Toru got married, as if they pieced together a match made in Heaven.

You just can’t fathom what went wrong… You don’t want to see it.

You don’t want to see him, anymore. So, you close your eyes and rid your consciousness of struggle – if only for a few hours.

Day comes with a vengeance – a gross, salty taste in your mouth as your brain slams awake. Your body is slow to react, cocooned comfortably in Toru’s thick chest. You’re too warm, alarms are blaring, and you realize you forgot to close the curtains last night. The morning sun is deviant.

You slip out of bed easily, undoing his arms' knot around your body. The silk of your slip is darkened with sweat, most likely Toru’s, but definitely mixed with hints of you. It takes you a while to come to from the cruel awakening, and you’re half alive as you shift to the edge of the bed, feet planted on cool ground. Toru shifts, and you hold your breath.

Your last hour together, and Satoru refuses to wake up.

You’re letting him drag the morning out, not bothering to wake him as you head for the bathroom. Time moves languidly with a solemn undertone, hovering over you like bad memories as you scrub your face and teeth raw. There’s so much tension in your body this morning, and you’re taking it out on yourself – swishing mouthwash, swallowing pills, securing jewels and ornaments.

You’re sure this is the fastest you’ve gotten ready without plans to work. You just think you’d rather be put-together when you disappear from Satoru’s life forever. You want him to have this reflection to remember you by – exposed shoulders, soft skin, dripping with his money in gold.

When he wakes up, stumbling into the bathroom sleepdrunk, he smiles when he sees you in the mirror's reflection. “Why didn’t you wake me, beautiful?”

“Figured you’d want more sleep.” You reply, not even meeting his frosty gaze. You’re fixated on securing a bracelet to your wrist – one, of course, from Satoru. It’s a gold-plated Gojo Clan crest that was passed down through matriarchs, eventually given to the prospective head.

His family is so traditional, overbearing in the worst ways. Since you two started dating, they’ve had a magnifying glass on the relationship, stating it’s just out of care. Sure, the money is endless and overflowing, but it’s not enough to overshadow the abusive balance of power. Toru doesn’t want to lead either – you don’t want to be next to him if he does. He promised you that he’d completely shut down the proceedings if you married him, but keeping his promise isn’t enough.

Nothing he seemed to do was enough. It’s all just a lost cause.

“Now I have twenty good minutes to leave the house.” Once your bracelet is secured, he’s crowding you against the sink, his shirtless body pressing hard into your back. You’re humming, leaning back into his frame.

“At least you showered last night.”

“You got me on that schedule.” He whispers into your neck, big hands squeezing your hips as he kisses you there. “I feel terrible about last night… Followed me in my sleep.”

You knew it, you could sense the stress in his breath even when he looked so peaceful. “We both said some things.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make you finish.” Another kiss to the neck, Satoru nuzzles himself deep in your skin, white hair fluffy and strewn about. You look up at him in the reflection and shake your head.

“Just cause I was on top. I was trying too hard – It’s not your fault.”

He doesn’t take that well; he sighs into your skin. “You know I don’t believe that.”

Of course, he doesn’t. One of the most significant parts of your relationship is your uncanny sexual chemistry. There’s never been a time when you two stopped at one round – you both finished multiple times, every time.

“Then, you know I won’t tell you the truth, you should just stop trying.” Both hands are pressed to the countertop, and you’re still covered in your sleep dress. Toru’s hands start to wander. “No, get off of me.”

It stings, but you don’t have to tell him twice. Satoru steps back with an odd look in his eyes, moving to your side. Though you’re rejecting sexual advances, you let him pull your chin forward for a sensual kiss to the lips. It lasts for a few seconds, his hand wanders across your jawline, slotting perfectly in your hair.

“You’re not on campus today, right?”

You shake your head, lips rolling together as you evaluate his lingering taste. “No, you should really brush your teeth.”

“Yeah…” He starts, reaching over you for his blue and white brush. “Haven’t been on the grounds in a while, everyone’s asking about you, saying we should go to dinner to catch up.”

“You’re sure I’m acting normal enough to see them now? Isn’t that what you said last night? That I was acting ‘weird’?”

“You were acting weird last night. Moody.”

You scoff as he begins to brush his teeth. You two are stealing glances in the mirror, too distant to hold contact for too long. “Why do you say things like this if you’re not trying to make me mad?”

“I’m just making an observation.” He shrugs like he’s not being a tool, brushing his teeth slowly as he looks at you. You’re staring down at your hands, shaking your head silently. “I’m sure it's news to you, but I never try to make you mad. I just say what I feel, and you jump down my throat.”

“Just brush your teeth.” You bite out in resolve, standing up straight as you go to walk away.

You're breathless, clutching a fist to your chest as his words wash over you with time. They fall like dominoes, slow and calculated, as you dress for the day. Satoru thinks you’re working from home once he leaves, so you lean into it, picking something easy to wear, yet professional enough to be on camera. It’s the perfect outfit to run away in – something he sees all the time.

But even as you dote over your reflection in the bedroom mirror, adjusting necklines, pulling jewelry, smudging lipgloss, you’re thinking about it – him.

You don’t know why it’s so hard to sit with the fact that Satoru has always been like this. You two are polar opposites in social settings – he’s the life, you’re the longing. In crowded city bars, you’d be the girl tucked under his heavy arm, bearing the weight of his light. Satoru stopped drinking years ago, but when he did, he’d tower over you on the dancefloor, long arms slung over your shoulders as he shouts just how much he adores you – it’s a lot. Everyone’s around.

Reading your hunched demeanor, he doubles down. Yes, all these people are around… these undulating, nameless faces lost among the neon glare, but none of them held a flame to you. He chose you.

And when you’re alone with him, sober to the bone and drained after a work week, all of those sweet memories seem to fade away.

He’s always too loud, too close, overbearing, but never at arm's length. This monstrous, silent loathing is a hard feeling to live with. It eats you alive, until he touches you and takes it all away again.

It’s all you want, right now. Satoru’s touch.

“Staring introspectively into my bedroom mirror whilst my shitty husband calls for me repeatedly. That should be the prompt on your next scholarly paper.”

You turn around, brows furrowed as reality hits again. “What are you talking about? I didn’t hear you.”

“Let’s sync our breaks – meet up somewhere to eat.” Right as you open your mouth to blow him off, he’s rushing back. “It can just be ramen, nothing serious. Come on, just give me ten minutes.”

His begging for a sliver of emotional affection isn’t new, but it usually isn’t so blatant. Then, your eyes wander, wondering if those ten minutes would be worth your time.

No, you have a train to catch. A one-way ticket out of here.

“I’ll let you know how I’m feeling later.” You nod, smiling softly as you dodge that falling stare settled on you. “I-I’m just… I’m tired.”

“It’s okay.” He replies, whisper-soft. He’s trying to hide it, but the shine in his eyes falters for just a second, the only hint you get to his disappointment.

When you see him off that morning, your stomach hurts.

There’s an ink-black, bitter pit there as you watch him jog down the pavement in his endearing little Professor's Aide sweater vest uniform. There’s a bag slung over his shoulder, packed with a Bento you made for him in case you couldn’t see him for his break.

“Bye, love! I will text you!”

You’re silent, passing him a kiss you press to your fingers. Your stomach hurts, and now your heart aches – it burns, you’re on fire, soles of your feet scalding on coals fueled by guilt. That blue glimmer in his eyes is so oblivious to the obvious that it hurts.

If you could help it, this was the last time Satoru would ever see you, and he waved you goodbye with the sweetest smile on his face.

“I love you,” You call back weakly once he’s comfortably out of earshot. Then he turns the corner, and he’s gone – just a lingering presence in the air that only affects you. If you could cry right now, you would. But, you’ve cried enough this last week – more than you ever have with him. Everything was just so terribly bittersweet.

When you made your decision, it didn’t feel real. Somehow, it does now. You wonder how your friends will take it and if you’ll see them again. Sure, they’re your friends, but they’re Satoru’s too. You wonder if you’ll see his family, his mother took you in and doted on you when her son pushed her away. His father gave you advice and priceless memories. Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, Kin – all of them. You knew all of them.

Being a Gojo was so deeply rooted in your life that you’re not sure it’s possible to change your name. They’ve truly made you feel like one of theirs, as deafening as that sounds.

A minute in the doorway, and you’re turning around to finish out the rest of your morning. All of your bags were packed and stowed away with the laundry, where Toru never treks. It’s just one suitcase – half of your wardrobe. You’re sure you’ll be back to collect everything else.

In any case, you wouldn’t miss anything with his lingering scent on it, so you stare longingly at your art on the walls – the blankets on the couch and the crystal sitting on display in the cabinets.

And just before you’re about to leave, you stop at the counter and rip off a piece of a napkin on display. You brought out a pen from the study, hands shaking as you pull the cap.

Satoru, Keep whatever, or you can sell it. Just don't reach out, i’m leaving you I’m sorry and i really really do love you

A small, wet teardrop lands on the dingy napkin, and it’s the first sign of crying. You’re surprised you still have it in you after so many rivers you’ve wept. Writing his name carried a terrible feeling, scripting out the letters to tell him you were leaving was like bricks falling from your pen.

Shaking hands, you let it drop on the counter beside your note. If this is the last thing you give him, you want it to be candid. Just like your relationship – winging it all until the silence grew inescapable.

You call a cab, heading downstairs with your bags in hand. It’s a conscious decision to leave the door unlocked, but you have the keys stuffed in your pocket. You’re not really thinking about it or anything at all. You’re focused on not falling on your face as you jog down the steps, breathless without a cause. It feels like fire is burning hot in your tracks.

Your suitcase slides into the back, the city breeze rolls your hair back, and a chill envelopes your face. The entire time, you’re silent, bowing for your driver and showing manners, but silent and dreary nonetheless.

The ride is shaky, music drowns out the noise, and emptiness fills the void.

It’s all you can muster up the courage to feel right now, as the city passes you by. It’s an odd kind of comforting melancholy, like when you know the storms have faded and all that’s left is the rebuild.

You have your family waiting at home. A room with a view of nothing but countryside and rolling rivers. You’re giving yourself four weeks to get back to yourself, two to file the divorce properly, and one without any work before returning to just virtual meetings in your childhood bedroom.

Morning jogs, bike rides down the riverside, fresh delicacies to buy – yes, your life would be too rich to worry about Satoru. You feel like a caterpillar slowly slinking towards its cocoon with the joyful unease of what's to come. But you’re still so sad.

It’s hard to believe that anything can feel as good as the way Satoru made you feel, even when his tendencies made you want to pull your hair out. In the end, you made your decision. You slept on it, stewed over it, cried about it, and now you’re living through it.

Reality hits when you’re stepping out at the station. Bodies are everywhere, making it easy to pay your fee and slip into the chaos. You lose your sense of self walking against the foot traffic of the busy morning commuters, sucking back even more tears as you crawl the descending stairs.

Once you reach the bottom, you’re alone enough to breathe, luggage firm at your side as you dig for your phone. You’ve been meaning to do this forever — actually tell your closest friends about your decision. All they know is what you let them see. The second you and Toru start arguing in front of them, you’re walking away. It’s all smiles and love when they bring him up, even after that day you kicked him out of the apartment and made him get a hotel. Lying about your relationship is your forte, but you couldn’t lie anymore.

Shoko picks up two rings deep, bored but aware. ‘What’s up?’

“Hey, I know you’re at work… Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be out for about a month.”

There’s shuffling on the other line – the echo of familiar voices. You can guess she’s walking down the lecture hall during the transition; it was around that time. ‘You’re such a slack. And guess whose gonna be stuck doing all your work? Me.’

“I mean, I’ll be out, but I’ll still be working.” Intercom, robotic voices control the flow as a train departs before you, sending a noisy rush of air into your face.

‘Are you going on vacation or what?’

“Visiting family.” You reply, no emotion.

Shoko silences for a moment, humming under her breath. ‘Without Jo?’

“Yeah… I’m leaving him.”

More silence. You expected nothing less.

“Shoko?”

‘Dude, what? Why?’

“He didn’t… cheat or anything, we just haven’t been happy for most of our marriage. It’s like people want to see us together more than we want to be together.”

‘Okay, coming from the outside — No, you guys are so obviously in love, I mean… All he does is talk about you, it’s genuinely the most annoying thing ever.’ You can see her now in your mind's eye, jaw working a piece of fruit gum between her teeth, talking with her hands.

“Yeah… well… you’re not trapped inside four walls with him once the sun goes down.”

‘That’s so fucking sad, I- wow.’

“I’ve made peace.”

‘-And I don’t even blame you, because I wouldn’t touch him with a long, long stick. He’s too annoying, and that’s just the least of it. So arrogant, too. He’s not as sexy as he thinks he is.’ It’s like once you pull the bandage off, it gave Shoko ample room to talk shit. Yes, she loves Toru – she loves you more. It’s always going to be you that she defends.

“Yeah, but it’s more just, like – he knows what buttons to push and makes pushing them a game. The only time we talk… like, actually talk, is when he thinks I’m mad at him and rushes in for damage control… then, it’s all like, ‘well, baby, if you would talk to me and tell me how you’re feeling, I’d understand.’ – But, whenever I tell him how I’m feeling, he fucking invalidates it like I’m the crazy one! Why am I still begging to pay some bills five years into the marriage?! He doesn’t listen to me.”

‘Let that man pay the bills.’

“It’s the principal-

‘I know, I know.’ She sighs, chuckling softly before she continues. ‘I’m not going to hear the end of this – does he know you’re gone?’

“No… and don’t tell him. I want him to find out for himself.”

‘Harsh.’

“It’d be harsher coming from you.”

The announcement comes from your train, the rush of wheels skidding against tracks inches closer, you’re stepping back from the platform.

“Okay, I’m gonna go. Don’t really want to be on my phone this week, so I’ll probably turn it off. Call my sister if you need anything.”

‘I’ll be thinking about you – stay busy.’

“I will.” You reply, voice bittersweet in your chest. Shoko goes away, and you’re alone again – thoughts rush to the front of your mind. You’re staring at the lockscreen of you and Satoru in Kyoto when things were still good; a friendly stranger took it. Your arms are slung over his neck, and you’re smiling in his face. You remember that day so well – he was all over you and made the sweetest love to you that night. It was all so good back then. You never wanted for anything. Not space, touch, emotion, or love. Satoru gave you everything you needed, including some.

Then, the feeling finally, truly settles.

You miss him.

From: Satoru No news on lunch? Don’t worry about it, baby. Thank you for my bento, I’ll make sure to return it empty. From: Satoru On my way home! Running real fast to you Had the shittiest day, gotta rant when I get back From: Satoru Hey, what’s with the cryptic note? Did someone snatch you up for ransom? Babe? [incoming call]

You glance down at your phone, grunting as you swing your suitcase over your small childhood bed.

You made it back home a little less than three hours ago – just as your sister left for class and your father for work. Stepping out of the cab, your mother was the one waiting for you with a solemn look in her eyes.

Breakfast was waiting, traditional, just like always. Natto, fish, rice, soup – she stuffed you full. Now, you’re finally getting a chance to settle in and unpack, staring down the room that faced the worst of your teenage angst.

When Satoru’s name flashes over your screen, bile rises in your throat. Immediately, you turn it back over, your finger finding the power button, and rid yourself of the stress. You’ve just glanced at the string of messages – he’d been sending them all day, which isn’t unlike him, but it felt wrong.

You two would hide phones under desks and banter on and off all day. In the same room, you two would exchange playful glances like he wasn’t describing every lewd thing he wanted to do to you that night. It’s just a habit; he doesn’t mind when you don’t text him back, but hates when you ignore his calls.

You’re sure it’s how he realizes you’re actually gone – that one missed call.

Then you’re trying to distract yourself from crying by unzipping your case, pulling out shirts, tears flooding in your eyes. But it’s too much to handle.

You collapse next to the suitcase, pulling your knees to your chest, and sob.

It burns so hot in your body, your cries sound like they’re breaking through the barrier, eating you alive. Your open-mouthed sobs are akin to the sound of prey being gutted alive – it’s piercing and raw, cutting your vocal cords.

It’s like you can’t stop. You let it all out, here – fingers bunched in the sheets, drawing blood in your palm from the strength of your nailed grip. The pain goes unnoticed because the aching in your chest is so cruel. Your mind is screaming at you, damning you to fiery hells and telling you to go back.

Go back and deal with it, it’s what you deserve.

You know you’re too weak to be alone.

Suck it up. Just like you always have.

Numbness sets in with time. You watch the neighborhood kids run down the cracked road through your small window, never shifting from the position you cried in. The sun travels through the sky, and late morning morphs into afternoon, afternoon to evening.

Downstairs, the home lights back up from everyone’s departure this morning, but you want nothing to do with it. You’re sure your mom has been home this entire time – most likely heard you crying and decided not to intervene. You’re glad. You didn’t want comfort.

Now you’re staring at the sky as it morphs into grey, and rain begins. You feel lonely.

Grey turns to black, you’re tired.

As blackness settles in, so does sleep. Right in that same position. Nobody bothers you.

Until you’re cracking open your eyes, it’s daytime.

You sit up immediately, regretting your choice as a mean wave of dizziness falls over you. Your stomach aches with hunger, breath ripe, and skin swollen from the tears. You’re still in your clothes from yesterday, the button of your pants digging into your soft skin painfully.

You breathe out a yawn, grimacing at the feeling before looking around for your phone.

It’s precisely where you left it, face down and completely off. You didn’t want to see Satoru’s messages right now. You just wanted to check the time. The house is quiet.

From: Satoru I wish I could kneel at your feet and emphasize just how sorry I am. I can’t believe how stupid and selfish I was when I had you, but I see it now. I could see that you were hurting for a while, but I assumed it would just pass in time.. I don’t know why I assumed, but I regret it so much. Take your time, my love, but don’t forget about me. Please, let’s talk this through before you make any hasty decisions.

You can feel the tears – they’re there before you even skim over the message.

With Godly timing, the softest of knocks fall to your door. It’s the only thing keeping you from breaking down again. There’s no real privacy here; you’re lucky your mom even knocked before slowly pushing it open.

“I figured you would be awake by now.” She smiles at your ruffled reflection – bed head everywhere, sleep lines on your face, drool on your lips. “Would you like some food?”

“Please.” You nod her in, dragging your arm across your face to wake yourself up. “Thank you, Mama.”

She has a tray of the same spread she served you yesterday in her familiar, comforting hands. Green tea steams wantonly at the corner, flailing in its porcelain confines when she lowers it before you. “Didn’t want to bother you much yesterday…”

“Thank you for that.”

“Your father peeked his head in last night.” She continues, reaching out to stroke your hair as you reach for the tea you’d been eyeing. There’s just something about crying that dehydrates you to the bone. “Said you were sleeping so hard that you were snoring.”

“Probably. Hadn’t had a good night's sleep in a while.”

“You can do better than sleeping on top of your bed in all your clothes.”

“Wasn’t really worried about that.” You can tell she wants to bring up Satoru – ask how he is, just out of force of habit. Maybe she wants to ask you about your divorce plans, but she stays silent, nodding slowly. “Thank you for the food.”

“Bring it back down when you’re ready. Take your time.” Her gentle tone is welcomed, but so is her departure. The door clicks shut, and you’re taking a slow, deep breath, suddenly overcome by the burning of oncoming tears. You thought you had expelled them all last night, but Satoru’s message hung over your head like a dark precipitating cloud. It’s all flowing over you like hot rain, downpouring over your mental clarity.

You’re drawn to deep, soulless staring at the poster-covered wall before you as your tea warms. Hunger is lost on you, you reach for the short ceramic cup and bring it to your lips with shaking hands.

You just can’t understand how you can miss someone so much after envisioning life without them – welcoming it, yearning for it. Your heart and mind are tugging you across two playing fields, never letting you get an ounce of rest or peace.

Satoru has been staring into space for far too long, blinking at the wall like it’d somehow make you appear before him again. The note you penned is sitting on the counter, cursing him silently, pulling him to its angsty whims. He can see the small tear stain – can read the shake of your penmanship in the sloping letters. For once in his life, Satoru doesn’t know what to feel.

This has to be a joke.

He steps away for a second, staring unblinkingly at the floor as he reaches for his phone. It’s in his back pocket – he has to shuffle blindly.

Now he understands why you haven’t been responding.

To: gojo 💍 Hey, what’s with the cryptic note? Did someone snatch you up for ransom? Babe?

He gives it a second – that’s all he knows he needs. If you don’t answer in a second, you’re really gone.

His heart burns when you don’t answer at all. He’s paralyzed as the thought of being alone rushes over him. Just like you, he doesn’t understand what went wrong. Yes, you two fought often, but doesn’t every couple? The fighting always led to something better – deep discussions or love-making. He made sure to cover his bases every single time. He even found himself cooking and cleaning for you with a guilty conscience. So much of himself is rooted in you and how you loved him; he’s not sure he knows how to be without you by his side. Of course, it’s more than the money, sex, or power. It’s the fact that your lives are completely intertwined. There is no Satoru without you – there’s no you without Satoru.

That’s what eats him alive.

It’s what makes him stumble to the couch you picked out, head in his hands as he collapses into the downiness. He wants the cushions to swallow him whole – maybe then he can get lost in the wealth of your scent and sincerity. So many times you two have found yourself here, kissing the night away, hands under clothes. Movie marathons that led to falling asleep on shoulders, deep conversations that made him actually crack a tear. It’s all embedded in the upholstery, and he can’t even move. Satoru just feels so pathetic – it’s a new feeling for him, a disgusting one.

“Oh, fuck.” He states as if reality just washed over him. Now, all Satoru can do is sit with everything. He keeps rereading the note he memorized in his head, like there were hints as to where you were hidden behind the script. You told him that you loved him, and as good of a sign as it looks like, it feels counterfeit.

He loved you more than he loved anything – including himself, and he’d never leave you. He has to know why you felt the need to leave him so easily, and it’s not like five years is a long marriage in any form of the term. Satoru wanted a family with you. He wanted to see you swollen with his baby, ripe with hormones, and caring with a blue-eyed infant. It’s all he yearned for – stability, endless, overflowing love, and mutual support.

He’s almost… mad that you gave up.

No, not almost. He’s mad.

Not even thinking, knowing his efforts are for naught, he snatches up his phone and dials you with scary precision. A piece of him knows that you won’t answer, but his hands are shaking. He just needs to try.

He counts – the line rings six times.

Then, it clicks, a stupid robotic voice telling him you’re unavailable. Yes, he fucking knows you’re not available. Or, maybe you are. Perhaps you’re just watching your screen as his name brushes against it. Satoru hates when you let your cowardice take over, and he knows that’s what you’re doing.

In a sudden fit of rage, he takes his ringing phone and throws it across the room, hearing it shatter on impact as it hits a window. As satisfying as it feels, he feels more like a dunce. If he waited a second longer, maybe your sweet voice would brush the rusty, waiting dial tone. He wants you in his arms, but this feeling is so unfamiliar and nasty that he doesn’t know what to do or what to think. He knows he wants you back, he just can’t fathom what he did wrong.

At work the next day, Satoru doesn’t feel any better. In fact, he feels worse. He didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, scared and cold as he tried to hug himself to rest. He hasn’t been in a bed without you since he was a teenager, and he doesn’t think he could exist without your body heat safe in his arms.

The lack of sleep is making him irritable, it’s wafting off of his body as he walks down the hallway to his lecture hall. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to teach anything, but he’d have to sit and annotate – he’s not sure he can keep his mind straight long enough to pen an entire two-hour Sociology lecture, let alone stay awake. That scares him – he’s letting his personal life seep into the fabric of his work, but it’s impossible not to when this is where he met you.

Sweet and young, shy as all hell, too. Satoru would make excuses and drag his friends to the admin office on bullshit bases, all to see your little smile when he complimented your outfit. You were always right there next to Shoko, using her long hair as a security blanket. Everything was good back then… everything was sweet.

Satoru can’t believe he’s fighting back tears as he steps into the vast, vacant hall, bag slung over his shoulder. He must be a walking ball of bad vibes, because his professor is noticing immediately, commenting on it, too, which is supremely unlike him.

No, Kento Nanami was much more of a don’t ask, don’t tell, zero-bullshit type of instructor. Him and Satoru often butted heads, but butting heads was more like purposefully ignoring the other – their relationship is far too compliated for him to dwell on for too long.

“You look like Hell.”

“My wife left me last night.” Satoru finds no need to lie. Yes, he’s struggling. He needs grace; the only way he’d get it is to let Kento know he’s distracted.

Kento turns slowly, watching Satoru move in front of his desk to settle in the front row of chairs. When he’s still, Kento can see the darkness around his usually perky eyes, but he doesn’t know how to feel. “Well… I am sorry to hear that. If you need to take the day off, I unders-

“-just need to distract myself.” Satoru cuts him off like he doesn’t want to talk, sucking his cheek as he pulls out his work laptop. “I forwarded those papers you sent me the other night. Everything’s looking good. From my initial glance at the collection of scores, it looks like this period is sitting at 83% accuracy. Pretty good.”

“I didn’t need those scores until the end of the week.” Kento turns back around to his board, propping himself against the desk he’s occupying. He’s been sketching out the lesson plan against the chalked surface for most of his morning. Traditional for the introduction to a new unit. “But, I’ll start putting them in. Thanks, Gojo.”

“Sure.” Satoru swallows as he types out his password to get into the device. It’s your birthday. His heart hurts. His wallpaper is you at the zoo, holding a little lion cub, totally fearless with the biggest smile on your face. The way the sun touches your features – God, it just makes him weak in the knees. That era of your relationship is so well documented because you two were on cloud nine. He wants it back – he wants you back.

“Satoru,” that familiar, whiny voice is just what he needs right now. It’s the only thing that can pull him from the depths your pretty face dragged him to. “I’ve called you like ten times, they won’t even go thro- hi, Kento.”

“Geto… hello…” Nanami mumbles, not even looking at the visitor, because he knows who it is. The five of you are like a clique, and he hates it. Not because he’s not in it, but because they’ve definitely tried to rope him into the madness, but he’s just in a different league. All he thinks about is work, not friends.

“Sator-

“Gojo left me last night. I broke my phone.” Satoru spits out like it's the easiest thing ever. He’s hiding his emotions like he always does, and he knows Suguru is due to find out at any moment. “Reckless, I know.”

“What?” Suguru walks up to him, long hair pulled back in a low-hanging bun. They’ve known each other damn near since childhood – completely inseperable, face-deep in platonic love. Right now, Satoru knows that Suguru would be the only human capable of picking up the pieces you shattered.

“Packed some clothes, left me a note, and skipped town.”

“That’s crazy – it doesn’t make any sense.” Suguru plops down right next to him, entire body turned at attention, only for Satoru to pour every vapid thought into. He’s not supposed to be in this hall, but he’s friendly enough with Kento to skate by during the last half hour before lectures start. “I just saw her the other day with Shoko and Utahime. They… didn’t invite me to lunch, but I understand the whole girls’ day aspect of it all. She just… I’m sorry, she seemed so at ease.”

“Because she was with Shoko.”

“Does Shoko know where she is?”

“If I asked, she’d just lie for her.”

“Where could she have even gone?”

“Probably back home.” Satoru’s sucked into something on his laptop, opening a new document and labeling it under todays date and the topic Kento wants to cover. If he wasn’t going through a breakup, he’d be excited for this new unit, though he’s experienced it year after year. “Been saying she misses her family a lot.” Then he thinks about it, sitting forward with his chin pressed into a closed fist. Satoru has never barred you from doing what you want – staying out all night with your friends? Of course, he didn’t care. He welcomed it. Solo trips back home? Oh, Satoru encouraged it.

He was the perfect husband – what happened?

At his side, Suguru watches him stew over the matter, thin brows knitted in pity. He reaches out, hand smoothing over Satoru’s shoulder. He shakes him softly. “If you don’t want to be alone, my guest bedroom is empty. There’s probably still traces of you in there – not like anyone else uses it.”

Satoru hesitates, knowing that a night with Suguru would lead to little sleep just because they have everything in the world to talk about. They have the same favorite shows, movies, foods, and conversations – it’d be a perfect distraction, but Satoru just wants to get you back.

“Or, we can go to a bar. I know you don’t usually drink, but it is Friday, I’m sure if we bribe Shoko with free drinks, she’d help you find her.”

“I really shouldn’t…” The sane part of his mind is telling Satoru not to seek out one who doesn’t wish to be sought, but he wants to. He knows Shoko knows where you are – Hell, Utahime probably knew, too. You’re surprised Suguru’s seemingly the only one in the dark. “But, I don’t think I want to be alone.”

Suguru nods slowly, not pushing Satoru for eye contact when he knows he’s sensitive to the touch. “We don’t have to get drunk and emotional if you don’t want to.” He continues dropping his hand to cross them in his lap. All Satoru looks like to him is a shell. He’s staring at his screen like it’d tell him what he needs to know, and Suguru finds himself, for the first time ever, genuinely worried for him.

“I’ll… uh— I’ll text you about it later.”

“Sure.”

“Are you going to sit this one in, Geto?” Kento turns around, snatching up a beige rag from his desk to dust his hands. “Bells about to hit.”

Satoru feels both of their stares zero in on him, and he knows he’s not hiding anything. His eyes are bloodshot, his hair disheveled, and flat over his head. Feeling some kind of insecure, he reaches into his bag and slides on a dark pair of square glasses.

Suguru sighs. “Nobody would blame you if you went home.”

“She’ll come around.” He whispers, pursing his lips as he leans back in his chair. His hands are shaking, so he tucks them close to his chest. “She always does, doesn’t she?”

Doesn’t she?

Two weeks down the drain, completely wiped from your memory. Sober days and sleepless nights – that moody in-between when you’re gasping for air. Still, you battled it through in your childhood bed.

You got over it, just like you knew you would.

Work started again last week. You’ve been slowly scouring through emails, working your way forward by combing through backlogs. Most of the time, your job falls to scheduling Dean meetings, prospective professor interviews, and prestigious tours, but it varies. Without you, all of this work would have fallen onto Shoko, but you can’t feel bad. She’s been doing this way longer than you and is ten times more efficient. However, she liked to complain. You let her have it this time.

Now, you’re planning your trip back to the City. The apartment you’d been keeping an eye on since the marriage had just closed with the money you saved, and you’re finally confident.

Rather, confident enough.

You will definitely have to see Satoru when you go back to work, but it’s just something you knew you’d have to deal with. It’s the unfortunate downside to working with your partner, and you think that’s what did it in.

You’re sitting at your family’s dinner table, bags packed all around you as you wait for your ride to the station. You’re sawing your lip in concentration, pen scribbling messily in your lax grip.

It was an exercise you’ve been putting off since you left the city – writing Satoru a note letting it all out, and then freeing yourself from the burden by throwing it away. His eyes would never lie upon these scribbled words, so you let it out. You’re not sure what you’re even writing anymore, your wrist is moving at its own accord.

Satoru, I love you. It might not seem like it right now, but I love you to the ends of the Earth and back again. Being married to you felt like a dream in more ways than I can fathom, but I’d wake up at night, and that bliss fades into loathing. You have no problem sticking up for me in front of your friends, so why, when I’m faced with impossible decisions from your family, do you go radio silent? We agreed it’d just be us. We decided we’d focus on each other and our work, not on family nonsense that drains my psyche and leaves me exhausted. They want something from me that I can’t give, and I didn’t know how to tell them no - everyone is so pleasant to me. That being said. It’s not why I left… I’m actually not sure why I did it, or I just don’t want to see things for what they are. Every time we’d see each other for over an hour, we’d fight. I admit that I was the catalyst for most of the arguments, but you never reassured me. I’d fall asleep next to you afterwards, sobbing so hard I couldn’t breathe, and you would just turn around and pretend not to hear. Why? I guess that’s all I want to know, now. Why? I’ve always given you everything you needed without a question – why was it so easy to push me to the wayside? Why is it so easy to ignore me to my face for days on end? And why can’t you see me as more than an incubator for your unborn children? I just can’t help but wonder…

As you’re writing, the car your family called for you pulls up outside. You wanted to leave while they were all predisposed with work and school because you know you’d cry and cave if you saw their pitiful goodbye faces. They insisted on the fare, you’re insisting that you’ll be back as soon as you can. You take the half-finished note, folding it lax in your fingers as you stand and grab your bags.

You’re leaving with more than you came with. Typical.

And you’re leaving like you were never here, with the wind peeking through the front door and the sun on your skin.

You thought you’d be more excited to get back to your life, but there’s an invisible feeling of longing planted deep in your chest that’s making it hard to swallow. The letter you penned to Toru is balanced between your fingers as you swing your heavy bags into the vehicle. This time, the driver watches you from the side with a cigarette between his teeth, mentioning your destination softly and how the fare was already pre-paid. You nod the older man along, giving him a phony smirk when the boot closes and you’re stepping into the backseat.

You don’t care that he’s still lingering outside. It gave you time to settle in, rustling the soft paper, trying not to give the flustered words your attention. All this note is is a weak attempt to try to understand where things went wrong. Satoru was never unhappy in the relationship, not like you were; he just didn’t know how to approach your angst without being struck in the crossfire. He exercised the same cowardice he condemned you for, and now you two exist worlds apart.

Still, you can’t help but wonder where he is… What he’s doing.

Around this time of day, he’d be wrapped up in lectures. You can almost see his slumped figure over his laptop, typing without giving the keyboard a second glance. Toru’s always been an overachiever – too good at his job. Too good to still be an aide, but waits patiently for his time to come as a professor.

It’s always been his goal to buy you a big house that you two could grow old in together. You can close your eyes and hear his sweet voice lost in your sheets, whispering every detail about your future in your ear. But when you open them again, it disappears.

The car door slams on the rest of your shriveled sanity, and you’re standing in front of a home that wasn’t yours… Yet.

You just signed papers online, carrying cold, hard cash in your bag that’d leave you with virtually nothing once you hand it over in exchange for keys. It’s like being in a wind tunnel – feeling the city pulse and move around you as you drag your measly two suitcases against polished concrete. You didn’t know what time it was – your phone is too buried in your luggage, but you know you just got off a nearly four-hour bullet train, and your ears rang.

Luckily, the property owner isn’t too far behind you, and you can exchange cash for keys within two minutes of your arrival.

You thought once you had a place to call your own, that you’d feel completely comfortable, but standing in the echoey, semi-modern space, you feel devoid of life. You don’t even own a speck of furniture – this is not your home.

So, you leave your bags at the locked entryway, sliding off your shoes out of habit as you head to the back wall of covered windows. Your apartment is on the ground floor, and humans walk by, not knowing you’re looking over them. You take your time, pulling each curtain so the sun can bleach the wooden floors in gold.

Right there, under the sun like a contented cat, you pull your knees to your chest and sit… for hours, just grounding yourself. Losing time as the sun floats through the sky.

All you can do since the separation is to sit with the pain and waste time. It’s the only thing that keeps you sane.

You can’t recall what time exactly you stood to relieve your throbbing bladder, but when you’re walking back into the empty expanse, your phone is dinging from the confines of your bag. Sighing, you lean down to flush it out.

From: Utahime Are you back in town!! Suguru invited us out for free drinks From: Shoko Don’t worry, i told him to fuck off if he already invited Gojo He said he didn’t To: Utahime, Shoko I don’t really think I’d be good company From: Shoko One drink and you’ll forget about that maniac. From: Utahime Please!! We miss u To: Utahime, Shoko I don’t trust Suguru. There’s no way he didn’t invite toru From: Shoko Okay, well i trust him enough. If we see him, it’s no big deal we’ll just leave From: Utahime You know he doesn’t drink anyway From: Shoko Tired argument, babe. He’s wherever Geto is To: Utahime, Shoko Yeah, well maybe he should marry suguru next. From: Shoko Girl… To: Utahime, Shoko I told you i wouldn’t be fun to be around right now. Enjoy your free drinks, you two deserve them

The group chat goes silent enough for you to tuck your phone away, breathing in deep through your nose as you watch evening set in outside your windows.

You’ve been putting it off since you returned, but there isn’t a speck of anything in this space, and you were exhausted. In some form of the phrase, you’d have to pick up your feet and carry yourself to the store to get an air mattress.

That ten-minute walk felt like a marathon in your exhausted mind. But like everything in adulthood, you must be uncomfortable for twenty minutes to be comfortable for eight hours. You peel your body into action, rubbing at your eyes until you see stars.

You’re only bringing your phone in case of an emergency. You didn’t want to see it – you didn’t want to see the lockscreen picture of you and Toru that you didn’t have the guts to delete. It’s better not to look because you can’t delete him; it just didn’t feel right yet. Somehow, someday, strength will take over, and you can rid your life of his shadow. One day, you’ll fall out of love and stare at someone else with the stars you’re rubbing into your eyes.

It’s all you can hope for. It’s the only thing that keeps you warm and sane as you leave your apartment.

You moved to a new neighborhood, and although you’re not unfamiliar, it’s different. The alleys are darker on this side of the city – street lights flicker, but you welcome it. Nobody is really around; convenience stores light up the area in neon, but that’s not where you’re headed. The local department store is just down the street. Foot traffic gets heavier as you approach the business district, which is still booming with the promise of night.

Your one-track mind gets you in and out of the stark-white space in less than ten minutes. Your feet are moving so fast that your legs are numb, and you can’t see anything that’s not shrouded in inky blackness. If you cared to see anything for what it truly was, you’d notice just how depressed you are. You’re in pain – full, bodily pain like you’re recovering from an injury.

It hits you all at once, and you’re almost back to your apartment.

Then, you make a decision that doesn’t fully set in until it’s finished – you slide into a 7-Eleven, air mattress tucked under your arm, and pick up two cans of dangerously strong mixed drinks. You’re lying to yourself, thinking that they’d just be a vehicle for sleep so you can start work with a full night.

You’re an incredible liar – even you believe the nonsense your brain is pushing.

As you make it back into your door, bags hanging from your fingers and yawning sleepily into the night, you can hear your phone ping quietly in your pocket. Once you step inside and place your loot at your feet, you shrug to grab it. It’s the group chat again.

From: Shoko

[1 image attachment]

Geto said hiiiiiiii

The picture is of the three of them, side by side at a bar table. Suguru’s in the middle, cradling a frosted pitcher of beer with the biggest close-eyed grin on his face. Utahime is behind him, peeking from around his back, sending you a friendly, stoic wink. Shoko’s barely in frame, but her smudged eye makeup and gently smoking cigarette between her teeth is undeniable.

You crack a smile and send back a quick message.

To: Shoko, Utahime Love u guys ♡ have fun From: Shoko Goodnight, we love you! Missing you like hell

That’s the last of it. You turn your phone off again.

Before you can even set up the mattress, you’re cracking into your first drink, taking a deep breath to keep your taste buds at bay as you swallow the entirety in just under a minute.

Thank god you can’t taste it, because you hated drinking like this. It’s pointless and depressing, but you were feeling so much that you had to numb it out. If Satoru could see you now… You don’t even want to know how he’d react.

You drink more to chase him away.

Uncoordinated and dizzy from the mixture of alcohol on an empty stomach, you drag the air mattress box into the middle of the open room. You didn’t want to carry it all the way to the bedroom, so you kneel, manicured fingers sharp as you rip into the tape and cardboard.

You’re half-awake, blinking drearily as you throw the empty box behind you, crawling over the tufted, flat expanse to spread it out. You splurged on a bigger bed, needing something to roll in without fear of falling onto cold, hard flooring. It’s so big that you have to stand up, hiccuping softly as your feet spread it to full size.

You stand over it, out of breath with your hands pressed to your hips. You can’t really see clearly through this drunken haze, but it dawns on you that you don’t have an air pump. You forgot to buy one.

“Fuck.” You whine, pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes. You’re seeing splotches of white – they dart across your sight like scurrying mice, driving you into a feeling so sick that you’re almost anxious.

Not thinking twice, you sit back on your knees, crawling to the air hole, and giving it one last push. You bring the nozzle to your lips, taking a deep breath before blowing. It’s weak, comically so. You can’t hold a stream for less than half a minute, and your head is already spinning. You’re whining again like a tired child, thoroughly beaten down and hopeless as you size up your situation.

If only Toru were here… He’d make it all better.

You’re standing on shaky feet, peeking around the darkness for the promise of your phone. It’s right where you left it, completely off and face down on the kitchen counter. Dragging your bare feet, you go to grab and turn it back on.

You call him. All inhibitions are lost.

He answers… right away. The phone doesn’t even ring twice.

The line clicks, but he doesn’t speak–not yet. His breathing is shallow.

“S-satoru?”

More silence. You want to sob.

“Toru, I jus- I know I’m the last person you want to hea-

‘You sound like you’re going to cry.’ He blurts out suddenly, voice so familiar it makes you sick. There’s no animosity when he’s talking to you; he just sounds worried.

“I’m back in the city and I… I just – I don’t have any furniture at my new apar-

‘Come home. If you want to sleep in the spare room, it’s fine, I’ll let you have it. Just stop this madness and come home. I’m waiting for you.’

You have to hang up before you can respond, because the tears are coming and they’re disgusting and heavy. You’re sobbing into your hands, feeling so overcome and pathetic with yourself and this turn of circumstance. Of course, Satoru is being nice about it – he loves you and you blindsided him, he’ll take any grasp at you that he can get.

You sob as you slip on a jacket and your shoes, tears and snot dripping onto the floors and leather. You’re shaking as you reach to wipe it away, unable to look at yourself in the reflection of your lock screen as you glance at the time.

There are no trains running at this hour. The only things that lit up the streets are twenty-four-hour convenience stores and old, late-night family restaurants that make most of their money from the after-bar crowd. Your friends are likely tucked behind one of those doors, laughing, living, and feeding off the dopamine they pour into each other. You belong with them, leaning drunkenly into your husband's chest as he dotes on you. So many sleepless nights were spent in that spell. No cares in the world. In love. Young. You want to go back.

So you walk that twenty-some minutes back home – Satoru’s home, now. Yes, you picked it out. Yes, you decorated it, but you had to be okay with letting it go, so you are. You just have to lie to yourself a little more every day, and hopefully, the breakup will morph into reality. You just don’t want to suffer anymore.

In your daze, the front door code is still etched into your memory. So is the way to the fourth floor – you climb the steps, breathless by the time you get there.

Your and Toru’s apartment was nothing less than luxurious with the money he poured into it. Though he promised that you two would split bills before you agreed on getting the place, that quickly fell by the wayside when he looked at you with those bright doe eyes, mentioning he’d love nothing more than to take complete care of you, so all you had to focus on was your work and sanity. He also had a mind to make you a mother, but he conveniently didn’t add that to his point that night.

You hold your breath as you reach to knock on the door. Before your knuckle even hits wood, it’s swinging open. All the lights are on – you squint.

Satoru is on the other side, loose shirt hanging from his shoulders, bone-white hair all ruffled with relaxation. Seeing him again after all this time nearly kills you. Of course, you can’t look him in the eyes. “Hi. Come on.”

“I don’t want to talk.” You start, just protecting your heart from his musings before anything could transpire again. “I don’t want to fix things, I just want to sleep.”

“Okay.” He mutters, standing off to the side so that you could step in. “Okay, come on. We don’t have to talk.” The door opens wider, and light spills across your face. It takes you a minute to gather strength to step inside, but when you do, rivers of ease flow over your shoulders. You sigh.

“Your hair is longer.” He mentions in passing, catching himself as he goes out to touch you. Stagnant – midair, he hovers, telling himself no. He respects your space. “I changed the sheets in the room for you.”

You ignore him, shouldering past his hard body with a singular goal in mind. Your stomach is in knots – your head lighter than air. Everything is fuzzy, and if you didn’t fall into the warmth of a bed right now, Toru would have to carry you to his.

“Or you can sleep in our bed and I’ll take the spare room.”

Again, no answer. He follows behind you loosely as you stumble down the hall.

“Are you okay?”

“Leave me alone, just stop talking.” You slur, stupidly thinking that not giving him any of your attention would make him stop trying to squeeze words out of you.

“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to me. You’re the one who left.”

“Shut up,” you bite, turning into the cracked doorway of the spare bedroom. He’s still hot on your trail, sleepy eyes begging for more where you couldn’t see.

“We can fix this if you just tell me what I did wrong-

Before he can finish, you’re turning around in the doorway, not giving him any mercy as you slam the door on his face. It locks shortly after, just rubbing salt in his festering wound. At least he didn’t lie about switching out the sheets – the whole room smells fresh, like comfort materialized. You’re fumbling with your pants as you lumber to the warm, soft expanse, exerting as little effort as you can before collapsing into bed.

You don’t have the energy to flip the lights off, so they stay on as you roll around in the sheets, trying to swallow down the oncoming doom of nausea and dizziness. You know Toru is still standing outside of the door, you can see the shadow of his feet under the crack, but he can’t come in – or, he doesn’t want to break the lock out and piss you off even more.

After a few silent minutes, he shrugs off, and you fall in and out of consciousness. Sleep doesn’t come – not for real, at least. Whenever you think you’re getting there, you’re startled awake with your vapid inner thoughts. His pull is supernatural; it’s like you’re struggling to cope with being so close, yet so far. Right in the other room, you can hear Satoru moving around restlessly – shuffling in and out of the bathroom, talking to himself.

He’s alone, you’re lonely.

You blame it on the alcohol wearing off in your blood. That’s what gives you the push to roll out of bed and stumble to the door. Satoru stills in the other room right as the lock clicks – you know he hears you. He knows you’re on the way.

It’s why he’s not in the bedroom when you crack open the door. It’s like he tucked off to the bathroom on purpose, using the shower as a distraction while you fall into your old side of the bed. It’s made neatly – your throw pillows are fluffed, and you’re succumbing to your weakness again.

You dozed off for about ten minutes before you heard the door creak softly. Satoru’s footsteps are featherlight, and he knows you’re awake. Your breathing isn’t as shallow as it is now when you're sleeping. He doesn’t say anything about it–not yet.

Satoru waits for you, gathering the towel wrapped around his waist as he sits on the bed. He knows you too well.

So he doesn’t flinch when he feels the bed tremble beneath him. Sheets ruffle around your knees as you rise blearily. He hums when your arms wrap around his hard, broad shoulders, then mumbles, “You’re predictable.”

“I’m burning up, I need help.” You plead weakly, lips focused right above his sharp collarbone. His skin tastes like it always has – sweet, for some reason. Like he was sculpted out of sugar.

“Have you been drinking?”

You pause right at the stubble of his undercut, the translucent shag tickling your nose. “I don’t need to be scolded.”

“Well,” he peeks over his shoulder, pulling your chin close. The glow of his eyes amongst the darkness of the room is frighteningly familiar. You can’t look away. “I know you don’t want to talk about it.”

You’re waiting for him to do something – to take control of this situation and steer the reins in your favor. Right now, you want him to annihilate you in the gentlest way only he can. Touching yourself will never be enough now that you’ve tasted him. It hits you like a craving.

You’re left flicking between his eyes and his shiny, pink lips. They’re drawing you in like a siren song, weaving incantations that only your drunken mind would bend to. And finally, he kisses you. Something inside of you shrivels up and dies – your pride.

Now, you’re shedding everything for him, gentle grip turning into claws in his shoulders. His skin is soft after his shower, leaving bright red marks against the pale ocean. Toru grunts into your mouth, shifting over to his knees as he crowds you against the mattress. Big arms cage you in – your back is lodged in the sheets, you’re reaching to pull him closer.

Through it all, you don’t talk. When you’re needily grinding up into his thigh, he’s silent. Reaching down to your core, he doesn’t say a word.

Lips hot and panting into the hard skin behind his ear, hands clawed in his hair, you don’t whisper his name.

Your legs open for him, thighs parting like the Red Sea. He’s so hard for you, twitching against the towel he rips away and abandons somewhere in the room. Right now, every single move mattered. There are no words to dull your mood – nothing for him to say that hasn’t already been said.

Satoru’s spent a short-lived lifetime telling you how beautiful you are, how well you’re taking him, how sexy your body is. You know that’s what he’s thinking; he just won’t waste his breath telling you again.

After all, you couldn’t be bothered to waste yours, telling him that you were leaving to his face.

To you, this hot, grinding silence is deafening. Toru’s biting at your neck, kissing you holy, but it’s so foreign that you couldn’t really focus. You bite down a plea.

But he hears it. When he kisses you, he can taste the desire. His naked body is so pressed to yours that there’s no room to exist outside of it – you pull him closer.

Somewhere in the headiness, Satoru works a hand between your soft, stretchy waistband. He knows you’re ready for him, and he knows he’s ready for you. This moment might have been the perfect opportunity to prove devotion to each other. What a shame you’re so caught up in your head, worried about losing more of yourself to morph into the reality of who Satoru needs you to be.

He tugs your thin pants down your legs, staring down at the quivering flesh that blooms with irritation against the harshness of the fabric. You’re seething into his skin, hips lifting from the bed so he can take you quicker.

The issue is, he wants to see you. Toru wants to dip his head between your thighs and devour your cunt until you’re screaming his name, but you don’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve it.

The most you two could chew off without burying yourself in grief was wordless, raw sex. That’s all there is to it – Toru wants to fuck you, get his rocks off, then sleep like a baby. Sure, he’d care in the morning, but you’re presenting yourself to him with armor stripped. He’d be a fool to pass it up.

When he sits up, you’re scrambling. The air is too cold, his height is too brooding. He’s staring down at you, pearly chest rising and falling in the nightlight, but the gaze isn’t really there. One hand works at his erection, thick fist wrapped around the base of his cock as he coaxes it to full hardness.

You’re staring at his body, swallowing down gobs of want as you flick past his waistline. Your neat, mindful Satoru – he always trimmed his body to exactly what you wanted. The soft patch of hair that gathers under his belly button makes you crazy. The neat trimming of his pubes makes your mouth water, and you’ve been holding back for so long.

If you could tell him anything right now, it’d be just how much you need him. It was eating you alive at this point – all this cruel buildup.

You bring your hand to your lips, taking to biting down on the length of your thumb while he settles back against you. Any more sober, you’d stop him and tell him to wear a condom, but of course, you’re silent.

He mounts you again, pressing two big hands on either side of your head. Your free hand reaches up, holding his wrist gently as he slowly eases himself inside of your hole, stretching you out like he never left.

You take a second to focus on the feeling, eyes falling shut as the stretch engulfs every single one of your nerves. It’s so thick – drilling deeper and deeper inside of you until there was nothing left to give. All the way inside, Satoru nuzzles against that uncomfortably sensitive point inside of you, kissing it like he was proud of the pain.

You open your mouth to praise him – to whine about how deep he is, but all that comes out is a soft, strangled moan. He grunts again.

Then, he cuts himself loose, fingers working at the sheets as he pulls out halfway, pretty face screwing up as he fucks back into you.

You’re moaning, crying, rejoicing, living for everything in this moment. Your grip on his wrist tightens, and your thumb-gag breaks through. Satoru fucks you with an unnatural, mean precision, drinking up the sound of your skin slapping into each other. With this fervor, you’d be bruised tomorrow, but it’s too good. You love it when he’s rough – it’s just what you needed after sustaining for a month.

Your throat burns with the need to scream at him – to tell him to take you harder, to kiss you stupid, but you don’t. Satoru buries his face in your neck and gives it to you. Over and over, thrust after thrust. It hurts, but it’s so good.

Time creeps and crawls through the ordeal. Your belly is numb and raw, legs shaking from the tight strangle they have across Toru’s waist. He hasn’t moved an inch – letting himself plank over you, plowing into your weeping cunt with no mercy, and no end in sight. Veins bloom like red-hot wires in his neck, sweat beads like water in his collarbone, and he’s so hot that the humidity gathers in his still-damp hair, rolling off the strands and onto your skin.

Thirty minutes roll by – he’s still going. Everything hurts.

He doesn’t have your loving voice egging him on, drawing him closer and closer to the release he needs. You don’t have that loving, sweet touch toying with your clit that leaves you gushing and gasping for air. You both are trying to make do with the bare minimum, not even looking at each other.

You’re shaking.

Satoru sits up, a detached, manic look in his eyes as he breathes heavily through his red-stained lips. He stares down at you, searching your expression for everything. You’re not telling him how you feel, but your face is screwed up so much that he knows it’s not the best feeling. He hates that he enjoys the thought of that. He hates that he needs to push his pain onto you – in fact, he feels monstrous, but it doesn’t will him to stop.

Instead, he slows his mean fucks, dragging his hands to your waist where he turns you over like a limp, freshly caught fish. You fumble at the stark change, coughing softly, eyes flying open. Under your breath, you cry. “Mmfmf.”

“Shh,” he bites back, all sharp and unfriendly in the base of his chest. Hands still stuck in your hips, he pulls you exactly where he wants you, chest pressed to the bed, behind on full display – full mercy. Your skin is so inflamed, he takes a second to drink it in.

Then, he slaps you right on your left cheek. You chew on a surprised yelp. Something slips.

“Tor-

Another slap. You swallow down your protests.

Behind you, you can feel him dragging his cock against the hot sensitivity hidden between your labia, dripping with the newfound touch Satoru is working himself up to give you.

Again, at your prime, he’d take this moment to completely dive in. He’d lose himself in the warm tears you’re excreting, lapping up the fluids like it’s his only nourishment. He’d worship you – now, all he does is cup his hand against your embarrassingly wet cunt, longest fingers working at your clit. His palm rubs harshly against your quivering hole, and you use the mattress as a screaming pillow, finally letting it out.

Tears come, now. They burn and ache because they know whatever sacred intimacy you shared with Toru before is long gone. He’s fucking you, now. If you closed your eyes and wiped your memory, this would all feel like a stupid, drunk hookup.

That’s all you are, now.

You don’t even make a sound when he starts to bottom out inside of you again. You feel like a statue on display with the way Satoru spreads you open, both hands grabbing at your stinging ass. He watches the way you swallow his cock like a delicacy, gulping down want. Now, he’s dangerously close. He knows this was what he needed – this lewd visual.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t have been further away from release, and it’s tearing you apart. You need to tell him – scream at him and curse his name, but you can’t.

You let him make a mess of you, flooding your cervix with his sticky, fluid seed. He comes so hard and you can feel it – it’s so deep that you swear you can taste his desire bubbling in your throat. It’s acidic and raw, but it tastes like him, so you love it – you miss the taste when you swallow it down.

He’s pulling out once he’s empty and satiated, come planted so deep inside of you that it doesn’t even slip out in his wake. He steps away, your hips fall on the bed, and you’re limp and unsatisfied. All you can do is blink. Satoru rolls away.

You don’t know what he’s doing, or where he’s going, but when you fall over to your side, tears dripping into the mattress, you’re overcome.

You’re crying, croaking weakly, “c-can you-

The sound of your voice stops Satoru in his tracks. He was heading back to the bathroom to clean himself up, but he thought you had dropped off to sleep immediately.

“What?”

“Can you… J-just try?”

“All I wan-want to do…” You stop again, swallowing salty tears. “Please, all I want to d-d-do is come. P-please…” You feel so pathetic – and you are. You feel like the worst person ever born.

If you could see his face, you’d see the speck of emotion that runs off his crystalline, flushed features. He would feel terrible if you cried like this to him a month ago. Now, he just feels something like an obligation to turn around and stalk back over to your side of the mattress.

You’re still crying into your arms when he approaches, hiccuping softly as he lowers to a squat.

Like this, he finally talks. “Swing your legs over, I’ll clean you up.”

The smoothness has your eyes flying open, heart doing a billion jumping jacks all at once. Limbs shaking, you struggle to sit up.

Satoru notices, knowing he has to retake hold of these reins. He reaches out for you, big hands closing around your thighs as he pulls you to the side of the bed. There’s nothing gentle about it, now. He licks his lips.

Both legs hooked over his shoulder, your back falls back onto the mattress, and at the first flick of his tongue prodding at your quivering entrance, you’re crying again. But he’s good at this part. He doesn’t stop. That licks turns into sensual drags of the tongue, scraping against your sensitive slit, easing over your clit. You finally moan for him – real moans. Pleased moans.

He presses a kiss to your hole. “Push it out on my tongue.” He demands, those few words feeling like acid on the tongue. It’s fucking filthy, but nothing out of his ordinary, deranged mind. You take a breath and tense your body, working on easing all of the deep come right back to him.

Satoru is licking it up like an eager dog, slurping and sucking obscenely as his grip gets lost in your pillowy thighs. Now, he’s working you over like he’s chasing your release, knowing your body just like a doting husband would. It would only take him a few minutes of tongue-work before you’re coming for him, but now, it only takes a single one.

You’re coming before you can even focus on the feeling, and it hits you like a brick to the skull. Your spine bends, bones creaking, blood rising to insane temperatures in your body as sweet, sweet bliss meets you once more.

It’s all you wanted – this feeling has been the singular thing you’ve been chasing at Toru’s side. He gives it so well and so selflessly that he’s still lapping up mess when he feels you coming undone around him. He carries you through it just like he always has – thick, plush lips sucking at your insanely sensitive bud like he’s trying to receive something as collateral. It drives you crazy – you reach out to push him away.

The job is done. Satoru rises to his feet.

He heads off again to finish what he started, wiping your taste from his lips, back into his mouth as he gets lost behind the bathroom door. He leaves you on the bed to come back to your senses, fully sobered up and slightly sick from the onslaught of physicality. You reach into your matted hair, screwing your eyes shut in shame. Every time you move, your core trembles and cries. Everything hurts.

In the bathroom, Satoru flicks on the lights and doesn’t recognize the face he sees in the mirror. He’s blown red, scratches all over his arms and back. His hair is everywhere, eyes beet-red and sensitive. He leans forward and spits in the sink.

The faucet creaks as he turns it on.

Everything washes away.

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koqabear · 4 months ago

Note

been thinking about older step brother yeonjun who knows you're head over heels for him, who hears you moan his name through the thin walls when you masturbate at night, finally convinces you to have sex with him when you're watching a movie alone, and he knows it's wrong, and you know it's wrong, but it's too good to stop, even when you hear your parents getting home, so now you just have to keep quiet

tw: stepcest. dubcon, smut, mdni.

omfg i’ve been keeping this a secret for months but you literally managed to hit one of my wips right on the nose. who sent you here!!!! get out of my head !!!!

but oh dear... older stepbrother!yeonjun who is so quick to pick up on your attraction to him. thinks it's so cute that you try your hardest to hide it, play along with this whole "new family" thing every dinner-- listening intently as he talks about how life is while he's away at college, attending some big shot university while you chose to stay back home; it's what makes these moments with you all the better, knowing that despite barely being here, he still has you wrapped around his finger.

your parents having a romantic night out while the two of you stay at home, only to have yeonjun ask to watch a movie with you-- "I haven't hung out with you in so long," he'd say, "can't I just hang with my baby sis for a bit?"

smiles at the way you prickle at the term sis, knowing that you think of him as anything but family— he’s heard it, if those thin walls of yours are any proof— but you let him in your room anyway, letting him get comfortable in your bed as you settle down and leave space between the two of you; yeonjun makes sure that doesn't last.

it's so, so hard to resist; he's got you good, knows that you couldn't care less about the movie when he's hovering over you like this, whispering into your ear that "it's alright, no one has to know— just this once, hmm? please?" letting his hand wander between your thighs, feeling the way they open on instinct— warm cunt already dripping for him beneath that skirt you’re wearing, the one that you swore you wore because it was “comfortable”. no other reason.

he watches your eyes light up with shame, skin heated and flustered as you pretend to ignore his fingers that pump into you so nicely, his lips that press soft kisses on the column of your neck, whispering soft praises into your ear— but you can’t fool him, because your need is plastered all over your face; it shows in your hips that buck and grind against his palm, needy clit pressing against his hand and drawing soft whimpers from your lips— and he knows that you couldn’t care less about the movie. it’s not like you could even hear it over the wet, filthy squelches of his fingers slamming into your cunt.

you said you wouldn’t— you couldn’t, it was going too far— and yet you still find yourself pressed into the mattress, breathing helplessly against yeonjun’s pouty lips that make out with yours, sly tongue and teeth playing your mouth in ways you could never comprehend, head foggy and dazed as you take everything he gives you; hips rolling into you as his cock hits you so nice and deep, angling his hips to hit that spot that has you trembling and jolting against him, soft whimpers swallowed into his mouth, eating you up until he’s pulling away to mumble against your lips.

“so pretty— so cute, been wantin’ to have you like this for forever,” groaning at the way you wrap your leg around him, hands on his back pushing him forward so his body’s pressed against yours, “no one’s gonna know, okay? just between us— just for us to know…”

the dread and fear that paralyzes you when you hear the front door open downstairs isn’t matched by yeonjun— while you stiffen and press your hands against his chest, trying to push him away with frantic gasps and tears in your eyes— “oh my god, oh my god, get out!”— yeonjun merely shushes you and pulls you closer; his nails dig into your thigh and he wraps it tighter against him.

“it’s okay.”

“they’re gonna hear us—”

“no they’re not, it’s okay—”

“they’re gonna find out— please, go, i can’t, we can’t be seen like this—”

yeonjun puts his weight fully against you, pressing you into the mattress and flushing the air out your lungs— he places a hand on your mouth, dark eyes glaring sternly.

“be quiet, and they won’t find out.”

you stare at him with those wide, glistening eyes of yours, heart about to pound out of your chest— he gives you a fond smile.

“okay?”

a moment passes, and you gulp— you can feel his cock twitching desperately inside you, the commotion of your parents settling down in the living room downstairs—

and you nod.

#yeonjun smut #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun imagines #yeonjun fanfiction #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun hard thoughts #yeonjun hard hours #txt fanfic #txt smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #tw stepcest #tw: stepcest

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screamlet · 10 days ago

Text

911 what is your pride (week 3; family)

@911whatisyourpride

bucktommy; 2.7k tags: future fic; kid fic; dialogue heavy; see note below

notes: in the mess of my wip folder there's the beginning of a story where buck and tommy, after bobby's death, leave LA and start a new life in southern new jersey, going mostly no contact with the 118 until athena comes to them five years later. they're married with two kids in that story, and this is the story of how they got those kids. this got long, but i probably won't put it on the ao3 until the rest of the story is written (if it happens!) so. uh. here you go.

---

Buck wasn't being held hostage in his captain's office by a six-year-old girl, but he wasn't… not being held hostage by a six-year-old girl.

"Who's there?" Layla demands, pointing at the door.

"That's my captain," Buck says easily, meeting Captain Reynolds's eyes. He minutely shakes his head, so Cap holds up a big transparent Ziploc bag to the door's window. "Looks like he brought lunch for us. I can go get it, and you and Bailey stay right here."

"Okay but he can't come in," Layla says. Bailey, her two-year-old brother, sniffles and holds onto Buck's belt loop as he tries to get up. "Bailey, he's coming back, he's bringing lunch."

Buck gently pries Bailey's hand off his belt, holds it between his own for a second, then walks carefully to the door and opens it just wide enough for the bag to slip through.

"Tommy's here, so are the state adoption officials," Reynolds whispers. "You sure about this?"

"Buck!" Layla screams. "He can't come in!"

Buck nods, takes the bag and shuts the door securely behind him. "Alright, how do we feel about applesauce? Ooh, I haven't seen this before: blueberry applesauce? I don't get it. Huh. It's applesauce that tastes like blueberries?"

He sits on the floor again, Bailey between him and Layla. Bailey eagerly gets close to Buck again and looks into the bag, pulling things out and holding them out to Layla curiously. Layla doesn't like being on the outside, though, so she comes around and sits in front of them.

"Alright, so, while we eat," Buck says, popping open some veggies and hummus for Bailey. Layla examines the sandwiches inside and settles on tuna fish, which surprises him. "My husband's here. Tommy. I told you about Tommy."

"You can't leave," Layla says immediately.

"I didn't say I was gonna," Buck says. "But he'd like to meet you guys, if you want."

"Why?"

Buck didn't think this is how it would happen, but it's not like anything else in his life has gone normally before. Ever. Ever.

"Last year, we put ourselves in the state adoption registry," Buck says, keeping cool. "And maybe… maybe we could adopt both of you."

Layla stops chewing and stares at him. Bailey wants another carrot stick and another fistful of hummus, so Buck helps him with that.

"Both of us," Layla says. "Or no deal."

"We want both of you," Buck agrees. "I grew up with a big sister and I wouldn't be who I am without her. She's everything to me. Tommy doesn't have any brothers or sisters, but he wanted them as a kid, so we said that in our paperwork: we want to adopt siblings, if we could." Buck smiles at her. "So maybe this is a good deal for all four of us."

Layla takes another bite of her sandwich, watching him suspiciously. "Bailey likes you," she says finally. "He hasn't yelled since we got here."

"I like him, too," Buck says. "And I like you. Maybe you guys will like Tommy. I hope you do. I like him a lot. I love him."

"Why don't you already have kids?" Layla asks.

"Well, we didn't feel ready until now. Kinda feels like things are lining up for us, all of us."

Layla hmphs to herself. She looks at Bailey, who's thrilled with his hummus situation and sitting in Buck's lap. "Bailey, let's meet this other guy. Maybe he's not so bad, either."

"He's great," Buck says. "Best guy I know. Wouldn't have married him if he wasn't."

"Yeah, okay," Layla says.

"I'm gonna use my radio," Buck says, reaching for the mic clipped on his shirt. "Cap, this is Buck. Tommy can come in, just Tommy, over."

"Copy that, sending him in, over."

"You guys really talk like that? Why don't you just say okay?"

"Easier for emergencies," Buck says. "Okay sounds like too many things; copy that, roger, over, not a lot of words that sound like that. It's important when things around you are too loud or you can't say much."

Layla nods and then whips around when there's a knock at the door. Tommy has both his hands up and Layla flips back to Buck. "That's him?"

"Yup, that's Tommy," Buck says. "Can I let him in?"

"Okay, but if he tries to take us away—"

"He's just here to sit with us, get to know you guys," Buck replies. He tries to get Bailey out of his lap, but he fusses and clutches Buck tighter. "Okay, let's both—"

"Don't go anywhere," Layla says sharply. "Don't take him anywhere. Open the door and then come back."

Buck leans in close and meets her eyes. "I'm not leaving, okay? And neither are you, until you and Bailey want to. I promise."

She stares right back at him. "I don't believe you."

Buck's only met her twice, but he knows that face and how much she wants to believe him.

"Believe me a little, please." She doesn't agree, but doesn't argue either, so Buck stands up and balances Bailey on his hip. "Boy, you are a big guy," Buck says, bouncing him a little. He lets Tommy in, then shuts the door behind him again. "Come on in, we're just having lunch."

It must have been a classroom day for Tommy in his (relatively) new job training medevac pilots, so he's dressed in his best responsible nerd chic: a button down shirt with a V-neck sweater over it. Perfect for convincing the state adoption agency that they're responsible potential parents, even if one of them has been trapped in the captain's office for almost two hours. As they look at each other, though, the mature silver fox instructor look gives way to pure Tommy: what the fuck are you doing/are we doing this/alright I guess we're doing this/christ now we're here aren't we/guess we're rolling with it. His face takes a real journey as they cross the room to where Layla is still sitting, watching them suspiciously.

"Layla, Bailey, this is Tommy Kinard," Buck says. "Tommy, this is Layla Hoffman, age six, and Bailey Hoffman, age two."

Tommy nods, hands at his sides. "Nice to meet you. Can I sit?"

"Fine," Layla says. She doesn't make room for Tommy, so Tommy folds himself up the best he can next to her, across from Buck and Bailey. "Tommy, why do you want kids?"

"Right out the gate, huh?" To Tommy's credit, he doesn't blink. Buck could swoon if he wasn't playing it so, so cool.

Layla points at Buck. "He's really nice and hasn't lied to us yet, and Bailey likes him. What about you?"

"Well, I also don't lie to children," Tommy says. "And…" He looks across to Buck, eyebrows up by his hairline. "And it's not just me. We both want kids. We want a family."

"You like kids?"

"I do."

"Someone at the adoption center told me to stop being a little jerk or I'd never get adopted," Layla says. "Are you gonna get rid of us if I'm a little jerk?"

"Absolutely not, and I can't believe someone said that," Tommy says, glancing with horror at Buck, who's hearing this for the first time, too. "You're kids. You're going through stuff for the first time. Of course it's gonna be a lot. You're gonna feel how you feel."

Layla looks at Buck seriously. "Good answer."

Buck can't help preening a little. "Told you. He's a good guy."

"Yeah, maybe," Layla says. "Okay. You can hold Bailey."

Tommy hums to himself as he takes in Bailey, who's getting his face wiped clean of hummus while the conversation goes on around him. "Seems like he's busy."

Layla tugs at Bailey's hand and points at Tommy. Buck watches him turn curious, so he gets him to stand up near Tommy. He fusses a little to be away from Buck, but Tommy's solid and steadies him right away. He stands behind Tommy and drapes his arms on Tommy's shoulders, chin leaning against Tommy's head. He looks at Layla and Buck like, okay, this guy's fine.

"Tommy's got that effect on everyone," Buck says to Layla. "He's so cool."

Tommy gives Buck a look as he answers dryly, "I put my socks on one at a time, just like anyone else. And I make really good pancakes."

Layla's skeptical. "Better than IHOP? What makes them really good?"

"Love, patience, and more butter than I should admit to," Tommy says, glancing at Buck. "Sorry. That's my secret."

"Yeah, not that much of a secret," Buck replies, then assures Layla, "but they're really good."

She nods and then, to Buck's surprise, comes around and sits next to Buck, side-by-side. "So what happens now?"

"Well, I'd like to eat this sandwich, and maybe you and me can watch Tommy try to win Bailey over."

"He already did. Bailey screams right away if he doesn't like someone."

"Good to know," Tommy says, still in Bailey's clutches.

"But what happens to us? Are we getting in trouble?" Layla looks into Buck's face with her piercing eyes. "Are you really gonna try to adopt us or are you just saying that so we get out of here?"

"So, I talked to the state adoption people outside," Tommy says, motioning to the door. "We had a home visit before we submitted our paperwork so…" He glances at Buck, who nods. No time like the present. "So we can take you home, if you want to come with us. Both of you."

"You'd have to share a room for tonight, both of you, but we have a room for each of you," Buck says. "We can shop for stuff tomorrow. Pick out your own bed, sheets and blankets, whatever you need. Your stuff."

"And Bailey's," Layla says.

"And Bailey's," Tommy agrees.

"Are you gonna get fired?" Layla asks Buck, eyes glancing at the door. "Because I locked us in here?"

"Nah, Cap loves kids, he's got three," Buck replies. "No one got hurt, you didn't set any fires—"

"It's a firehouse, you can handle fires," Layla says.

"Yeah, but we didn't have to," Buck replies. "So what do you say? Do you want to try us out as your adopted dads?"

"I finally have a good excuse to put that tire swing in the yard," Tommy says.

Buck gasps. "I'm not a good excuse?"

"That's not what I meant."

Layla touches Buck's shoulder to get his attention. "You drive a hard bargain, but okay."

"Yeah? Okay?"

"Yeah," Layla says, standing up. "Let's see how good you guys are at this dad thing."

Buck's trying not to scream or cry as he stands up from the floor. One minute he was Buck, the next he was a dad. Isn't that how it always happens? "First thing's first: let's clean all this up and put it in the trash."

"Is this a chore?" She thinks of something. "Do we get an allowance?"

"We'll talk about it," Buck says. "Do you think Bailey can be paid off in celery sticks?"

"Can you be paid off in celery sticks?" Tommy asks Layla.

"Cash only," she says.

Buck helps Tommy stand, too, and gets Bailey situated on his hip. "You've got an incredible vocabulary," Tommy informs her.

"Thanks! I hate reading and I love TV."

"You haven't met our book collection," Buck says. "We'll find you something you like."

"Yeah, and no Seinfeld until you're 12," Tommy replies.

"I don't know what that is."

"Fantastic."

When they emerge from the office onto the main floor of the firehouse, there's a wave of applause from everyone gathered: Buck's usual crew and the staff from the state adoption agency.

"Remember what you said," Layla whispers as she grabs Buck's hand tightly, then Tommy's, too. "You said you're keeping us, both of us."

"We are," Buck says, his heart quietly breaking and mending itself, all at once. He looks behind at Tommy; exhaustion and lunch have suddenly hit Bailey, so he's on Tommy's hip and dozing on his shoulder like he belongs there.

"Congratulations," Captain Reynolds informs them. "Looks like negotiations went well?" He says to Layla, "Thank you for giving me my lieutenant back. And my office."

"So far so good," Buck says, Layla gripping his hand with all of her strength. "Okay if I take some time off, Cap?"

He nods at Buck, and at Tommy, too; they like each other a lot, and he looks just as happy for Tommy as he does for Buck. "Give us a call if you need anything, like another rescue."

"You got it," Buck says, then meets Tommy's eyes. "But I don't think we will."

"I don't think we will," Tommy agrees.

---

Buck doesn't think it'll happen again, but Bailey and Layla are asleep in the guest room by 9:30, completely conked out. Buck and Tommy leave the door ajar behind them with two nightlights gently glowing in the dark room, then head down the hall to their room.

"Okay, so what the hell did we do today?" Tommy whispers as he shuts the door most of the way closed. "I got to the office at 8 AM, no kids, and I got home at 7 PM, plus two kids. What."

"Life comes at you fast," Buck says, though he forgot the movie it's from. "Are—"

"Am I okay with it? Yeah, for the 500th time today: yes. Yes." He rests his hands on both sides of Buck's face and kisses him. "Yes, absolutely yes."

Buck kisses him, too, then pulls away laughing. "Oh, wow, she's—Layla's a handful."

"You're already so in love with the six-year-old who took you hostage in your own station."

"She reminds me of you," Buck says, joking and not. She does, though. Those sharp edges, that tough shell to crack, the way she finally sidled up to Buck and let him take care of her—that's a Tommy girl, through and through.

As Buck understood it and relayed to Tommy, with help from the state adoption officials: Layla and Bailey had been orphaned close to a year ago and had no other living relatives, but they had yet to find a long-term family. People were scared off by Layla, and Bailey was (according to Layla) too sensitive for the temporary locations where they had already been placed.

Today happened because they had already met Buck before on a scene last week, when there was a small fire at the adoption center where Layla and Bailey were staying. Captain Reynolds had invited all the kids to Engine Co. 19 for a special visit and safety presentation, where they ran into Buck again.

"And Bailey remembered you?" Tommy asks.

"I think it's the tattoo on my arm. He spotted it and waved me down, then Layla recognized me."

"And then she disappeared with her toddler brother, you found them in Reynolds's office, and she took you hostage in your own station. Got it. And now they're our kids."

"And now they're our kids," Buck agrees.

Tommy nods and takes Buck's hand. "Our usual hardware store doesn't open until nine tomorrow, so I'm gonna drive to the big box store when they open at seven so I can get as much babyproofing and kid stuff as I can find. I'll come right back and I can make breakfast, as promised."

"Hey." Buck tucks his finger under Tommy's chin and turns his face to him. "Thanks for following my lead. For—for this."

"Are you kidding? Bypass the whole waiting process and get two kids dropped right in our laps? It could only happen to you. I'm just lucky I'm here."

"I'm lucky you're here," Buck says, kissing him again.

"Alright, if you insist."

Buck laughs against his mouth and kisses Tommy again, lost in the kiss until his phone is in his hand and he can start making a list of supplies Tommy will be picking up before breakfast tomorrow. "Eyes down here, Kinard," Buck says, waving his phone, but Tommy has to sneak one more kiss before focusing on the first of their many, many checklists.

#911 fic #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #my writing #my fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911whatisyourpride #kid fic #future fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

Text

Doing Time 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You wade up to the surface of consciousness with a bubbling groan. Your skin tingles and your head swirls. You blink away the dregs as the world comes back into focus. A low drone tickles your ears.

You turn your head towards the voice. Steve's deep timbre sends a shiver through you. You bring your hand above the blankets and rub your forehead. His words are hard to decipher as he keeps his tone low and measured.

"Yeah," he comes down the hall and peeks in at you. He grins. "I'll let her know. Oh, yep. She's been working hard. Oh, ho, I'll make sure of that." He leans on the door frame as he watches you. You slowly sit up, perplexed as his hand frames one hip. "I'll talk to you later, Harriet. Yeah, can't wait to meet."

He pulls your phone away from his cheek and taps with his thumb. You furrow your brow and turn your legs over the edge of the bed, clinging to the blanket to keep yourself hidden.

"Was that--"

"Mom's doing well. She was checking in." He nears and puts your phone on the nightstand. "I didn't want to overstep, baby. In due time. But she kept calling and then I didn't want her to worry. She's already got one kid in trouble, huh?"

"You were talking to my mom?" You croak.

"Well, sweetheart, only a matter of time before I meet the family. Already got Vaughn off the list so...:" he shrugs casually. "She's doing well. Asked about you, I assured her, you're good." He turns and sits next to you. He grips your knee through the blanket. "Don't worry, I don't got much family. A good buddy but.. mom went a while ago. Strong lady but not physically."

"Oh, I'm..."

"Spilled milk," he waves away the condolences. "She said your brother called. Got in a fight or something. She said she couldn't understand him."

You grimace, "A fight?"

"Yeah, it's too bad, 'cause I had my guys looking out for him." He looks at the wall and clucks. "I told him to keep himself straight." He shakes his head and turns his focus to you. "You know what, sweetheart, he takes you for granted. They all do. I'm not stupid. I sat in the pen long enough and you were the only person kind enough to check on me. Your mom won't even come up for her own son, she sends you..." his expression hardens. "It's about time you start doing stuff for yourself."

"It's... complicated," you cross your arms over the blanket.

"Not anymore. You got me now. We're gonna do this together." He insists.

"It's fine, I'll call tonight. I'm sure she misheard," you assure him.

"We'll call," he counters.

You flinch. You stare at him. The lines around his eyes deepen. His age only adds to his stature.

"Okay," you agree. What else can you do?

"We're gonna go out," he proclaims. "I'm gonna buy you something nice."

"Steve, you don't-- I don't want to spend your money--"

"My money's mine to spend and you don't need to worry about it. I got more than enough." He stands and rolls his shoulders. "Got myself a suit delivered while you were resting too." He faces you and puffs out his chest. "I take care of mine and you're my girl so you deserve only the best."

You blink then make yourself smile. The sentiment is sweet, it's only him that's terrifying. At least you don't see the truly scary part of him. The part that saw him through prison.

"You wanna know something silly, baby?" He purrs as he tilts his head.

"Um, sure," you gulp as you shiver beneath the blanket.

"You know, the appeal was taking a while. I was getting impatient," he drawls. "That place will drive you mad but you got me through. I just kept thinking of you and I figured, they draw this thing out another year, maybe you could... arrange for a conjugal." He snickers. "I mean, I wouldn't wanna do it like that but you know how to torture a man with those sweet eyes."

He winks and bites his lip. You squirm as your brows lift. You don't know how to respond.

"The more I thought about it though. You wouldn't believe how worked up you had me." He scoffs again. "And now I got you right in front of me, I wanna do all those things I thought of but I don't wanna spoil it. I want it to be perfect. For both of us."

He crosses the room and lets out a deep breath. He stops before you and pets your cheek.

"So I'm gonna buy you something sexy and then we're gonna come back here and I'm gonna fuck you in it," he growls as he grabs your chin firmly. "And I don't know if I'll ever stop."

⛓️‍💥

"Nah, I don't think black's your colour," Steve takes the teddy out of your hands. It's the only thing in the shop that won't show everything. You suppose it doesn't matter but your instinct is to hide. "How about this?"

He pulls out a light purple bodice. It only goes halfway down the torso. It's embroidered with little flowers but otherwise transparent. It's not the choice you expect; of either of you.

"If that's what you like," you shift awkwardly.

You stick to basic cottons. You're not really a lingerie person. You never felt sexy enough and your track record hadn't given you many opportunities to dress up. Most of the time, you kept your shirt on.

"It's about what you like, sweetheart," he puts the hanger back. "I mean, I'll take you in nothing at all. You know that."

You look around. You're not the only customers in the store. He doesn't care at all.

"You got everything I like built right in," he steps closer and runs his hand down your side. "You got a nice shape, you know that? And those thighs--"

"Steve," you whisper as your eyes dart back and forth.

"I like that about you. You're shy. You wanna keep this between us. I respect it," he pulls away. "Well, let's see..." he turns back to the racks. "This?"

He pulls out the pink polka dot teddy with the open front. It's trimmed in black with a bow under the chest, and is long enough to keep your stomach mostly covered, except for that slit down the middle.

"Pair of pink panties..." he growls. "I mean, I'll ruin them but it'll be fun."

Your lips part. You nod. It's not so bad. Not like the bras with no cups and the thongs made of little more than strings.

"It's nice," you say, trying not to look too long at it.

He lowers the hanger. His eyes pierce you. You meet their stunning blue.

"You know you're gorgeous regardless of what you got on," he affirms. "You got me thinking of finding a restroom and just..." he chuckles. "A man in the pen is like man in the desert."

You fidget and distract yourself in a search for matching panties in your size. He stays close.

"Have I let you down so far?" He nudges you. "Think I've left you... purring."

"Steve, I just..." you grab panties and face him again. "It's... I'm still surprised, is all."

"Oh, well, you know I won't ever lie to you again. Not that that's what I did," he says, "I just wanted it to be... well, the look on your face was worth it."

You hold out the panties, "these go."

He takes them and arches a brow, "getting impatient, huh?"

You chew your lip and nod. Sure, that's what the tremor in your stomach is. It isn't fear. It's anticipation. Maybe if you can make yourself believe it, he will too.

⛓️‍💥

Your apartment is not your own anymore. Neither is your body. Or your life.

Steve has infected every part of it. Your home, your family, your very being. Your only reprieve is the short time he gives you to 'get ready'; ready for him to take what's left.

You close yourself in the bathroom and stare at the teddy hanging on the back of the door. A shell of numbness spreads over you and yet your heart is hammering, shaking every part of you. There's a finality that pits in your stomach.

Soft music rises from the other side of the wall. He's ready. He's fearless. He's in control.

You won't waste any more of his time. Funny, how you feel guilty. After what he told you, about waiting on you, you feel like you're wasting his time. He spent enough behind bars for a crime, he claims, he didn't do. That the courts decided he didn't.

It's all so confusing. And scary.

You get up. You undress and change into the skimpy panties and the teddy. You feel exposed. You are. There's nothing left between you and him.

You rinse your face and do your best to tidy up your hair. You don't know why you're trying. The hollowness makes you clumsy.

You face the door. You make yourself leave that room. You're not brave, you're just used to doing what needs to be done. It'll keep Vaughn safe. Your mom too, now he knows about her.

You peek into the bedroom. The walls flicker with the candlelight, a tinge of red in the air as a scarf hangs over the lamp. There are petals all over the floor. The bed has been remade in red silk. He did all this. For you?

"Sweetheart," he startles you as he turns away from the curtains.

He wears only a pair of white boxers, his thick thighs exposed, his muscular middle clenching with tension. You shift your weight and hug your chest. He bites his lip as he comes up to the bed.

Choked to silence, you near the other side. You stare at him and he stares back. His eyes reflect the small flames lit around the space. The music glosses through the air and raises bumps on your skin.

"Come here," he puts a knee up on the bed and reaches across.

You take his large hand and let him pull you onto the mattress. He's deceptively gentle as he guides you down onto your back. He reclines with you, snaking his arm beneath you. He holds you as he traces your jawline and admires you. You look away shyly.

"You really are the most beautiful creature," he growls.

Your cheeks pinch and you look at him. You press your hand softly to his chest. You push your fingertips into him, feeling the firmness, the strength. You remind yourself that if he wants to, he can hurt you. He hasn't so you'll go along.

His fingers flutter down your neck. You shiver. He purrs and leans in. He kisses you. His warmth seeps through the shell frozen around you. Your hand slips up to his shoulder.

He feels along your chest and squeezes you through the thin cup of the lingerie. He swirls around your nipple as he dips his tongue through your lips. You moan as his touch stirs inside you. Your fear mingles with the fire lit by his diligent tending. He growls into you, hooking his leg around yours.

"You really do fill this out perfect," he runs his hand down the sheer fabric of the teddy, the knuckle of his thumb grazing your stomach. He pulls your leg away from the other with his. "All of you is... made for me."

Your lip trembles. You don't want him to know how afraid you really are. He has enough power.

You slide your hand up behind his head and pull him down. You kiss him, desperately. Desperate to hide, to forget, to survive. Grasping at whatever control you can have over this.

His fingers trail along the edge of the panties; across the top then along the creases of your thighs. He spreads a hand over your thigh and kneads the flesh. You quiver and gasp into his mouth.

His breath plumes out hotly as he drags his fingertips along the narrow crotch of the panties. He rubs you through them. He pushes along your clit, the friction hot against the lace. You moan again, your mouth slipping from his as you loop your arm around his neck.

You squeeze your thighs around his hand as he teases you. He buries his face in your neck and nips you as he slowly builds his tempo. Twisting your nerves around his touch until you're writhing and whining. You his and clasp onto his bulging bicep. He snarls and puffs into the crook of your neck.

You cum in a series of spasming waves. You soak through panties as he hums and chuckles along your throat. He pushes beneath the fabric and starts again, unwinding you as he flicks up and down.

The second orgasm has you clutching at the pillow. You dig your heel into the mattress and arch your pelvis, quaking as you ride out the thrill. His fingers slip through your juices and he pokes at your entrance.

He lifts his head, his silvery blonde hair drooping forward. His blue eyes bore into you as yours roll back. He growls as he prods at you.

"Look at me, sweetheart,"

You gasp. He drags his finger across your entrance.

"What'd I tell you?" His voice turns gritty.

You bat your lashes and look at him. His pupils are large and dark. They swallow you up as he pushes two fingers against you, slowly parting your cunt around their breadth. Your lips form and O and you gasp again. You clasp onto his wrist as he delves down to his bottom knuckles.

"Gotta get you ready for me," he leans in to nuzzle your cheek. "Once I'm on ya, I don't know if I'll be able to stop."

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #doing time #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #marvel #mcu #avengers #captain america

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 year ago

Text

time

Summary: Not wanting to face Joel after you found out that you're pregnant, you leave the Boston QZ to live with Bill and Frank. Almost four years pass before you can't hide from him anymore, letting him finally know why you ran from him all these years back.

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem. reader

Wordcount: 6.7k

Rating: E

Warnings: angst, unplanned pregnancy, secret pregnancy, secrets, fluff, trust issues, Joel being Joel, making up, kissing, age gap (not specified but it's around 15 years), smut (unprotected sex), mentions of alcohol, Joel really is bad at feelings, but he's trying, Girl Dad Joel Miller, happy end

A/N: if these two had a relationship status it would be "it's complicated" Another WiP done! So now I am allowed to think about Biker Raider Joel for a moment, right?

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Pedro Masterlist || Joel Masterlist || Main Masterlist

“You know you’ll have to face him at some point,” Frank had a fond smile on his lips as he sat in his wheelchair next to you. He was watching Bill who let himself chase across the yard of his picture perfect post apocalypse home.

Nobody would expect that just down the street, outside of the fence the world as you knew it had ended.

“I know,” you sighed.

“He asks for you every time he’s here. If we had seen you, if we knew where you are. He’s gonna understand,” Frank said and you scoffed.

“He’s not gonna care. He has Tess and… he’s not…” you shook your head, searching for the words, “he’s not the man I fell in love with.”

“We all can change,” Frank said, reaching over to squeeze your hand.

“Bill is the best example for that. Could you have imagined him like that when you showed up here three years ago?”

You watched Bill play with your daughter, Ava, playing catch.

“Joel is not like that. He was like that. Before. But that part of him died long ago.”

You sat in silence for a while, just watching Bill and Ava, trying to soak it all in. It would never be like that again and you were already dreading having to explain all of this to her.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you whispered, fighting against the tears as you looked at Frank. He smiled softly at you before he came closer, kissing your forehead.

Four years earlier

You knew he could tell when you were lying. He would know with one look at you that you were full of shit telling him that this was not working for you anymore. Whatever this between you was.

Joel and you had known each other since before the outbreak. You had started babysitting Sarah to earn some extra money while you were finishing you degree when she had just been nine years old and you had moved in next door.

You had been there on outbreak day. Next door, still living at home to take care of your sick father. You would never get the picture of his infected body lunging at you out of your head the night the world changed.

You and Joel… You didn’t know what Joel and you were exactly.

You loved Joel, you knew that. And you were pretty sure he loved you too. You just wanted… more. Most people did not allow themselves to love so openly anymore. And in Joel’s case? Losing Sarah had changed him. After fifteen years the man who had been Sarah’s father was gone, replaced by a man that still had his face, but was missing the warmth and comfort Joel Miller had once provided.

You could see it in glimpses, whenever his hand would rest on your back when he passed by. When he fell asleep in your arms deep in the night. When he kissed your forehead before he headed out for work.

Loving Joel Miller was easy.

Being loved by him was close to impossible.

You never really labelled your relationship, mostly because you did not think of it as important. You trusted him more than any other person on this planet. It’s why you ignored the way he had started looking at Tess. It’s why you did not question him when he stayed away at night. You ignored it all, opening your arms for him when he chose to come home to you, letting him in your bed just to feel close to him. To feel something.

The jealousy was killing you slowly, making you reckless when you let him have his way with your body.

But once you had missed your period the first month, and then the second, you knew that there was only one possible answer to your dilemma. You had never been late before. A ration card swapped for a twenty year old pregnancy test had your worst fears come true.

You were pregnant with Joel Miller’s child.

Fifteen years after you both buried his daughter. The daughter he never got over losing.

You could already see his reaction. The eyes you loved so much empty before he would tell you to deal with it.

You could not face his anger or disappointment, but mostly you could not face him not caring. So you packed your little belongings once he had left you in the morning, sneaking out of your bed without a word.

You did not leave a note, just fled the QZ, making your way over to Bill and Frank, hoping your friendship with Frank would make them take you in.

Of course Bill hadn’t want to, but once he saw your stomach swell (and tasted the sweets you baked in his kitchen) he had put all his work into making the house next door into your home.

“Mama, can we go get Strawbebbies?” you chuckled, holding her hand as you walked with her on your daily walk by the fence.

“Strawberries, baby,” you tried to correct her. Ava pouted at you, her dark curls swinging in the wind, her brown eyes so much like her fathers.

“That’s what I said!” she put her little hands on her hips and you smiled.

She was definitely her father’s daughter.

“Okay, baby. Let’s get some Strawbebbies,” you picked her up, making her shriek with laughter. Once again you were glad you made the decision to come here. She could grow up like a child was supposed to.

Even though now that Bill and Frank were gone it was getting kind of lonely. You had all enjoyed a last dinner together before Bill and Frank had tucked Ava in for one last time and read her a story.

You had tried to keep the tears at bay as Bill had reminded you of the folder full of instructions of how to take care of things around here for you.

After dinner you had walked them to the gate, opening the fence for them as they took their last walk. You had watched them until they had disappeared into the dark woods before you made your way back to their house. You had cleaned the dishes and tidied everything up, before with a heavy heart, you had turned off all the lights and closed the door behind you before you walked to your house, allowing yourself to cry yourself to sleep as you sat on the floor next to the bed of your daughter, watching her sleep.

That night was almost three months ago. The days were getting shorter, the nights colder. You’d have enough firewood for this winter but come spring you would have to find a way to make more.

You had just finished making breakfast for Ava when the motion detector alarmed you that someone was at the gate. You froze, telling Ava to eat her fruit salad before you made your way downstairs to check out what was happening.

Your heart was pounding against your chest, once you noticed his face.

Joel Miller.

And a…. Teenage girl?

The gate swung open after he put in the code and you allowed yourself fifteen seconds to panic. You knew this day would come. The day after Bill and Frank had gone you had checked the basement, finding that Bill had put on 80’s music, the distress signal.

Even though you had turned it off immediately deep down you knew he would show up at some point.

You just did not think it would be that soon.

You grabbed your gun, checking if it was loaded before you made your way back upstairs. You did not think you would need it, but it was better to be prepared.

“Ava? Remember when Uncle Bill played hide and seek with you and showed you the best place to hide?” you asked, hiding the gun in the back of your jeans as you got to your kitchen. She nodded.

“I want you to hide there until I come and get you,” you said.

“Hide?” she asked. You nodded, kissing her cheek.

“Take Sluggi with you,” you smiled. Sluggi was the stuffed plush slug Bill had gotten for her. She nodded and ran out of the kitchen and upstairs, You heard her door to her room close and took a deep breath, calming yourself.

You knew this day would come. You knew one day you would have to face Joel Miller and you knew you would have to face his reaction.

You never regretted your decision to leave. Life has definitely been better here. That did not mean you had just stopped loving him, no matter how much he had hurt you in the past.

Stepping towards your front door you could see him walk towards Bill and Frank’s house.

You closed your eyes, taking a calming breath before you opened the door and stepped out.

His head snapped towards you once he heard the door opening, eyes widening for a split second before he pulled the girl that was with him behind his back.

He was protecting her.

“What are you doing here? Where are Bill and Frank?” he asked, his voice low.

“They’re dead. Frank got worse and… he couldn’t…” you shook your head, lost of words. He just looked at you before he shook his head, trying to put in words what he wanted.

“I just… We need some…” he took a deep breath, looking up at you, a million emotions playing over his face.

“Are you hungry?” you asked the girl behind him.

“Starving,” she replied and you smiled a little.

“There’s some fruit salad left on the kitchen counter if you want?” you asked. She stepped around Joel and he looked at her.

“It’s safe. There’s… there’s no one there,” you lied. He gave her a nod before she walked past you into your home.

It had been years since you’ve been alone with him. He did not really change. His hair maybe a little grayer, the lines around his mouth a little deeper, but he was still Joel Miller.

“You left,” he said.

“I did.”

“Why?”

You took a deep breath. You looked past him towards the house the girl had walked in, hoping your little girl continued to hide. Knowing her she had was working on her puzzle. She would be okay for a moment.

You knew she was safe. You just needed a little moment alone.

“You can have some fruit salad too. I am going to get some vegetables for dinner,“ you gave him a nod, before you turned around and walked towards your garden, ignoring him as he called after you.

With a basket full of salad, cucumbers and some tomatoes you pushed the door of your house open. Joel was sitting on the stairs, across the door, already looking at you.

The girl walked past the both of you towards the living room, an apple in her hand she was munching on.

„This is so fucking weird,“ she shook her head and you snorted while Joel hissed at her.

„What? It is weird,“ she said, her head turned towards him.

You smiled a little as you looked at her, before you walked towards the kitchen, setting the basket down. You had to go up to check on Ava.

And you had to talk to Joel.

You couldn’t hide her from him, even though you wanted to do nothing more than that.

You took a deep breath when he walked into the kitchen.

„Is it okay if Ellie takes a shower?“ He asked, knowing that there was warm water around town.

„That’s her name. Ellie,“ he clarified.

„Oh. Of course, yeah,“ you nodded and Ellie walked in, snorting as she looked up at Joel.

„You could use one too dude,“ she said and you had to fight hard against the grin as you watched the look on Joel’s face.

You were about to offer her to show her to the bathroom when you heard a door upstairs click open, followed from little footsteps, your eyes widening. Joel frowned, his hand immediately searching for his gun, his arm putting Ellie behind himself.

He raised his gun, taking a step forward as you ran around the counter, the knife you had put out to cut the salad now in your hand.

„Gun down,“ you hissed and his head snapped to you, his eyes widening when he saw the knife in your hand. You stood in front of him.

„I will not repeat myself, put the gun down, right now or I will put this knife in your thigh,“ you fingers flexed around the handle of the knife. The footsteps came closer as you kept eye contact with Joel until he slowly lowered his gun. You nodded at him once you saw him put the gun back to wherever it came from, then looked at Ellie who was looking at you with wide eyes, before you let the knife fall down to the floor just in time as Ava jumped the last step down, rounding the corner.

„Potty?“ She whispered shyly, looking up at you with big eyes and you sighed, before you nodded, the people behind you forgotten as you picked your daughter up. You risked a glance at Joel as you turned towards the stairs, your daughter in your arms.

His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, before you practically ran up the stairs.

„Who is the man mommy?“ Ava asked as she was finished, washing her hands like you taught her, making as many bubbles as possible as she rubbed her hands together.

You sucked your bottom lip in as you watched her, your hand brushing over her soft hair.

„That is an old Friend of mommy,“ you explained, and she nodded.

„And the girl?“ She asked.

„That is a friend of him, I think. I am not sure.“

She finished washing her hands and you handed her the towel, her little face full of concentration as she dried her hands, making you smile.

You got down on your knees in front of her, your hands on her shoulders.

„Do you think she’s gonna play with me?“ She asked, hopeful.

„We can ask her,“ you said with a smile.

You weren’t prepared for the sight in your kitchen when you came downstairs. Joel was standing at the counter, the sleeves of his shirt rolled back as he cut the tomatoes with the knife you had threatened with him not only ten minutes ago.

He didn’t look up as you entered the room, but Ellie did. You looked between them warily.

„I’m Ava,“ your daughter chirped and you took a deep breath, Joel still not looking up. Ellie looked at him with a frown, before she sighed, rolling her eyes, and walked towards you.

„I’m Ellie,“ she said and smiled a little and bend down to her knees. Ava looked first at her, then at you.

„Ellie, do you like sea turtles?“ You asked and the girl looked at you.

„Uh…. I guess?“ She said and you smiled.

„Because Ava loves them. Her whole room is full of them,“ you said and saw interest flicker in her eyes.

„Can I see?“ Ellie asked and you nodded.

„You wanna show Ellie your sea turtles?“ You asked Ava and she nodded eagerly.

„Awesome,“ Ellie said, taking Ava’s hand before you could offer to show them, the girls already walking upstairs towards Ava's room.

Which left you alone in the kitchen with….

„How old is she?“ Joel asked, still not looking at you as you turned to face him. He grabbed the cucumber after he had used the knife to put the tomatoes in the bowl you had prepared for the salad, beginning to slice them.

You took a deep breath.

„She turned three last month,“ you said, watching him nod slowly, the knife hitting the cutting board the only noise in the room.

„She has my eyes,“ he finally said and you sucked your bottom lip in, nervous.

„Yeah she has,“ you agreed and he finally looked up at you, setting the knife down, his hands spread out on the counter, resting his whole weight on them.

„Why didn’t you tell me?“ He asked, his voice quiet.

„I didn’t know how. Joel…. You were barely acknowledging me outside of when you were inside of me. You spend all your time with Tess doing god knows what. How would you have reacted if I told you that I was pregnant? You never even acknowledged what we…“ you stoped yourself, shaking your head.

„You should have told me. I could have…“ he stopped himself, searching for what to say and you looked at him, waiting.

„I could have helped you. I would have….“ He shook his head, his hands shaking.

„I’m gonna need a moment. Can you watch after Ellie?“ He asked and you nodded, confused and he nodded back before he walked past you and out of the house.

You just didn’t think it would be almost two days before he got back. You were outside in Bill’s garden, letting the girls help you pick everything that was ready from the garden when you noticed him walk towards the house.

You knew he was still inside the little locked up town Bill had made his safe haven. None of the alerts had went off, indicating he had left. And yeah you could have searched after him, but what good would it have done?

You’ve known him from almost twenty years, and you knew that he needed time to process certain things.

He hadn’t talked to anyone in almost a year after the outbreak and what happened to Sarah.

„Look what the cat dragged in,“ Ellie said as she spotted him and Ava perked up, her little head turning towards where Ellie was looking.

Joel nodded at the girls before he looked at you.

The sun was already setting and you had dinner prepared inside.

„How about we have some dinner and then Ellie can read you some more of the story you started yesterday?“ You asked and both girl smiled at you. Ava ran past Joel who looked after her as she disappeared into the house, Ellie following her.

„Next time you ditch me, at least tell me?“ She glared at him before she walked back into the house. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

„Can we talk?“ He asked.

„After dinner?“ You said, getting up and grabbing the basked full of fresh vegetables.

„Yeah. Yeah okay,“ he nodded and you walked towards the house, giving him a hesitant smile when he grabbed the basket from you and walked inside after you.

It was two hours later that you found yourself on the left corner of your couch, your legs tucked under you, a glass of wine in your hand.

Because this conversation needed some alcohol.

And not only because of what you were about to talk about, but because of the man who was sitting on the other side of the couch, similar glass of wine in his hand.

Because he looked so damn good.

He had showered while you put the girls to bed after dinner, the whole scene feeling so domestic. Like a dream you had many many times before when you were still dreaming.

Dreaming of a normal future.

Dreaming of a normal life.

Dreaming about how it would feel like if Joel Miller loved you back.

Because no matter how much he may have hurt you in the past, you just could not stop loving him.

„I’m sorry,“ he whispered after a while and you turned your head to look at him, his eyes already on you.

„I’m shit at talking about those things….“ He stopped.

„Those things meaning feelings?“ You helped and he groaned.

„Yeah. Always sucked at it. Even before….“

He sighed.

„Sarah would be so angry with me with how I treated you,“ he whispered and your eyes softened. You could count on one hand how often he had brought Sarah up ever since she died.

And while you thought you could understand him in the past, you loved her like yours after all, now that you had Ava, you realised that loosing her would kill you.

It would be something you could never come back from.

But he did.

„I never cheated on you. I know you thought I did, can’t blame your for it. Tess was just…. Fuck, how do I explain this?“ He sighed, his fingers rubbing over his chin.

„I never deserved you. You’re too fucking good for me. For everyone really. Because even after the whole world went to shit, you still had some kindness left for everyone around you. I know how much you hated what we did in the beginning. And I hated myself for putting you through it. I hated myself for putting you through everything I did to you since the moment Sarah died…“ he said and you could see his eyes watering.

„Can’t blame you for hating me and leaving. And not telling me about….“

„Joel….“ You said, setting your glass down and getting closer towards him, your hand reaching for his. Slowly he turned his hand so you could put yours in it, his fingers wrapping around your hand softly.

„I’m not gonna lie and tell you that it’s okay. Cause I was hurting. You were hurting me. Every time you left in the morning without a word. Every time you passed out drunk and drugged after you came back. It was like living with a ghost and it was killing me. That was the reason I decided to leave when I found out. I could…. I couldn’t bring a child into this. And I knew I wanted her before I even met her. Even though it seems crazy to bring a child into this world. But… She was half you. And the thought that there was even the possibility that you didn’t wanted her….“ You took a deep breath.

„Honestly? I can’t tell you how I would have reacted. I was… I was really fucked up in the weeks before you left. I was taking too many drugs. Drank too much. Got too fucking reckless. But that changed when you left,“ he said and squeezed your hand.

„Not right away. It might have gotten worse first but… I got better. Not perfect, but better. And I… Fuck I even talked through some shit with someone. Made me realise I never even told you how much I love you,“ he said and you were pretty sure you stopped breathing as he looked at you, a small smile tilting his lips up.

„Pretty sure I fell for you the first time you walked through my door wearing that pretty baby blue dress. Even though you were way too young for me. Still are. But…. I hope you knew, know. I really fucking love you,“ he said and you felt a tear running down your cheek.

„Can you tell me about her? About Ava?“ He asked before you could form an answer to his confession. And so instead you told him.

You told him about how you craved strawberries your whole pregnancy. How Bill traded one of his guns for the seeds from Tess.

You told him that she only slept through the night in the beginning, when Bill put her to sleep.

You told her how much she reminded you of Sarah when she smiled at you.

You told her how every time you looked at her you saw him.

Hours went by where you two talked, you ending up leaning against Joel’s side, his arm around you. His fingers brushing over your arm, his other hand still holding yours. His lips brushing over your skin when he told you about how Ellie ended up at in his care.

How he wanted to take her to Wyoming to search for his brother who might know how to find the fireflies.

„Do you know where he is?“ You asked and he shrugged.

„Not exactly. I know he messaged me from the Cody tower, so that’s where we’ll be going,“ he mumbled and you nodded.

„We could take Bill’s truck,“ you said and he stilled. You looked up at him.

„We?“ He asked and you chuckled, sitting yourself up so you were facing him, your hand now on his cheek.

„You really think I’m gonna let you go now?“ You asked with a smile.

And then you finally kissed him.

It was decided that you would leave within the next 5 days, giving you enough time to make a list (You always made lists) of everything you had to pack.

Which was a lot. Getting four people across the country on a trip that hopefully would be just like you remembered road trips to be, took a lot of supplies.

And while you were preoccupied deciding which food was best to take, Joel had asked you if he could spend some time with Ava. He wanted to get to know her. And of course, you agreed. Watching him, Ellie and Ava walk towards the garage where they spend hours doing god knows what.

It was almost dark outside when they walked back in, your heart melting as you watched Joel carry a very sleepy Ava inside who told you all about how seatbelts where very scary, something you would make sure to ask Joel about as you took her upstairs, putting her to bed.

The days went by quickly like that.

Joel quickly became Ava’s favourite person which could have to do with the fact, that she was always allowed to sit on his shoulders. Ellie had been confused, yet delighted at the change in the grumpy man she had left the QZ with.

He even got his Dad jokes out, making the teenager groan in mock annoyance throughout the day. Ellie also spend a lot of time with you, wanting to learn everything you offered to teach her. Starting from making protein bars for the trip down to how to properly braid her hair.

Even though she preferred you doing it.

You got the impression that she never really had anyone how just… listened to her or wanted to spend time with her. She told you she grew up in FEDRA School and that her mother had died while giving birth.

She had no family and her best friend (though you got the impression Riley had been more than just a friend) had died not that long ago.

That the only thing she had left in life was her purpose to save the world. Joel had told you that she was immune, Ellie showing you the healed scars to confirm it.

„You know that that’s not the only thing you have left, right?“ You asked her, sitting on the porch next to her, enjoying one last sunset, watching Joel and Ava play soccer. Her little feet chasing after Joel with happy squeals.

„What do you mean?“ Ellie asked and you looked at her with a smile.

„You have us, Ellie. You think we just gonna let you go?“ You asked and she stubbornly shook her head.

„I have to do this. It’s my purpose. I have to save the world,“ she said and looked away from you.

„Are you saying this because you feel that way, or because someone told you so?“ You asked and she looked at you.

„Because it should be your decision what to do and what not. And… think about it, even if they are somehow able to make a cure out of your blood, do you really think they will be able to make enough to make a vaccine for everyone? Who will decide who gets it? And if they end up deciding on giving it to everyone…. There are so many bad people out there. Do they deserve to be saved too?“ You asked and you could see her thinking about your words and you smiled softly at her.

„Even if you don’t like hearing it, your a kid Ellie. You should grow up and live first before you make a decision like that. You don’t even know how they would get whatever they needed from your blood. If I remember correctly Cordyceps grow in the brain, what if they have to get into your brain to get out whatever they need?“ You said and her eyes widened.

„But Marlene….“ She whispered and you reached over her, taking her hand.

„I don’t know how well you know Marlene, but I’ve known her for more than ten years. I know how she manipulates people to get what she wants. You wouldn’t even notice it,“ you said and she sighed.

„I’m gonna think about it,“ she said finally and you gave her a small smile.

„That’s all I ask about. Now how about you get upstairs and take one last long hot shower before we are on the road for days?“ You asked and she nodded, standing up and turning away from you to walk inside the house before she turned back to you and hugged you quickly.

After saying good night to Ellie later you walked towards your daughters room, her little suitcase for her toys laying open next to her bed, waiting for Sluggi to be put into the next morning. She was already in bed, Joel sitting on the floor next to her, reading to her.

You wished you could take a picture of this. Unfortunately the Polaroid camera had broken earlier this year.

„Mommy!“ A tired Ava smiled as she saw you, her arms raised towards you. Joel looked up and smiled at you as you walked over, climbing into the bed behind your daughter, pulling her into your arms.

„What story is Joel reading you?“ You asked.

„The little mermaid,“ she said and you found Joel’s eyes. You had been thinking about it for the last days now. Telling her who Joel really is. He slipped into your life like the missing piece, the man you had fallen in love with all these years back seemingly falling right back into his role as being the best father there ever could be.

So before you could talk yourself out of it you said

„Your sister loved that one too.“

Joel gulped, his eyes growing sad for a moment, before he looked at Ava.

„I have a sister?“ She asked you, her eyes big.

„Mmmh…. Her name was Sarah. She watched the movie every single night before she went to bed,“ you explained and Ava pursed her lips in an ooooh motion.

„There was a movie?“ She asked in awe.

„Oh yeah there was. And a cassette with the music. Can’t remember how often she made me listen to it“ Joel said and smiled softly.

„Where is Sarah?“ Ava asked and your smile went sad.

„She’s where Uncle Bill and Uncle Frank are. Watching over us,“ you explained and she hummed.

„I wish I could hug her,“ she whispered and you nodded, tears in your eyes, squeezing her against your chest, your hand reaching out Joel’s hand finding yours as you kissed her forehead, looking at him who had tears in his eyes.

„Me too baby. Me too,“ you whispered before taking a deep breath.

„You know Joel is her daddy,“ you finally said and she looked at you.

„He is?“ She asked and you nodded.

„I bet he is the best daddy,“ she sighed and you chuckled at Joel’s cheeks turning pink.

„Yeah he is. What would you say if I tell you that Joel is your daddy too?“ You asked and her big eyes looked at you first and then her head turned towards Joel.

„My daddy?“ She asked and both you and Joel nodded with a smile, her smile getting wider, before she jawned.

„I always wanted a daddy,“ she whispered before her eyes dropped close.

You were walking down the stairs to Bill's basement after you showered, finding Joel checking if he could manage to take any more guns. The supplies had all been packed into the truck already, but he just couldn’t bring himself to leave anything of value behind.

He looked up when he heard your footsteps, giving you a small smile.

Walking over to him you were surprised when he reached for you, pulling you into his lap, one of his arms looped around you, his other hand on your cheek, his fingers brushing over your skin.

„I didn’t know you were gonna tell her,“ he whispered and you smiled.

„She deserves to know. I’m sorry I didn’t tell her sooner. If I would have stayed you wouldn’t have missed so much…“ he stopped you by kissing you softly.

„None of that. We both know I would have fucked this up. I would have said some really fucked up things and hurt you even more. So, there’s nothing you have to be sorry for, okay?“ He looked at you, his eyes pleading.

You released a long breath, bringing both of your arms up to cross behind his neck.

„Have I told you lately that I love you, Joel Miller?“ You whispered with a small smile that he mirrored.

„Don’t think so. But I don’t blame you, I gotta say it a lot more often than you to make up for all the years I didn’t tell you. I do love hearing it though. Love you,“ he mumbled before he kissed you again. His lips moving on top of yours slowly, his hand tilting your head up a little so he could deepen the kiss.

With a little sigh you parted your lips for him, his tongue dipping into your mouth, a deep moan coming from him, his arm pulling you closer against him.

There had been lots of making out in the last days, stolen kisses when the girls weren’t in the room, secret touches under the table while you had dinner.

But you haven’t slept together.

And you were ready.

„Joel,“ you mumbled, parting from his lips. He hummed, his lips running down your jaw.

„We aren’t gonna be alone for a while,“ you whimpered, your head tilting up to give his wandering lips some more space.

„What are you proposing?“ He asked, playfully nibbling on your neck.

„I’m proposing that you fuck me, Miller. Right here,“ you gasped when you felt his other hand slip between your legs.

„Right here?“ He asked, his fingers over the seam of your slick panties.

„Mmmmhh….“ You closed your eyes, biting your lip when he pushed the fabric to the side, his fingers dipping between you slick folds, lazily teasing you.

„All that for me?“ He asked and you opened your eyes, crashing your lips against his.

„It’s been almost four years Joel. Please don’t tease me,“ you whined and his eyes softened before he picked you up and set you down on the table behind him. Within the next minutes you were both naked, your hands in his hair as you kissed him as he stood between your parted legs, the heavy weight of his cock resting against your stomach.

„Gonna need to prepare you,“ he hummed, his hands on your ass. You shook your head.

„Please just fuck me. You know I can take it,“ you whined, one of your hands wrapping around his cock, making him hiss. He groaned, sucking your bottom lip between his before he slapped your hand away, his dark eyes fixed on yours as he held his hand out to you. Waiting.

Feeling your whole body heat up you spit in his hand and the left corner of his mouth twitched.

„My good girl,“ he praised you and you couldn’t stop whimpering.

He brought his hand down to wrap it around his cock, coating it in your saliva, before he lined himself up. You had dripped on the table you were sitting on, more than ready to take him.

„I love you,“ he whispered and you looked at him with a soft smile, your lips parting when he slowly pushed his cock into you. Filling you inch by inch, both of you starring into each others eyes.

„Missed this,“ you moaned.

„Missed you,“ you crossed your legs behind him, giving him a little push, his cock finally filing you up completely.

„Fucking Perfect,“ he groaned kissing you again before he began to move, pumping into you slowly.

You let yourself fall back down against the table, stretching your arms over your head, your back arching, your tits moving every time Joel fucked into you.

He licked his fingers, bringing it down between your legs, his thrusts getting harder as he rubbed your clit, your pussy clenching around him.

„Yes… Baby… Just like that….“ You moaned, your hands coming down to play with your tits.

„You gonna be a good girl and cum for me?“ He asked, moving faster, his skin slapping against yours every time he moved.

Nodding, you moaned, your eyes rolling back as you came, your whole body shaking as he fucked you through it.

„Shit….“ He groaned, both of his hands now coming to rest on either side of you as he leaned down, fucking into you deeply, chasing his own orgasm.

„Want you to cum again,“ he grunted, kissing you, drilling his cock into you, the whole table moving over the floor.

„Want you to cum inside me. Let me feel you,“ you whimpered, your hands in his hair, trying to meet his thrusts.

„Fuck that is…. Not a good idea….“ He laughed and you grinned.

„I don’t care. Wanna feel you. Cum for me, Joel. Cum inside me,“ you whispered and he groaned, fucking into you a half dozen times more before you felt him twitch inside of you, filling you, making you cum for a second time.

Both out of breath you looked at each other before Joel leant down and kissed you.

„Sleep in bed with me?“ You hummed against his lips.

„As long as you let me,“ he answered against your lips before you both sneaked upstairs.

Against all odds after six days of a rather boring trip across the country you reached the radio tower in Cody. And two days later a group patrol of people on horses found you, asking you all kinds of questions before a man pulled the bandana that had been covering his face down, revealing Tommy Miller in the flesh.

By now you were living in Jackson for almost a year.

Ellie had decided to stay and live her life, the constant threat of someone looking for her still on the horizon, but it was decided that the town was not in immediate danger. Patrols kept an eye out for fireflies, but they haven’t spotted anyone.

You were living a happy life all things considered.

Ava went to pre school, Ellie went to normal school. They really became sisters in the last year, spending a lot of time together.

Even though Ellie started to spend more and more time with a girl called Dina you suspected was more than just a friend.

Joel was always working on improving the house.

He had changed the most, back to the man he had been before the outbreak. Yes, he still was the protector when he needed to be, but most of the time he was just Joel. Your husband.

„Yellow?“ He asked, holding the can of paint up.

You walked over to him with a smile, nodding.

„It’s a happy colour. I like happy colours,“ you shrugged and he chuckled, setting the can down on the floor before he put his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

One of his hands came to rest on your growing belly, the baby inside kicking up a storm as if it could sense their dads hand, making you both smile.

„Still think it’s gonna be a girl?“ You asked and he nodded, before he kissed you softly.

„Think I’m meant to be surrounded by beautiful girls,“ he hummed before he kissed you again.

#my fic #Joel Miller #Joel Miller x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #Joel Miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction

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xesnox · 5 months ago

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(Post fall) Ancient builder x Illager toxic old man yaoi when

WIP, was planning on doing a ref for every human race but a mutual of mine practically begged me to post these two on their own so you’re probably gonna see this image again. Colors are not yet where I want them to be so I’ll definitely go over it a few more times.

I’d like to take this moment to point out that the way you summon allays in legends, where you play as an ancient builder, is pretty similar to the way evokers summon vexes.

Design / AU rant below cut, as always.

This one’s a little worse written than usual, I’m just rambling.

I practically have an infinite amount of Ancient builder designs because I draw them differently with every piece depending on how I’m feeling, but for this design I got more genuinely speculative and turned on my pattern recognition.

Steve and Alex are canonically 6’2, both of them, and all undead mobs seem to be the same height, if not taller than they are, so I made them average around 6’5. To add to that, all undead builder mobs either don’t have eyes or have solid coloured glowing ones, so I went with the latter.

Minecraft isn’t a stranger to making lifeforms appearances change drastically depending on circumstance, this render is of an Ancient builder post wither attack, around ancient city time, which meant I could adopt the idea the devs mentioned about villagers/illagers, of human skin turning desaturated if they stay out of the sun for long enough, which, if the single generation of Illagers already show signs of I bet the god knows how many decade long underground escapades of the builders probably hit ‘em hard with that trait.

I also for the longest time for some reason forgot cosmetics were very likely a thing, so they’ve got some protection spells and luck enchantments tattooed, both of them do. Doesn’t work very well, as one can probably guess. But they’re superstitious so it felt in character enough.

For the post wither attack Ancient builders I also tend to think of them as more frail, not only because they had no access to their former overworld food supplies and had to rely on the little stuff that did grow in complete lack of sunlight underground, which definitely wasn’t a lot, but also because beyond the military force that did seem to remain from the nether war (ancient city structure name: Barracks, disk 5 marching.) they definitely were no longer strong enough to properly defend themselves against the wither or the warden/mourner on their own accord.

And because they were cowards and skedaddled when the overworld was in danger AND got beat up by the piglin despite being the main kingdom in power which I just find really funny. So think tall and boney but hiding it under a lot of clothing layers to still appear strong. Definitely can’t put on armor anymore though, that back would snap like a twig.

When it comes to the robes I used some of my older armor template designs for reference, made them black and blue to fit the most well known ancient builder sprite as well as vaguely match the one of the evoker. Because, oh well, you caught me, I do believe the cargo cult theory. Got my own interpretation but I’ll leave it at that till the next bestiary entry.

I generally want the villagers to look more varied, and human, while the builders, both neo and ancient, look more unsettling, as if they’re clearly a person, but something just looks, or moves wrong. They’re too symmetrical. Too far removed from what once was flawed but sincerely their own.

A lot of villager beauty standards are inspired by medieval-renaissance era Europe, like for an example having a larger visible forehead and appearing more boxy in shape being seen as more visually appealing, I think despite the illagers trying to subvert that they do still live in a society, so having grown accustomed to it as children they probably still at-least somehow adhere to the beauty standards they know, whether consciously or not.

They perform similar experiments on themselves as the builders, they’re just ever so slightly worse at it, as they haven’t been doing it for as long, so it leaves marks like scarring or visible stitching, though I believe they wear these with pride.

There’s gonna be a dedicated post about them at some point, as I said so I don’t know how much of my design I want to pick apart for now, but I’ll just leave it at that for now.

Here’s some alternative versions.

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munsster · 1 year ago

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sober thoughts

A/N: who let the WIPs out? 🙈 nah….. i was gonna continue but….. that was so corny. anyway, i am back from the hiatus No One saw coming. enjoy <3 (gif creds: @raiderlucy)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x GN!Reader

Summary: If drunk words are sober thoughts, Steve sure is talkative when he’s had a few. 1.3k words

Warnings: fluff, drunk/high steve, pet names (puppy, sweetheart, baby), mutual pining, cursing

It's New Year's, and you find Steve all starry eyed and bubbly in the center of a stranger's kitchen. You know exactly where to find him 'cause he always tells you the kitchen is the best place to hear the music without the fuss of the party. His hair's all tousled and you're pretty sure he lost the top button of his shirt somewhere. You can see the dainty chain looped round his neck in the warm light. The one you gave him.

You catch his eye, and suddenly he's grabbing for your hips like he can't balance without them. He's definitely been smoking with the way his smile reaches his eyes before anything else. Any other night, he would've stayed sober, but you promised to get him and Robin home safely before he could beat you to the punch.

He's hot like an oven up close. All pink in the cheeks and warm at the temples. You push his hair our of his eyes and squint up at him.

"Hi, puppy," you coo. His fingers press a little harder into your soft skin on impulse. Some kind of nonessential reflex or something, but it feels so essential holding onto you like this.

"I like that." The endearment, your eyes right now, the way you're holding his bicep, this song. "I like you."

He dies when you chuckle.

"I like you, too, sweetheart." But he knows you don't mean it like that. Not like how he means it. Everyday he's reminded you like him as a friend. And everyday he's reminded that he likes you as something much more and much less attainable.

Robin tells him it’s noble to play the long game, but in all honesty, he's not sure he's playing any game at all. If you like him one day, hallelujah, it's a goddamn miracle, but if you never like him like that, then that's it and he'll still be your number one admirer forever. Even if that means admiring you from afar.

Still, he whines about it: "You don't get it." You roll your eyes with a lighthearted smile. He's high. But to Steve, that doesn't matter. What matters is the way you let him look at you. He leans a little closer, brings his hand to the side of your neck. On instinct, his lips pucker a little and he bats his long lashes at you.

You put a pause on him with your hand to his chest.

"I'm not gonna kiss you while you're drunk. And high," you tease. You almost feel bad with the way he pouts, his hair all over the place even after pushing it out of his eyes.

“Why not? It’s New Years!”

“Yeah, an hour and a half ago.”

“Well. You kissed Robin, and I kissed no one.” And you think he’s laying it on real thick, playing into the bit for a little too long. You might even suggest it’s less of a bit now and suddenly something much more real and grating.

“Poor baby,” you coo, frowning sweetly in response to his more dramatic frown.

“Yeah. Poor baby. Nobody cares about baby.” Steve huffs like a discontented horse.

“I care about baby.”

“Then kiss me,” he whines.

“You’re inebriated.”

“No, actually. I’m sober as can be, I’ve got no juice in me at all.”

You try and act surprised but you both know he chugged and crushed four beer cans just to impress you. And that was when you first arrived several hours ago. You’re more impressed he hasn’t hurled, yet.

“Steve, I’m only not kissing you because I care. You must know that,” you sigh with your hands gliding easily back over his shoulders, fingers taken with the soft nape of his neck. The warm clasp of his chain.

“Ugh”—he rolls his glassy eyes, grumbling—“o’course I know that. In fact, it’s very thoughtful of you. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

You wish he didn’t seem so sad saying it like that. You wish it didn’t make you so sad to hear it said. Of course, he knows that. Steve is the sweetest, most considerate guy you’ve ever known, and those big, brown eyes are to die for even when they’re a little pink around the edges.

What really matters is that when he looks at you, your heart races like someone’s betting it’s the fastest. It beats even faster at the possibility that his ‘crush’ on you isn’t a joke. That it hasn’t been this whole time. That maybe his feelings are real and that would mean they’re reciprocated.

“Okay, fine, I’ll kiss you.”

Steve assumes the position almost immediately: puckered lips fighting a smile, eyes pinched closed, fingers subconsciously pulling your hips towards him.

You hook around to kiss the apple of his cheek. He groans, setting his heavy head on your shoulder. You pat his back, resting your temple against his peachy ear.

“You can have your kiss if you still want it sober.” At that, he lifts his head, and with it goes a presumptuous eyebrow.

“Sweetheart, I’ve been wanting it sober since I was thirteen. Don’t think that’s gonna change overnight.” He states it like it’s a fact of life; what an idiot! He wasn’t supposed to say it like that! He had planned on some totally romantic picnic or late night drive or some extravagant, life-altering, near-death-experience to set the mood. Anything but at the very beginning of a new year, intoxicated in every sense of the word.

“Steve!” You holler, “Since thirteen?!”

“Well, duh! You just have zero googoo eyes radar. I make ‘em all the time at you,” he says, shrugging it off. But you can only imagine thirteen-year-old Stevie waiting for the bottle to point to you, only for it to skip you every lousy turn. And thirteen-year-old you somehow jinxing the rotation of the bottle. No matter how hard you willed it to choose you, it never did. Not for Stevie.

“Well… stop that!”

He chuckles. “You can’t make me.”

You’ve never been more nervous talking to Steve. You’re so nervous, you can’t even remember when it used to be easy. His eyes are locked with yours, big and shiny and so brown and wide and soft. Windows to the soul, eh?

“You are so plastered,” you scoff. Who says he can peer into your soul. You divert him to the ceiling instead, knuckles to his strong chin.

Steve shakes his head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything,” you look at him to find a painfully familiar lopsided smile. “It changed everything.”

He tilts his head. Sweetly. Mischievous as ever, but sweet.

“So, you’ll kiss me tomorrow?”

You sigh. “Only if you ask nicely tomorrow.”

“Fine!”

What you don’t expect is for him to run out of the room. There’s muffled shouting, the slam of a door, a triumphant ‘yes’, and a beat of silence before he returns, scuttling across the floor, sharpie in hand.

One of his shirt sleeves is pushed to the elbow. Across his forearm is a smattering of permanent black ink.

“What’s this?” you coo as he excitedly presents his arm to you.

“It’s a reminder.”

Looking closer at the ink splotches, you can just barely make out the message: Ask nicely, coward. You squint up at him, trying your hardest not to giggle.

“It’s a threat and a reminder,” he chirps, brows raised, eyes wide, chest pounding. He thinks you look happy, smiling as you smack his chest.

“You’re really hopeless, yunno that?”

You could call him as many names as you wanted, he’d take them all as endearments. As long as you keep teasing him with promises of sober kisses and your hands in his hair.

He nods, “Now call me your puppy again.”

stranger things masterlist

#hi babygirl #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x gn!reader #x reader #x gn!reader #x fem!reader #stranger things #fluff #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things fluff

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suzukiblu · 7 months ago

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WIP excerpt for qwertynerd97 behind the cut; "Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!" (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“Um,” he says. “I don’t know that one, I think. What was it on?”

Lynn shrugs. Billy thinks–well, at least Lynn told him about something he liked, so he can at least try to find it, he figures.

It takes him a slightly embarrassing amount of time to figure out Lynn is talking about literally the “no signal” screen with all the static, but in his defense he totally forgot that was even a thing and also, like, that is definitely not a show or anything. Though also Lynn didn’t actually call it a show, and either way Lynn wouldn’t know it wasn’t a show, probably, so . . . yeah, whoops.

Billy definitely should’ve figured that one out a couple minutes sooner, but at least he figured it out. He doesn’t get why Lynn wants to watch static, but since most dads have to sit through, like, Barney and Paw Patrol, he figures he’s getting off lucky. He hasn’t watched TV in a while, no, but he definitely remembers how much Paw Patrol sucked.

Ugh.

Lynn definitely likes the static either way, so it doesn’t really matter as long as he’s happy, Billy figures. Or, um–well, maybe not happy, really, ‘cuz he’s not sure he’s actually seen Lynn all that happy yet, but at least, like, content? Or like . . . mostly content?

. . . semi-content?

Billy really, really hopes Lynn at least isn’t unhappy to have gotten stuck with him. Which–like, if he does change his mind about staying, obviously they can figure something else out for him, but Billy just . . .

He really wants this to work out, and he really wants to take good care of Lynn, and just–like–

He really wants this to work out. He’d just–he’d feel really bad, if he couldn’t take care of Lynn right. That’s all.

Well–no. It’s a lot more things than just that.

The three of them eat in front of, uh, “No Signal”, and it tastes–really good, actually. Like–really good. It’s maybe that it’s been a little while since anybody cooked for him, at least kinda, but Billy feels . . . he feels sort of weird about how good it all tastes, and kind of keeps his eyes on his food for most of it. The static isn’t really something he wants to watch anyway, and he doesn’t wanna make Lynn feel like he’s getting stared at or anything.

It’s really, really good, though.

“This is so good, Lynn!” he says enthusiastically, beaming over at him, and Lynn–stiffens, briefly, and then stares blankly at him. Billy resists the urge to wince. Okay, uh . . . yeah. Maybe that was a little too much, or too loud or something. “Um–sorry, just–”

“It’s fine,” Lynn says stiffly, then tenses a little and looks down at his plate. Billy kinda hates that his own kid thinks interrupting him is gonna get him in, like, trouble, but he knows that’s just because Cadmus sucks. So it’s like–it’s something Lynn’s gonna need a minute to learn, probably, but yeah. Just one more thing, he figures.

“I really like it,” he says, scooping up another bite of the salmon and pretending to be oblivious to Lynn’s reaction to that. He thinks sometimes that’s just better to do with simple stuff, instead of making somebody feel like everybody thinks they’re messing up all the time. “I kinda thought the, um–glaze? I thought the stuff in the glaze sounded kinda weird to put together, honestly, but it’s really good.”

“. . . it’s balanced,” Lynn says, not lifting his eyes off his plate. His shoulders relax a little bit, though, so Billy thinks he probably did the right thing. Or at least a right thing, since he guesses there’s probably more than one “right” thing to–anyway. Not really the point.

“‘Balanced’?” he asks curiously. “Like it’s healthier, you mean? Like a balanced diet thing?”

“Um . . . no,” Lynn says. “It’s–brown sugar is sweet. Mustard’s–sour. Tangy. So it’s not too much of one or the other.”

“Oh!” Billy realizes in delight. “That’s so smart, Lynn! I wouldn’t’ve even thought about that.”

“. . .you don’t need to eat,” Lynn says, glancing guardedly at him. Billy shrugs.

“Yeah, but still,” he says. “I do, like–like to, when I can.”

“. . . you like to eat?” Lynn asks hesitantly. Billy doesn’t let himself get weird and complicated or think too much about it and just nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “And this tastes awesome. We should make a copy of the recipe to make again, if you and Tawky like it too.”

Lynn stares blankly at him while Tawky nods approvingly.

“You care if I like it,” Lynn says, less like a question and more like a weird, confusing little realization. Billy . . . well. He knows how that feels, so just smiles encouragingly at him.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, you need more food than us anyway, so actually it’s more important that you like it. Also, um, you’re my kid, so I want you to like it more than I wanna like it myself anyway.”

“. . . why,” Lynn says, which is a question, but doesn’t really sound all that different. They should maybe do a little talking practice when he’s feeling up to it, Billy notes to himself. Like, for intonation and stuff.

“You’re my kid,” he repeats reasonably. “Plus I already know what foods I like, and you still gotta figure out your favorites and stuff.”

“‘Favorites’,” Lynn repeats, and then, slower–“Because I’m your kid?”

“Yeah,” Billy agrees. Lynn does not look any less blank, which–right, Lynn really doesn’t know how this stuff works. Or–how it’s supposed to, anyway. “Um, because I’m taking care of you, yeah? Like–people who are taking care of you are supposed to care what you like and what your favorites are and all.”

Lynn looks blankly at him for another moment, then slants his eyes towards the TV.

“Is that why you put on No Signal?” he asks.

#billy batson #conner kent #captain marvel #shazam #superboy #young justice #young justice animated #wip: billy adopts conner and it actually goes pretty good!#qwertynerd97

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dokidokitsuna · 1 month ago

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WILTING ROSE

So it's been a while since I gave an actual update on The Neverfell Projects: Beauty and the Beast. ^^ Highlights:

-I was right; this is gonna be my first hour-long video. Almost an hour and a half, actually. o_o -I'm in what I would call the "final stages" of editing: i.e. just deciding where to put all my screenshots and snarky on-screen comments. The only caveats are: a) I still need background music, and not only have I not composed any yet; I have no idea what I want it to sound like :D b) I've had to take a good look at my placeholder art WIPs as I progress through the video, and the evil boss in my head is already going "yeah, not good enough; redraw all of this" :D :D :D

I mean...I like ^this picture. I had a good feeling about it from the get-go; it came out pretty nice in the end. I can only hope that the others will turn out similarly when finished, so maybe I'll only have to redo days worth of work instead of weeks' worth. Stay tuned!

#rwby #fan art #ruby rose #adam taurus #this is what they call 'development hell'#au #neverfell

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ebnealwrites · 30 days ago

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wip wednesday 5/28

continued from snippet 1 | snippet 2 🌃

“This is a nice place, Rob,” Eddie was saying, looking around the apartment. He handed her his jacket, glanced at Steve. “So, what, are you two contractually obligated to live together? Or is this a cute little lavender marriage situation?”

A horrible silence erupted, broken by Robin’s choking sound.

Steve looked at the floor, wished for death.

“Um,” Robin managed, and she sounded as wretched as Steve felt. “No, Eddie, I should’ve— I probably should’ve— Steve’s just staying here while he sells his house.”

“Oh.” Eddie glanced between them, and maybe Steve was imagining the little spots of color on his cheeks, like he was embarrassed, too. “You didn’t want to live there until it sold?”

Steve spoke for himself this time. “No,” he said.

In the past six years, Eddie seemed to have learned a few manners. He clearly sensed the minefield he was tiptoeing around, so he nodded, turned to Robin. “All right, you gonna show me your sound system or what?”

Things got better, easier. Steve went back and forth from the kitchen, finishing dinner, floating on the edges of Eddie and Robin’s conversation. He listened carefully, curiosity getting the better of him, and learned a few interesting things.

Eddie had made himself quite a career out of being a session musician in LA, working up the ranks until he’d become the go-to guitarist for some pretty big film composers. He was surprisingly modest about it, deflecting more than once when Robin pressed for details — “Wait, Eddie, you work for the Hans Zimmer?!” — and not once mentioning a partner. Boyfriend, girlfriend. Nothing.

Not that it mattered.

Eddie seemed to like LA, though he said he missed New York. “LA’s a sprawl,” he said, topping up his wine. They were already through most of the bottle he’d brought — which was easily worth fifty dollars — and they hadn’t started eating. “I like it when my city goes up, not out.”

“Chicago might win you over,” said Robin. Her face was flushed from the wine. “It’s like LA and New York had a love baby. Only better.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s grin was like mercury. “Well, I’ll have some time to test that theory.”

“Mm!” Robin flailed, almost spilling her glass. “You’re staying?!”

“For a month or so,” he said. “Maybe longer. Depends how long it takes my buddy and I to finish this EP.”

“Ah!” She pointed, right in his face. “I knew you weren’t just here to see me!”

Eddie laughed, belly-deep and loud, and Steve ignored the answering squirm in his stomach. “Shockingly,” said Eddie. “I’m not. I’m here to work.”

“So, what,” said Robin. “You’re joining a band?”

“Not really,” said Eddie. “Old friend of mine’s been working on some stuff for a while, needed a few musicians to help him get it off the ground. His guitarist bailed on him last minute, but he’s already booked the studio, the engineer, so he needed someone quick. He called me, and I’m between projects right now, so I figured why not, you know?” His gaze flickered to Steve. “Thought it might be an adventure.”

Steve looked away, his heart giving a weird throb. He stood up, glass in hand, said, “C’mon, we should eat.”

#steddie #steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #fanfiction #robin buckley #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fandom #steddie fic #fanfic #my fic #my wip #wip wednesday #writing wip #fic wip

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gilverrwrites · 10 months ago

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Dumping some stagnant WIPs that I’d love to revive in the hopes that some feedback/interaction might reignite my fire for them. Or at least show them the light of day they might never see otherwise.

Ft. (in order) PT!Dick Grayson, Nightwing, The Riddler, Two-Face, Harvey Bullock, Leatherface, and Jason Voorhees.

Colour co-ordinated for ease of navigation. Some of these are really short and sweet, some are whole-ass first chapters to potential series. Comments appreciated!

Untitled, PT!Dick Grayson/civilian reader, undecided

Nobody ever showed to the 2PM class. He’d meant to take it off the schedule since he spent most of them unofficially working on Nightwing business. Then you started showing up.

The first time he’d been in the back, hunched over his computer in nothing but his boots and boxers.

“Hello?” Your melodic voice chimed through the building, and he scrambled to find work out appropriate clothes, hopping his way to the front of house as he tied the laces of his sneakers. “Anyone here?”

As he pushed through the doors, he was mentally juggling how to get rid of you. It would be scammy of him to under or over work you in an attempt to put you off of coming back. Maybe he’d just tell you the class of cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances? But then he saw you.

Blue Bird: Missing, Nightwing/villain reader, multi chapter slow burn

Nightwing had been a part of your life, at least your life of crime, for as long as you could remember. Since you were teens fighting on opposite sides of the law. While he wasn’t your target tonight, he was in the way. He hadn’t been responsible for you latest stint at Blackgate.

It didn’t take a detective to know that the saftest course of action would be to lay low, to hide out until his patrolling took him a safe enough distance away for you to act without his alerting him. The smart part of you knew this, the petty part of you didn’t care.

“Stay still, I promise I wont look.” You instruct, closing your eyes as you paw at his mask until it comes off into your hands. His comms needed to be shut down, ensuring none of his bat or bird friends could come to his rescue and interfere with your plans.

With caution, you turn your back to him and begin to play with the tiny buttons and notches until you’re satisfied that you’ve turned it off. Shutting down his comms. You’re expecting a witty retort, something flirty about you missing out on his good looks, but nothing comes, and you don’t have time to wait.

“See, I kept my promise.” You continue as you turn back to him, eyes shut once more as you secure the mask back to the space over his eyes. When you look at him again, you find yourself struck with more curiosity than expected. You wouldn’t break the unspoken rule, you’d keep to your promise, but being so close to exposing him really has you wondering how he looks uncovered. What colour his eyes are. Blue, dark blue, you bet. He’d be cheesy enough to match his suit to his eyes.

“So, what’s your end game here, sweetheart?” He looks up at you expectantly, smirking in a way that’s far to smug for his position.

“Why? You gonna talk me down? I already told you, power bottom…” A gust of cold wind blows against you, pushing a piece of dark hair against his face and you brush it back, savouring its softness without even thinking. When you realise what you’re doing you tighten your grip and tug his head back against the post, saving face. At least you would be saving face if he didn’t let out an inexplicably lewd moan that made you suck in an audible breath. Theres an awkward pause between you both before you distract by continuing your answer to his question “This isn’t about you, you just got caught in the crosshairs.”

“Crosshairs of what battle?” He asks, and maybe he’s entitled to know, given that he’ll be sat on his ass, and undeniably inconvenienced by all this, but he’d put you in the same situation many times. Yes, his motivations were far more just than yours, but that meant nothing to you.

“It’s need to know bird boy.” You poke his nose, before finally stepping back, reassessing your surroundings, noting your next step before leaving him with a wave and a final shout; “And you don’t need to know.”

That should have been that last time you’d seen him, for that night anyway. But when you’d reached Nygma’s hideout, it was empty. It didn’t make sense. Your sources were reliable, you’d staked it out the night before. He’s been there, his henchmen had been there, boxes full of stupid trophies and half-built robots had been there, and now they were gone. The old mill factory was wiped clean, you were fuming. You’d called your informant to no avail. Reached out to some old contacts, who couldn’t help you. Tracked across the city, checking out his other known safehouses, all of which empty.

Now, just over two hours later you were climbing your way back up to the top the Gotham Bank. Nightwing would probably be gone by now. His radio silence alerting one of his birdbuddies that he’s need a save, and there’d almost certainly be a tracker in his suit. You were just checking in on him. Not because you care. Just because, if he was still where you’d left him, maybe you could set him free and cool him off. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t help with your predicament, but tracking down The Riddler would be a whole lot easier without Nightwing on the war path to put you back behind bars.

Per your suspicions, when you reach the roof, it’s empty. It’s not safe to linger, to return to the crime scene for too long, so you ready yourself to take off again. It’s when you’re stepping onto the ledge that you spot it. Something shiny and green, glinting in the corner of your eye. Upon closer inspection you release it’s a coin, made of some kind of green bottle, with a question mark engraved onto it, sitting right where Nightwing had been just a few hours earlier, and above it, a note, duct tape to the pole which read:

Blue Bird: Missing Want it back? Bring your coins, To the racetrack.

Well fuck.

Patterns, The Riddler/henchman reader, Multi chapter successor to Stockholm Syndrome

Eat, sleep, repeat. Lather, rinse, repeat. You’d be tracking target number 1 for 9 days, and besides a lonely weekend filled with racking up credit card debt at T.J.Maxx, and failed attempts at home cooking, it had been the SAME THING, every, single, day.

Pursing your lips, you lean back against the driver’s seat and let out a long sigh. You glance back up at the targets window before checking the time again. 10:01PM

You tap your fingers against the wheel before pulling out your phone. Ed is notoriously bad at picking up, (also notoriously bitter, if you don’t answer on the first ring) but you didn’t want to call it a night without checking in with him. He's your boss after all.

Dialling his current burner number and hitting loudspeaker, you sink down in your seat, studiying the cars roof as you wait for it to ring out.

“Hello?” You shoot back up. Startled by his answering on the 4th ring. Guess there’s a first time for anything.

“Oh…. Ed, hey, hi.” You stammer, trying to find your bearings again. “Um, so, riddle for you?”

“A riddle for me?” He scoffs, amused. maybe you're delusional but there seems to be a warmth in his tone. “This should be good.”

“Yeah, um, so…. If you're a child, you know me well, and when you're old I'll be your hell. I'm often felt but rarely shown. I'll drive you mad if you're alone.”

“Is the target sleeping now?”

“You didn’t answer the riddle!”

“Because it was an insult.” He scorns you before repeating. “Is the target sleeping?”

“Yeah. She crashes at about this time most nights.” You state factually. Trying not to let his sharpness get to you.

“Well….” He seems to hesitate. You hear what sounds like the click of this tongue, something rustling on his line. “If you’re bored, come see me.”

“At this time of night?” You begin to tease. “Ed, what will people think?”

Your joking might have been more convincing if it wasn’t punctuated by the sound of your engine starting before you proceed to speed down the road.

“I think a better question might be, ‘what are you thinking’?”

It wasn’t fair that you had started this line of conversation, but he was the one making you flushed. Especially since he wasn’t even there. In his presence you can blame it on his proximity, his scene, the intensity of his gaze when he’s focused solely on you for once, but he wasn’t here, and you had nothing to blame but your big fat crush on him. The silver lining at least was that he couldn’t see what he had done to you.

“I’m thinking….” You hesitated, unsure how to get him back. “I’m thinking, I’ll be there in 10.”

You hang up. He's sure to chew you out for that later, but it was worth it. You could just picture the tantrum he was having right now, leg stamping, and arms crossed. Probably muttering to himself, coming up with a sly comeback for then you arrived.

You’d been working for The Riddler for 6 and a half months now, and while he knew exactly how to use your infatuation with him to keep your moral compass spinning, you were slowly learning how to push his buttons right back.

Later

15 minutes later you lean against his desk, watching intently as he scans through your notes.

You watch greedily as his blue eyes bore into each word, deft fingers flipping through the pages, watch the way he stuck out his soft lower lip, still pouting at your earlier antics.

“So, what do you want with her anyway?” You try so spark a conversation.

“You’ve been monitoring her for almost two weeks.” He replies, refusing to look up at you. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

Your brows scrunch together as you think back, racking your brain for anything remotely remarkable about the woman you’d been tailing. She was pretty, sure, but besides that she didn’t really seem to have anything going for her. Dead end job, no real friends, no romantic prospects, just her and her cat.

Not totally unlike yourself 7 months ago.

You briefly study Ed’s fave for any form of a giveaway, but his nose remains buried in your notes. With a shrug you conceded.

“I give up. What is it?”

Almost immediately Ed’s face began to morph. The corners of his lips curving into a coy smile, his eyes sparkle as he finally looks up at you.

“It’s her blood.” He answers, finally closing your notebook and unceremoniously letting it fall onto his desk.

“Her blood?” you quiz, more confused than ever. “What? Is she like a metahuman or something?”

“Oh no.” He says, making no attempt to conceal the amusement in his voice.

His fingers brush against your own as he locks his hands around your wrist. A jolt shoots up your body, but you push it down, steadying yourself to his touch.

You watch as he flips your arm around, baring your wrist to him. Gently he runs his fingers along your veins. “It’s blue. Her blood is blue. A member of the Finnish royal family, attempting to live like common people. Do whatever common people do.”

“Right.” Your voice shakes more than you would have liked. Even the smallest of touches from him are enough to melt your brain. “And what do you want with her? Money? O-“

Your questions were silenced as Ed brings your wrist to his face. Briefly pressing it to his nose and inhaling with a satisfied smile.

“Come now, Dear.” He silences you with the soft brush of his lips against your skin. You suck in a breath, fingers digging into the wood beneath you as you watch. Your concerns were long gone as he looks up at you, his studious gaze locked onto you as he pressed another, firmer kiss inches above the last. “I already gave you my word, did I not?”

In lieu of a response, a breathy moan escape your lips. Ed is clearly pleased with your response to his affection. Standing from his chair, he continued pressing progressively fevered kisses up your arm, over the curve of your shoulder, into the crevice of your collar.

His gloved hands gently cupped the curve of your hips. His fingers traced circles against your body as they dip lower, and lower until they're hooked under your knees. He plants one deep, open-mouthed kiss against your jaw as he pries your legs apart.

“Did I not, give you my word?” He pushes, his breath brushing against your ear. The feel of his lips curving into a smug smile that tickles your skin.

Flustered, but determined not to turn into a total puddle, you stroke your hand up his spine, thread your fingers into his hair, and direct his face to yours. Heads together, noses brushing, you answer; “yes.”

“Yes?” He raises one brow at you. His hands climb back up your thighs until they’re kneading at your asscheeks before pulling you closer. Your legs lock around his waist as you feel the pressure of his tented trousers press against you centre.

“Oh, yes.” Your exclaim again, arching your back to press yourself deeper against him.

You close the gap before he can. You didn’t miss the way his eyes widened before they fluttered closed. You may have initiated but it takes no time at all for Ed to take control. Your jaw grows slack at the pressure building between you legs, and Ed wastes no time taking advantage. His tongue shamelessly diving between your lips, filling your senses with the taste of him.

As soon as it starts, the moment is over. He breaks away to the sound of his phone ringing. Eyes never leaving yours as he brings it to his ear. Trust him to start answering his phone promptly when its least convenient for your.

“Speak.” He orders. His shoulders lean back, one hand resting on his hip as he mindlessly continues grinding against you. Desperate to keep him close you reach out to him, running your fingers up his chest, incidentally untucking his shirt.

“What?!” His outburst makes you jump. Abruptly, he pulls away from you completely. “Are you a complete and utter moron? How could you let this happen?”

With him now out of reach, all you can do is sit and watch patiently. You'd hate to be on the receiving end of it, but you have to admit, Edward can be really sexy when he was angry. Lean muscles taut; jaw clenched. You’d never admit that to him though, his ego is already 3 sizes to large.

So lost in your ill-advised admiration you almost didn’t notice when he gestures to you. Gloved hands waved in you face until you nod to express your attention. He points over at the pitiful stack of junk you call a desk, huddled in the corning of his office.

Hopping off his work bench you make your way over to it, looking over at Edward for further guidance. In response he lifts two fingers. You raise the file for target number 2 and waved it at him. He nods back at you and gives you a thumbs up, before waving you to the door.

“I cannot believe this. I swear if you want a job done….”

Was he dismissing you? What could possibly be going on that he could shrug you off so indifferently?

Some people have all the luck [Part 2], Two-Face, smut CWs: Dubious consent, alcohol

The trip from the bar to wherever this is had been a blur. You vaguely remember complaining about your tired feet getting wet in the dreary Gotham weather. Two-Face laugh at you then, pulled you closer and told you; “Don’t worry about it, Doll.”

Then there had been a car, an old, classy one. The streetlights blurred by the rain on the windows. At some point he’d carried you, bridal style through somewhere old and dusty. You just remember old hanging light fixtures dangling from a high ceiling. There’s been voices, muffled snickering until Harv had barked at them, something loud and authoritative. A little bit sexy.

Now you were here, legs dangling off the edge of a desk. The wallpaper is peeling. Diplomas and newspaper clippings hang on the wall in broken, lopsided frames. Harvey is pouring something amber coloured into a tumbler, whiskey, probably, he seems like a whiskey drinker.

With the imposing thought in mind that this might be your last chance, you ask him for a drink of your own.

“Nah.” He looks smug as he approaches. He downs the two-finger pour in one, faces contorting as it slides down his throat. Then he’s standing before you, guiding your legs open, making space for him to stand between him. You’re not sure which is more unnerving, the ease in which he touches and directs your body, or your willingness to allow it. As he speaks again, you catch a whiff of his breath, definitely whiskey. “You’ve had enough, if you’re gonna pass out tonight, it’s gonna be because of us.”

He probably means torture, but the idea of him fucking you unconscious sends a wave of arousal to your already heated core.

---

Allowing you zero time to get good look at, he sinks the tip between your folds, pumping the wetness along his length before lining himself up with your entrance. You suck in a breath as he penetrates you, bottoming out with one hard thrust, stretching your walls around his noticeably thick girth. The sheer size of him pushing against every inch of your insides stings, makes you throw your head back with an aching moan.

No sooner do you look away before his grabs your face with his scarred hand, nails dig into your skin as he compels you to look into his face. He whistles, short and sweet before ordering; “Eyes on us, hon.”

His scolding has you twitching around him, having allowed you a grace period to adjust to his size.

“Yes.” You nod, not trusting your mouth to coherently say anything else.

“Good girl.”

Untitled, Harvey Bullock, fluff

If you see something, no you didn’t. That’s number one unspoken rule of Gotham.

But after witnessing what happened to the poor boy, you just couldn’t stay quiet. Now the city was punishing you by having your witness statement be taken by the hottest cop the GCPD had to offer. Sure, he was rough around edges, scruffy beard, beer belly and an Irish American accent to die for. He was definitely a drunk, that much was evident from the hint of whisky on his breath but damn if that didn’t add to his bruiser charm.

Untitled, [DBD] Leatherface, Horror & smut – partly inspired by that scene from TCM2 CWs: Mentions of gore

How long would this go on for? Until he was finished? Until he grew bored of you? And then what? He could drive his saw straight into within second, the sound of him revving its engine would serve as your only warning before he mutilated you, before he swung forward and carved your body in two. It's not as if you could just take off right now. He had you completely cornered. Not just geographically, but physically – leather face is 6'3 and jacked. A single flinch in a direction he didn't like and he could have you pinned, sawed, and quartered in second.

(Re-)Learning to swim, Jason Voorhees, Fluff CWs: Captivity, mentions of violence

Taking a deep breath, you creep deeper into the lake, submerging yourself up to your waist. The water looks so peaceful and calm. Before Jason, water had been your one true love. Swimming had given you an escape from the trials of everyday life.

Jason was the opposite, and you completely understood why. You're heart clenched at the thought of it. Even before you'd come to know and love him, you'd felt compassion for his story. Jason didn't deserve what happened to him. Blood hadn't been spilt that day but it stained the hands of the incompetent counsellor that night. Water it seemed had always been his foe. He drowned here in one life, was chained and trapped beneath its waves in another.

You understood why he avoided it. He was always vigilant of it, he had traps and weapons to take down anyone who tried swim to sail away from him without having to venture to deep, but walking beside the Lake, taking a boat out, or simply swimming in it, was never something you could get him to agree to during the small times the two of you had the area to yourselves.

So, you were going to do it alone. You were reclaiming a part of yourself, doing something just for you.

It was late May, a few weeks before police did their final searches, ticking the last few boxes before they let counsellors in to start setting up camp. You waited until Jason left to do his own rounds before slipping out into the darkness. He wouldn't have let you go if you'd told him your plan. He'd have crossed his arms and shaken his head at you. If that failed he's have held you, crushing you in his loving embrace as a way of begging you not to go, not to the Lake, to dangerous, and you would have caved. Listening to his sad hums, looking into his pleading eyes would have swayed you to stay home.

You had to wait until he left. No doubt he'd know, he seems to have some kind of connection to the camp and its goings on. He'll know where you've been and what you've been doing and he'll watch you even closer, but it needed to be done.

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