#the only problem with not killing them is instead they turn them over to a corrupt system

[cinnxmxngxrl]

Dr. Miller’s Check Up♡

Dark!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Joel’s Masterlist

“Jesus, sweets… you’re squeezin’ the life outta me. Can’t do a proper exam if this cunt keeps suckin’ my fingers in like that.”

Summary: Joel Miller comes up with a brilliant plan… pretending to be a doctor just to get close to you and have full access to your body.

WC: 7k

Tags/Warnings: smut, minors DNI, dub-con, dark!joel, pervy old man!joel, gaslighting, manipulation, gullible!reader, stalk-ish behavior, unprotected piv, fingering, oral (f!receiving), breast exam, creampie, mentions of breast cancer and std’s.

Before reading, please make sure you’ve read the warnings and are okay with them. Also, keep in mind that this includes a bunch of medical misinformation due to Joel making up bullshit, so please don’t take any of it as factual, except for the fact that it’s important to do breast self-exams!!

When you first heard a man talking about Jackson, your initial reaction was: he must be out of his mind. There was no way a sustainable community still existed, one that welcomed strangers instead of killing them over two cans of peaches and a half-loaded rifle. A place with warm beds, hot showers, and real meals? It sounded like a fairytale, not something meant for the world you lived in. But then you arrived, just a week ago alongside your brother, and it turned out the rumors weren’t a cruel lie after all, Jackson was real.

It didn’t just exist, but it felt like a dream. One so delicate, so impossibly good, you were afraid to blink, terrified that if you did, it would all disappear… just a figment of your desperate imagination. People were kind and friendly in Jackson, the kids ran through the streets laughing, throwing snowballs like there wasn’t a brutal world just beyond the gates. It was organized, there was a functioning hospital with real doctors, engineers kept the hydroelectric plant running. There was a school with teachers. It was the closest thing you’d seen to the old world in a long, long time, and it scared the hell out of you.

Your brother had settled in just fine, it only took him two days to make friends, join the patrols, and prove himself useful around town. But for you… it wasn’t so easy. You were still waiting for the dream to break, waiting to wake up and find the walls torn open, overrun by infected. Waiting for a bigger, meaner group to find Jackson, and if you were lucky, they’d just kill everyone quickly.

Maria, the woman who seemed to run things around Jackson, had told you when you first arrived to stop by the hospital, get yourself checked up. After all, being out on the road for so long could do a number on your health, but the truth was, you’d barely left the house since you got here.

Joel was doing what he did every day, minding his own damn business. Patrol had taken a toll on his body, and now Tommy was on his case about getting the new houses built by the end of the week, which wouldn’t be such a problem if he wasn’t stuck working with people who’d never held a hammer in their damn lives.

But that’s when he saw you, crossing the gates of Jackson, and Jesus Christ, it had been a goddamn long time since he’d felt like this about anyone… Since he’d felt like a man. You looked a little roughed up, like you’d been on the road too long, worn down by it, but even then, your beauty was undeniable. Those piercing eyes, that mouth with lips that looked like they were made to be kissed, sucked, bitten. And your thighs, your hips… they didn’t look too soft or meaty, you looked like you hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks, but still, they looked just right, made to be held, to be grabbed, to feel them tight under him while he fucked the breath out of you.

Joel also noticed the guy standing next to you, tall, broad-shouldered, always keeping a close eye on you. He’d suddenly dropped whatever argument he was having with Tommy, his attention fixed on you both. One day, he said low and discreet, “Saw we got a few new folks in town.” Tommy nodded. “Found ’em on the road. Seem like good people. Just a guy and his younger sister.”

So that man wasn’t your boyfriend… good. That was better for Joel, easier to swallow. As the days passed, his obsession only grew, he saw your brother around town, always hanging with a group of other guys, but you… you were nowhere to be seen. Every evening, Joel would walk past your house, hoping for just a glimpse of you through the window, but the curtains were always drawn tight. It was clear you were struggling to settle in. Maria only confirmed his worries. “I’m worried about the girl,” she said once. “Told her to go see the doctor for a check-up, but she hasn’t been yet.”

Joel felt like an evil genius when the idea popped into his head. And yeah, maybe some people wouldn’t think it was the right thing to do, but God knew he was a lonely man, he’d been one for a long time, and he was so fucking done handling his own horniness by stroking his cock alone in bed every night thinking of you.

So what if he had to lie a little to get close to you? What if he had to make up a story, just a little one, so you’d finally look at him the way he needed? So you’d smile, so you’d let him in, so you’d let him touch you like he wanted. After all, there weren’t good people anymore in this world, sometimes you had to be a little shady to get what you wanted, and all Joel wanted was you, so really, who could judge a man for following his impulses and doing what he needed to do?

Joel spent the next few days scheming. He tracked your brother’s patrol shifts, searching for the perfect moment when you’d be alone at home, just you, no interruptions. He even managed to sneak a few medical supplies into a worn leather suitcase from the hospital, just typical stuff: a stethoscope, a thermometer, small details to make his act look real, convincing. Every piece carefully chosen, every step planned.

You woke up from the nap on the couch you were taking, groggy and disoriented, the muffled sound of sturdy knocking pulling you from sleep. You rubbed your eyes, and padded slowly to the door. On the other side stood a man in his mid-fifties, you’d guess. With salt-and-pepper hair brushing back from his temples and a beard peppered with white, his weathered face lined with the kind of creases that only came from a hard life. He looked rugged, capable… and completely unfamiliar.

“Afternoon,” he said, offering a big, polite smile that was all teeth.

“Afternoon,” you replied, your voice sounded a little shaky from the unexpected visit from a man you’d never seen before. “May I help you?”

“’M Doctor Miller,” he said, extending a calloused hand. You hesitated, just for a second, but then took it, his grip firm but not rough. “You’ve had us a little worried. Been expectin’ you at the clinic for a check-up.”

So that’s what this was about. You exhaled softly, relief mixing with irritation, you’d been avoiding that particular appointment, the last thing you wanted was to strip down under fluorescent lights and let strangers poke and prod you under the guise of care. Still… you didn’t know how to say no without sounding ungrateful, the people here had been kind since you arrived.

“I… didn’t think it was mandatory,” you said, voice soft but careful.

“It ain’t,” Joel replied, eyes narrowing just slightly like he was trying to read something behind your expression. “But when folks don’t show, we get concerned. S’not about rules. It’s about makin’ sure you’re all right.”

“I’ll… I’ll stop by soon. I promise.”

He gave you that same too-big smile, tilting his head slightly. “Oh, but sweets… ’m already here, ain’t I? So why don’t we kill two birds with one stone ‘nd go ahead with the check-up?” Before you could form an excuse, he stepped forward and crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“I-I don’t know. I really appreciate it, Dr. Miller, but—” You weren’t sure, you weren’t exactly comfortable, no matter how kind he looked… or how handsome he was.

“Nonsense, sweets.” His voice dropped its warmth, sounding colder now. He was already setting the leather case down on your coffee table, glancing around like he owned the place. “You can’t keep postponin’ your health. Check-ups are important, yeah?”

He stood in front of your couch, and made a subtle gesture with his hand for you to sit down. Something about the way he carried himself made it feel less like a suggestion and more like an order. You hesitated, but then slowly, you stepped toward the couch and sat, still unsure, but reasoning with yourself. Why not? A check-up wouldn’t hurt, and Dr. Miller seemed… nice enough. He’d gone out of his way to come see you, hadn’t he? It’d be rude to just turn him away. The people of Jackson had been nothing but kind and helpful since you arrived. You told yourself this was no different.

“Sit down, yeah?” he said, voice softer again now, almost coaxing. He knelt in front of the coffee table and opened the leather suitcase. From inside, he pulled a small flashlight and turned it on.

He leaned closer, almost too close, you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips and chin as he reached up, his fingers rough but gentle, and took hold of your jaw with one large hand.

“Follow the light f’me, sweets,” he murmured, his voice was low, almost a purr. “Gotta check those reflexes.”

The flashlight flicked from side to side, you followed it with your eyes, but even in that brief movement, you couldn’t ignore the fact that his stare was hungry, like he was memorizing every inch of it.

“You’ve got beautiful eyes,” he murmured, and a smirk crept onto his lips as he caught the blush blooming across your cheeks. “Very good reflexes too,” he added with a playful tone, gently pinching your cheek between his fingers before letting go.

He turned back to his suitcase, taking his time as he reached for the next item. “Alright,” he drawled, pulling out a small digital thermometer and holding it between two fingers like it was something far more intimate. “Open those pretty lips f’me now… yeeeaah, jus’like that. Thaaassit.”

As he slowly guided the thermometer into your mouth, his breath hitched. He prayed you wouldn’t notice the way his body betrayed him… the thick, pulsing erection straining against the front of his jeans. Because fuck, watching your plush lips part obediently, the way they wrapped around the slim shaft of plastic… it was too easy to imagine you taking something else between them.

His jaw tensed as he tried not to groan, all he could think about now was your mouth stretched wide around his cock, those soft lips soaked with spit, your eyes looking up at him while he gripped your hair tight and pushed deeper until you were gagging on the weight of his length, until tears blurred those beautiful eyes he’d just praised.

God, looking down at you like that, so sweet, so trusting, sitting pretty on the couch while he held the thermometer between your lips… it did things to him. You looked up at him with those wide, innocent eyes, completely unaware of the filth running rampant in his head, it was almost too much.

The thermometer beeped. “Ninety-eight degrees,” he muttered, pretending to check the screen while he offered you another one of those charming smiles. “Healthy as a horse.”

He reached back into his bag and pulled out the stethoscope next. His hand went straight to the hem of your shirt without hesitation. “Gonna need to undo this… just a few buttons, alright?” he said casually, but he didn’t wait for a yes, his fingers were already working through the first three buttons before you could even react.

And there it was that little peek of your black bra beneath the open fabric. Joel saw it instantly, he noticed the way it hugged your chest, the contrast of the fabric against your skin. He hummed low under his breath, satisfied, his gaze lingering just a second too long before he cleared his throat.

“Now this might be a lil’ cold, sweets. Be brave f’me,” he said as he pressed the cold metal of the stethoscope right against the swell of your chest.“Take a big breath f’me now.” He added.

You obeyed without question, slowly filling your lungs with air and holding it, your chest rising beautifully beneath that open shirt, the curve of your breasts subtly shifting beneath the black lace of your bra. Joel’s eyes were locked onto the bare skin exposed to him, transfixed by every breath, every tiny movement. The way your chest expanded, the soft bounce as you exhaled… fuck, it was too much. The thick line of his cock strained hard against his zipper, throbbing, aching, desperate for release. The image burned into his mind, how you’d feel wrapped around him, warm and wet, completely unaware of just how badly he wanted to ruin you.

“Is everything okay, Dr. Miller?” you asked, your voice denoted innocent concern.

Joel blinked once, dragging his gaze back up to your face. “Mhm,” he hummed, retrieving the stethoscope and slipping it back into his bag. “Lungs are sound. You’re a mighty healthy young lady.”

“Is that it, then?” you asked softly.

He shook his head, giving you that easy, charming smile again. “’Fraid not, sweets. Got a few questions for you next. Just routine, nothin’ to worry about. That okay with you?”

You gave a little nod, and he settled in just a bit closer, his eyes still shamelessly dragging over every inch of you, already imagining the answers he wanted to hear.

“Aight then,” he said, voice casual as he clicked a pen in his hand. “You been feelin’ any pain lately? Anythin’ that don’t feel quite right?”

You shook your head. “No… I’m feeling fine.”

“Good. That’s good.” He gave a small nod, as if he was just ticking boxes in his mind. Then, with the same steady tone, he asked, “What about your cycle? Your period?”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the bluntness of it. Joel didn’t miss it, of course he didn’t, his lips curled faintly as he added quickly, “No need to be shy now, sweets. ‘M a professional. This here’s a safe, confidential space. Just me ‘nd you.”

You swallowed, shifting a little on the couch. “M-my period is… it’s fine.” You weren’t used to talking about something so personal with someone you barely knew, especially not a man, but you reminded yourself: he’s a doctor, he’s just doing his job.

“All good? No cramps? You regular?” he continued, his tone was calm, but his gaze stayed fixed on you, studying every twitch of discomfort like it fascinated him.

“Y-yes. It’s all good,” you said again, forcing a smile.

He tilted his head slightly, then asked, “‘Nd what stage you in right now?”

“S-stage?”

“Yeah, sweets. Are you bleedin’? Or ovulatin’, maybe?”

You hesitated, feeling your cheeks warming. “I-I think I’m ovulating.”

Joel made a low hum, almost like a sound of approval. His smile deepened, more to himself than to you. “Ovulatin’, huh?” he repeated. “That’s good. That’s real good.”

You weren’t quite sure why he sounded so pleased. “Why’s that?” you asked pulling your brows together.

Joel chuckled, as if you being clueless amused him. “Oh, sweets, you been doin’ your breast checks, right?”

“Breast checks?” you repeated, blinking in confusion.

“Yeah. Self-exams,” he said, almost fatherly. “Touchin’ your breasts, feelin’ around for lumps, any changes in texture or size. ’S important. Breast cancer’s no joke, sweets. Ain’t somethin’ to ignore.”

“B-breast cancer?” The words hit like cold water. You’d never even considered it, not with everything else going on when you had do survive day by day in the outside world, who had time to think about that?

But Joel was already nodding. “Don’tcha worry, now. We can do it together. I’ll show you how, ’s quick.” His hands moved without hesitation, reaching for the rest of the buttons on your shirt, fingers working with practiced ease.

“D-Dr. Miller… I’m not sure—” You shifted back instinctively, trying to bring your arms up between you, but he was already loosening the fabric.

“Shhh, ’s alright.” His tone was coaxing. “You trust me, don’tcha? This is for your health. I’ve done this with plenty o’patients before.”

Before you could fully register it, before you could think clearly enough to say no, he’d slipped the shirt from your shoulders, exposing your bra-clad chest to the cool air and his heavy gaze. You felt yous cheeks getting even more red, but he didn't even noticed, his eyes were too focused on your bra.

He hummed pleasingly "Bra's gonna have to go too for the exam." His colloused rough hands made their way to your back, easily uncalsping your bra, letting it fall to the floor.

Joel’s mouth nearly watered at the sight of your chest, the swell of your breasts exposed made his breath catch. It’d been so long since he’d last seen a pair of tits in the flesh, not a still image on old paper from a magazine, not some fading memory… this was living, breathing flesh. He watched the way they rose and fell with each nervous breath, how the cool air had already coaxed your nipples into stiff peaks.

“D-Do they look alright, Dr. Miller?” you asked timidly.

He took a slow breath through his nose. “Oh yeah,” he murmured. “Lookin’ real healthy, sweets. Real fine pair you’ve got.”

A flicker of heat bloomed in your stomach, twisting with something that felt like shame, or was it confusion? Was this how a check-up usually went? It didn’t sound right, but you couldn’t be sure, pre-outbreak medicine was a fuzzy memory now for you, you were too little to remember that. Still, he was kind, gentle… professional, right? And he looked so sure of what he was doing.

“Course, I can’t be certain just by lookin’,” he added smoothly, already reaching out again. “Gotta feel em too for any lumps, any irregularities. Standard procedure.”

And before the words even settled in the air, his hands were on you. One cupped each breast, his palms were warm against your skin. It wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t delicate either, his grip was firm, practiced, like he knew exactly what he wanted. His thumbs pressed into the softness, spreading and pushing your breasts together, letting them bounce gently in his hands as he worked them like something meant to be studied and enjoyed.

“Won’tcha look at that,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fit perfect in my hands… just how they should.” He gave them another squeeze, his eyes locked on the movement like he was hypnotized. “You feelin’ this, sweets? This is what you’re s’posed to do, press, roll, check for anythin’ outta place. But you? You’re all soft… tender. Just right.”

You sat still beneath him, wide-eyed and warm all over, letting him explore as he pleased. Joel couldn’t believe how goddamn pretty you looked so obedient and flushed, letting him handle you without protest, it lit something hot in his gut. His thumbs circled slowly over your nipples, making them stiffened up under his touch, and when you gasped softly, lips parting just a little, he didn’t hesitate, he leaned in, pinching one sensitive peak between his fingers with a soft pull.

“Attagirl,” he whispered, watching your reaction. “Sensitive there, huh?”

“D-Dr. Miller!” you gasped, startled by the sudden sharp tug of his fingers.

“I know, I know, sweets,” Joel drawled, his was deep and soothing. “I know they’re sensitive… that’s why I gotta check ’em real thorough. Nipples tell me a lot, y’know? All part of makin’ sure you’re healthy.”

He didn’t wait for you to argue, just kept rolling the tight peaks between his fingers, pinching a little harder now, just enough to make your breath hitch. His touch was rougher this time, greedy almost, thumbs rubbing over your soft buds until they ached under the attention. Then, he leaned down without warning, his tongue flicking out to taste you, it was just a tease at first, a quick lap over one nipple, watching your reaction like he was testing your limits. But when you didn’t pull back, just sat there flushed and breathing harder, he took it as permission, and so he latched on fully, mouth wrapping around your nipple and sucking gently, then a little harder, the wet heat of his tongue drawing a tremble from deep inside you.

You whimpered when he bit, just a little, a flash of teeth against tender skin that had you clenching your thighs. He didn’t stop, just switched to the other breast like he couldn’t stand to leave it unattended, devouring you slowly with lips and tongue working your tits with unspoken hunger, like he was savoring every second.

“D-Dr. Miller… is this… is this part of the exam?” you managed to whisper, both confused and aroused at the same time.

Joel pulled back with his lips wet “‘Course it is, sweets,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the nipple he’d just kissed. “Gotta check sensitivity… tongue’s perfect for that. You’re doin’ so good f’me. Lemme finish takin’ care of you, yeah?”

You gave a small, shaky nod, but you couldn’t ignore the way your panties clung to you now, they were damp, sticky where your swollen cunt pressed into the fabric, heat pooling deep in your core. It was humiliating, getting turned on during something that was supposed to be a routine procedure, but the way Joel had sucked on your breast, the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, the pressure of his tongue… it had left you aching for more. He caught it, of course he did, he saw he way your thighs had started to press together, your hips shifting ever so slightly like you were trying to find relief without giving yourself away.

“Aw, what’s this?” Joel murmured, his tone still coated in that false professionalism, but you could hear the edge of amusement bleeding through. “You gettin’ a little worked up, sweets?”

“I–I—It’s not… not what it looks like,” you stammered, mortified.

Joel let out a quiet and low chuckle. “Relax. It’s a completely normal biological response,” he said smoothly, his hand giving your tits one last slow, deliberate squeeze before pulling away. “Some nerves get stimulated, hormones get movin’… happens all the time. ’M a professional, remember?”

You swallowed hard, nodding again, though your eyes had dropped to the floor, too embarrassed to meet his gaze. You crossed your arms quickly, hugging yourself, trying to hide your bare chest.

“Your tits,” Joel said, standing tall again. “They’re perfect. Healthy as can be.”

“G-good,” you whispered, curling in on yourself slightly, the warmth between your legs now less shameful and more unbearable, your body betraying you no matter how hard you tried to stay composed.

“Although…” Joel’s voice lowered, taking on a more serious edge. “There’s somethin’ else I’m a little concerned about.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “What is it?”

He looked at you with that same calm authority. “Are you sexually active?”

“W–what?” you echoed, feeling your heart skipping a beat.

“Sexually active, sweets,” he repeated, his voice was steady. “Are you havin’ sex? Anyone been inside you recently?” His hand reached forward, not rough, but firm, pulling your arms away from where you were shielding your chest. “Is someone fuckin’ that sweet little pussy?”

You gasped, that word… pussy… coming from a doctor, from him, it sounded so filthy. Was that even a question doctors asked? Was that relevant? But if Dr. Miller was asking, there had to be a reason, right?

He watched you hesitate. “Answer me.”

“N-no,” you whispered. “Not… not lately.”

“But you’ve done it before, haven’t you?” he asked softly. “Or is that cunt still untouched?”

“I–I’ve done it before,” you murmured, eyes falling to the floor, humiliated by the question, and more humiliated by how your body responded to it.

Joel nodded slowly. “There’s no shame in it. ‘M not asking to be inappropriate.” His thumb brushed lightly over your forearm, almost in a reassuring way. “But I need to know. These things matter, sweets. You could be carrying a sexually transmitted disease, ’nd not know it.”

“I… I don’t think I do,” you murmured, your voice felt so small. “I feel fine.”

Joel tilted his head slightly. “STDs can be silent, sweets. You’d be surprised how many go undetected until they’ve already caused damage. You’d never know unless someone checked.”

You hesitated. “I–I’ve only been with one person. And… it was a while ago. I think I’m okay.”

His hand gently squeezed your knee, grounding you, but also making it impossible to forget how close he was. “Sweets,” he said, his voice dropping, sounding more firm but not unkind, “’M the professional here. Lemme be the one to make that call.”

Your throat went dry. “H-how do you… check for that?”

Joel gave you a slow, almost reassuring smile. “Gotta do a full inspection.” He didn’t blink. “So here’s what we’ll do, why don’t you go ahead and lie back f’me, alright? ’Nd slip those panties down nice and slow.”

You still felt unsure, it was all happening too fast, your mind was struggling to catch up. A doctor, in your home, talking about breast cancer, about STDs, asking intimate questions, sucking your breasts, and now telling you to undress…

Joel’s voice cut through your daze. “‘S alright,” he murmured, already reaching for the button of your jeans. “Lemme help you out.”

You didn’t stop him, your body stayed soft and still, as his rough fingers popped the button open and dragged the denim down your thighs. His eyes never left you, he was watching the way your skin revealed itself to him inch by inch. He paused when you were left in just your panties, Joel wasn’t an impatient man, he’d always believed in the value of taking one’s time, especially when the reward was worth it. But it had been too long since he’d seen a cunt in real life, and he’d been thinking about yours since you stepped in Jackson. With one fluid motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and tugged them down, they slipped past your knees, down your calves, finally pooling around your ankles.

“Go on,” he said softly, coaxing your thighs apart with a firm hand. “Open up a lil f’me, sweets. Gotta make sure I can see what I’m workin’ with.”

Your breath caught as his hands guided your legs apart, wide enough that the cool air hit your most sensitive skin, leaving you exposed, completely bare before him.

Joel let out a slow exhale, his voice dropping to a quiet rumble. “Damn, now that’s a sight worth waitin’ for.”

You looked so goddamn tempting, it knocked the breath right out of him. Joel had never been this turned on before, hell, not even when he was a teenager and just hearing the word “tits” would’ve had him pitching a tent. But this? This was on a whole other level. The way your cheeks were flushed pink, your chest rising and falling fast, your tits full and heaving, and that bare, glistening pussy between your thighs… so puffy, wet, and begging for attention.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep the strain out of his voice. “Everythin’s lookin’ good… at first glance,” he muttered. “But now comes the physical exam.”

“P-physical?” you echoed, already breathless.

“Mhm,” he hummed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t exactly rule out infections without gettin’ my hands a little dirty, now can I?”

You gasped when his fingers brushed over your cunt, just barely, nothing but a whisper of touch, but it lit you up like electricity. You had to bite your lip to swallow the moan threatening to spill out. Joel’s fingertips ghosted along your folds, parting them with precise movements, spreading you open like he had all the time in the world. You were soaked, the slick was gathering thick between your thighs. He didn’t need to warm you up, your body had done that all on its own, eager and responsive, so he slipped one thick finger in, feeling your heat wrap tight around him, your walls fluttering like they were grateful to be touched.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, his eyes locked on how your pussy swallowed his finger as he started to move it in and out, testing how easily you took him. “You’re already clenchin’ round me like you don’t wanna let go.”

“D-Dr. Miller!” you gasped, trying and failing not to let the moan slip from your throat.

“Shhh,” he soothed you with amusement. “Workin’, sweets. Gotta make sure this pretty pussy’s in good shape.”

His finger moved in slow circles deep inside you, the pad of his finger stroking your inner walls like he was mapping every soft ridge, and then without warning, he pushed a second finger in. You were tight but soaking, your slick making it effortless for him to stretch you open. You whimpered at the fullness, and then cried out when he curled those fingers just right, finding that spongy, sensitive spot that made your hips jerk.

“There it is,” he muttered with a dark chuckle. “Jesus, sweets… you’re squeezin’ the life outta me. Can’t do a proper exam if this cunt keeps suckin’ my fingers in like that.”

His filthy words only made it worse, your walls clenched again, fluttering helplessly around him. You felt so exposed, so overwhelmed, the heat kept rising to your face as shame and arousal tangled deep in your belly.

“D-Do I… do I have anything wrong?” you managed to ask, the concern still clinging to you even as your body betrayed you, arching into his touch.

Joel didn’t answer at first, he just started pumping his fingers in and out, in a steady rhythm, always hitting that spot every time he pushed back in.

“Everythin’ looks good so far,” Joel said, voice rough as he lazily thrust his fingers one last time before slipping them out. “Your pussy’s soft… warm like it should be. ’nd gettin’ slick all on her own. That’s a real good sign, sweets. You gonna make some lucky bastard very happy one day with a cunt like this.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, torn between the throb of pleasure building in your core and the burning embarrassment climbing up your neck.

He didn’t stop. “Don’t find pussy like this every day… so fuckin’ tight. Hell, like a goddamn fist. This thing’s easily a ten outta ten…” He let the silence hang, just long enough to make you wonder… and then. “…Although.”

Your eyes opened slowly. “…W-What, Dr. Miller?”

He met your gaze, steady and unreadable. “Well,” he said casually, “I’d have to taste it to be sure.”

Your breath hitched. “Taste…?”

“Mhm.” He nodded like it was nothing, like this was just protocol. “A proper taste. With my tongue. Gotta make sure there’s no off smell, no odd flavor. That can be a sign of infection, y’know? Might not show up on the surface.”

You hesitated, feeling your mind buzzing, but Joel just waited, calm and unbothered, like a man who’d already made the decision for you. And… he was the doctor, not you, he’d gone to med school for this, he knew what he was doing. So you nodded, small and uncertain, but enough for him to proceed.

Joel didn’t waste another second, he dipped his head down, and the first thing you felt was the hot, humid drag of his breath ghosting over your soaked cunt. Then the slick heat of his tongue, starting at your entrance and slowly gliding up your slit until it flicked your clit with a hungry swipe. He groaned into you like he was the one being touched, one lick wasn’t nearly enough, he dove back in, tongue flattening against your folds before he began lapping at your pussy with filthy enthusiasm, no hesitation, no shame, just desperate, starved need. He slurped and sucked, swallowing every bit of slick you gave him, like he was trying to get drunk on it.

“Dr… Dr. Miller—i-is it okay?” you asked, your voice sounding breathless and shaky.

He pulled back, his chin was wet with you. “Oh, sweets…” he rasped. “This pussy? Ain’t no fuckin’ 10 outta 10.”

Your stomach dropped. “N-no? What’s wrong? Did you find something?”

Joel’s lips curled into a wicked grin. “This pussy’s a goddamn 20 outta 10. Addictive as hell. Got one little taste and now I can’t stop.” He punctuated it with a filthy, teasing suck to your clit, making you cry out and jolt in place. “You think you’re ready for another test, sweets?” he asked.

You nodded before you could stop yourself. “W-what kind of test?”

“Well…” he drawled, kissing your inner thigh. “I gotta check the sensitivity of those nerve endings real good. Make sure everythin’s workin’ the way it should. I’m gonna eat this pretty pussy til you give me a proper orgasm. That sound alright?”

“An-an orgasm?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “A-Are you sure, Dr. Miller? I don’t think that’s—”

“Yes, sweets,” he interrupted firmly. “An orgasm. What’s wrong? Don’t trust me now?”

“N-no! I trust you, I do…” you rushed to say, feeling your cheeks burning. “It’s just… I’ve never heard of this kind of exam before…”

Joel gave you a slow, almost patronizing smile. “I know, sweets. That’s ‘cause most doctors wouldn’t even know what to do with a pussy like this. But I promise you, it’s very standard practice in my hands.” He licked his lips. “Now… can I continue?”

You gave him a small, shaky nod. That was all he needed, he dove right back in. His tongue found your clit instantly, giving it a slow, languid lick before sealing his lips around it and sucking hard. Your spine arched off the couch, a desperate cry catching in your throat, but he didn’t let up, he alternated between torturously slow flicks of his tongue and rough, greedy pulls that had your hips jerking, your thighs shaking around his head.

“Oh—oh, Dr. Miller, that’s—oh God!” you gasped, shame burning hot in your cheeks as your body betrayed you, letting your hips rock up into his mouth, your cunt soaking his tongue with every hungry stroke.

“That’s it, sweets,” he murmured against your dripping heat. “Let it all go f’me. This pussy tastes like heaven… be a good girl and give Dr. Miller that orgasm.”

He fucked you with his tongue in deep strokes, his nose pressed to your clit as he devoured you like a man on a mission. His tongue pushed in and out of your soaked hole while his mouth kept working, messily and hungrily, until your thighs were trembling around his head. A few more filthy sucks on your swollen clit and it hit you, your orgasm ripped through you like a lightning strike, so intense it made your toes curl.

Joel finally pulled back, his salt-and-pepper beard glistening with your slick, and he licked his bottom lip like he was savoring the last drops of something too good to let it go to waste.

“H-how’d I do on the exam?” you asked in a shaky breath, your chest still rising and falling from the intensity of your climax.

He smirked. “You passed with flyin’ colors. Those nerve endings are real sharp, sweets. And you… you look like a fuckin’ angel when you cum.”

You would’ve blushed if your face wasn’t already burning. Embarrassment swelled in your chest, and instinctively you tried to close your legs.

“Ah-ah.” Joel’s voice dropped. “Did I say you could close your legs? Don’t be shy now. Exam ain’t over yet.”

“Th-there’s more?” you asked. What else could there be? He’d already fingered you, tasted you, made you cum…

“Oh yeah, sweets,” he drawled. “See, elasticity’s just as important. I know you could take my fingers, and they’re pretty damn thick, if I do say so, but I need to know for sure you can handle somethin’ longer and thicker. That’s crucial.”

“W-what do you mean by… longer and thicker?” your voice was barely a whisper, part of you knowing the answer.

Joel just chuckled, as his fingers moved to undo his belt. The sound of the buckle clinking made your heart skip, and your eyes dropped, his pants were already stained with pre-cum, a big, dark, sticky patch from how much he’d been leaking and creaming just from tasting and playing with your soaked pussy.

“Need to make sure you can take cock, sweets,” he said. “Real cock. Not some sad little inch from a boy who don’t know what to do with it.”

Joel let his pants drop to the floor, and the second you saw what he’d been hiding, your breath caught in your throat. Your eyes widened, lips parting in stunned silence as you took in the sheer size of him. Calling him big would be the understatement of the century, that thing between his legs was massive. His cock stood proud and thick, his shaft decorated with pulsing veins and his tip was flushed angry red, glistening with arousal like it had been waiting for this moment for too long.

He spit into his hand, then wrapped his fist around his cock and gave it a few lazy strokes, the wet sound making your thighs clench. “You ready for it, sweets?” he asked like a warning and a promise all in one. “You’re in for one hell of a stretch.”

“Dr. Miller… I-I don’t know…” you stammered, glancing between his cock and your own trembling body. “It’s too big. I don’t think I can…”

“Hey.” His voice was gentler now, but still rough around the edges. “Don’t be scared. Pussy’s made to stretch. ’Nd yours?” He gave himself another pump. “Yours was fuckin’ built to take this cock. I’ll make it fit. You just relax ’nd let me show you.”

Before you could get another word out, Joel had already lined the fat, swollen head of his cock up to your entrance. He didn’t even have to push, your pussy was practically sucking him in, but when he did press forward, a broken little cry slipped from your lips. His tip breached you, forcing your slick heat to stretch wide around the thick crown. It burned with a delicious, overwhelming sting that lit up your nerves and had your body twitching as it tried to adjust to the impossible stretch of him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweets,” Joel groaned, his voice sounding ragged. “Ain’t never felt anythin’ this tight. This pussy’s one of a fuckin’ kind.”

He was in heaven, his cock finally buried in something warm, wet, real. After too many lonely nights and too many empty fists, this was paradise, and it was too good to hold back. With a low growl, he gave one rough thrust, burying all of himself inside you in one deep, punishing stroke, balls flush against your ass as he bottomed out.

“Dr. Miller! F-fuck!” you whimpered, your eyes went wide and teary as you tried to breathe through the sheer fullness, your pussy pulsing around every thick, twitching inch of him.

Joel might’ve meant to give you a second to adjust, hell, he swore he would, but the moment he felt your cunt gripping him like a vice, all thoughts of patience went out the window, his brain short-circuited. He pulled out nearly to the tip, then slammed back in with a grunt, hips snapping forward hard. Then again and again, each thrust was more aggressive, more desperate than the last, his cock punching deep into your slick heat like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

“F-fuck, sweets,” he gasped, barely holding himself together. “You feel too fuckin’ good. Oh, what the hell are you doin’ to me?”

“D-Dr. Miller—f-feels so—so good,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with every sharp plunge of his hips.

“Ohhh yeah,” Joel groaned. “This pussy’s got a damn good grip… stretchin’ out real nice f’me. That’s it. That’s how a good pussy’s meant to be… tight, warm, and takin’ it.”

His heavy balls, slick and wet from the mess leaking out of you, were smacking against your ass, the sound was obscene and echoing around the room, a wet rhythm that matched the ragged moans pouring from both your mouths.

“Yeah, sweets?” Joel rasped, panting hard above you. “You feel that? Feel me deep? Tell Dr. Miller exactly how his cock’s makin’ you feel.”

You could barely breathe, barely think, but you managed through moans and gasps to reply. “F-feels deep… l-like in my belly… and—and I’m so full, s-so full…”

Joel grabbed hold of your legs, his big hands lifting them high and folding them over his broad shoulders, the new angle had him driving deeper, and your breath hitched at the overwhelming stretch. “You feel me deeper now, huh?” he growled.

You nodded frantically, gasping as one of his hands moved to your belly, pressing against the firm bulge of his cock slamming into you. The extra pressure he was applying made you cry out, your back arching as pleasure ricocheted through your entire body. And he nearly lost his mind when he saw the outline forming in your tummy, his cock visibly stretching you from the inside, he couldn’t get enough of the way your body molded around him, squeezing him tight, holding him like you never wanted to let go.

“Look at that,” Joel rasped. “See where I am? That’s me, right up against your fuckin’ cervix, sweets. Deep in this perfect little body.”

You were too cock-drunk to respond, your mind was hazy with nothing but him. Joel’s cock was battering some spot inside you that had your legs trembling, your toes curling, your brain going static from the pleasure.

“Hey,” Joel grunted, slamming in harder to yank you back from the edge. “Focus. Last test now. You need to gimme one more orgasm. Need to feel this pussy clench up tight with my cock this time. Gotta make sure you’re really healthy.”

You nodded, unable to do anything else, Joel’s fingers dropped between your thighs, finding your soaked clit, he rubbed rough, fast circles matching the steady, brutal rhythm of his thrusts and it didn’t take long, you broke with a scream as your orgasm tore through you, your cunt pulsing around him, milking his cock with desperate, needy squeezes.

“Fuck yeah,” he groaned, tipping his head back. “Just like that. That’s what I needed.”

Joel growled feral, like something barely human. His hands locked onto your hips with bruising strength, fingers digging into your flesh as he slammed up into you with punishing force. You cried out, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, maybe a little from pain, but mostly from the sheer overwhelm of it, of him, of the way he was wrecking your pussy with every desperate thrust. He was chasing his release, starving for it, and with the way your cunt kept fluttering around him, hot and soaked and gripping him like it didn’t want to let go, he didn’t stand a chance.

At this point, the head of his cock was pounding deep against your cervix, bruising it with every merciless thrust “Shhh,” he cooed. “I know ’s a lot, but you can take it, sweets. You’re doin’ fuckin’ amazin’ in this test.”

“Ah… ah!!! Dr. Miller!” you sobbed.

His fingers brushed the tears from your cheek, gentle for a quick moment, before his hips slammed into you harder than before, like he wasn’t letting you go for anything.

“Just a lil more, ’m almost there,” he groaned. “Last part of the test is seein’ how this sweet pussy can take a big load. ’S very important.” He moaned, “Oh goddamn, you’re cuttin’ off my cock’s blood flow, sweets.”

You squirmed beneath him, your body instinctively clenching around his as he kept pounding with a fierce, almost violent intensity.“Fuck-fuck, gonna cum—”

He drove in one final time, burying himself balls deep, cock twitching as he came hard, like he hadn’t had a proper release in years. You gasped at the feeling of the thick, molten ropes of cum spilling inside you, coating your walls and filling you up to the brim. You whimpered as he slowly pulled out, he was watching in a daze as his cum spilled from your used and abused hole in lazy drips, wetting the couch beneath you.

“Look at that,” he said watching your hole flutter around nothing. “Pretty pussy’s tryin’ to keep it all in, yeah, that’s real fuckin’ good, sweets. Means your body’s workin’ just right. Strong breedin’ instincts, just the way it should be.”

“S-So… how was the test, Dr. Miller?” you asked through a dazed smile.

Joel looked down at you with dark, satisfied eyes. “Oh, you exceeded, sweets,” he said, giving your thigh a possessive squeeze. “But just to be thorough… I’ll need to schedule a follow-up next week.”

A/N: I was totally on a roll writing this, it ended up longer than I thought it would cause I just couldn’t stop writing, barely got any sleep last night cause I stayed up all night to finish it, I already had most of it planned out in my head and I was so motivated I couldn’t stop until it was done😭 I could definitely spend more time polishing it, but honestly? I proof-read it once and I kinda like how it turned out, so I decided to just drop it like this.

It’s my first time writing something a little more on the dark-ish side, so I really hope you all enjoy it!! And if you do, your comments, reblogs, and likes make me extra happy. Thank you so much for all the support🩷🩷

dividers by: @/haecunt

[twst-blueoctopi]

Killer Charm

a/n: completed the Octavinelle mafia au for all of them. it's fitting yk words: 1855 tw: mafia stuff??? it's not as violent as Jade and Azul surprisingly- tags: @luxaryllis @thegoldencontracts @waterthatsmoe @oya-oya-okay @writingattemptsxx +ask to be added

You should have died last night.

Azul had been very clear—take them out. No exceptions, no slip-ups. You weren’t just a witness. You were a thief, and in the mafia, that came with a price.

You hadn’t even known what was in the briefcase you’d lifted.

But someone else had.

And now you were being hunted.

It started in the rain.

You’d ducked under the flickering neon of a noodle shop, soaked to the bone and half a second from collapsing. The city was too quiet behind you. You knew someone was there—footsteps just out of rhythm with the storm.

Then a voice.

“Heya, shrimpy,” someone drawled. “You run real good for a dead person.”

You turned slowly, locking eyes with the man your contact had only dared whisper about.

Floyd Leech.

Unhinged, relentless, one of Azul’s deadliest enforcers. And he was grinning like a cat who’d caught something wiggly.

“…You always start your murders with compliments?” you asked dryly.

Floyd’s eyes gleamed. “Only for the fun ones.”

You backed up, gripping the umbrella like a bat. “I didn’t know what was in the briefcase.”

“Mmm, doesn’t matter.” He twirled a knife lazily between his fingers. “Boss said you took it, and that makes you a problem.”

“So that’s it?”

“Unless,” Floyd sing-songed, “you’ve got something interesting to offer me instead.”

You hesitated.

“…Dinner?”

He blinked. Then laughed. Loud, cracked, and thrilled.

“Ooooooh shrimp, you are spicy.”

And instead of finishing you off—

He offered you his arm.

Your first date was a seafood bar.

Very funny, considering he’d just threatened to gut you.

You sat in a booth, drenched and shaking, trying not to choke on calamari while Floyd hummed and drizzled hot sauce over every dish with childlike delight.

“Tell me, little shrimp,” he said through a bite of fried oyster, “what’d you think was in that case?”

“I thought it was some snobby trade agreement.” You wiped your palms on your pants. “Didn’t know it was for Moreau’s crew. Or that Azul was the courier.”

Floyd whistled. “Yeah, that’s a big oops. We were gonna trade it for the southern docks.”

You choked. “That briefcase was worth land?”

“Yup!” He leaned in. “And now Azul wants your head as a consolation prize. Jade too.”

Your heart dropped. “You mean there’s two of you after me?”

“Technically three,” came a smooth voice from behind.

You nearly jumped as Jade Leech slid into the booth beside Floyd, smiling politely.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” Jade said softly, eyes unreadable. “Floyd, you didn’t report back. Azul was… curious.”

“I’m on a break,” Floyd grinned. “Taking shrimpy here out for food before I strangle them.”

You stared. “Charming.”

Jade studied you. “You’re lucky. Most don’t last past introductions with Floyd. Even fewer get fed.”

Floyd hummed. “They’re fun. Real zappy. Tried to jab me with an umbrella.”

Jade looked at the umbrella. Then at you. His smile didn’t change.

“…I see.”

He turned to his brother. “I trust you’ll be done by morning?”

Floyd shrugged. “Maybe. Dunno. I kinda like them.”

Jade stilled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not gonna kill them yet. Maybe not at all.” He took another bite. “Depends if they kiss good.”

You wanted to sink into the seat and disappear. Instead, you cleared your throat. “I can hear you.”

“You were supposed to die,” Jade said, voice cool now. “This is dangerous, Floyd.”

“So am I,” Floyd replied, casually licking hot sauce off his thumb. “That’s the point.”

Jade’s gaze shifted between the two of you like he was weighing something. Then he rose.

“I’ll inform Azul you’re delaying.” He paused. “But I won’t cover for you a second time.”

Floyd waved lazily. “Love you too~”

And just like that, the other twin vanished into the night.

After that, things got messier.

Floyd texted you daily.

Showed up when he wasn’t supposed to.

Dragged you out to midnight karaoke in sketchy alley bars.

Bought you slushies with too much syrup and threw his coat over your shoulders when you were cold.

And all the while, you weren’t sure if he was courting you or marking you.

Because Jade kept watching.

And Azul stopped calling you a “liability” and started calling you a “problem with teeth.”

Eventually, Azul summoned him.

Floyd flopped into the leather chair in the office, arms crossed.

“They're mine now,” he said bluntly.

Azul pinched the bridge of his nose. “They stole from me.”

“They didn’t know.”

“They compromised a deal I spent months arranging.”

“They make me laugh.”

Azul stared at him. “You’re letting your obsession interfere with your judgment.”

“I’m letting boredom drive me, like always,” Floyd said, standing. “And shrimpy’s more fun than body bags. Deal with it.”

There was silence.

Then a long sigh.

Jade, standing behind Azul, tilted his head. “This won’t end cleanly.”

“It never does,” Floyd murmured, slipping out the door.

One night, months later, he curled around you in bed and whispered:

“I almost crushed your ribs the first time I saw you.”

You turned your head slowly. “…That’s… romantic?”

He grinned. “But then you smirked at me. Like you were the hunter. And I just had to know what your screams sounded like.”

You blinked. “Still not romantic.”

“But now I know what your laugh sounds like. And your bratty little ‘Floyd, stop stealing the covers’ voice—”

You hit him with a pillow. He cackled.

Then, softer:

“I don’t wanna lose that.”

You turned to him fully. “So you’re not gonna kill me after all?”

He snorted. “Nah. But if anyone else tries… I’ll kill them.”

You rolled your eyes.

But part of you believed him.

Another part—terrifying and exhilarating—wanted to.

A year later.

You stood in Azul’s office again, the same sea-blue curtains fluttering behind his desk.

The air was tense. Jade stood by the door. Floyd lounged on the couch, upside-down and chewing gum.

You placed a black briefcase on the polished desk with a thud.

Azul froze.

You smiled sweetly.

“Better late than never, huh?”

His eyes narrowed, thundercloud-dark. “…Is that the briefcase?”

“The very one. I borrowed it. Long term.”

Floyd whooped from the couch. “I told you they had flair~!”

Jade blinked. “How did you retrieve it?”

You shrugged. “Let’s just say Moreau’s guards need better lunch breaks.”

Azul opened the case with shaking fingers.

Inside, every document was intact. Unread, sealed, untouched.

“…You didn’t even look inside.”

“I didn’t need to,” you said. “I only needed you to stop looking at me like deadweight.”

Azul shut the case. Quiet.

Then, without looking up, he muttered:

“…Floyd, marry them or kill them. I don’t care which. Just don’t let them leave.”

Floyd grinned wide. “Yessir~”

You looked at him. “So which is it?”

He grabbed your wrist and kissed it, sharp teeth brushing skin.

“Guess you’ll find out at dinner,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

You didn’t blush. That would be giving him too much power.

(You totally blushed.)

Azul sighed like you were all giving him a migraine.

Jade cleared his throat softly. “If I may,” he said, tone perfectly polite, “a word with our dear guest.”

Floyd’s grin faded slightly. “Don’t break them, Jade.”

“Perish the thought,” Jade smiled.

But when his hand touched your shoulder and gently guided you out of the office, his fingers were a little too firm.

He led you into a quiet hallway in the back of the Mostro Lounge, far from the noise of Floyd’s laughter or Azul’s desk creaking under the weight of stress.

You leaned on the wall, arms crossed.

“So?” you said. “Gonna interrogate me?”

Jade tilted his head. “Not exactly.”

He didn’t blink.

“You disappeared from the radar for nearly a year. No sightings, no interference. And then, suddenly, you stroll back into headquarters with a priceless briefcase we presumed lost to Moreau’s vault.”

He paused. His smile widened, but not pleasantly.

“Even Azul hadn’t managed to extract it. Yet you did.”

You shrugged. “Guess I’m just better at picking locks than he is.”

Jade stepped closer. “Or you knew something we didn’t.”

“Jade,” you said, matching his gaze, “if I were a traitor, I wouldn’t have brought it back. I’d have sold it. Or used it. Or delivered it to someone else. But I brought it here. To him.”

“…True.” He tilted his head again, thoughtfully. “Still. Intentions are fragile things. I wonder if your decision was loyalty—”

“—or love?” you cut in. “Because I’m with your brother?”

He smiled, slightly impressed.

“You’re bold.”

“You’re suspicious.”

“I’m observant.”

You stepped forward until you were toe to toe. “Then observe this: I didn’t come back for Azul.”

He blinked.

You dropped your voice. “I came back because Floyd said he’d paint the city red if anything happened to me. And I think he meant it.”

Jade studied you. Then—

A slow exhale.

“…So he was right,” Jade murmured. “You are interesting.”

Footsteps echoed behind you. Familiar. Leisurely.

“Jade~” Floyd’s voice sing-songed down the hall, “are you interrogating my shrimp again? Cuz I said not to break them.”

Jade stepped back with graceful indifference. “We were simply catching up.”

Floyd slung an arm around your shoulder and glared—not playfully—at his twin.

“They're mine,” he said, voice edged. “You wanna talk to them? Ask me first.”

Jade raised both hands in faux surrender. “Of course, dear brother.”

He turned and walked away, but not before giving you one last look—calculating, calm.

“Welcome back,” he said gently. “Do try not to vanish again.”

Back in the office, Azul looked up when the door opened again.

He stared as Floyd dragged you in, still attached to your side like a barnacle with too many teeth.

“I assume everything’s… settled?” Azul asked dryly.

“Yup!” Floyd said. “Shrimpy’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“Not unless I say so,” you added, grinning just a little.

Azul looked between the two of you, sighed, and rubbed his temples. “Fine. Then consider your status… adjusted. You’re still a liability. But a useful one.”

“Aw,” you teased, “is that your way of saying thank you?”

“It’s my way of not having you killed.”

“I’ll take it.”

Azul pushed the briefcase aside. “Just don’t make me regret this. And if you ever disappear with something of mine again…”

You nodded. “I’ll steal it back and bring it home again. Pinky promise.”

Floyd cackled.

Azul muttered something that sounded a lot like ‘I need new employees.’

Later that night, Floyd walked you back through the alleyways, one hand around your waist and the other spinning a butterfly knife like a toy.

“So~” he drawled, “you really snuck into Moreau’s compound, huh?”

You shrugged. “His security was lazy. Too many mirrors. Too many weak spots.”

Floyd stopped and pulled you close. “That’s hot.”

You smirked. “Good. Because I’m still not telling you how I did it.”

He looked at you for a moment—then kissed you, hard and smiling against your lips.

When he pulled back, he whispered, “You’re mine now.”

“Wasn’t I already?”

“Nope,” he said. “Not until you chose to come back.”

His eyes gleamed.

“…Now you’re really stuck with me.”

[nomoredying]

stay down

bounty hunter!sevika x ex-captive!reader

western au, slowburn, hurt/comfort, cliffhanger ending

the town was called grey post, though there was nothing grey about it — only mud, rot, and the heavy brown of dried blood on its back alleys. it sat near the edge of a swamp, stinking of old water and older sins. there wasn’t a sheriff. there hadn’t been one in years.

sevika arrived just past noon, slow and deliberate, letting the sound of her boots spread ahead of her like a warning. she wore a long, dust-colored coat, stained from old fights and the road. the wind pushed against it, revealing the handle of her revolver at her hip, and the glint of a blade strapped to her thigh.

she was here for harlan welsh. a slaver. ran his little empire out of a smokehouse at the back of town, where no one went unless they were dragging someone else behind them in chains.

there was a bounty on him — mid-level, nothing fancy — but sevika didn’t care about the number. he’d crossed someone who had enough coin and enough pride to make it personal.

good enough.

the main street was mostly empty. a couple of drunks outside the saloon, a kid staring from behind a broken window. no one spoke. they knew what she was. people like her didn’t knock on doors.

the smokehouse was in the back lot. it looked harmless: old wood, a tin roof, a porch swing that creaked even without wind.

a heavy kick took the door down. two shots rang out immediately — not hers. one hit the wall beside her. the other missed entirely. she moved fast. faster than most expected for someone her size.

one man dropped with a bullet between the eyes. another tried to run. she threw the knife instead, watched it land just beneath the ribs, then kept walking.

the inside smelled of tobacco, sweat, and piss. crates lined the walls. some full of weapons. others — full of clothes. women’s. children’s.

the back door was locked. she found him upstairs. harlan. sitting in a red chair, whiskey in one hand, pistol in the other, thinking he was king of his pathetic little hill.

“i was wonderin’ when they’d send one of you bastards,” he muttered. “figured you’d be uglier.”

sevika didn’t answer. just watched him.

he lifted the gun, slow, "don’t suppose we could—”

she shot him through the mouth. the back of his skull hit the wall in pieces. he twitched once. then slumped.

done. easy.

sevika lit a cigar as she walked downstairs. didn’t even bother wiping the blood off her sleeve. and then she heard a sound.

a weak one. barely audible. a door behind the crates. hidden. locked from the outside. she raised a brow, sighed, and kicked it open too.

then eyes. four, five, six pairs — women, mostly. thin. bruised. one boy, maybe twelve, clutching someone’s arm. they didn’t scream. just stared.

they knew what silence meant.

sevika didn’t say much. just stepped back and nodded. “it’s done. go.”

and they did. some limping, some holding each other. they passed her like shadows. like ghosts trying not to wake the dead. but one didn’t.

you stepped out last. barefoot, your dress torn, dried blood on your thigh and shoulder. eyes sharp, not broken. face swollen, but mouth set. you stood there, arms at her sides, and didn’t move.

“you deaf?” sevika said, not looking at you, “you’re free. walk.”

then—

“and go where?”

sevika turned. looked you over, “not my problem.”

“you made it your problem when you kicked that door in.”

sevika exhaled smoke. “don’t get clever with me.”

you stepped forward. just a little, “i’m not. i just don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“don’t follow me.”

“i will.”

“you’re not my responsibility.”

“i’m not asking to be.”

sevika’s jaw twitched. your voice was hoarse, low, and calm. no pleading, just stubborn gravity.

“you kill people like him,” you said. “that’s more than anyone’s ever done for me.”

“you think i did it for you?”

“i don’t care why,” and it’s true. you didn’t. 

sevika didn’t answer. she looked away, pulled the cigar from her lips, and flicked the ash toward the porch. then she started walking.

but when she mounted the horse and turned back toward the trail, you were there again, standing at the edge of the dirt path with fire behind her bruises. she only sighed and got on her horse.

the road out of grey post wasn’t much of a road at all — more like a stretch of half-dried swamp and broken roots, winding through the lowlands like something alive. the kind of path that swallowed footsteps, stole horseshoes, and kept the screams of the past soaked in its soil.

sevika let her horse carry her at a steady pace, not bothering to look back. she thought you’d give up by the time she reached the tree line. 

but you didn’t. barefoot and sore, you stepped over broken glass and thorns, your breath catching sharp in your chest. the sun was high now, no clouds to soften the heat. your skin burned. your throat was dry. but you kept walking.

behind her, the trail carved itself deeper into the land. the hooves of her horse pressed clean, solid prints in the earth — you stepped in them like some kind of desperate ritual, leaving your own lighter, blood-specked prints on top.

after the first hour, she finally spoke.

“still followin’, huh,” you didn’t answer. she didn’t slow down, “you think this ends with me takin’ you in? feedin’ you? lettin’ you play outlaw like some kid with a stick?”

you kept walking.

“you’ll die, girl.”

“so will you, eventually,” you rasped, without looking up.

sevika exhaled through her nose. didn’t laugh. didn’t scold. just kept riding.

you walked until your knees buckled, then got back up. your feet were blistered, skin peeling at the heels. when you tripped on a root and hit the dirt hard, she didn’t stop. you lay there a moment. then pushed yourself up again.

“goddamn stubborn,” she muttered, somewhere ahead, though maybe it was just the wind carrying her voice back to you.

sometime past midday, you lost sight of her. she’d picked up pace through a muddy incline, her horse trotting up the hill like it had somewhere better to be. you scrambled after her, slipping, grabbing at rocks, swallowing curses.

when you reached the top — she was gone. panic clutched your ribs. the path split. three ways. overgrown, unfriendly.

you stood there, chest heaving, trying to decide, when—

a sound.

snorting. behind the trees. movement. a thin, pale horse stood just beyond the brush, tethered to a rotting post. abandoned. maybe stolen and left behind. maybe just forgotten. it eyed you warily. bones sharp beneath its hide. not much, but a chance.

“hey,” you whispered, careful.

you moved slowly, hands out. your voice went softer, more like a hum. something instinctual. something from long before all this.

“i’m not going to hurt you.”

you undid the rope. the horse twitched but didn’t run. let you touch its neck, then its nose. you held your breath as you pulled yourself up, barely managing to swing a leg over. no saddle. no reins.

you held on and kicked.

by the time you caught up, sevika was miles ahead, riding slow again, like she’d figured you’d given up or died in the dirt. she heard the hooves before she saw you. turned just enough to glance back.

and stopped.

you rode up beside her, panting, legs shaking from the effort of staying on the damn horse.

she blinked once. then snorted.

“you steal that?”

“no,” you said, breathless. “it was waiting for me.”

sevika stared. then looked away.

“you gonna keep showing up like a goddamn tick?”

“you said i’d die walking. so i got a horse.”

she didn’t respond. you swallowed. your throat still raw.

“i can be useful.”

“you can be dead,” she muttered.

“i won’t be.”

“you don’t know what this life is.”

“no,” you said. “but i know i’d rather be beside someone like you than sit in another cage waitin’ to rot.”

the silence stretched, then she clicked her tongue and kicked her horse forward.

evening fell slow and bruised. the trees got denser, the road narrower, shifting into harder earth and cracked stone. ahead of you, hills rose like tired giants, dark shapes against the bleeding sky.

finally, just before the last light faded — you saw it. her place.

a cabin, tucked high up on a crooked hill. wood scorched in places. an old fence, half-standing. a small shed. a water pump. one lantern flickering near the door, swaying gently. she dismounted, tied her horse, and walked up the porch steps with the weight of someone who didn’t believe in home — only shelter.

you stayed by your new horse a second. then followed, slow, trying not to limp.

on the porch, she turned, considering. weighing all her options. 

“you sleep on the floor,” she decided, probably because you looked so miserable, but you didn’t care as long as she let you stay.

“sure.”

“you touch anything, i cut your hand off.”

“okay.”

“i don’t trust you.���

“you shouldn’t.”

then she opened the door and didn’t close it behind her.

“wait, what’s your name?” you followed her immediately.

after a moment she replied, “sevika.”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

sevika woke up with a single thought cutting sharp through the fog of sleep: you can’t stay.

her back ached. her shoulder, the old one, always stiffer when it rained, and the air smelled like it might. she rubbed a hand over her face, sighed, and sat up, already preparing the words in her head. you don’t belong here. i don’t need a shadow. get lost while you still can.

but then she looked around and stopped.

the cabin… looked different. the hearth had been swept. the ash from last night’s fire neatly cleared. no more smell of damp clothes or sweat-soaked rags. something almost like freshness in the air — and not just from the morning wind.

after freshness she smelled hot food.

a plate on the old table. steam still curling from it. eggs. salted meat. flatbread, slightly burnt at the edge, but warm and real.

she froze in the doorway of her own room. narrowed her eyes. you weren’t there.

she stepped outside.

and there you were — by the horses, crouched beside one of them, palm out, gentle and calm. the thin white horse from yesterday was sniffing your hand, tail flicking. her own horse stood near, munching contentedly. you had tied your hair back, splashed water over your face, even scrubbed your clothes until the stains were faded and faint.

you looked alive. less like a ghost, more like someone who might survive the next storm.

“what the hell d’you think you’re doing?” sevika’s voice cut through the stillness.

you turned, blinking against the light, “feeding them.”

“i told you not to touch anything.”

you tilted your head, wiped your hand on your pants, “you said not to touch anything. horses aren’t things.”

her jaw flexed. she looked away. then turned back toward the cabin without another word.

she ate in silence. you came in halfway through, stepping softly, like someone who wasn’t sure they were allowed to exist in someone else’s space. you sat near.

“do you like it?”

her chewing slowed. she swallowed. grunted. “not bad.”

you allowed yourself a small smile, “i can cook. clean. i can take care of the horses, patch up clothes, sharpen knives. i’ll do it all. you won’t have to lift a finger.”

sevika leaned back in the chair. looked at you, finally.

“what the hell’s your angle?”

you met her stare without flinching. “no angle. just let me stay. and teach me.”

“teach you?”

“how to fight. how to live like this. how to not be what they tried to make me.”

her lips twitched, but not in amusement.

“you think i’m some mentor? that this is a game?”

“no.” a beat, “i think you’re the only person i’ve met who knows what the hell she’s doing. and i want to learn.”

“you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“i do. i want to be a fighter. i always did. i wanted to hit something. to bleed and make someone bleed back.”

your voice didn’t rise. didn’t waver.

there was no trembling rage, no performance, just clarity. sevika stared at you for a long moment, before she stood and grabbed the empty plate. walked to the basin and dropped it in with a clang.

“you keep talking like that,” she muttered, “you’ll get yourself killed.”

“only if you don’t teach me right.”

she didn’t answer. just kept her back to you, shoulders tight, expression unreadable. but she didn’t say no and she didn’t kick you out.

the first few days were peaceful. not quiet — no, not with sevika slamming cabinets and muttering under her breath every time you got in her way — but peaceful in the sense that nothing exploded. yet.

you cleaned. it gave your hands something to do, something other than remembering where they’d been. the cabin hadn’t been properly touched in months, maybe years. there were cobwebs in the rafters, dust thick behind every cupboard. you scrubbed everything raw, even the floorboards started to remember what they used to look like.

not that she has to, but she never thanked you. instead, every other hour she’d grunt something like, “that’s not where that goes,”

or “don’t touch that,” or your personal favorite:

“next time you move my knives, i’ll bury one in your ribs, understand?”

still, she never stopped you.

you cooked. that, at least, she respected in her own silent way. every time she sat down and ate everything on the plate, then glared at it afterward like it had betrayed her by being so good.

you started riding the pale horse in slow circles outside the fence. you didn’t push it, didn’t go far, just enough to stretch the muscles you’d nearly lost. but her horse — her tall, dark, scar-scarred beast? no way in hell. she’d warned you once, and you didn’t test her.

“don’t feed him anything sweet. don’t try to pet him. don’t even look at him like he’s yours. he’ll throw you through a tree.”

“he likes me,” you’d said one day with a tiny smile.

“he doesn’t like me most days.”

training started sometime around day four. it wasn’t an announcement. there wasn’t a lesson plan or a wise speech, which a mentor would probably do. but as she clarified before, sevika wasn’t a mentor. she just walked past you one morning, dropped her jacket on a stump, and said:

“hit me.”

you blinked.

“…what?”

“you want to fight, right? go on. hit me.”

you tried. she dodged. you tried again. she grabbed your arm, flipped you over her hip, and dropped you in the dirt.

“again.”

she didn’t go hard on you, although you thought she did — she growled, shoved, knocked the wind out of you more than once — but when you teased her about going easy, she gave you a look and socked you hard enough to leave a hard bruise on your ribs. after that, you shut up about it and fought back.

each day, a little faster. 

each fall, you got up quicker.

you started to learn.

some nights, you collapsed on the floor and stared at the ceiling, your whole body aching. but it was the kind of ache that meant you were becoming something. sevika saw that too. she didn’t say it, of course.

but when you fixed her blade angle, she nodded instead of snapping at you. when you made breakfast without burning the bread, she ate it without glaring. and when you asked a question about her revolvers: “what caliber is this?” or “what’s the best way to clean a jammed one” sometimes she actually answered.

by the end of the second week, there was a rhythm. she’d go into town every three, four days. come back with supplies. not much, mostly ammo, jerky, the occasional bottle of something strong-smelling she refused to share.

one night, sevika came back late.

you were half-asleep by the fire, curled in the blanket you’d patched twice already, when the door creaked open. you sat up quick, instinctively.

she looked worn. rain in her hair, cloak dripping. but her arms were full: satchels, a wrapped bundle, a sack of dried goods.

and something folded under her arm. she dropped the sacks with a grunt. then held the folded item out toward you without looking at you.

“for you.”

you sat up straighter, “what—?”

“clothes.”

you took them. they were simple — a shirt, a rough wool tunic, pants that actually fit, a thick jacket — all in darker tones, practical and warm.

“you bought these?”

“they weren’t gonna walk into your hands themselves, were they?”

your smile was so big it startled her, “thank you.”

“yeah, yeah.”

“you really are soft under all that growling.”

“i will knock out your teeth.”

“see? soft.”

you both ended up eating together that night. just the two of you, the fire, the dogs barking in the distance, and a little bit of silence that didn’t feel hostile anymore.

“you never said why you do this,” you said at one point.

“do what?”

“hunt people.”

her eyes flicked to you. jaw tightened. you didn’t press, but you saw it. the flash of teeth, the shift in her eyes like a wall had gone up.

you held up your hands, gently.

“okay. okay,” after a pause, you added, softer, “do you want to know how i got there? in grey post?”

sevika didn’t answer. but she didn’t stop you either. so you told her.

“my family was poor. dirt-poor. and i… wasn’t exactly the kind of girl anyone wanted to marry. loud. stubborn. smart mouth. it’s not like i wanted to get marry either. they thought i’d never be useful, “you glanced at the firs, “but they needed money, so they sold me,” still no response. not even breath, “said it was the only way. one less mouth to feed. and maybe he’d knock some sense into me.”

you looked back at her.

she was watching you. face unreadable.

“but he didn’t. and you did.”

then sevika stood. stretched her shoulder. muttered:

“get some sleep. we train tomorrow.”

but when she walked past, her hand brushed your shoulder. not soft, not affectionate, but deliberate. felt real.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you couldn’t feel your arms anymore.

sweat clung to your skin, clothes stuck and heavy, your chest rose and fell fast, trying to catch up with your breath. the sun beat down mercilessly, casting long gold lines between the trees behind sevika’s house. she stood across from you, arms crossed, unimpressed. her sleeves were rolled up, muscles glinting under a layer of sweat and dust, her metal arm flexing absently like it had a mind of its own.

“you’re slow,” she said. “again.”

you groaned. “i’m dying.”

“no, you’re whining. now come on. you want to learn? then learn.”

you pushed yourself up, fists up again, legs shaking. she didn’t even brace — just waited. the second you stepped forward, she ducked under your swing and jabbed you lightly in the ribs, enough to make you stumble.

“keep your guard up.”

“easy for you to say. you’ve got titanium in your spine.”

she raised a brow. “and you’ve got a mouth. want to trade?”

you snorted, coughed, tried again.

an hour passed. or two. it all bled together. at some point you were flat on your back, dirt in your mouth and hair, limbs screaming. sevika was standing over you. she opened her mouth to say something — probably another snide comment — but then stopped.

her head tilted.

you blinked up at her, confused, until you heard it too: the steady clop of a horse approaching from the main road.

she muttered something under her breath. “stay here.”

“what?”

“stay. behind the house. i’m not asking.”

and then she was gone, disappearing around the side of the house, her hand already at her belt.

obviously, you did not stay.

quiet as you could, you crept around the corner, hiding behind the side of the house. just enough to see.

the woman who arrived looked like she’d ridden straight out of a poster: pale blue dress hugging her body, wide-brimmed hat shadowing her eyes, red lipstick sharp as a blade. the rings on her fingers probably weighed more than your boots.

“you’re harder to find than they say,” she said, looking sevika up and down with interest. “i thought i’d at least get a drink before talking business.”

“then you thought wrong,” sevika said flatly. “who?”

the woman handed her a small paper slip. a face. a name. an amount.

“he’s in town. but i doubt he’ll be by tomorrow.”

sevika scanned it, barely reacted. “fine.”

“you’re not gonna ask why?”

“i don’t care why.”

“cold,” the woman murmured, then smiled. “but efficient. that’s why they recommend you.”

they talked a little longer. then sevika nodded, stepped inside for just a few minutes, and came back with her belt, her coat, and weapons strapped. she looked over her shoulder, not seeing you.

“i’ll be back by night. maybe later.”

and then she left, leaving you standing still behind the wall and biting the inside of your cheek.

the day stretched long without her.

you did what you always did: cleaned a little, cooked, fed the horses. there wasn’t much else. you tried not to think about the fact that sevika was out there risking her life for some bag of coins. you knew that’s what she did for living, that’s how she survived. but it still didn’t sit right. 

by the time the moon was high, you had fallen asleep in the small bed sevika grudgingly let you use. it wasn’t much — a mattress, two blankets — but it was better than a cage. then you heard the door open. slow. quiet. not like sevika, so you sat up fast.

she was hunched, dragging her right leg slightly, blood trailing from her side. it soaked into her clothes, dark and heavy. her coat was torn, and her jaw looked clenched enough to break teeth.

you scrambled out of bed. “sevika?”

“don’t.”

“what—”

“go back to sleep.”

“you’re bleeding.”

“and?”

“and i have to help you.”

“you don’t have to do anything.”

you didn’t listen. you ran to the cabinet for the medkit. by the time you turned around, she was halfway to her room, stumbling.

“sit down. i’ll clean it. please.”

“i said no.”

“just let me—”

her voice snapped, loud and sharp. “i said no!” your hand froze mid-reach. she slapped you.

not bone-breaking, but it was sharp and sudden and her.

you flinched like she’d burned you, stumbled back a step. you’d been hit before — worse than this, much worse — but never by her. not like that. outside of sparring, sevika had never touched you. that made it only worse. her eyes widened for half a second — surprise? regret? you didn’t know. but she didn’t take it back. she just turned away.

you walked back to bed and woke at dawn.

she was asleep, slumped against the wall near her bed, sweat glistening on her neck. the bandage she’d tried to tie had come loose, soaked in red. her hand trembled as she shifted.

you didn’t say a word. just got up, took the medkit again, and knelt beside her. she stirred.

“don’t.”

“shut up,” you whispered and sevika didn’t argue this time. you wondered how did she even sleep like this. you cleaned the wound carefully, wiped the dried blood from her skin, and started to stitch. her breathing was heavy, but she didn’t move. she didn’t slap you. didn’t even flinch.

when you were almost done, sevika muttered, voice rough with sleep and pain: “you shouldn’t have followed me.”

you looked up. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“you should,” she said.

you shook your head.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the room’s a mess when sevika storms in. not the kind you make when you’re cleaning.

you don’t have time to hide the open drawer behind you. you don’t even have time to close the damn folder. the one with names. with scribbled notes. with faces. faces of the people she’s been sent to kill. faces she already has.

you look up at her. you know that look. and it’s not just fury. something beyond it too.

“what the fuck did i say about that drawer?” she growls, low and lethal.

“i was just—”

“just what?” she steps forward. “just curious? just stupid? just too damn eager to get yourself killed?”

you back up. not because you’re afraid — not really — but because there’s too much heat in the room. your own anger rising to meet hers.

“you said not to look,” you spit, “but you never said why. you never tell me anything!”

“because you don’t need to know.”

“maybe i do.”

“bullshit.”

her voice cracks like a whip. she’s closer now. towering. your back hits the wall. the folder is still clutched in your hand.

you stare up at her, “what are you hiding from me?”

“you think this is some fucking game?” sevika narrows her eyes.

“i think you don’t trust me.”

that stops her.

“i should’ve left you back in that pit,” she breathes, grey eyes like fire. “should’ve never brought you here. should’ve slit your damn throat the second you started following me.”

you flinch, but your chin lifts. defiant. 

she grabs your face — not gentle — fingers tight against your jaw, as if to shut you up once and for all. but she doesn’t speak. just stares. and staresz until suddenly her mouth crashes against yours. not cruel or careless, but desperate and hungry.

her lips don’t feel like the ones you were once forced to kiss. hers are rough, yes — chapped and tasting of whiskey and blood — but they’re real. they’re hers. you choose them.

your fingers clutch at her shirt, and she pulls you closer, deeper. her hand finds your waist, the other the back of your neck, tugging your hair just enough to make you gasp into her mouth. that’s all she needs. the sound makes her groan low in her throat.

your clothes are half-off before you know it. her shirt pulled over her head, tossed somewhere blindly. your blouse ripped open with no warning, buttons scatter across the floor. her lips are on your neck now, your shoulder, everywhere, leaving wet trails of kisses.

you feel her breath, hot and ragged, against your skin.

“say stop,” she mutters, voice low, “and i’ll stop.”

you open your eyes. meet hers.

“don’t.” that’s it. the last thread snaps.

her hands are big, scarred, calloused in places that have seen too many knives, too much blood. but right now they’re on you. and they’re careful. reverent. like she’s never touched anything quite like you before.

she moves over you slowly. as if she’s afraid she’ll break you. as if you’re made of light.

her lips trail down your collarbone, a hand brushing aside fabric as she kisses lower, and lower still. you arch into her without thinking, a soft sound slipping past your lips before you can bite it back.

her head lifts. you see the way her gaze darkens. you see the way her chest rises — then falls, slowly, like she’s steadying herself.

and then she says it. quiet. so quiet you almost miss it.

“you’re beautiful.”

it knocks the air out of your lungs. you search her face, as if to find a lie, a tease, something sharp. but it’s not there. only the truth. heavy and honest, begging to be told.

your breath trembles. you reach up and touch her jaw, fingers brushing the small scar there.

“say it again,” you whisper.

she leans down. her lips find your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth, “you’re beautiful,” her voice is rougher now. cracked around the edges more than usual.

her hands slide over your hips, then your thighs. she moans softly as she lowers herself more fully, finally, letting your bodies press flush. you gasp, head falling back, and she follows, mouthing at your throat.

“does this feel good?” she rasps. you nod, breathless. too breathless to speak.

“tell me.”

“yes,” you choke out, eyes fluttering. “please.”

her hand slips between your legs, and she kisses you again as she moves. her fingers are slow at first, watching your face, adjusting to your rhythm. and gods, the way you fall apart for her. the way you cling to her like she’s gravity. it undoes her.

“that’s it,” she murmurs against your neck. “just like that, sweetheart.”

her voice is molten. everything aches, everything burns.

you feel like you’re glowing. like your whole body’s been cracked open. she brings you over the edge with a rough whisper of your name and a kiss that feels like a promise.

and when it’s done, when you’re trembling and breathless, she holds you. her hand brushes sweaty hair away from your face. you bury your face into her collarbone. and you hear it, soft. like a secret.

“i don’t know what the fuck you’ve done to me.”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

it’s nearing midday when you ask. you’ve both just returned from the nearest town, and sevika’s sorting weapons in the stable when you say it, "i want to come with you.”

she stills.

the blade in her hand gleams in the light as she raises an eyebrow, not looking up, "to where, exactly?”

you fold your arms. you’ve thought about this. rehearsed it. and still it sounds so stupid now, under the weight of sevika’s silence. but you don’t back down.

“to your job. this one. the one you’re leaving for tonight.”

she finally looks at you. not angry. not amused. just quiet. too quiet, “no.”

“what?” you ask, as if you’ve suddenly gained bad hearing.

“no,” she says again, calm. “absolutely not.”

your jaw clenches, “you think i’ll get in the way.”

“i know you’ll get in the way.”

you take a step forward, voice firmer now, “i won’t interfere. i just want to be there. with you.”

you see it — the flicker in her eyes. something moves in her. but then she scoffs, brushes past you.

“don’t romanticize what i do, girl.”

“i’m not.”

she pauses. you step closer. softer this time.

“i’m not here for the blood or danger or whatever the fuck you think this is.” a breath. “i just don’t want to stay behind. i’m ready. we didn’t train for nothing, did we?”

she turns slowly. you look up at her, unflinching. and sevika, goddess of grudges and gravel-rough heartbeats, gives the smallest sigh through her nose.

“you’re a damn idiot,” she mutters.

but that night, when she mounts her horse, she reaches down and offers her hand.

the road is long and dry. the air tastes like sand and old gunpowder. you ride for hours, side by side or behind her, depending on the trail. sometimes she talks. most of the time she doesn’t. you’re used to it.

but her hand still reaches back for yours when the wind howls too loud. and at night, when you camp out, she lets you curl into her side, skin warm from firelight.

on the third day, the ambush comes. it’s quick — they’re quick — but you’re quicker. you throw your knife like sevika taught you. you duck when she yells. you trust her completely, blindly, stupidly — and you live.

when it’s done, you’re panting, covered in dust and someone else’s blood, eyes wide. she looks at you, her chest heaving, “not bad,” she grunts.

you grin. “you’re welcome.”

but it’s not over. of course it’s not.

you reach the target town by nightfall. the place is crawling with mercenaries and bored, drunk bastards who don’t care who bleeds.

sevika makes you stay close, tighter than a shadow. you slip through alleyways, past saloons, avoid trouble. but trouble finds you.

because you look like something rare, like something clean in a filthy town. and the moment sevika steps into a room to speak with the client, a hand grabs your arm outside.

you flinch — frozen — and then she’s there. like a storm.

sevika throws the man off you before you even call her name. he slams into the wall, groaning, and his friends start rising, reaching for knives, belts, ropes, but she moves first. it’s not elegant. not precise. it’s a fucking massacre.

and the whole time, her body stays between yours and theirs. you don’t even see their faces clearly — just her broad back, her metal arm glinting, the way her feet shift to protect you as she takes blow after blow.

you try to call her name. she snarls. “stay down.”

you do. 

but you’re watching. breath held. frozen. you see the way she moves, like a force of nature.

sevika barrels into the nearest man, knocks him down with a crunch of bone. her blade slashes in a wide arc, and someone screams. two more jump in — one from behind — but she twists, dodges, slams her elbow back, the metal connecting with a skull. blood sprays.

you lose sight of her for a moment. a body blocks your view. and then another.

you press yourself low to the ground. heart pounding. you clutch the small knife she gave you, the one you insisted on keeping.

there’s yelling. more boots thudding. then a shadow lurches out from the side. not toward sevika.toward you.

you don’t have time to think, just react. you duck the first swing, stumble backward, roll over sharp gravel. he lunges again, you shove the knife up and it sinks in. he gurgles. you shove harder, teeth bared, until he slumps forward, heavy and hot and dead on top of you.

you gasp, chest heaving, and push him off. when you look up again, the alley’s quiet.

bodies moan and twitch on the ground.

and sevika’s standing there, bloodied and furious, staring at you.

you rise to your feet slowly. knife shaking in your grip.

she walks toward you. neither of you speak right away. just breathing. alive.

“i said stay down,” she mutters.

you gesture to the corpse at your feet. “he didn’t get the memo.”

a pause. then a short, hoarse laugh from her. you both look at each other for a long moment. you step forward. and she does too.

but just as your hands reach for her— 

crack. the sound is sharp. a gunshot.

you barely register it until sevika stumbles into you. you catch her out of reflex. her body folds against yours.

you blink and look down. and there’s blood. so much blood.

her arm around you tightens. her breath is ragged in your ear.

you whirl around. a man, barely conscious, slumped against the alley wall, pistol shaking in his hand. his last act.

you don’t think or give yourself time to hesitate. you grab sevika’s gun from her holster and end it, then you fall to your knees with her. hold her.

“sevika,” you whisper, frantic, “hey— hey, look at me.”

her hand grabs your collar, pulls you in.

her lips crush into yours — desperate, rough, needing. you kiss her back, fiercely, fingers tangled in her jacket, tasting blood and fear.

when she pulls away, she smiles. a horrible smile. sharp and tired and trembling.

“i think i need to… lie down for a sec,” she mumbles.

you nod, trying not to cry. you won’t cry. she’ll probably hate it, “okay. okay, we’ll lie down. we’ll figure it out.”

her knees give out and you guide her down slowly, arms still wrapped around her. her eyes close. and you don’t know if she’s asleep or gone.

taglist: @riotstemple29 @1i1z @lonerslug @ggutpunch @erythraeanoriana (please write if you want to be removed or added)

[cobaltperun]

The Catalyst (12) - We Weren't Born to Follow

WandaNat x Female Reader

Chapter summary: The mission to stop HYDRA and Project Insight had to be successful, no matter the cost; even if the price to pay was the S.H.I.E.L.D. itself.

Spotify Playlist

Masterlist / First Part / Previous Part

Word Count: 4.2k

-When life is a bitter pill to swallow, you gotta hold on to what you believe-

You leaned against the doorframe, grinning slightly as Natasha put on the jewelry and the wig. “You look amazing for an old woman,” you joked, walking over to her as she prepared the photostatic veil.

“Your flirting needs work,” sure, she said that, but you could hear a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Oh? I was flirting?” you leaned back onto the table next to her, smiling softly as Natasha raised an eyebrow at you, silently telling you she saw right through you. The entire outfit did make a difference, though it was surprisingly not as substantial as you imagined it would be. You’d recognize her in an instant, but the veil and Natasha’s ability to blend in would make up for differences someone could notice. “I don’t like you going in there alone,” you got serious as you said that and Natasha reached up, brushing your cheek.

“Don’t know if I should be happy or offended,” you leaned into her touch, closing your eyes and letting out a sigh.

“It’s not the agents, it’s those two mutants,” you had no doubt in your mind that Natasha could handle the agents, but those two? You’ve told the team everything you knew about them, which, granted, wasn’t a lot, but at least they were expecting them this time. “I think the speedster is out of commission, but the girl might still be a problem,” you could hope that she retreated as well, choosing to watch over the speedster instead, but considering your luck that might not be what happened.

“I’ll be careful,” Natasha promised you and you opened your eyes, she was so close to you. “But you need to be careful too. They have the depowering serum,” you could see how worried she was in her eyes, feel it in her touch. You nodded, taking her hand and squeezing it lightly. “Let’s do this,” she whispered, lowering her hand and putting the veil on, now looking exactly like the councilwoman.

~X~

You followed after Steve, Maria and Wilson, already holding your glaive ready in case of a fight, but so far it was fairly easy to handle the agents in the Project Insight HQ.

You caused a disturbance with a bit of your lightning going through the wires, and now you were just waiting for the doors to open. “You know, this is a bit too dramatic for my tastes,” you joked, leaning the glaive against your shoulder just as the doors opened and Maria and Wilson pointed their guns at the tech agent.

“Excuse us,” and that was all Steve needed to say for everyone to just move aside and let the man pass. What were they going to do? Get into a fight with Captain America? Steve went over to the mic and turned it on, broadcasting the message to everyone. “Attention, all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. This is Steve Rogers. You've heard a lot about me over the last few days, some of you were even ordered to hunt me down. But I think it's time you know the truth. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not what we thought it was, it's been taken over by HYDRA. Alexander Pierce is their leader. The S.T.R.I.K.E. and Insight crew are HYDRA as well. I don't know how many more, but I know they're in the building. They could be standing right next to you. They almost have what they want: absolute control. They shot Nick Fury and it won't end there. If you launch those Helicarriers today, HYDRA will be able to kill anyone that stands in their way, unless we stop them. I know I'm asking a lot, but the price of freedom is high, it always has been, and it's a price I'm willing to pay. And if I'm the only one, then so be it. But I'm willing to bet I'm not,” for once you were actually sure an inspirational speech would work, because Steve sure knew exactly what to say.

“Did you write that down first, or was it off the top of your head?” Wilson asked as Steve turned the mic off.

“Yeah, you won’t be seeing any other Avenger pulling that off, he’s so honest it actually works,” you grinned, already heading outside. You had more work to do, because HYDRA sure wasn’t going to surrender without a fight.

~X~

The three of you ran toward the Helicarriers as they began rising from the water. The plan was simple, one Helicarrier each, with your additional task being to watch out for the mutants and deal with as much debris as possible once the Helicarriers get destroyed.

“Hey, Cap, how do we know the good guys from the bad guys?” Wilson asked, which, considering HYDRA was wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms, would be a fair question, if there wasn’t one tiny detail involved.

“If they're shooting at you, they're bad,” there it was, the tiny detail, that Steve casually pointed out.

“Yeah, so make sure you and Steve don’t end up full of holes while you fly toward Charlie,” you said, honestly just glad you didn’t have to carry Steve again. You jumped onto the Alpha Helicarrier as Wilson took flight while carrying Steve.

You glanced up toward the skies as HYDRA began firing at the two men and for a moment you considered ruining the surprise that you were no longer depowered, but considering how Wilson was flying, expertly and swiftly dodging the shots fired at them, you figured they’d be fine. You had your own Helicarrier to deal with, and the clock was ticking.

So, you ran, boosting your speed with lightning just subtly enough that they wouldn’t notice. “You two okay?” you asked through the comms just as agents rushed out and started firing at you.

“Still alive!” Steve replied while you skidded underneath the bullets and went behind a couple of crates. You jumped on top of the crates, and lunged toward the agents, spinning the glaive to deflect the bullets and landing right in front of them with a smirk on your face. They stumbled back, not eager to fight a mutant, but it was already too late, you slashed in an arc, cutting the two closest to you clean in half.

Blood stained the Helicarrier and your glaive’s blade as you struck another agent on the side of his neck with the end of the glaive, knocking him into another agent as they began panicking, shooting at you without aiming properly, just hoping they’d hit you. You used the glaive as a pole to vault over them and cut them from behind, before they could turn around. With the first group of agents down you swung the glaive to get blood off the blade and rushed inside, right into another group of agents.

A couple of bombs were thrown toward you, but even if you were depowered your glaive could still absorb the explosions, so, just as the bombs exploded you swung the glaive. “Here, have it back,” you threw the glaive toward them, releasing the absorbed explosion right in the middle of the agents.

You continued forward, grabbing your glaive along the way, and just in time to block two darts fired at you from the side. You stopped as Ran Shen, already in that dragon-like form, landed between you and controls. “I thought you’d be more affected by the serum,” he commented and you shrugged, stabbing the glaive into the bridge.

“Where are the mutants?” you asked as you casually approached him.

He tilted his head to the side. “Surely you don’t expect me to answer that.”

“No, I guess not,” you lunged forward just as he struck toward you with the tendrils. You ducked underneath them and kicked up, narrowly missing his guts as he jumped to the side. You recovered, jumping to the side to dodge the tendrils again and blocked his punch with your forearm. He continued his assault, each strike coming with whips from his tendrils, each threatening to depower you again as you dashed to the side, narrowly avoiding or catching the tendrils before they could scratch you. You managed to catch two tendrils at once, pulling him toward you and punching him in the guts. You struck again, aiming for his head, but he raised his arms just in time to block the punch.

“I always wanted to see if you were just your mutant powers or not,” he smirked, baring the sharp teeth as you swung wildly with your left arm. “Guess you are just your powers,” he dodged the left hook only to fall for the trick as you slammed an uppercut into his jaw.

You followed it up, quickly kneeing him in the guts and throwing him against the railing before landing a quick couple of punches on his chest and head. He grunted, falling back over the railing and nearly catching you with a kick as he went over. The tendrils once more shot out of his chest, catching the railing and letting him swing under the bridge.

“Five minutes,” you heard Maria saying just as Ran Shen jumped back onto the bridge.

“No time to waste,” there was no point in hiding you weren’t depowered anymore. Tendrils shot toward you and you caught them, electrocuting Ran Shen through them before pulling the glaive out and piercing his chest.

“You-“ he gasped, blood spilling from his mouth and the wound. You pulled the glaive out and slashed him again, splitting him in two to make sure he couldn’t interfere in any way again.

You went over to the controls and replaced the targeting blade with the one Maria and Fury gave you. “Alpha locked, proceeding with the next step,”  you went outside and destroyed the path to the controls behind you. It would be annoying if someone on the Helicarrier figured out what you were doing.

You stepped outside and then paused, seeing the same woman that attacked you with the guy who looked like Magneto. “Hey there,” you approached her, already spreading lightning around you to try and prepare for speedster’s attack.

She was nervous, that much was obvious, but she didn’t back down. “You don’t have to look for Pietro, it’s just me,” the shakiness of her voice, the slight fear in her eyes, it all told you she was being honest, and she felt vulnerable.

So, you dispersed the lightning, deactivating your powers for now. You remembered that desperate look in her eyes as she grabbed your arm, trying to protect that man. She was so distraught she couldn’t speak English, and now she was here, on her own, following orders. “We don’t have to fight. Besides, it’s pointless. My teammates will handle the other two Helicarriers, in less than four minutes all three Helicarriers will be destroyed, so get off while you can and I’ll go and try to prevent as many casualties as I can.”

The girl looked like she was thinking it over, weighing her options, and for a moment you thought she’d back down. “That’s not an option,” her eyes glowed red and you sighed, activating your powers as well and flying toward her. She grunted through gritted teeth and lifted a quinjet into air.

You stopped, letting the quinjet she threw through the air fly by you. She looked at you, now looking a lot more scared than before. Her powers, at least at this stage, demanded additional support, or a lot of planning and preferably catching an enemy by surprise, and since she didn’t have any of that against you it was clear how this would, eventually, end.

“Y/N, I’m ready to fire, are you in position?” you heard Maria’s voice two minutes ahead of the schedule. Well, that was a welcome surprise.

“In thirty seconds,” you replied, flying at top speed toward the girl, she raised her arms and covered her head, expecting a finishing blow and for a moment she looked like a frightened girl trying to wake up from a nightmare. Your eyes softened, and you felt sorry for the girl, you couldn’t be sure, but you were willing to bet she wasn’t doing this entirely willingly. You scooped her up into your arms, carrying her off the Helicarrier. She screamed in a mixture of shock and fear and your eyes widened as she reflexively grabbed onto the collar of your shirt and you could see she was on the verge of a panic attack due to suddenly being in the air. “Breathe, it’ll be over soon,” you told her, and she looked you in the eyes.

For a moment your eyes met, and you noticed just how green her eyes were. What were you doing saving an enemy? You weren’t sure, but leaving her there to die in the wreckage of the Helicarriers just didn’t feel right. You heard firing behind you and glanced back to see Helicarriers destroying one another just as you landed about half a mile from the Triskelion. “There, you should be safe here,” you didn’t wait, you flew back toward the already falling Helicarriers, forming several fireballs and throwing them at falling debris. You flew around, destroying or pushing anything that could endanger civilians that were nearby. A scream caught your attention and you saw a quinjet falling toward a family of three. “Shit!” you cursed, flying as quickly as you could and lighting the blade of your glaive on fire while you engulfed your body in lightning. You caught up to the quinjet and flew through it, piercing it with your glaive and magnetizing it, pulling it with you away from the family. “Go, get away from here!” you yelled at them, raising your hand and sending bolts of lightning toward more falling debris.

But you couldn’t be everywhere at once, while you were saving the family one of the Helicarriers hit Triskelion, and it wasn’t stopping. “I really should have just blown them to smithereens,” you sighed, though you probably didn’t have enough energy for all three of them, which simply wouldn’t do in these circumstances.

A chopper flew over your head, the same one Fury was meant to use to arrive, and you hoped everyone was inside of it. “Steve is still up there!” and so much for that, Maria’s yell was enough to get you back in the air as you flew toward the burning, gradually collapsing Helicarriers just in time to see Steve falling from the Charlie Helicarriers. “Why do you keep falling from high places?!” you yelled, just barely catching him and grunting at the weight of his body. You sighed in utter and absolute annoyance that he couldn’t for once, take his safety more seriously. And you definitely needed to work on your strength in your base form.

“Buck,” he whispered, reaching toward the Helicarrier where you saw the Winter Soldier.

“It’s okay, Steve,” you tried to assure him but when you looked at him you could see he was already unconscious, and yet he was still reaching out to his best friend. “Tch, you really are one of a kind,” you groaned, flying toward Helicarrier instead of away from it, while still carrying Steve. The Winter Soldier stared at you, or rather only at Steve, and he was confused, frozen, not due to you flying toward him, but due to something entirely different. You flew into him, lifting him off his feet and with both him and Steve in your arms you pretty much plummeted toward the ground, just barely maintain enough control not to crash and kill all three of you, but you didn’t have enough control not to fly directly into a tree and fall back onto the ground like you were in some cartoon.

You groaned as you glanced to your sides. Steve definitely needed to go to the hospital, and Barnes had definitely seen better days, but they were both alive, though Barnes was still unconscious. He grunted in pain as he turned onto his knees, but you really didn’t feel like chasing after him. “Go to sleep,” you sighed and struck the side of his neck with the side of your palm, plus a lightning shock that wouldn’t do much to super soldiers like him, Steve and Natasha, but it would be enough to keep them unconscious for a while. “Nat, can you hear me? I’ve got Steve and Barnes, both knocked out, near the shore, I may have knocked over a tree, so look for that,” you said through the comms and noticed the chopper flying toward you.

“Copy that, Triskelion is collapsing and there are still civilians near it, could you-“ before Natasha could even finish you flew up, which also signaled where Steve and Barnes were to Natasha and others.

“I’m on it,” you replied, flying toward Triskelion as the top of began collapsing. The entire top half was being knocked over by the Helicarrier that hit the side of it and there were at least two dozen civilians trying to escape, and you stared as if it was all happening in slow motion. You readied your glaive, ribbons burst from your wrists and burnt as you charged the glaive, but you wouldn’t make it in time, no matter how quickly you charged the glaive or how hard you threw it, it wouldn’t reach Triskelion in time, and then red energy surrounded the collapsing top of the building, halting it in mid-air.

You didn’t question it, you didn’t think about it, you just threw the glaive with everything you had, causing an explosion upon impact that eviscerated the top of the building and left a cloud of dust which the red energy sent into the skies. You caught your glaive in mid-air and flew down as people cheered, and you saw the mutant woman from before, on her hands and knees, completely out of breath and looking like she was about to pass out. You watched her as people began cheering for you as well, but you focused entirely on the girl in front of you. “That was something else,” you said and knelt on one knee in front of her.

She looked at you just for a moment and then swayed a bit before slumping forward. You caught her before she could fall onto the street, but just as you were about to lift her up to get her a proper medical check-up a blue blur struck you and made you skid across the street. Of course, the speedster.

You saw him picking the girl up and running away, clearly deciding that taking care of the girl was more important than anything else. Besides, he was slower than when you were fighting, you could even follow him with your eyes without much effort, though he was still a hell of a lot faster than even the super soldiers.

“Yeah, I doubt that’s the last we’ll be seeing from them,” you sighed, getting up and brushing the dust off your jacket. For the time being you’d be satisfied knowing they weren’t heartless or ready to let innocent people die. Considering you left the girl further away from Triskelion you figured she actually came closer to help civilians escape, so that was definitely something worth keeping in mind.

~X~ A couple of days later ~X~

The music he didn’t recognize was the first thing he was aware of as he woke up, feeling drowsy, probably from the pain killers. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the heat of the flames and an annoyed sigh. Yeah, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that was you, catching him in mid-air, annoyed that you had to catch him again. He glanced to his right, seeing Sam there, well, he should have expected that. “On your left,” he cracked a joke, making Sam look at him and smile.

“You up for a little walk?” Sam asked, confusing him for a moment. Was it really that urgent. “Just a few doors down the hall, there’s someone you’ll love to see.”

Steve got up on autopilot, not yet daring to hope. If you caught him, which he was sure you did, and with Bucky right there… Would you have? His heart raced in his chest as if he was fighting for his life, no, maybe even faster than that, as he followed Sam into a room three doors away from his.

Sam opened the doors and there you were, sitting next to a bed where someone was lying. Could he hope now? The glimmer of metal made his knees weak, and he knew it without even seeing his face, yet he still approached the bed. Bucky was right there in front of him, sleeping, alive. He was barely aware of you getting up and pulling Sam out, leaving him alone with Bucky before he collapsed onto the chair you were sitting in before.

His entire body trembled as he buried his face in his hands, feeling the wetness on his palms. For years he felt like he was a man who didn’t belong, a relic from the past long gone that somehow stumbled into the world that changed so much since he was frozen. Even seeing Peggy again felt hollow in some ways. Yes, it comforted him, but seeing how she aged, seeing her and then looking at his reflection in the mirror, it reminded him of how much time passed, taunted him with the life he could have had. Seeing Bucky, no matter how painful it was to fight him, brought him more comfort than anything in the past years. Grounded the crazy world he lived in, because, no matter how things ended, he knew the constant he always had in his life was back in one way or another. Together or apart, that knowledge would have given him strength.

And now Bucky was here, free from HYDRA, and he’d do his best to help him, no matter the cost. He failed to save him once, he would not repeat the same mistake again. He would not watch his best friend fall again, this time he would catch him and wouldn’t let go, no matter what.

Minutes passed, and he wasn’t sure how many tears of relief he shed, but eventually he calmed down, and a few minutes after that he heard the doors opening. “Good to see you’re awake,” you approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Y/N, I owe you for this,” his voice was hoarse as he spoke up, and you reached over to grab an unopened bottle of water and handed it to him.

“You don’t. You saved him,” your words didn’t make any sense. “You were reaching out to him even while you were unconsciousness. I couldn’t ignore that kind of resolve, so I did what you physically couldn’t.”

He didn’t agree with that. You acted on your own, you saved Bucky, he wasn’t able to do that. “That’s debatable,” he didn’t have much strength or desire to argue. What mattered was the result.

“Probably. I just think that’s a team. If you can’t do something, someone else will step up to the task, or something like that. It sounded cooler in my head,” you went over to the other side of Bucky’s bed and sat down, looking directly at his eyes. “Steve, there’s no way I can tell this to you gently. We can’t help Barnes,” his eyes widened as the possibility he tried to ignore ever since he realized Bucky was the Winter Soldier became reality. “Physically he’ll heal, his crimes might even be forgiven, but he’s been brainwashed, and the truth is that S.H.I.E.L.D., or what is left of it, can’t help him.”

You dropped that bomb on him, but he appreciated the honesty and you being straight to the point instead of trying to sugarcoat the situation.

“I’m not giving up on him. If I have to take him away and keep telling him about who he is, then so be it,” his resolve would not be broken, no matter how awful the predicament was, no matter how slim the chances of Bucky’s recovery were, he’d keep trying.

You sighed and leaned back against the chair. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that. And I’m fairly sure there’s no need to ask you, but just to give you a way out, let me ask you this. If there was someone who could help Barnes, would you go there? No matter how dangerous or what the cost might be?” there was absolutely no need to ask that question.

“Yes,” he didn’t even need to think once before answering.

You grinned and shook your head a bit. “Well, we are severely underpowered here. Thor isn’t here, Hulk rampaging would make talking a lot more difficult, and I won’t drag Tony into this while he doesn’t know the truth. So, it’ll have to be just you, Natasha, Yelena, Clint, Sam and I,” it looked like you didn’t want to say it, like saying what the plan was would make it all the more real. “But, guess we’ll go there. Natasha has a hearing in two days, recover until then, get ready, and we’ll head to Krakoa,” his eyes widened as he remembered reading a bit about it. “If anyone can fix minds, it’s Charles Xavier.”

Taglist: @toxicitytiger @wandaromamoff69 @womenarehotsstuff @psychickryptonitebouquet @seventeen-x @maddsdotorg @arualdcg @ilovemybabygirlmoon @redroomgraduate @canyonyodeler @skz-xii @jokermoonie @marvelwomen-simp @beggingonmykneesforher

[bunnyboy-juice]

awawawawawawa

[garlic-sauc3]

it's kind of funny how much people emphasize Batman's "no kill rule" when actually the majority of superheroes have a very similar rule

[nezuscribe]

gojo knew there was a woman under that helmet.

he knew that those movements were too fluid, to precise, to calculated to be at the hands of a man. he had seen men fight, and they did not fight like you.

it was unheard of, forbidden even, for a girl to be a part of the seven holy knights. the sacred and esteemed title was usually bestowed upon the sons who came from noble families. in other words, families who could afford to have their boys trained from birth.

as second in line to take the throne gojo didn't care much for tradition and values. his brother was going to be king in a few years. why should he bother with the weighty and unnecessary rules that he's tied to?

so he spends the rest of his time, time delegated for learning calligraphy or studying neighboring relations, with his holy knights. and half that time he spends studying you.

the knights never take off their helmets; it's part of the secrecy and significance that they hold. but gojo has been holding a sword longer than he's been holding a pen, has strummed more bows than strummed instruments. he knows this, or at least, he used to.

maybe that's why he feels such deep animosity towards you.

unlike the other knights, you don't speak or jest. you don't answer, only grunt once or twice, depending on what you want to convey. you never groan when dealt a nasty blow, and never gloat when you win the upper hand.

which you always seem to do.

you best him in sword fighting, in knife fighting, in target shooting and bow making. you're better than everyone, in all honesty, and can kill and gut an animal faster than they can haul one up the hill. it's maddening, and gojo hates being bestedat for yet another thing.

and although he'd bet his titles on your secret, he would never tell anyone about it. a part of him liked wondering who you were, liked guessing what you looked like under all that armour.

he comes to dinners later, spends more time practicing in the courtyard. he snaps at the rest of the men, blinks the bite of sweat out of his eyes. he's groan restless in trying to become the best, trying to beat you.

which is probably why he didn't see where he was walking one night, exhaustion and aching joints causing his eye sight to blur and body to sway as he tried to make his way to back to his quarters, bumping into what he thought was a statue only to find out it was a real person instead.

"shit," he mtutered, hands reaching out to steady you up, "sorry, i wasn't paying attention."

you shook your head, bowing slightly at the young prince as you kept your eyes trained on the ground.

gojo wiped at his face, hoping this wouldn't become a problem for him in the morning, coming to mind that another servant complained about his recklessness.

"it's alright," you say quietly with a small smile, "happens to the best of us."

gojo squinted, nodding as he swayed once more, steadying himself on the wall. he briefly glanced at you, noting a new face. it wasn't uncommon around the grounds, especially with how much he's been missing.

"oh...you'd might like to get your wounds checked out, my prince," you tell him, worried eyes glancing over his bruises and scrapes, all at the hands of that lady knight who keeps churning him down.

gojo looked down at his arms and hands, turning them over as if seeing it for the first time.

"right, right, thank you," he says dismally, going to leave before you shake your head, pointing to the cut along his neck.

"this one?" you say, motioning to it on your own skin.

gojo looks at you, his eyes squinting a little bit as he gives you a tight smile. with everything going on he just wants some sleep, not to be pestered by some flirting maid.

"right," gojo says between his teeth, "thank you again."

you nod, bowing once more as you leave. gojo shakes his head in annoyance, making the journey back to his room as he mutters about what new strategy he could use the next time he combats his new rival.

when he finally settles down and gets off, discarding his dirty clothes, he pauses at the mirror, his fingers lightly grazing over his neck. the blood has dried off, the wound barely even there, but that's not what catches his attention.

odd, he wonders, how could you have seen his cut under such a high collar?

[teddybeartoji]

going to the beach with toji and kids for the first time ever. it's only the beginning of your relationship, it's all kind of new – toji doesn't know what's about to hit him. sure, he's seen you with megumi and tsumiki before, but this? this is something else.

not only is his heart doing flips at the sight of the big smiles and the loud bursts of laughter you're managing to pull out of his kids, you're also wearing a fucking bikini. he hasn't seen this much of you before – the furthest you've gone during the late hours of the nights are steamy, handsy makeouts. he did take your shirt off the last time he had you below him but then you were interrupted by the little spiky haired boy, sniffling about a bad dream. after grabbing a blanket to cover you up, toji rested his forehead against your warm skin, grumbling something under his breath before looking up at you with soft eyes. you weren't mad – quite the opposite; you ruffled his hair and cradled his face, a gentle smile splayed on your lips. you pressed a haste kiss to his nose and then ushered him off of you, whispering something about his adorable son. toji scoffed. and smiled to himself.

the bikini. is killing him. he doesn't know what to do with himself. the scene playing in front of him is heart-warming and he should only be thinking about that, but how can he? the material is barely covering anything and you just look so... fucking good.

sitting in the shade, toji let's his head loll back, his eyes closing as he rests his hand over his face with a groan. he can't do it anymore. he's doing brain exercises to not pop the hardest boner of his life and you are not making it any easier when you keep giving him the prettiest smiles. you're happy, the kids are happy – everything should be good, but no – here he is, suffering because his parter looks fucking amazing. the fact that this is even a problem is mind-baffling to him. he is a strong man, no person is going to get to him just by being beauti—

"could you pass me the water, please?"

you're out to get him, he's sure of it.

toji peeks from under his hand and he's immediately blinded by a devil in disguise. the sun shines from behind you like a halo and the grin on your lips reaches behind your ears. sweat coats your skin and it makes toji's mouth salivate. what the fuck are you doing to him? hands on your hips, you stare down at your boyfriend and you give him another second to collect himself before quirking up a brow.

"toji?" you sound like a siren, you're pulling him in with your silky smooth tone. "the water, please?"

the corners of your eyes crinkle as you smile and toji has never moved faster in his entire life. "right."

he reaches for the bottle in the cooler beside him and gives it to you while making sure to look at you in the eyes and nowhere else. it's unbelievably hard – especially when the water starts trickling from the corners of your mouth and down your neck. toji gulps before turning to look at his kids instead. gumi's brows are furrowed as he's building his sandcastle while miki is busy building hers. toji cracks a grin.

"they're so– fucking cute." you whisper when you curse, a playful smile on your lips as you gush about the kids.

you love them so much already and you're glad that they seem to be liking you a lot too. that makes toji very happy; when the kids ask about you when they haven't seen you in a few days, when you do the same – he knows you really might be the one. it's a big thing to say, to even think, but he can't help it. it simply seems... right.

the water bottle hangs in front of his face and he's pulled away from his thoughts again. he goes to grab it and when he does, your free hand reaches out to him. warm finger wrap around his wrist and he melts at the soft, gentle touch. "come play with us."

a groan bubbles from his throat but it couldn't be any further from an annoyed one – you're sweet and you're excited, you're pretty and you're patient; you always welcome him and the kids with open arms and a bright smile. she would've loved you.

he throws the bottle aside and wraps his own hand around your own. "ya wanna play or the kids wanna play?"

his raspy voice and the stupidly handsome smirk he gives you make butterflies bloom and dance in your stomach. he makes you giddy, he makes you happy.

"i wanna play." you tug at him. "and the kids wanna play."

he can't say no to his little blessings and he can't say no to you. maybe running around will help clear his mind from the mischievious thoughts in his head. he doubts it, but he's needs to try.

in one swift move, he pulls your hand to his mouth while pretending to bite you and his eyes fucking twinkle when he sees your cute surprised expression and hears your little gasp. there's a moment, a second of the most comfortable silence before the corners of your lips twitch and you yank away from his hold, booking it towards gumi and miki with a loud cackle as toji pushes off the chair and takes off after you with fast steps.

your cheeks hurt from laughing as you watch toji catch megumi; he lifts gumi up with just one hand while tsumiki tries to poke her dad in the ribs in order for him to let boy go. when he finally lets the kids go... you feel his eyes on you. adrenaline pumps in your veins and you feel like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. you can't stop grinning. he can't either. a pair of arms wrap around your middle and your feet are being lifted up above the ground before you can even react.

while the kids are doubled over, running and stumbling over their own feet, toji growls in your ear. "gotcha."

you will take the next step today. no snotty kid of his will cockblock him again – they will be tired from the day and you will be all his to take care of. he'll show you his appreciation for being so good to him and the kids, for being so kind. and so... fucking hot.

he presses a kiss to your jaw but cringes when gumi and miki dramatically scream 'ew' at him. you feel him getting even warmer, his cheeks heating up and you try to save him by shooing the kids with a laugh. toji is grateful. he's happy that you're here.

[xervn]

melatonin

two-shot | enemies to fuckers sevika x reader

pt. 2

ao3 link

summary: you're forced to go on a business trip with your least favorite coworker and share a room with her. now you can't sleep.

18+ MDNI | 4.1k words | tags; canon divergence, sevika is a little mean, sevika is nonchalant fr, reader is a brat, very light sub/dom, vaginal fingering, scissoring, begging kink, praise kink kinda, porn w/ plot-ish, no use of y/n

new record; took me 4 days to write. i don't know who possessed me. i love enemies to lovers so bad FUCKKKK!!!

“One room.” The motel owner, an old, short, and grotesque-looking woman with a thick accent, says. 

 “One room? Clear another one out then?” You insist, mildly threateningly. The woman’s eyes glaze over as she blinks. She’s not moved.

“There are two beds; who cares?” Sevika grumbles, clearly over your antics.

You shoot a glare in her direction, lip forming into a scowl. “I’m not sharing a room with you; you look like you snore.” 

She tells you something along the lines of go fuck or kill yourself (you weren’t really listening) before pushing past you and replacing the room keys on the counter with a stack of silver cogs. 

The owner collects the cogs with a grunt before adjusting her small reader glasses. Sevika strides off towards the rooms, and you quickly turn after her.

“Couldn’t you have tried to help?” You ask. Your eyes burn a hole through the side of her face.

She doesn’t spare you a glance. “You’re dramatic, and I don’t have the patience to deal with your bullshit right now.”

You hate her. You fucking hate her. You’ve been working alongside Sevika for two years now, yet you can’t shake the feeling. It started when you first met; Sevika was cold and critical, reprimanding you even though you were young and starting out. That’s not even what drove you to hate her, though; at least back then it felt like she was looking out for you, but you were painfully mistaken when you got promoted within the year. 

You don’t know what it was; jealousy, doubt, but her distaste for you only grew more apparent. There were fewer critiques and more insults about how you work or about your intelligence. Insufferable. She was insufferable.

There hasn’t been a day she’s been likable since then, so imagine your reaction when Silco tells you and her to go on a little business trip to Bilgewater. No matter how much the both of you wanted to protest, you didn’t. Instead you two argued amongst yourselves the whole trip there. 

Why would you want to spend even more unnecessary time around her?

The minute you guys enter your room, you don’t speak a single word to each other, let alone look each other’s way. You take turns using the restroom to get ready for bed, and then you find a place for your belongings, and Sevika ejects her bionic arm for the night. Although you two definitely don’t like each other, it doesn’t mean you don’t trust each other. You know she won’t rob you; she knows you won’t (can’t) take advantage and kill her. That’s the only semblance of peace you share.

— 

A faint amber light soaks through your eyelids, and you blink them open to the popcorned ceiling. You toss and turn in your bed, rustling around, unable to find a good position, and it doesn’t help that the cheap mattress is, well, cheap. You can’t sleep. You’ve always had trouble sleeping, but it’s never been a real problem before; you’d just stay up. Yes, you have permanent eye bags because of it, but it’s not like you can choose otherwise. You‘re from Zaun; any aid for it is not exactly accessible. 

However, the meeting you have tomorrow is important, so it’s important that you find a way. You can’t afford to slack off or doze off during it; you’re the negotiator, and tomorrow makes or breaks a trade deal that will be most beneficial for Zaun’s income. 

You rustle in your bed sheets again, and Sevika immediately groans. “Can you stop? And turn the lamp off.”

You look at her and you’re about to apologize, but you hold your tongue when you remember who you’re talking to. “I can’t sleep.”

“Turn the lamp off and fucking figure it out.” She snaps, turning her back towards you.

“Can’t you hear?” You squirm around, making as much noise as possible to get your point across. “I’m trying.”

“Find a different way. Count poros. Turn the lamp off.”

You scoff, eyes back on the ceiling, “I’m not five; counting poros doesn’t work, and I’m not turning off the lamp.”

You can hear Sevika shifting in her bed. “I knew you should’ve stayed back,” she sighs, “and you’re scared of the dark? Grow up.”

“Wow, fuck you. If you had asked nicely, I would’ve turned it off, and what do you mean I ‘should’ve stayed’? You’re not my boss. I’m more valuable than you are.” You angrily rant. 

“Alright, you are talking way too much right now. Cut it out.” 

“…No.” You reply. It sounds unconvincing with your lack of words, but it was the best you could come up with.

“Do you need calming tea or something? What will get you to shut up, because I’m about to hold a pillow over your head and call it a night.” She growls.

“Nothing. I can only sleep if I get a concussion or if I drink my pants off.”

She says your name like a warning, “If you ruin this deal, I’ll make sure to see you off myself.”

You bite back, “Sevika, if I could sleep, I would be sleeping. I don’t want to ruin it either, but your scolding isn’t helping.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, then Sevika grunts stubbornly. It’s followed by sheets moving and a dull stomp on the floor. You turn to look, and you see Sevika sitting at the side of her bed. 

You glance at her muscular thighs in those gray shorts—you couldn’t help it—before staring back at the ceiling. “Are you going to make me tea?”

She pushes off the bed with her one arm. “No.”

“Switching rooms then?” You ask as your eyes follow her shadow’s movement on the walls. 

“No.”

“Then... What is it?“ You turn, flinching a bit when you find Sevika peering down at you. 

She looks hesitant, timid; the first time you’ve ever seen it. “I’ll help you.”

Your defenses go off, and you quickly sit up. “Wait. You’re not going to kill me, right?”

“Over sleep? Are you stupid?” She pushes you back down, and not with much force, obviously.

You lay there, defeated. “So?”

“I said, ‘I’ll help you.'” She restates.

You stare up at her with slight annoyance, “Well, you have to tell me how?”

She has an indecisive frown before exhaling, “If you come, you’ll shut up.” 

Your head shakes in confusion. “Come? Where are we going?” 

“You’re an actual idiot.” She groans.

You gasp in offense. “You’re the one being fucking cryptic—“

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.” 

“What?”

“I’ll fuck you to sleep.”

“I heard you; I’m just,” you laugh nervously, “are you serious?” Your ears must be playing tricks on you. 

“We’re not close enough to joke around with each other.” She says plainly.

Baffled, you reply, “We’re not close enough to fuck either?” 

“Do you really care about shit like that? Sex is sex.”

You think about it for a second. You’ve never been in a proper relationship, and you’ve only had a handful of hookups, but you’ve never slept with someone you dislike, and you definitely don’t like Sevika. Even if she is hot. “Well, I guess not—“

“—Then what’s the issue?” Her eyes bore into you.

You gulp at the sudden weight of her stare, but you don’t crumble. “The issue is that I don’t like you. At all.”

Sevika scoffs, “I’ve seen the way you stare at me. You’re not subtle. At all. I saw you do it a few minutes ago.”

How embarrassing. It’s true, between all your hate are moments of admiration. Sevika is “cool,” she’s respected, she’s feared. She’s also full of herself, naggy, and blunt. Both things can be true. But on top of that, she’s hot to the point it’s frustrating. 

One time, while she was sitting in her designated booth at The Last Drop playing poker, she locked eyes with you after a big win. There was that sexy, satisfied grin she always gets after every win, and she had the audacity to lock eyes with you. 

Your thighs pressed together. You beat yourself up over it for the rest of the night and the following day; you couldn’t even look her in the eye without getting unreasonably angry.

Your face is turning warm, but there’s no point in turning away—you have to fake it until you make it. “Okay? What’s your point?” You ask, even though her point was very clear. You’re running yourself into walls.

Sevika already deciphered that; her face reads, ‘Where the fuck are you right now?’ “Listen, I don’t like you either, but if you want to sleep, I’ll help you, and if you don’t, I’ll get another room.” She explains.

You can tell it’s her final offer. You chew your bottom lip until you remember Sevika is still looking at you. Hiding your face behind your hand, you can’t believe you’re considering it. Sex with Sevika. Sounds mad when you repeat it in your head. It’s just sex, though, right? You knew she loved Zaun, but you didn’t know she loved it this much. Sleeping with you, practically her arch nemesis, for the betterment of society. That sounds insane. This is insane.

Sevika kisses her teeth, “Forget it—“ 

“—Okay,” you interrupt, “help me.” You’re unable to look her in the eyes. 

She looks at you dubiously, and her lack of doing anything unnerves you, so you continue. “Please?” You slowly look up at her, and you swear her eyes darkened. 

“Please?” She mimics. “Didn’t take you for the submissive type.” 

“No idea what you’re talking about.” You reply, although it comes out like a whisper.

“Mhm,” she hums apathetically, pulling up the covers draped over you. Her knee makes a dip in the bed. “Make some space,” she asks. You sit up, and you have no idea what to do. Looking left and right, you'd think you were trying to cross the road. She stares blankly. “Just spread your legs.” She commands.

You immediately do as she says, and she chuckles to herself at how you continue to prove her right. You’re clearly not a fan of that, your frown prominent. “What’s funny?” 

Sevika kneels herself between your legs, using her arm to help balance her in place. “Man, you love to argue.” 

You shrug. “I’ll stop when you fuck me to sleep. If you can... Don’t you think you’re a little overconfident?” 

Sevika slowly blinks at you, unsure of whether she should be turned on or irritated. You take it as the latter, and now it’s your turn to chuckle to yourself. But your self-satisfied giggling stops when she leans over you, inches away from your face, “You’re about to find out.” 

You never took the time to process Sevika kneeling between your legs, and now you can feel each exhale from her on your face. Your body starts to process it too: your breathing gets heavier and your heartbeat gets faster. You don’t have a crush on her or anything, but this is an unusual, unsurprisingly hot experience. Your eyes flicker to her full, uneven lips before they squeeze shut.

Sevika flicks your forehead. “Wh—ow?!” You whine, rubbing your head with your hand to soothe it. 

“I’m not kissing you.” She clarifies.

Your face warms with embarrassment, fingers gripping at the fabric beneath you. “How was I supposed to know you wanted a staring contest?” You grumble.

Sevika rolls her eyes, barely shaking her head in disappointment. Her face moves on from yours, and her lips attack the exposed curvature of your neck, licking, biting, and rendering you speechless. She gives you no time to regulate your emotions, and you let out a soft groan you would’ve otherwise swallowed down. Just what she wanted: less talking, more moaning.

Letting her guide the tilt of your head, you awkwardly rest your hands on her shoulders. You’re unsure of whether you can or should touch her. She pauses. “Sor— I… uh…” You stammer and put your hands up. You decide to just stop speaking to save yourself.

“Relax.” She tells you, gazing at you through her loose, dark hair. It stirs something below you. 

You place your hands back on her shoulders, albeit reluctantly, and try to maintain eye contact so you look composed. 

Sevika doesn’t buy it. She glances at your hands, very tellingly. “…Relax.” She repeats, softer than she did before, and your heart skips a beat like you’re in a cliché. 

Hesitantly, you slide your arms around her shoulders, linking your hands together. It feels intimate, too intimate, and looking at her is getting harder by the second. Sevika chuckles in a way that borders on a scoff. “You wanted to do that; don’t be shy about it.”

You huff, “I didn’t know I was being teased to sleep…”

“Is it working? It’d save me time.”

“Fuck off...” 

“You’d hate that.” She replies, as if it’s undeniable. It is, but she’s way too cocky about it. You look like you’re about to curse her out, but you’re holding it back. 

Sevika grins smugly, and for a moment, she considers kissing you. Your arms are wrapped around her shoulders, your eyes are yelling, ‘Fuck me already,’ lips practically begging to meet hers.

This is intimate, too intimate. It’s fucking with her logical reasoning—not that this is logical to begin with. It sounds stupid, but it’s worked for her so far; she casually fucks on the regular, and she doesn’t kiss them ever. Never really felt like it. Yet, here you are, making her feel new things. She knows there’s no going back if she makes an exception with you, and quite frankly, you still piss her off. It’s conflicting.

You impatiently perk a brow at her. You had to stop yourself from flat-out asking her to continue; your ego can’t afford you coming off as begging.

For a millisecond she looks like she got caught, then a millisecond later, she’s on you again. 

She attentively kisses the skin below the curve of your jawline, her tongue making frequent warm appearances. It’s much more fervent, but rough in a way that makes you tremble. She always makes sure you feel her teeth gliding over when she moves to the next spot. Your legs move on their own, one leg curling up against her side. You’re already pooling where you’re seated, but now it’s getting uncomfortable to sit this damp. 

Experienced is how you can describe her right now. You heard rumors of her activity, but you never believed it. There was no way her ol’ grumpy ass was getting laid, no matter how incredibly sexy she was. Then again, you never got along, which makes this situation, this fucking feeling, even crazier. 

She was being extra careful not to bruise you at first, but she seems not to care anymore, only driven further when she hears your little gasps or feels your arms tightening around her. She’s getting carried away, but she’ll figure out how to play it off some other time.

 Sevika pulls back. She throbs at your dazed and confused expression.  “Come closer.” She ushers as she transitions to sitting rather than kneeling on the bed. 

With no hesitation, you don’t let go of Sevika as you push yourself forward on your hips, sitting your ass comfortably on the edge of Sevika’s lap. Her hand lands on your waist. She says, “Lay down for me.” 

You nod shyly, removing your arms from Sevika’s shoulders and descending onto the mattress. Sevika tries to ignore how the loss of your arms around her made her feel. Her hand travels to the waistband of your joggers. “You’re going to have to move these for me too.” She asks, shrugging her shoulder that’s missing an arm as a reminder. 

She doesn’t move; she waits. Your insides do a flip. She’s waiting for you to remove them how you are now: legs diverged around her, hips pointed towards her. You think about how vulnerable you’ll look and feel when you slide them off, showing her the sopping mess she unknowingly made between your legs. You know she’s going to see it eventually, but from you doing the honors? That’s tearing you apart. She notices a shift in your demeanor, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. “Hurry up.” 

“Can’t you move back…?”

Sevika rolls her eyes. “No.”

You whine in embarrassment, briefly shielding your face in your hands before hastily pulling at your waistband. You wish you had turned the lamp off.

Sevika’s hand clasps over yours. “Slowly.” She scolds. Scolds. You’re fucking flabbergasted. She’s doing this on purpose, you can tell. She’s barely holding back another signature, smug smile. 

“You’re such a dick.” You curse. A direct juxtaposition in your actions that don’t defy Sevika at all. Hell, it juxtaposes your body because of how you’re aching for her.

“Yeah, yeah. Off.” She pulls at the band of your pants, letting it slap down when she releases it. 

You mutter out a few more curses that she fully grins at before you silently begin to remove your joggers and underwear simultaneously. You lift your hips for mobility, and Sevika’s eyes are glued to the fabric making its way down your thighs, and you’re forced to watch how intently she’s watching you. You can try to insist this is humiliating and cruel, but you can’t stop throbbing just from this; her eyes anticipating your reveal, like you’re a self-opening present.

The clothing starts to bunch at the middle of your thighs, and your arousal is halfway there to being exposed to Sevika. The scent is what hits her first; it makes her want to yank your pants down and give you what you want, but watching you do it so much better.

Once it reaches above your knees, she partially moves out of the way so she can help you remove them properly. While she tosses it elsewhere, you debate pinning your legs shut. 

Sevika looks back at you—your legs, actually—and you do flinch them closed. She tsks. “Don’t be stubborn. Not now.” She didn’t sound like she was insulting you, even though a small part of you wanted to be offended. 

You let out a shaky sigh and avoid her gaze, slowly parting your legs. Thighs slicked with arousal, folds glistened with the same, you’re undeniably soaked. You prepare yourself to look at Sevika’s shit-eating grin, but when you do, it’s nothing of the sort. Her eyes are low, shaded, and memorializing, and her bottom lip fully disappeared between her teeth. 

Then she grins; she even laughs, just as you expected. You groan, not at her, but at how wet you got from it. “I didn’t even do anything yet.” She teases, her eyes still locked on the ego-stroking mess she made of you. 

“Such a di—“ You cut yourself off to moan sharply. 

Sevika’s thumb came in contact with your swollen clit, the rough pad of her thumb making perfect circles; the rest of her fingers positioned in the patch of hair crowning above it.

“How fast do you think you’ll come? I’m thinking,” she pretends to, only to press her thumb over your clit. Filthy words flutter from your lips, and you instinctively grind into her touch. “Three minutes?” 

You look pissed between your bouts of pleasure; it molds together attractively. Sevika can’t wait to make it break, make you cry, and fuck the attitude out of you. “What? You should see how wet you are; you’d think I already fucked you.” 

She feels the way you twitch at her words, and it makes the pressure between her legs unbearable. She should just strip and grind her cunt into you, but she knows she won’t be able to stop there. Fuck her stupid life; she’s losing the plot. 

Her thick forefinger collects your slick as she paths towards your entrance. You twitch as she slides it in, making you gasp. She chuckles as your walls clench around her finger, and she starts pushing it in and out, painstakingly slow. 

It’s not enough, yet you can’t bring yourself to beg her for more. It’s at the tip of your tongue, but Sevika was right; you are stubborn. She reads you like a book, and she can read you now. She angles her finger in a way that brushes against your g-spot, but at the same mind-numbingly slow pace. 

Your body doesn’t know what to do; you can’t find friction anywhere; you can squeeze against her finger, but it doesn’t change her speed; all you can do is writhe in place. “You look like you need something,” she says, almost like it’s a thought in her head, so condescending, so fucking hot. Your pussy tenses around her finger for the millionth time, and you almost, almost, cry. “You’re gonna cut my finger off at this rate.” You tense again. She chuckles. 

“Sev—Sevika,” you bite your lip to hold down a sharp inhale, but it fails miserably. “Sevika, you’re not helping.”

 “Should I stop?” She asks with the tilt of her head. Her finger does stop regardless of the answer. 

Your hands reach out for her wrist, weakly clawing at it. “No! No, pl...” You mildly cringe at yourself, turning away. 

Sevika’s brows lifted. “What was that? Pl...?” She begins her pace again, and you realize you didn’t appreciate it enough before. “You said it once already; come on.” 

Your lips tremble, “Plea—se—?” She barely lets you finish the word before slipping another finger into your drooling cunt. Her pace increases, and you let go of her wrist as you succumb to pleasure. 

 Your arousal coating her fingers makes the most obscene noises; she wonders if the entire motel can hear it. You try to suppress your moans with your hand, but you can never do it right, not with the way she’s fucking you. Sevika’s glad you can’t; having one arm would’ve been even more inconvenient otherwise. She needs to hear you sob out her name at least once. “Please what?” She leans over you as she slams her fingers into you, pressing them against your wet, ridged, gummy walls.

“You’re— fuck, you’re pushing it,” you groan, and just like that, she slows down. But you’re weak, and you crumble. “Wait, wait, wait—please. Please, fuck me... Fuck me to sleep.” You ramble loosely, back to scratching at her wrists again. There’s that smile you were thinking about earlier, the one she gets after a big win. She broke you, and she lost the plot ages ago. 

—

It’s been an hour, and you’re already on the brink of your third orgasm. Sevika folded and ended up, verbatim, stripping and grinding her cunt into yours. You should be asleep right now, but Sevika said you have enough time to catch up on it before the meeting. You hope that’s true, but you don’t care. You can’t get enough of her or her abs flexing with every desperate hump. 

So intent on getting her rocks off, practically using you for her own pleasure at this point—you already came twice now; any more is a bonus, just like the one building up right now. Your eyes are pressed shut, trying to envision your release so it comes quicker. “Just like that. Keep fucking me, please, Sev.” You beg through your teeth and quiet sniffles. Sevika’s fingers squeeze the meat of your thigh.

She murmurs, “You,” her movements get sloppier; you can tell she’s close, “feel so fucking good.” Now you’re close—no, you come at her praise. 

You’re shaking, grabbing at the sheets that have since slid off the mattress. You forgot how to breathe; all you can feel is your orgasm coursing through you. Your mind is turning fuzzy, and even fuzzier with Sevika still grinding into you. Your moans are pitchy and pornographic; you’re making sounds you didn’t even think happened in real life. “Sevika...” You sob out from overstimulation, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

She loves it. “Shit…” Sevika moans, followed by several more curses as she shudders out her orgasm. Her vision goes blurry for a second from how hard she came. She tries to control her labored breathing as she comes to, breathlessly calling your name. 

When she focuses in on you, you’re passed out, fucked out, and peaceful. Sevika’s pupils dilate at the markings she left on your neck, then to your lips, which she’s yet to have the chance to kiss. She lets the sleep weighing on her win and carefully collapses beside you. 

>

[midniqhtt]

comfort fic reads II 4k celebration

₊˚⊹⋆ main masterlist ꨄ︎ part two list ₊˚⊹⋆

a/n: list got too long and had me maxed out. so i shifted some fandoms to part two instead.

hi loves! i never do anything for celebrating but i thought i could make a big list of all my favorite fics i’ve read over the past few months/years and continue rereading. i can never get enough of showing my appreciation for writers and all their hard work, and i want them to know i think of these fics/series at least once a day ♡︎ i say ‘comfort’ but theres more angst lol

key- A: angst II F: fluff II S: smut II SB: slow burn II C: comfort

.𖥔 MARVEL .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑹𝑬𝒀𝑵𝑶𝑳𝑫𝑺

ꨄ︎ loving you is easy two II @blank-potato II A + F

You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

ꨄ︎ fooled around and fell in love II @flowersforbucky II S + A + F

you've never been one for commitment, and your teammates know it. when you and bob start seeing each other, it takes them by surprise and makes them worry about how he'll react to the heartbreak that they expect to follow. what they don't understand - you've never felt like this about anyone.

ꨄ︎ soft currents next to you II @nghtwngs II S + A + F

there is falling in love. there is also falling into another universe. there is also falling in love again.

ꨄ︎ home is where the heart is II @ilovemilestellersmoustache II A + F

Wanting to feel more included Bob decides to help on a mission but in efforts to protect you he injures himself leaving him with amnesia. Your boyfriend not remembering isn’t the biggest problem because he’s always going to find you again, even in a hundred lifetimes.

ꨄ︎ soulmate II @geminiwritten II A + C

you're engaged to bucky when you find out that not only are fated mates real, but you have one... and it's not your fiancé

ꨄ︎ we can’t be friends part two II @tfatwsbarnes II A

bob always wondered why you didn’t favour him over the rest of your team. until he learned that you had unsettled the bones of the tva.

ꨄ︎ cowboy like me II @goldenlikedayl1ght II A + F

you get a text from an old friend and think.. you could do worse than a book club.. with some benefits.

ꨄ︎ xerox two three II @ichori II A + SB + C

you had one last job before you were free. no more splitting, no more deaths. unfortunately, that job seemed to rope in four other assassins and a... a man in hospital-wear?

𝑩𝑼𝑪𝑲𝒀 𝑩𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑬𝑺

ꨄ︎ bad boys don’t buy flowers II @espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

Bucky would have never thought, he’d be chasing after a girl. Not when all of them usually fell at his feet. But when he finds himself entangled in a deal born out of a desperate argument with his assistant, he realizes there is nothing he wouldn't do for you: The independent florist who is adamantly dragging him to the homeless shelter every chance she gets. There is just one problem: Bucky doesn't know how to tell you. And the teasing from his friends is certainly not making things easier for him...

ꨄ︎ come back to you II @buckyalpine II F

What happens when a time travel mission ends up with a version of Bucky from the 40′s standing on the time travel platform.

ꨄ︎ curiosity killed the cat II @queers-gambit II A + C

after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

ꨄ︎ you’re my desire part two II @marvelouslizzie and @notafunkiller II S + F

Your best friend drags you out on a double date. You were supposed to be Steve Rogers' date, but plans change pretty quickly and you end up in Bucky Barnes' arms.

ꨄ︎ graveyard part two II @wkemeup II A + C

As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. 

ꨄ︎ dreamscape II @/wkemeup II A + C

When Bucky falls under the spell of a Djinn, the line between fantasy and reality blurs. In order to survive, he must fight his way back to the real world - even if it costs him everything he's ever wanted.

ꨄ︎ blurred lines part two II @ellemj II S + A + F

When choosing a female agent to send back in time to gain young Sergeant Barnes's trust, everyone's in agreement that it should be Sharon. Until Bucky, the man that you barely get along with, speaks up and lets everyone know that it could only be you.

ꨄ︎ love language II @/flowersforbucky II S + F

snapshots of your relationship with bucky told through the five love languages.

ꨄ︎ flashing lights part two II @pellucid-constellations II A + C

Bucky’s worst fears come true when he’s called to a scene. If he’s the one with the dangerous job, then why is it your life that’s hanging in the balance?

ꨄ︎ stay still part two II @buckysknifecollection II A + C

What if your soulmate was the one person you had hurt the most?

ꨄ︎ saturn II @shurisneakers II A

you die. bucky tries to bring you back (or) close to a year after you die, bucky's desperation finally finds an answer. but it may not be the one he's hoping for.

ꨄ︎ bleeding heart II mournthebird II A + C

You're his assigned nurse.

ꨄ︎ 40s!bucky II @helaintoloki II A + F

after accidentally sending yourself back in time, you run into a younger version of the man you loathe only to find yourself questioning your feelings for him

𝑱𝑶𝑯𝑵 𝑾𝑨𝑳𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ under my skin II @/flowersforbucky II F

what first begins as a series of bad luck shows you a different side of the man who normally drives you crazy.

ꨄ︎ moral of the story II @dearwalker II A

You never expected to be blindly sent to kill your ex-husband, but when you cross paths again in looping shame rooms, it’s like going through the pain all over again.

𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑴𝑼𝑹𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ without you part 2 II @foli-vora II A

You return after the 'blip'. Five years is a long time, and a lot of things can happen in that time.

𝑴𝑶𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻

ꨄ︎ for science II @projectionistwrites II S + A + C

In which the Moon Knight alter system presents a unique opportunity to settle the nature versus nurture debate, once and for all...

ꨄ︎ red flags II @astroboots and @thirstworldproblemss II S + A + F

Sweet as he is, dating Steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way. 

ꨄ︎ the jake problem pt2 II @bensolosbluesaber II S + A + C

Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.

𝑷𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑷𝑨𝑹𝑲𝑬𝑹

ꨄ︎ sunset lovers II @duskholland II F

you’ve never met your soulmate, but you know his handwriting like the back of your hand—literally. every word your soulmate writes on his skin appears on yours, and vice versa. you’re desperate to meet him, but until the universe decides to introduce you, you’re stuck with scribbled smiley faces and chemistry formulae.

ꨄ︎ one more to see you II @waitimcomingtoo II A

in an effort to see Peter again, you Dream Walk and learn it’s consequences

𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑻𝑹𝑶 𝑴𝑨𝑿𝑰𝑴𝑶𝑭𝑭

ꨄ︎ silent treatment II @floral-and-fine II A + C

where the words their soulmate speaks first are tattooed on their arm.

𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑽𝑬 𝑹𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑺

ꨄ︎ watchful eyes II @/espinosaurusrexex II S + A + F

When your best friend gets you a new job, cleaning the apartment of the most successful man in New York City, you don't hesitate to accept. The pay is more than good, and the man himself is better than any eye candy you have ever seen. Unbeknownst to you, you've caught his attention just as much. Steve can't keep his mind off you, so much so, that he drives everyone around him insane with his grumpiness when you aren't around. It seems like he has to take matters into his own hands when he realizes, you're too shy to take things further yourself.

ꨄ︎ out of time pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 pt8 II @after-avenging-hours II S + A + F

When Steve is poisoned on a mission, his only hope is a pure Super Soldier Serum. You travel to 1943 to find it—but without the infinity stones, your actions could change the future. Can you save him before time runs out?

.𖥔 TOP GUN .𖥔

𝑩𝑶𝑩 𝑭𝑳𝑶𝒀𝑫

ꨄ︎ the plan II @/geminiwritten II A + F

the squad are all pretty sure that bob has a thing for you, but you're not convinced, so you hatch a plan to tease him within an inch of his life until he snaps

ꨄ︎ the kind of girl i could love II @roosterforme II F

Bob has a secret admirer, but he's convinced it's actually Jake and Nat messing with him. 

𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑳𝑬𝒀 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑺𝑯𝑨𝑾

ꨄ︎ love to lie pt2 pt3 pt4 II @/ddejavvu II A + F

Your worst fear is recognized when Bradley’s jet goes down with him in it. You’re not sure why you’re still his emergency contact, you’d broken up two weeks ago, but when you rush into the hospital room, you discover that you have a chance to fix the mistake you’d been cursing yourself for. The only problem is, you have to lie to Bradley, and you discover that you love doing it if it means you get to be with him again.

ꨄ︎ things unseen and heard II @bloatedandalone04 II S + A + F

the one where you overhear bradley talk about you to jake and decide to give him the space he apparently wanted.

ꨄ︎ playing games II @/geminiwritten II A + F

you've been best friends with rooster for years and you're both obviously in love with each other, but he refuses to cross that line... until you accept some help from hangman and he takes the game just a little too far

ꨄ︎ wrong number II @roosterforme II F

Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

ꨄ︎ between friends II @sometimesanalice II S + F

Bradley and you don’t talk about that Spring Break. But a single question asked during a night out at the Hard Deck might just change things between the two of you forever.

ꨄ︎ trouble in paradise II @/sunlightmurdock II S + A

After the most painful break-up of his life, Rooster is stationed in Hawaii for the next six months. Alone, away from home and hurting, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.

ꨄ︎ i’ll show you good, restore your faith II @/se7entyrell II A + F

Your relationship with Bradley is new. Really new. Like, 'haven't let him smell your morning breath yet' new. But when he gets a call telling him that his mom is dying, you find yourself driving him to San Diego in the middle of the night, preparing to meet his entire extended family during the worst period of their lives.

ꨄ︎ terms of endearment II @ohtobeleah II A + C (heavy themes)

They always say when you aren’t looking for love it tends to find you. So when you and your daughter turn up in Fighter Town, Bradley Bradshaw is instantly infatuated. With reluctance to trust and harbouring a bad past, you don’t make it easy for the fighter pilot to love you.

𝑱𝑨𝑲𝑬 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑵

ꨄ︎ domestic fantasy II @/geminiwritten II F

your ex is coming back to collect some things he left behind and you accidentally tell him that you have a new boyfriend, so hangman accepts the role of your new (fake) boyfriend

ꨄ︎ dirty laundry part two II @/geminiwritten II S + A + F

after a couple months of living together, you're still completely oblivious to how you affect jake and he's starting to spiral because now he's... feeling things

ꨄ︎ medical emergency II @marvelwitchergilmore II F

When Jake gets a call asking to pick you up from the hospital, it's safe to say he's confused. Especially considering neither of you were known for getting along with the other.

ꨄ︎ sign of the times pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @se7entyrell II S + A

You're destined to die in Jake Seresin's arms. In every life, in every iteration, it's inescapable. Whether you loathe, or love each other, each ending stays the same. But what if it doesn't have to?

ꨄ︎ spring fling pt2 pt3 pt4 pt5 pt6 pt7 II @ddejavvu II F (in progress)

You should have known the ‘no refunds’ detail on the website for Spring Fling was a red flag. But you paid no mind to it, eager to be assigned a quick fuck for spring break. When the man that walks through your cabin door is none other than Jake 'Hangman' Seresin, your wildly infuriating fellow pilot, you have two choices: bicker the entire time and have a miserable spring break, or fuck.

.𖥔 MISCELLANEOUS .𖥔

𝑹𝑯𝑬𝑻𝑻 𝑨𝑩𝑩𝑶𝑻𝑻

ꨄ︎ odds are stacked II @sunlightmurdock II S

In which Rhett loses a bet and you lose your virginity.

𝑻𝒀𝑳𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑬𝑵𝑺

ꨄ︎ all yours II @/geminiwritten II A + F

after being best friends and chasing storms with tyler for years, one night changes everything... now you're staring at a pregnancy test with two pink lines—and just as you're working up the nerve to tell him, tyler announces to the world that he never wants to settle down or have kids

ꨄ︎ orange juice II @ahsokaismyqueen II S + F

When it's time to interview a group of storm chasers for your new book, you get sent back to your hometown. You never would have guessed one of the people you'd be interviewing would be your ex boyfriend. And you might still be a little in love with him.

ꨄ︎ no hesitation II @briefinquiries II S + F

Tyler would be the type of guy that if a girl came up to him and said ‘this guy is creepy, pls pretend to be my bf’ he would be like ‘hell yay’ and scare the guy away

𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑩𝑬𝑪𝑲

ꨄ︎ all the stars are closer II @kashimos-hajime II A + F

mark watney wasn’t the only one left behind on mars, and as you struggle to survive on the desert planet, hidden feelings come to light between you and your best friend, dr. chris beck.

𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻

ꨄ︎ all american boy II @scribes-of-valar II A + C

Your friend has been distant for months, all of a sudden he's a brand new man. He's practically a puppy dog following after you and you're not sure how to feel. What's a girl to do when she suddenly finds herself looking at not one, but two Clark Kent's?

ꨄ︎ no.1 party anthem II @sunsburns II F

what was supposed to be a night for work takes an unexpected turn when you run into clark kent—alone at a restaurant, waiting for a date who seems to have no intention of showing up. poor guy.

𝑴𝑰𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑬𝑳 𝑹𝑶𝑩𝑰𝑵𝑨𝑽𝑰𝑻𝑪𝑯

ꨄ︎ an itch you can’t scratch pt2 II @theonewiththefanfics II S + A + F

After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...

[not-neverland06]

we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off. 

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you. 

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now. 

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day. 

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back. 

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore. 

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container. 

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile. 

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water. 

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches. 

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have. 

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now. 

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him. 

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you. 

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go. 

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him. 

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions. 

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction. 

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones. 

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode. 

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter. 

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional. 

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out. 

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control. 

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look. 

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you. 

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no. 

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up. 

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open. 

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others. 

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?” 

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him. 

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding. 

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike. 

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying. 

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd. 

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids. 

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you. 

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character. 

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button. 

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases. 

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest. 

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place. 

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out. 

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves. 

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper. 

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life. 

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths. 

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you. 

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around. 

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long. 

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon. 

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach. 

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love. 

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face. 

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on. 

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was. 

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated. 

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows. 

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.” 

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front. 

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention. 

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you. 

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks. 

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.” 

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out. 

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times. 

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up. 

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you. 

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself. 

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name. 

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain. 

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do. 

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours. 

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you. 

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other. 

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before. 

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped. 

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless. 

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long. 

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[ostolero]

Mirroring Sheev's Plan by Sullivan

Performed by Austin Walker on AMCA

(originally posted on Cohost)

https://bsky.app/profile/dimosar.bsky.social

https://bsky.app/profile/austinwalker.bsky.social

https://bsky.app/profile/morecivilized.bsky.social

Sheev's Plan:

get elected to senate for naboo

start new sith order

work republic and separatists against each other. recruit evil guy to lead separatists.

(this jedi kid is wicked strong!)

get jedi in deep with clone army. (save some clone jars for later? just in case...)

PIVOT: Make the jedi kid evil. dont need separatist guy anymore. got a new evil guy.

make my evil guy kill his jedi pals when they come to arrest me. ill finish em off with my lightning attack

(fucking guy used his sword to bounce my lightning back at me! honestly my fault. takes a minute for the lightning to wind down and he got my ass on the bounce. fair play. now i look like a leather couch but its fine. can blame jedi for THAT too)

Use the clones to kill the jedi, have my evil guy kill the seperatists, keep the army, spin into empire

GALAXY NOW UNDER MY CONTROL

chill as emperor for a while. humiliate Vader for a laugh. make death star.

Endgame achieved.

(Vader's kid blows up my death star)

PIVOT: get new young apprentice by turning him evil once he kills his dad, or maybe make Vader cooler by making him kill his gay son. either way its a win-win for me.

(thrown down hole and killed.)

PIVOT: good thing i kept those clone jars!! make new clone body to inhabit. takes time to get right. need something to do until then

build enormous fleet of big spaceships, each with their own super death star laser. keep em on the down low... why use em? they lose half the value as soon as you fly them off the lot

(clone son betrays me but its no biggie. its fine. have loads of clones at this point. whats one clone son?)

create a DECOY fascist empire. put one of my weirder clones in charge. Not giving them any of my ships though. can build his own shit. dont look at me. get a bank loan

let failed clone recruit vaders grandson (will explain why later) let those guys take over the galaxy with a different super death star. assume they built this one themselves. very cute!

GALAXY NOW UNDER MY CONTROL

(only via proxy tho. not done yet)

let(??) vaders grandson ("ben"?? ok) usurp failed clone and rule galaxy. wants to “kill the past” but whatever. can still make this work. NEED to keep this kid in the mix (will make sense when we get there)

drop the big news. Im not dead! Fortnite. awesome moment.

lead kylo ren to my base using complex scavenger hunt. puzzle knife.

tell him he’s always actually worked for me. big reveal. big moment. He's my lackey now. a little traitorous and unreliable, but this will pay off later trust me

use death star ships to take over galaxy even more

GALAXY NOW UNDER MY CONTROL

(awesome... but not enough. something missing)

let kylo ren lead clone granddaughter to home base using complex scavenger hunt. Puzzle Knife cool enough idea to do twice i think

taunt granddaughter into killing me so i can possess her un-janked body. All part of my grand scheme...

Endgame achieved. (??)

(kylo ren betrays me)

PIVOT: Possession stupid plan anyway. Instead, use ben and reys Horny Essence to make my nasty old body normal again.

throw ben in hole (grandson purpose revealed)

destroy resistance with lightning powers. shooting spaceships down with magic lightning basically a solved problem at this point.

GALAXY NOW UNDER MY CONTROL

kill the granddaughter actually. dont need her anymore. lightning powers classic for a reason.

ive got this thing in the bag as long as she doesn't bounce the lightning back at me off her fucking laser sword.

Endgame achieved.

[fairyofshampgyu]

☆ Drive you mad !

genre: racer au, smut, e2l, rivals , crack

Pairings: sub ! race car driver ! beomgyu x dom ! gn race car driver reader (afab when comes to smut)

Warnings: kinda public sex, bratty beomgyu, sub beomgyu, grinding/palming, edging, creampie, riding, hand job, degrading, sex in a car, clubbing, alcohol, hair pulling, tit sucking, use of names ‘good boy’, ‘whore’

Word count: 4.7k

The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result:

Second. Fucking. Place.

You grit your teeth, rather aggressively slamming the door shut, and getting out of the car. Yanking off your helmet, you storm over to where Kang Taehyun, your ever-calm, teammate, was leaning casually against the pit wall, sipping on his water bottle from the last round he had just raced himself. You on the other hand, are seconds away from combusting.

“Fuck him.” You seethe and grumble, arms crossed as both of your gazes switch to focus on Choi Beomgyu in the centre, soaking up the spotlight a few metres away, gesturing animatedly for the cameras with sparkling eyes, a stupid smirk and very satisifed look on his face as he tucked his helmet under one arm. He’s surrounded and swarmed by reporters with god knows how many microphones shoved in his face who hang onto his every single word like he was some goddamn deity.

He basks in it, always loved the attention. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to win every race solely for the purpose of being met with cameras and praises at the end. It’s like he got off on that shit. Attention seeker.

“What a fucking nepo baby.” You scoff and taehyun laughs, always amused for your hate towards Choi Beomgyu. But it was true, he was only here because his father was a famous legendary racer back in the day, his racing career practically gift wrapped by him at a young age. Choi Beomgyu had everything handed to him on a silver platter whilst you had to claw your way through to get where you are now. But, it seems to be that you’re the only one who has a problem with him. Everyone else adores him, the 'golden boy'.

“Oh—hehe. Stop it. Thank you! Yeah, honestly it’s all about hard work.” You hear him gush and chuckle in faux shyness and humbleness, waving his hand dismissively, eyes shaped into little crescent moons and running a hand through his long soft brown hair. “But I don’t think I’m that good personally heh.”

You can’t help how hard your eyes roll at that, muttering more insults under your breath only taehyun can hear who's certainly more than entertained. “Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. The audacity. You have half the mind of walking over there and strangling him right in front of the cameras. That surely wouldn’t end your career right? Or worse yet, put you in prison.

As the crowd around him finally disperses and fizzles out, Beomgyu confidently saunters over to you and taehyun, helmet still tucked under his arm and still grinning annoyingly.

“Oh no.” Taehyun chuckles, throwing a knowing look your way and nodding to the direction of beomgyu, “Incoming.”

“Fuck my life.” You mutter, taking a big breath in, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite fan.” Beomgyu’s grin widens as he reaches you, snickering. He ignores your scoff in return, turning to taehyun instead with a smile and clapping his back. “Hey, Tae. Drinks after this? A bunch of us are going.”

“Yeah, I’m in. Congrats on first place today by the way.” Taehyun replies giving him a bro hug. To this day, you still can’t understand how taehyun can stand him. But Beomgyu has a lot of friends, and like you said, you really are the only one who dislikes him.

“How can you even hang out with him?” You make the most disgusted face you can muster towards Beomgyu to show the pure utter hatred you feel to him.

Beomgyu practically puffs out his chest, already expecting to be backed up and stood up against by taehyun.

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.”

“Yeah, like a nasty mould.”

Beomgyu deflates, taking great offence, mouth hanging open and frowning, pouting at the both of you now laughing and high-fiving each other.

Beomgyu’s intense gaze then returns back to you. Taehyun, addressing the situation, and knowing how both your bantering can escalate, sees it’s best to leave, walking away to leave you alone with the cockroach. “Right, so as entertaining as this has been, I’m going to go now…preferably anywhere else...”

“What about you, y/n? No congratulations?” Beomgyu mocks and sighs boastfully once Taehyun has left. His voice dripping with that sickeningly playful lilt that always makes your blood boil. “No heartfelt speech on how I inspire you to be better? But hey, second place isn’t so bad.”

You narrow your eyes, standing up straight. “You won by, like,” you scoff, “a millisecond at best. Don’t get all cocky. It was just pure luck.”

He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, come on, I didn’t think you were such a sore loser. It’s called strategy.”

“Strategy?” you repeat incredulously, “The only strategy you have is relying on your last name to get you ahead.”

“God, you’re still on that? I feel like you’re just using that as an excuse to use still. Just admit I’m as good as you. Better, even. I’ve won one more race than you now~”

The two of you kept a tally of how many races you both have won, you’ve had the same exact score as him for ages now, obviously, not anymore. But you’ll win next time, just he waits.

He takes a step closer to you, waiting and expecting you to make a snarky comeback at him like you always do as you angrily stare him down and he does the same.

For a second, just one second, your eyes flicker down to his lips and suddenly, you’re brought back to an incident that occurred a few months ago. A memory you’ve tried—and failed—to forget.

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night.

⸝⸝

THE SAID AWFULLY UNLUCKY NIGHT YOU AND CHOI BEOMGYU MADE OUT:

The nightclub was packed with racers, sponsors, and fans celebrating the after party of a big end of season race, air heavy with the scent of alcohol and sweat. You nursed your drink, leaning against the bar.

Of course, Beomgyu was at the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by a group of admirers, his laughter ringing out over the music. He was never hard to spot, the centre of attention always.

"Ugh," you muttered under your breath, taking another sip of your drink.

“And you’re still staring?” Taehyun had teased, sitting beside you.

"I’m not staring.” You snapped, rolling your eyes. "I’m wondering how he manages to be so insufferable and stupid all the time."

“Sure,” Taehyun stifles a laugh, raising his glass to you. “Just don’t kill each other before the next race.”

You down the last of your drink, slamming it on the bar counter and ordering another, “Can’t promise that.”

The rest of the night is a blur to you. Too many drinks, too many spinning lights, and far too much proximity to Beomgyu.

You’re not one to get shitfaced drunk. You prefer the comfortable state of slight tipsiness and anything other than that is not fun for you, because why would someone want to be so drunk off their ass to the point of throwing up and not being aware of their surroundings? Usually, you’d chastise people like that, wondering how they can’t even manage how much they drink. But on that night, you’d had one too many to count, you were drunk, too drunk. Not the comfortable tipsiness that you’re used to.

You know that at one point, either you or Beomgyu had come up to the other and the normal bickering had ensued. You know he was just as drunk as you so whatever you both were arguing about probably made no sense at all.

What you do remember though was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club.

How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes.

He looked different that night, too. Not the usual racing suit and helmet, but a stylish black suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver necklace glinting against his skin.

All in all, beomgyu was a pretty boy. You get why he had a lot of fans.

He was still going on about something to you, slurring his words, probably insulting you, and the only logical solution to shut him up in your inebriated state at that moment, was to kiss his pouty lips. Luckily, you both were at the very corner of the nightclub shrouded in darkness, everyone else too busy dancing and whatnot to see you both.

You remember him gasping when you grabbed the collar of his black shirt, yanking him down and pressing your lips aggressively against his, but he kissed you back almost instantly, without a second thought.

You weren’t very gentle with him, pushing him forcefully against the wall even further and tugging at his necklace. The way you were making out with him was just pouring out all your anger you’ve felt towards him for years. But, he just let you. He let you do anything to him and you were surprised, so different to the cocky and confident beomgyu you knew. And that sheer control he let you have over him for once felt so good, you didn’t want to stop.

That, and the fact Choi Beomgyu was also just really good at kissing, he made it so difficult to pull away at all, lips so soft and plump and addictive, making you want more and more and more.

But, you never spoke an utterance of it afterwards, he never brought it up, neither did you. And honestly, it felt so surreal, making out with the Choi Beomgyu, the one who you no doubtedly hate his guts and him kissing you back so pliantly? You’d believe it more if it was all just a hallucination. You were so drunk you wouldn’t be surprised if you made it all up, dreamt it even. Maybe it was someone else you made out with and you were so drunk you can’t remember. It’d make more sense than Choi Beomgyu.

Although, you do find yourself thinking about the makeout session often times than not, his lips on yours just felt so good. Too good. It was like, the best makeout you’ve had in your life and you curse it for being him. Why he had to be the one whose lips you still thought about? you don’t know. You’re certain he had forgotten and you wish you could have just like he seemed to.

But anyway, fuck that and fuck him.

⸝⸝

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Beomgyu is still sneering at you, awaiting your comeback but you can’t think well at the moment.

Your face heats, and you shove past him. “Go to hell, Choi.”

And his laughter follows behind you as you walk away. Oh, how he infuriates you.

You have one goal: beat Choi Beomgyu. Today is the day you finally get to race against him again. He’d held that last victory over your head, taunting you endlessly, with that invigorating, stupid smirk of his and you’d had more than enough. Today was your chance to shut him up and kick his ass. You’ll put him in his place and win. You’d been waiting for this.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another thrilling showdown! All eyes are on the two front runners y/n and Choi Beomgyu. These rivals have been neck and neck all season. Beomgyu won the last race but will he win again? Will today decide who’s truly on top?” The commentator’s voices boom over the loudspeakers.

The flagman waves the green flag, you slam on the gas pedal and you’re off, surging forward.

It wasn’t an easy race, beomgyu seemed motivated to win too. He was always either just ahead or just behind, not far enough for it be satisfactory, but nail bitingly tense, as anything could happen any moment. And right now, ahead, just barely, was him, blocking every attempt you made to overtake him.

“Y/n’s looking for an opening,” the commentators shout. “But Beomgyu’s defensive driving is flawless so far. Look at that precision!”

Loud noises of the engines are all you can hear, filling your ears as you manoeuvre around sharp turns, tires screeching against the asphalt. The laps all blur together but you’re nearing the end now.

You managed to get alongside him on the straight, your cars almost touching, crowd going wild as you both enter the next corner side by side, dangerously close.

“Neither driving is moving an inch!”

Suddenly, beomgyu’s car swerves towards yours, bumping and hitting at yours with such force, a dirty, blatant attempt at running you off the track and then he overtakes you. You gasp, fighting to stabilise your car, narrowly avoiding a spin. That was a new low, even for Choi Beomgyu. He’d never cheated like that before and you’re absolutely enraged.

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before.

The last stretch looms ahead and he’s just razor thin ahead of you, in the last second, you see your opening. Beomgyu had oversteered slightly on the turn, just enough for you to slip past him, you speed ahead.

“AND Y/N TAKES THE WIN IN A SPECTACULAR FINISH! THEY’VE DONE IT! WHAT A RACE!”

You crossed the line first. By a hair.

Everyone erupts, but your satisfaction is short-lived. Beomgyu’s cheating had completely soured your victory. The fucking nerve of him.

You barely register the reporters swarming you, bombarding your face with microphones. “Y/n! how does it feel to take first place?!”

“An incredible performance today, what was going through your mind?!”

The post race interview is a haze of forced smiles and generic answers. You’re barely listening as the reporters barrage you with questions. You’re still so pissed off at Beomgyu.

When it’s finally over, you make your way to the garage and that’s where you spot him leaning casually against his car, arms crossed in a nonchalant way. You clench your fists, blood boiling as you storm over to him. He’d crossed the line, well, not literally this time, but definitely fucking figuratively.

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest.

He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him.

“You intentionally tried to cause a collision with me. You should have been penalised. I don’t know how you weren’t!”

“Yeah, and you still won. So why are you even mad?” He crosses his arms and shrugs, looking down at you with a contemptuous grin, ridiculing you. “If you can’t handle what happens on the race, maybe you should switch to something lighter like bumper cars instead.”

"Can’t handle?!" You splutter, looking at him in pure disbelief, your voice rising. "You arrogant, nepotistic, spoilt brat!-” Each insult punctuated with a sharp poke to his chest and, yet he still finds it all funny, bursting out into laughter at you.

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands.

And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal.

The kissing becomes heated fast, sounds of your mouths smacking filling the echoing garage as he lets you take over his mouth completely, letting you bite and pull at his bottom lip, emitting soft little gasps at this.

Even for the second time, it was disorienting seeing Beomgyu like this, nothing like the beomgyu you knew on the track or in the spotlight, and now with no alcohol in your system, neither of you could even blame whatever was going on right now on that. It’s all too intoxicating. It takes everything in you to pull back for air.

You push him against his car with more force than necessary, and Beomgyu stumbles slightly before sitting down on the top of the hood. His eyes are blown wide, flustered as you stand between his splayed legs, cupping his cheek and kissing him again, him responding immediately. This is how you like him. Your kisses trail down his jaw and the column of his neck, when you suck on his adam’s apple, he lets out a sharp intake and gasp, tilting his head back to give you more access, he already seems worked up from just a few kisses. Was his neck really that sensitive?

When your hand slides down to palm him through his trousers, his breath hitches and his jaw goes slack. “Oh…b-but we’re in public…” his cheeks flush a deep red and he protests weakly, plump lips all swollen and glossy and wet from the intense making out.

You raise a brow. “So you want me to stop?” You keep grinding your palm against his very hard length now, sucking on his neck and he shudders and whines cutely, very clearly enjoying it.

“Wait—ah—no...” So you continue, he’s panting as you palm him, rutting into your hand himself. You pull back just enough to look at him, so dumb and lost in pleasure, lips parted with soft breathy moans and gasps as he chases the small friction you give him, his brows knitting together.

You roll your eyes at the sight of him, “Trying to run me off the track? You’re pathetic, beomgyu.”

“Pathetic?” He scoffs, still having the nerve to act like a brat when it’s all crumbling. “h-hah, if anyone’s pathetic it’s you—s-shit y/n—please. I need more, please.” Completely contradicting himself, because if there was only one word to describe him exactly right now, it would be pathetic.

“Admit it. Say you’re nothing but a dirty cheater first.”

“You wish.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you like this. All hard and horny.”

He hesitates, scowling, debating whether or not to challenge you, but when you stop all contact of palming and kissing his neck, starting to step away, he caves in.

“Wait!” He blurts, grasping at your wrist, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m…fine. Fine! I’m nothing but a dirty cheater...” His face burns, embarrassed, humiliated, his pride hurt. The admission sends a thrill through you, he’s always been so full of himself, but now he’s just a needy pathetic mess for you. You’re having so much fun.

You grin. “Aw. What a good boy.” You coo sarcastically. The words have an instant effect on him though, whole body tensing and cheeks blooming into an even more impossibly vivid red and he whines, hands clutching at your hips to bring you back as he still sits pliantly on the hood of his car.

You unzip his pants, flushed pretty cock already leaking, slapping at his tummy and you brush your thumb over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there slowly, watching his reaction and he looks down at the action himself, drawing out a helpless shudder and whimper from him. He groans, eyes half lidded when you wrap your hand around his cock, moving up and down with a deliberate slowness that makes his breath hitch every few seconds and whine.

“God, you’re so easy, beomgyu. Are you this much of a whore all the time?” You murmur and tease, dragging your teeth over his cute earlobe, ears all red, feeling him shiver.

“Shut”, he whimpers cutely, “up. I-i could…ah…fuck you stupid right now.” He retaliates or attempts to, but his hands grip the edge of the hood like he’s barely holding himself upright.

You laugh. “Oh, really? Because you look pretty wrecked already.” He was so fucked out right now, you wonder if he’d even be able to take it when you actually fuck him.

He’s still trying to keep up the pretense of resistance. “I’m not wrecked. You’re—” You pump his cock at a ruthless pace, jerking him off fast, occasionally toying with the slit on the head of cock and his body goes limp under you touch, moaning out prettily and loudly, eyes squeezing shut and panting, chest heaving. He clings to you now, head buried in your neck, practically drooling, body jerking with every stroke. He still attempts to bite back at you but they come out as dumb babbles and mumbles of nonsense, mewling and gasping, completely at your mercy.

Beomgyu whines and moans deliriously. “F-fuck! Oh—need to cum. C-can’t.” He removes his head from your neck to look up at you with glossy doe eyes, so wrecked and hanging on by a thread. You move your hand up and down his dick unrelentingly and before he’s just about to cum, you pull your hand off him.

The pained, frustrated cry that escapes him is deliciously pathetic. His hips jerk into the air desperately to chase the sensation, but it’s long gone now. He looks at you in shock, eyes wide in utter betrayal and devastation, and now wet with tears of frustration. But then he frowns and scowls, annoyed he didn’t get to cum. “What the fuck was that for?” He pouts.

“I could think of a lot honestly. But, don’t you want to cum inside me?”

His jaw hangs open. “Please. Yes.” Beomgyu breathes out, nodding fervently and looking at you with puppy eyes, pupils dilating and dazed at the thought alone.

Sliding off the hood, beomgyu takes your hand like an obedient puppy, and you open the car door. He sits in his driver’s seat, his flushed face tilted up to watch you as you climb onto his lap. You rid yourself of your own clothes, watching as his gaze drops immediately to your bare tits, breath catching and lips parting as he stares, seemingly captivated. He’s so stupid.

You grab his dick and use the head to rub your clit, making him let out little stuttered gasps, sliding him over your entrance and folds a few times before you sink slowly down completely. The feeling of your warm tight pussy making him go cross eyed as he groans, sucking in air and throwing his head back, grasping at your waist, furrowing his brows and mouth in an ‘o’ shape, you beginning to ride him.

It’s so hot and cramped and sweaty in the car now as you bounce on his dick continuously, being able to hear the obscene slapping and sticky noises so loudly. Beomgyu looks in a state of absolute, pure bliss, moaning like a bitch, mind all fogged up and mushy at the feeling of your pussy, his messy damp bangs falling into his eyes so all you can see is his very glistening round lips, still in that sustained ‘o’ shape, just so dumbed and fucked out.

He’s a gorgeous wreck, thick doll-like lashes fluttering. If only everyone else could see Choi Beomgyu like this right now. It feels so empowering and satisfying after all these years of him being so infuriating. You love how, despite his attempts at being bratty, he’s so docile and such a simple whore.

You tangle your hands in his hair and tug and pull every so often, which he clearly very likes if the high and strained moans are anything to show for this. His hands squeeze at your tits when it feels too good for him. His lips latch onto one of your nipples, tongue flicking over it and sucking and kissing as he looks up at you with his big brown eyes. When you deliberately clamp your pussy tightly around him, he moans out your name in response, muffled from him still sucking your tits needily, body slightly jerking.

“You remember, don’t you?—at the club?” You ask, although it was probably obvious by now.

Beomgyu pauses for a moment, popping his wet droolly mouth off your boobs, eyes darting away for a moment before returning to look at you, nodding vigorously, “of course I remember…l-liked it.” You cup his cheek again, kissing beomgyu hard, hands still tangled in his hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he moans softly against your lips. “Oh god, m’ sso close. Can I cum?”

You nod, kissing him some more, “Cum for me, beomie.”

“Holyy s-shitt—” Beomgyu’s eyes roll to the back of his head, squeezing one of your tits as if for support, his back arches, his tongue lolling out dumbly, whole body trembling and shaking. You bring one of your hands to your clit, rubbing and riding yourself on him harder. With a choked off scream, he spills so much of his cum inside you, and the gorgeous sight brings you over the edge too, cumming as well.

He doesn’t pull out though, burying his face in your neck, gasping for air, groaning and clinging to you tightly, he’s still shuddering and you can feel little spurts of his cum still dribbling in you, pussy completely milking him.

The two of you sat in the car still afterwards in a slightly awkward silence. Both of you panting, trying to come down from your highs, left to fully take in what had just happened and also how thoughtless it was. Fucking Choi beomgyu in the garage? You’re incredibly lucky no one walked in. It wasn’t even like both of you were trying to be quiet either, none of that running through your mind at that moment. What if someone had heard?

Beomgyu, for once, was quiet, his usual smirk replaced with a dazed expression, so far gone. He leans slowly towards you though, looking as if he was about to kiss you again.

“This…this doesn’t mean anything by the way.” You mutter, beginning to button up your shirt.

Beomgyu scoffs, running a hands through his hair. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t. At all.” You roll your eyes, trying not to freak out, you open the car door, wanting more than anything to just get out. You walk away, leaving him there, disheveled and barely clothed, still slumped in the driver’s seat. And you don’t see it, but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face.

A/n: happy new year !!<3 please give this lots of love it was such a bitch to write idk why but I really struggled with this 😭 also I’m so sorry to all the racing fans if makes no sense, I just made up my own kind of racing competition thing. Also the cars do not look anything like f1 cars 😭 more kind of like the nascar ones so they can actually fuck in it 😭 idk bro. I know no nothing about cars or racing. Also I’m sorry if the smut seems rushed and messy, I haven’t edited it and I was lowkey rushing to get this out

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

[keferon]

Chapter 3 of Blurr’s storyline in Mecha AU!

Previous chapter

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers.

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Under the cut⤵️

——————————————————

It's Swindle's birthday.

He thinks it is.

He's pretty sure.

Since he was taken into the program, it's always hard to tell. It's like time flows differently here. He had a calendar, but Brawl put it somewhere a while ago and then forgot where it was. And they're not allowed to have phones yet. Though Swindle assumes Onslaught managed to steal one from someone anyway.

Shit. Where's the calendar?

Swindle remembers the date, but can't remember the month.

There's a strange static tingling sensation in the back of his head. If he turns his head too fast, it'll grow into an unpleasant pricking pain.

The last time in the lab was disgusting.

He can't remember what month it is. He's not even sure why it bothers him so much. Not that birthdays mean anything within the walls of the program.

He stops in the middle of the living room and looks around with a meticulous eye. He's already checked the beds, desk, and nightstands...hah.

“Hey have any of you seen my calendar?”

Vortex, sitting on top of the bunk bed shakes the ash off his cigarette right down into Blast Off's lap.

“Nope.”

“TEX YOU'RE LITTERING ON MY BED.”

“I could have ..torn it up” offers Brawl from across the room.

Swindle turns on his heels and angrily rests his arms at his sides.

“You tore it?”

“I might have,” Brawl scratches the back of his head.

Swindle pinches the bridge of his nose

That's fine. Not that he cares that much. Not that any celebration at all would save the crappy day.

He has some new “experimental” medical procedure scheduled for later, which generally means suffering. Or if he's lucky, some critter will attack the city and instead of squirming on the slab, he'll have to go cuddle with huge nasty beasts. Which is slightly better than the actual procedures. He'd like that to happen. If only his head would also stop buzzing....

“Happy birthday to me” Swindle thinks, sticking his Mech hand under the plates of a particularly ugly monster and pulling something disgustingly oozing green blood out of there. He can see the faces of the random gawkers who didn't have time to evacuate. Ooh, some of them got that nasty stuff on their faces. Swindle has no time to feel sorry for them.

The monster did attack, but it's entirely possible that this monster ended the last meager supply of luck Swindle had. Because somewhere. Something. In his head begins to hurt again and the world in front of his eyes begins to slowly blur and..

ahh FUCK….

The monster grabs him knocks him to the ground and Swindle can literally feel in his bones that something's wrong, but the data from his Mech doesn't give him any useful information. Which isn't that uncommon. These things are glitchy as hell and aren't designed to recognize anything but the most basic popular malfunctions.

The word “error” shines mockingly in his face. Blurring in his eyes and reflecting in red on his uniform.

Error, error, what the hell is this error. He needs to know what's wrong so he doesn't accidentally kill himself, but all this bucket offers him is oops. You're in trouble teeheee~

He can hear the sound of Blast Off's giant cannon in the distance. And the loud rumble where Vortex and Onslaught are trying to get out of the ring of monsters.

His Mech is unresponsive. His damn machine refuses to move and Swindle isn't quite sure if it's the Mech that's the problem, because his head feels like a piece of raw rotten meat and maybe the error meant that what's broken is him.

The monster leans over him, trying to rip off whatever it can rip off and thank god this thing apparently isn't smart enough to realize that the Mech is controlled from the head because it's aiming straight for his chest.

He needs to get out. If he can't get this thing to move, he needs to get the fuck out of it before the alien gets him.

He manages to open the emergency hatch and quietly slip out and ohhhh the world is spinning, this is not bloody good.

He manages to take a few steps before a loud B A N G comes from somewhere above and IS THAT A TRAIN???? Who in their right mind would think of using a fucking train as a throwing weapon???? Is that Brawl? It's got to be Brawl. Oh, Swindle is so gonna kill him.

Because (sadly) in addition to the monster, the train and Swindle, there's also physics involved in this circus.

So while the monster is effectively brought to rest and knocked sideways with a hole in it’s head, the train stops its forward motion and starts its downward motion.

Right onto Swindle's head.

He just has time to think that dying from a train falling out of the sky is a pretty creative death. His legs are shaking, his head is buzzing and he only manages to take half a sluggish step in an attempt to avoid the inevitable when a loud “MOVE” comes to his ears and something yanks him to the side.

The tug sends fire down his spine and head. The ensuing landing reverberates with pain in his shoulder and sides. He barely has time to process the first two sensations until a moment later he hears a rumble so deafening that he thinks his eardrums are about to burst.

Swindle props himself up on his elbows and hisses in pain as the movement causes the back of his head to sting.

“Ah I'll fuckin' kill him...”

A voice comes above him

“Ouw dude. You okay?”

There's.. Some teenager hovering over him. And behind him is lying...the wrecked train...right where Swindle himself was standing a second ago.

The strange teen frowns worriedly and pulls Swindle upright and drags him somewhere else

“Come on, it's best not to be in the open during monster attacks”

“Ah” thinks Swindle ”right. Without Mech you're a pathetic tiny piece of chop begging to be stomped on by Brawl.”

He tries to focus on balance so he doesn't hang too much on this kid.

They find the nearest unlocked door, which turns out to be the entrance to an underground bar.

“So” says the stranger, letting go of Swindle and shaking the dust off his hair ” You're a pilot! That's so cool, but you're kinda small for a pilot.”

Swindle sighs sullenly.

“I'll let you have that one comment about my height because you helped me, but next time you're dead.”

“Helped? I saved your ass.”

“Helped a lot” says Swindle grudgingly. “Thanks.”

The teen laughs and climbs into the bar. It's a mess everywhere, people clearly evacuated in a hurry and threw everything in haste.

“What's your name? Oh, or, wait. Do you guys use code names? I've heard pilots call each other by call signs, but half the time those call signs sound so dumb, I don't see how they can respond to that.”

He waits for the kid to cut off his flow of words to take a breath. Man, what a chatty boy.

“You can call me Swindle.”

“Kay” the kid pulls out a couple glasses ”I'm Blurr. Would you like something Swindle? I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good at mixing cocktails.”

Swindle looks around the room suspiciously. The bar, even though it's underground, looks pretty good. Too good, in fact. The place is clearly not for the poor.

He walks over to the bar and climbs onto a bar stool. There's no one else in here but them, but the electricity is on so he doesn't doubt for a second that they're being filmed by a security camera right now. Maybe a few even.

Blurr throws him an expectant look.

Swindle pretends to go through his pockets. As if there could be money in them out of nowhere. Then he makes a comically confused face and spreads his hands.

“Oh, no, I think I left my millions at home. What's the cheapest thing you have?”

Blurr snorts.

“Ice is free.”

“I'll take the ice then” nods Swindle.

There is a loud rumbling sound above them. It must be Vortex having fun again bouncing on the aliens that have fallen to the ground, crushing their heads.

Swindle is just. He takes off his helmet, takes a glass of ice and presses it to his head enjoying the way the nasty buzzing recedes.

Blurr waits for the rumbling to recede before speaking again.

“But really. You're a pilot but...uh. Are you even old enough to drink?”

Swindle sends him his best grumpy look. It's not exactly a joke about his height, but it's damn close.

“Are you old enough to pour?”

“Sure,” says Blurr too fast for it to be true. If Swindle had to guess, he'd say the guy in front of him is no older than seventeen. The tattered jeans and the T-shirt with the F1 logo printed on it definitely don't help. And, hey, those headphones look very expensive. So do the sneakers. Kid's clearly from a wealthy family.

Blurr pulls out a bottle of syrup from somewhere and pours it straight into his mouth. Doesn't miss, which is amusing. Doesn't wince, which is frankly impressive. Swindle feels the unbearable sweetness just looking at him.

It suddenly hits him

“Hey, do you have a phone?”

“Sure,” Blurr pours himself more syrup. Swindle twitches.

“What's the day today?”

Blurr's mouth is full of an unimaginable amount of sugar, so he just pulls out his phone and turns its screen toward Swindle and oh...oh. He was wrong about the date. And the month, too. It's not his birthday. His birthday was a week ago...

Does that mean he must be nineteen now? Yeah, that makes him nineteen.

Blurr takes the phone back and slips it into his pocket.

“Your face looks funny.”

“I just realized it's my birthday today,” smiles Swindle.

“Oooooooohh~~~” rejoices Blurr ”Congratulations! It's kind of poetic that you almost died just today. Can you imagine how funny the numbers on your tombstone would have looked.”

Swindle chokes on air.

“That's certainly a very appropriate comment, thank you...”

“Sorry haha said without thinking.” Blurr reaches under the counter again and pulls out a bottle from there “Hey, they have more syrups!”

There's another loud rumble from upstairs.

Blurr presses his head into his shoulders and stares up at the ceiling as if hoping to see something through it.

Swindle puts his elbows and head on the tabletop

“Don't worry, it's just Brawl.”

Blurr doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling

“ You can tell that by the sound of falling concrete?”

Swindle lazily dangles his feet. The chair is high and even the toes of his shoes don't reach the floor.

“Brawl is the loudest. And the heaviest, too. He's always crashing into everything, throwing things and breaking things too. You can hear him a mile away.”

He pauses to listen

“And that kch-ooooooooomm is Blast Off's cannon. It's some super rare experimentally advanced one, so it sounds like something out of a space movie. He couldn't stop bragging about it for half a year when he got it.”

Blurr chuckles and leans his elbows on the counter, relaxing.

“ And this...uh...what's this?”

“That's Vortex, he's our local lunatic. Best not to listen too much to what he does, it's almost always disgusting in ways you would never even consider.”

Blurr makes a disgruntled face and is silent for a couple minutes.

“It's weird hearing you call them by their names. I mean, I kind of always knew Mechs were run by people but you guys are never seen, so most of the time it's just.. Huge robots and huge monsters. You know what I mean. I was actually surprised when I saw you get out of that Mech.”

Swindle just nods. Because, what else is there to add.

“Speaking of Mechs.” continues Blurr, ”That thing's evacuation system sucks. What if you were stunned by the fall? What if something short-circuits and starts a fire???”.

Swindle just clenches the glass in his hands. Feels the cold moisture of condensation dripping down onto his fingers

“Then I'd burn.” he doesn't say

Blurr doesn't seem to notice his glum mood

“Oh, hey. If it's no secret, why did you go into piloting in the first place?”

Because he had no choice? He can't answer that, that information isn't for civilians.

Because he didn't know what he was getting into until it was too late? That's not vague enough either.

Because he was up to his neck in debt and barely into college before a smiling man showed up on his doorstep and offered him good money if he agreed to a couple tests...?

“I had to do it for the people.” Swindle decides to repeat a line of propaganda.

“Ohhhh.... That's...a good reason. The monsters are disgusting, of course. But the reason is cool.”

Swindle just. Holds his glass of melting ice, listens to Blurr's mutterings, and enjoys the peace. This random teenager is not his superior or colleague and has nothing to do with the organization at all. Swindle doesn't have to remember to salute or follow orders or fear being reported to his superiors.

He can just. Be.

Just him and his free ice and his saved for free life.

That's. Sweet.

Blurr's drinking syrup again.

...and a little disgusting.

—————————-

Brawl jumps out of bed, hits his head on a shelf hanging on the wall and drops everything on it onto Blast Off's head

“Swindle!!!” yells Brawl.

“Why are these books sticky???” shrieks Blast Off.

“You don't wanna know~” giggles Vortex.

Swindle sighs.

“You're alive!!!” ignores Blast Off Brawl's complaints. And a second later runs up and pulls Swindle off the floor in a crushing bear hug.

Behind them, Blast Off, with his face wrinkled in disgust, gathers all the dropped books back onto the shelf.

Swindle wheezes pathetically and slaps Brawl's arm with his palm, either to reciprocate the gesture or to beg for mercy

“Br...khaaaaah...Brawl I can't breathh.”

“OH. I'm uh. Here. Wait.”

Brawl puts him back on the floor and runs back to the shelf.

Onslaught, who has peeked into the room, puts a hand on Swindle's shoulder

“You've been gone a long time. Boss said you tried to escape.”

His tone isn't judgmental. And not pressuring. Not even questioning, but Swindle knows Onslaught wants more information. Swindle clutches a piece of napkin with a phone number in his pocket and smiles weakly.

“I've found a...friend? I think?”

Onslaught nods. In a manner that only he knows how to do. Not giving an opinion, not encouraging or condemning. Just taking in the information. Swindle admires him for that.

Behind them, Brawl pulls some piece of paper out from under the books that have just been put away and drops them again

“FUCK!” yells Blast Off. Vortex just starts hooting like a hyena.

“Hey Swindle I found the calendar!” yells Brawl waving the paper.

Swindle frowns in surprise.

“It's a different calendar...”

“I found you a new one.” nods Brawl.

“...Why...is it...it's torn in half?”

“It had stupid flowers drawn on it, so I ripped them off. And I accidentally ripped off more than I needed.”

“Ah,” says Swindle, clutching the calendar, ”That's...Thanks. I forgive you for losing the previous one.”

Behind them, Blast Off is trying to strangle Vortex with a jacket.

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

Blurr waves his arms happily like a hyperactive windmill.

“Swindle!!!”

Swindle smiles and adjusts his glasses

“Your party can be seen from across city.”

“I know~~” primps Blurr “Are you hungry? There was a snack table around here somewhere.”

“I didn't bring any money.” lies Swindle.

“Hey man, it's a party. Help yourself, it's free.”

“Оh.” Swindle's mood instantly brightens. “All right, then.”

“You look terrible” Blurr decides to share.

Swindle, busy shoveling food into his pockets, nods.

“I've had a rough week. Actually, it'd be cool if you didn't tell anyone you saw me here. I'm kind of not supposed to be here.”

He doesn't elaborate.

Blurr is a civilian. In his mind, a rough week is rude people or an exam or bad weather. Swindle's bad week is strap marks on his wrists and double vision. It's nausea from injections and sleepless nights because Vortex won't stop screaming in his sleep.

Blurr doesn't know that. With him, Swindle can pretend to be somewhat normal.

-----------

“Heeeeey“ says Blurr ‘I haven't seen you in a long time~"

“That” thinks Swindle ”is a pretty standard phrase for both of them.

Blurr looks older. Taller too. He was taller than Swindle before, but now that difference is starting to look almost comical. He's also flaunting a cast on his arm.

“Did you get hurt?”

“Didn't make a turn at training” waves Blurr off “It's no big deal. Wanna go find something to eat?”

Blurr is always trying to feed him, Swindle notices over time. Offers him drinks or snacks or whatever.

“ I like your uh..cap?”

“I got a promotion” Swindle smiles proudly “Me and the guys were made a special group...actually you're not allowed to know more than that, so you'll have to take my word for it when I say we are officially cool.”

He purposely adjusts his cap by the brim so Blurr can get a good look at it.

Blurr makes a delighted sound. Something between a “wow” and a giggle. He generally makes a lot of sounds all the time. Tapping his fingers on every hard surface, stomping in place like he's always late for something, laughing, whistling, clicking his tongue. A human orchestra.

__________

Onslaught sits down next to Swindle and clutches his hands in his lap in front of him. This makes the bed legs squeak pitifully. Onslaught has grown surprisingly large. He can almost rival Brawl in height already. Most people find that intimidating, but Swindle just thinks Onslaught is like a wall. A big, solid concrete wall that's so good to hide behind.

“Be careful with what you tell this guy.”

“Don't worry” says Swindle ”He's not the type of friend you tell secrets to. He's just a fun dude who's great to hang out with.”

Onslaught hums.

“And who feeds you for free.”

“If that's how you're trying to ask me to share, you're not doing a very good job.”

Vortex snaps his fingers as he walks past them

“Hey Swindler, the lab is closed for today. It's your day off.”

“Wha...”

Onslaught tilts his head.

“Vortex. What did you do?”

“I spat in their dna sample vault” proudly proclaims Vortex “and didn't tell them exactly where.”

-----———————-

Blurr frowns.

“Hey...are you okay?”

“No” thinks Swindle.

“My friend died” he says instead.

He's not okay. He feels like an animal caught in a beartrap, trying to chew off its own paw to get free.

Except the trap is closed around Swindle's head and it's not a body part he can afford to lose.

There's been a lot of talk. Even more rumors. Swindle listened but tried not to believe.

And then one of pilots, Shockwave… was taken to the lab and brought back a different damn man and it felt like Swindle had the rug pulled out from under his feet with hot coals underneath.

Because Swindle's boss, with his stupid, rehearsed smile, started writing reports about how “human personality flaws are something that can be fixed. That challenging behavior is something that can be repaired with tools.

Blurr freezes.

“Who?”

“Vortex.”

Because of course it's Vortex. Talented but difficult to handle. Powerful but uncontrollable.

They wanted a pilot who would be a beast on the battlefield and a loyal dog on base. And who else would be a more ideal test subject than him?

Vortex was being very rude that day, even by Vortex standards. Yelling and swearing and throwing things around. Kept saying that no shitty lab could make him “a fucking puppet.”

Scratching the stitches on his head until he started leaving a trail of blood behind him.

He went on a mission.

And never came back.

The reports said it was all the monsters' fault. That Vortex was unstable. That the accident had nothing to do with the new technology. But it was nevertheless suspended.

Swindle is both bitter and amused by this. Vortex would eat the same monsters for breakfast any other day. The bastard was unkillable.

“Oh my god” says Blurr “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

He says something else. Probably comforting. About how Vortex died protecting people, maybe. About Vortex being a hero.

“Vortex,” thinks Swindle, ”loved life. He loved adrenaline and danger and pain and thrill and fear, but he never wanted to die. They did something to him. Something that made him go over the edge.”

Vortex got his head in the trap and ripped it off to escape it.

Swindle knows him and the others are next. And knows that no one but themselves can help them.

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

Blast Off seems...very quiet. He could never stop complaining about Vortex before. Yelling about the garbage. Resenting the unmade bed and the cigarette ashes.

Vortex's bed remains unmade.

Blast Off regularly cleans everything up, but never wipes away the little circles of ash from the places where Vortex used to put out cigarettes on the furniture.

Onslaught puts his hand on Swindle's shoulder and squeezes. Not hard. Just enough for Swindle to register the gesture as important.

Standing nearby, Blast Off lights a cigarette and leans on Onslaught.

“Ons told me about your plan. I want to join in.”

“What kind of plan? Can I get involved?” inquires Brawl.

Onslaught sighs.

“Repeat after me - I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“I don't know, they don't tell me anything.”

“Good job” nods Onslaught “From now on, every time they ask you any - listen. Any! Question about us, you will answer them with this phrase.”

“Got it,” grins Brawl.

Swindle smiles.

“Gentlemen, it's time to violate all that is written, and rewrite all that is violated.”

__________________

Blurr lazily takes his eyes off the phone. He's wearing a racing suit and tons of hairspray. He's shiny and gleaming like a fine collectible figurine that should be on the shelf of an expensive exhibit. He's also bored.

“Sorry buddy, the interview is long over, if you have any questions you'll have to pay for the session.”

Swindle smiles.

“How about one tiny little question?”

Blurr makes funny big eyes.

“SWINDLE!!! I haven't seen you in a thousand years! You...oh I didn't recognize you haha sorry. Nice coat. You quit being a pilot?”

Swindle proudly adjusts his glasses. He's wearing a brand-new, ironed shirt that's exactly his size. Nice neat tie, expensive coat. Swindle isn't surprised Blurr didn't recognize him immediately. Sometimes he looks in the mirror and doesn't recognize himself. After all those years of wearing the pilot's uniform, he felt almost attached to it. And yet here he is.

“You could say I moved.” he winks snarkily, “Up. All the Mechs you see on the streets now are my Mechs~”

Blurr completely forgets about his phone.

“REALLY?? Oh man congrats to you!”

“Thanks” nods Swindle ”You want something to drink? I'm buying.”

———————-

Onslaught adjusts his tie. It's still, years later, a little strange to see him in a uniform instead of a pilot's suit.

“You do realize it's going to be hard to find a person like that, right? We need someone famous enough to be effective and dumb enough to want to save mankind instead of sunbathing on a yacht.”

Swindle adjusts his glasses and leans back in his chair.

Someone outgoing so they can quickly befriend all the right people. Handsome enough to have their face printed on a poster. Smart just enough not to say too much. And not associated with Mecha program so they can't be accused of trying to get promoted through their acquaintances.

Someone who already has everything but still willing to put themselves at risk for the cause.

“You know, I think I have a possible candidate.”

[thisiswhereikeepdcthings]

AU where Jason comes back to Gotham and begins his plan to confront Batman and all that. Except after only like a week the Joker gets hit by a bus and then shot by a little old lady with a shotgun and dies.

Jason’s plan is now in shambles because the dramatic climax of his plan is no longer possible. But that’s fine. He’ll think of some other suitable alternative. Granted, it’s not quite the same if he uses some other villain. Making Batman choose doesn’t mean nearly as much when it’s not about the person who killed him.

And really, is he going to try and get Batman to kill Black Mask or something? Scarecrow? Red Hood is competent; he could do it himself so why bother.

So Jason lays low continues to build his criminal empire with astounding speed and efficiency. If only he could think of a good way to announce his return. Nothing he can think of is dramatic enough.

Meanwhile, the Bats are freaking out because who is this guy that’s taken over half of the Gotham underworld in like a month? He’s obviously trained, but they just can’t seem to get any information on who he is or where he came from. It is beyond frustrating.

After a few months Jason is frustrated that he just can’t seem to find any dramatic good way of making Batman prove himself. It has to be something big! Something magnificent!

During his weekly chat with Talia he complains about his problems and she suggests he come back for a visit. He argues that he can’t just leave, but she says if he has competent enough lieutenants it’d be fine. He spends the next three weeks making sure that everything will be fine if he leaves for a week. He will not have all of his hard work falling apart and going to waste due to incompetence. Absolutely not.

So then once his lieutenants are sufficiently prepared (and the rest of Gotham’s criminal element sufficiently cowed), he heads to Nanda Parbat, only to find Ra’s on the phone with Bruce, who is demanding to know if the Red Hood has any affiliation with the league.

Oh. Oh. He can give them affiliation.

A new plan begins to form.

He’s going to be the most affiliated he can be. Jason immediately goes to Talia with his newest plan: Overthrow Ra’s and takeover the league. Talia whips out her forty step outline for overthrowing Ra’s and tells Jason she’s so proud of him.

Jason has a new goal now, so he gets to work. He checks on things in Gotham, but everything seems to be fine and there haven’t been any unplanned explosions so it should be fine if he stays here for a bit.

Taking over Gotham really was good practice, as it turns out. Thanks to Talia’s plans and previous foundational efforts the takeover happens in no time.

Meanwhile the bats are still freaking out. Red Hood hasn’t been seen in three weeks, he may or may not have league of assassins connections, and even in his absence his goons seem to be managing things competently.

Back in Nanda Parbat, Jason and Talia finish their takeover. And now, finally, he’s ready to confront Batman.

He arrives in Gotham as the new head of the league. His arrival is loud, elaborate, and dramatic enough to fulfill his inner theater kid’s dreams.

Batman is speechless. And not his usual grunts instead of words, but actual surprised speechless. Jason is alive?!?!?!?

Jason was not expecting all the tears. And hugs. And mother henning. Goodness gracious, this was not part of the plan.

Bruce is obviously struggling with Jason’s revelation that he took over the league, but the newest little birdie seems almost relieved at that(?) and Dick and Alfred both seem strangely proud. Whatever. Even Bruce seems to be at least mostly ignoring that for now.

Then someone asks him if he knows Red Hood. Jason blinks. Says that yeah, he knows Red Hood. Everyone seems to ease at that. One mystery solved. Jason quickly realizes that most of them have no idea he is Red Hood. Cass seems to be the only exception but also appears amused and willing enough to not mention it.

Dramatic appearance complete, Jason now has a new goal: see how long he can keep the bats (minus Cass and potentially Alfred) in the dark about his crime boss identity.

He will bribe Cass as much as it takes to keep her on board with the causing chaos plan, but she seems eager enough. Favorite sibling status definitely unlocked. (The whole killing thing is fought over at great length and a truce of sorts is eventually made)

David Cain is never heard from again.

Damian shows up at some point.

At least one league member has suddenly found themselves as an HR rep for Gotham criminals? They’re still not quite sure how that happened.

[megapteraurelia]

roommates!osasuna who take care of you so well when you're on your period. it takes only a slight wince from the pain, a shift of muscles to accommodate the ever-lasting ache in your back, your stomach, your thighs, maybe even just a sigh that's a tiny bit too heavy, and osamu's clocked it immediately. heating pad? water bottle? food? he's on it within a millisecond. in fact, he even keeps tabs on your water intake and threatens to hydrate you, pushing up a glass of water towards your lips his voice scolding, "you drink one glass or i pour it in yer mouth."

he's into that, you know, but you ignore it in favour of the heated look he gives you when your tongue spills out to catch any drops.

suna notices second, flopping on top of you like a weighted blanket, his cheek mushed against yours, entirely unhelpful in removing himself when your hands press against his chest, even though his warmth and the heaviness of his limbs was soothing to your body. but you'd rather die than admit it to suna rintaro, who would hold his magical body above your head or worse, make you beg for it.

and when you groan about your cramps killing you, his voice is flat when he asks, "want me to fight your uterus?"

roommates!osasuna who rub your stomach and thighs with heavy pressure; osamu's big hand gliding under your shit, his palm warm against your skin. suna massages your legs, half-asleep, barely looking but with careful weight like he knows exactly where you get tense, how to get you to arch your back when your muscles hurt so good under his fingertips. you always end up in the middle between these two: suna's typically sprawled over your legs, osamu's got an arm slung over your waist and his face buried in your neck, the soft exhale grazing your skin like a love claim.

roommates!osasuna who are so obnoxiously unbothered when you're snappy and cranky that it drives you even more insane.

when you yell at suna for breathing too loud, he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed face pissing you off even further, "do you need a nap or something in your mouth?"and you chuck a pillow at him, but over the soft fringe of the cushion, his eyes never stray from yours until you give him a definitive no. most of the time, you end up giving in, if only because you enjoy the way he gets you to pant around his fingers.

"still wanna bitch about how loud i breathe," he huffs, fingers digging into your hips, "when you're the one who's whining like crazy now?"

osamu, though, doesn't get sassy with you. he just gets up all in your face when you're grumpy, when you mumble things that suspiciously sound like you're challenging him, annoyed, snappy and his breath fans over your face, voice soft and quiet, "ya wanna fight or cuddle?"

he's down for both — holds you down until you've cried your emotions out, his big arms caging you in so you couldn't escape, not until your fists open up against his chest and hold his shirt instead of your own fingers, until you fall asleep with wet eyelashes and snot that you haven't sniffled up yet.

roommates!osasuna who circle around you, attentive and soft-handed. you were grateful at first, but now? your nerves are raw, thighs aching, your medicament only having dimmed your pain and god, they're lounging around you on the bed, offering you space, when you don't want space. yet, they kept hovering around you today, caressing your hair and then moving away before you could nuzzle into their touch. it annoys you to no ends.

a noncommittal grum escapes you and osamu reaches out with one hand, tracing soft circles on your temple in a warm massage, "still hurtin', sweetheart?"

you huff and turn around to face him, face burying in his shirt. suna stretches beside you, his hand falling in your face, and you slap it away, "am fine."

your tone's clipped, trying to sound flat, and it has suna glancing over to you from his spot, eyes sharp under heavy lids. he doesn't move, but that's the problem.

neither. of. them. do.

osamu doesn't push, his hand still carding through your hair, his thumb dragging back and forth in a soft swipe on your forehead. but suna?

suna watches you a second longer, then cocks his head, "you've been sulking for hours. so what is it?"

your jaw tightens, and you don't answer.

"just say it," he clicks his tongue, unimpressed.

"i said i'm fine."

"no, you said it like a little liar."

osamu lets out a breath, something close to a little quiet laugh, and his digits dance on your skin, down from your forehead to your jaw to your throat. the way the tip of his fingers hover softly over the rhythmic moving of your pulse has warmth seep through your skin and run along your veins.

"sweetheart," he murmurs, and dips down to brush his lips against your clothed shoulder, "i think i know."

you refuse to speak again. you can't, more like it. your throat's too tight and your cheeks too hot, hating how they manage to read you, even when you try to stay quiet on purpose.

the pillow next to your head dips and suna leans over you, his hair trying to follow gravity as it brushes your forehead. he was entirely too close and his voice was a low drawl that curls around you and under your flesh, "you always get this grumpy when you want something and won't ask for it. are you waiting for us to figure it out, or are you going to stop being a brat and finally use your words?"

you bare your teeth at him, "don't start."

"too late," he grins a little, entirely mocking, entirely annoying, and it makes you want to throw a pillow at him again, except your limbs are too heavy and your pride currently too fragile.

a soft press of fingers into your skin, "c'mon, sweetheart. ya don't hafta fight us so hard. just tell us what ya need, hm?"

biting the inside of your cheek, you scowl, stubborn to the pull in your chest. it's not that you don't want their hands on you, because you do, so very badly. but now when they look at you like they know you've been aching and they know that you want to be close and connected, want to suffocate in their presence, feel them all over you and all around you, it makes your ears burn with something that could be interpreted as embarrassment.

you almost want to say no again, if only to not have to bare yourself like that, to ignore the way they try to draw it out of you so gently. a secret folded like an origami, them pulling at the corners.

"it's not me," your voice was quiet, trying to hide the dejected tone, "you're the ones who are acting weird. you keep touching me and then act like i'm gonna fall apart."

osamu's hand stills for a second, but when he moves, it's slower and with more pressure. "we didn't wanna push ya, sweetheart."

"well, push me."

suna tilts his head, searching for his eyes and for a moment, his gaze is uncharacteristically serious, "you need more than you're willing to say, baby, yeah?"

"but that doesn't mean i don't want it," you mumble, lips pressed together.

"yeah," he says and lets himself fall next to you. his weight jostles the bed, but you pay it no mind as you face him. his hand comes up to squish your cheeks together, "but we got rules about that, remember? as much as i really would love to know the nasty shit your pretty little head gets up to, we can't read your mind."

your face heats up, the warmth blooming across your neck and chest. you don't retreat this time, though, fingers wrapping around his wrist but not to pull him away, just to touch him, to feel him and make sure he doesn't leave again. suna stills under your touch, his breath catching a little. he loves playing coy, but now — he wasn't expecting you to give in to his teasing.

osamu leans over from your other side and threads his hand through sunarin's hair. his fingers move gently, not just affection clear in the soft handling but also partly silent praise. suna's body shifts just a little, any tension in his shoulders slipping easily underneath osamu's hands.

"turn yer back to me, sweetheart."

you listen easily; osamu's hand helping your hips to turn to face suna, nose almost touching sunarin's, breathing in the air he breathes out, and when rintaro cups your mound with his hand, it's like he's holding you.

one hand of osamu's comes round to hold your belly, apply pressure right where you've been aching, his other snakes its way underneath your body to squeeze your tender chest, hand massaging the soft well with intention, thumb rubbing over your nipple slowly.

there's pressure building up in your throat and your nose itches, a pricking at your lash line from the sudden overwhelming sensation surrounding you: of hands that want to make you feel good, of bodies that engulf you like you're something precious, of soothing voices and lips that kiss the tears away, and when rintaro leans forward to slot his mouth over yours, you find it's done so with the utmost tenderness. the hand holding your face is warm, his tongue is warmer as it dips into your mouth again and again.

"you can let go, baby, turn that brain off, just let go."

something rises inside you at their touches, at the way suna's fingers slip into your shorts and rub your clit in featherlight circles, at the way osamu's hand feels around at your entrance, fingertips caressing the ring of muscle, collecting each drop that threatens to slip out to stuff it back into you, using the fluidity of your period to help him against the resistance.

his digits reach deep, slow, voice heavy against your ear as he shushes you, and sunarin's right there, swallowing your cries with his kisses like he could return your outbursts of pleasure.

when you arch against rintaro, it's a soft one. a high that hugs you, that's not like a crash, but a wave that crests and lingers, warm and weightless. your breath stutters, and it's caught between a sigh and a whisper, and they're right there with you: steady hands, grounding touch, lips brushing over your temple, another set on your throat.

"there ya go, sweetheart, calm, calm."

and they pull that out of you again and again, until you're a pliable mess between them, until osamu's easing himself into and rin's cock is trapped between your thighs, nestled against your puffy, swollen clit and your filled pussy, until they're both grinding and spill all over and inside you, too.

slick thighs, squelching noises, fullness everywhere, warmth in your belly the way osamu holds you, suna's fingers that wipe your tears, until your mouth falls open, eyes squeezed shut tight and you allow your thoughts to escape you.

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TAGLIST | @sodaneko ; @takes1 ; @sugacor3 ; @boktuoafterdark ; @classicalelephant ; @pomigranit ;