#(??????? *halfway through* what the hell tag do i use)

[textmel8r]

[ DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( tenth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , profanity , prostitution , drug and alcohol abuse , smut , allusions to hypersexuality , bisexual! toji

୨୧˚ an; okay there is seriously something wrong with my ability to tag people, certain blog names don’t come up when i search them it’s pissing me offfff SO SORRY if you’re on the tag list and you didn’t get tagged😣

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

Thunderous bangs against his apartment’s front door rouse Toji from comatose. He wakes with a sharp inhale, eyes screwing shut because the sunlight that flooded through the bars of his dusty blinds singed his retinas. There’s a beat of silence, one that makes Toji believe his guest has walked off, and he cuddles back into the sofa with solid intentions of returning to dream state, however those plans go up in flames when more aggressive knocking chimes. The man groans, fingers clawing into the scrappy throw pillow his face is currently buried into. 

“Fuck off!” Toji growls. His voice is muffled and crackling with excess exhaustion. He is so not in the mood for company right now. 

“Fushiguro cut the shit, I’m not playing with you today.” Ugh, that voice. “Open the damn door, don’t make me bust it down.”

More pounding, and the rusty hinges creak from the pressure of it. Given no other choice, Toji peels himself off his crappy little couch and sits for a moment, dragging a heavy hand down his face. There’s a half empty can of Coke perched on the coffee table, amongst a plethora of other trash, and Toji snags it. It’s lost carbonation, totally flat and lukewarm, but it satiates his thirst good enough. 

The knob twists, clinking against the lock impatiently. “Untwist your panties, I’m comin’,” He barks before muttering Jesus Christ under breath. It’s no surprise to see Shiu Kong when he draws open his door, standing erect with his arms crossed in irritation. Toji scowls, “what do you want?”

Shiu knocks shoulders to his when he grants himself entrance, much to Toji’s chagrin. “So you are alive?”

“Still kickin’, yeah.”

Shiu stands in the middle of the living room, flitting over the unkempt scene. It’s a mess, littered with crushed cans and hollowed take-out boxes and dirty laundry. Heavy glass bottles lined the floor near the sofa, some filled halfway with translucent, amberish liquid, some bone dry. “I see you been busy,” the man inquired, sarcastic as all Hell. 

Toji sighs. “Yep.”

“You should crack a window or something, man. It reeks like the inside of a flask in here.”

“I’ll do that,” no he won’t, “what do you want?”

Shiu scoffs at his gall, but Toji wants him out of his place as soon as possible. He knows why his handler has come to visit, it’s most likely a work thing. Fuck work. Fuck Shiu for barging in and interrupting his afternoon nap. Fuck his apartment for being embarrassingly filthy. 

“You’ve been ducking my calls. I don’t appreciate that.”

“Y’know, most people would take that as a sign to fuck off.”

“I’m not most people, though, am I?” He takes a seat on the couch. Toji doesn’t follow suit, choosing to stay leaned against the wall. “I’m technically your superior.”

“You think that title means jack to me?”

Shiu ignores the attitude; he’s used to taking shit from Toji for the better part of a decade now. “It should.” Silence cuts in, and he leans down to pluck one of the thick bottles off the floor by its neck. Liquor sloshes around in the constraint of glass, and Shiu holds it up to the light and skims the label. “This is cheap shit.”

Yeah, it was stupid cheap. Toji swiped it off the clearance rack at the gas station around the corner from his complex. They started tagging the alcohol, made it more difficult to steal, so he exclusively bought the least expensive liquor he could find. “Don’t gotta be smooth. Don’t gotta be much of anything, s’long as it fucks me up.” He didn’t drink rum on a Thursday at 3:42 pm for the taste. 

Shiu hums, looking oddly unnerved. Still holding the bottle, he jerks it up in a slight gesture. “What’s the occasion?” Followed by an awkward chuckle. Toji itches the base of his scalp, pushing down his bed hair. 

“Dunno.”

He was just sort of… regressing. Backsliding into the open arms of his beloved vices. Day drinking again, sloshing himself into liquor-induced unconsciousness that puts him to sleep for days. He starts hitting the casinos more frequently, tapping into poker games and betting away money he doesn’t have because the adrenaline of it all is orgasmic. Drugs have weaved themselves back into Toji’s routine as well; he’s been snorting the pricey shit that gets him numb in the face and leaves that nasty taste dripping in the back of his throat. Shit he hasn’t fucked with since his wife’s death. 

Well, he supposes he’s always been like this. Clinging onto some sort of substance to distract himself from the pain of being alive in a Zenin’s body, no matter how damaging or problematic it may be. His childhood looms over him, even as a grown man, and it’s so terribly pathetic to still be hung up on shit that happened over two decades ago. But he apologetically is. Toji is a pathetic, woeful piece of shit who is forever haunted by memories. 

Distractions. They weren’t always mutilating. Not all of them tore apart his body and soul. Sometimes, they were beautiful. 

His tongue twitches in his mouth, aching to curl around a cigarette. 

Shiu huffs, setting the bottle back down near his feet. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah,” Toji nods curtly, licking at his dry lips. “I’m straight.”

“Right,” his handler responds slowly, entirely unconvinced. “You’ve been skimping out on your assignments. It’s fucking me over, Fushiguro.”

Toji hasn’t taken up a job in nearly three months. Not since the night he left your place and walked home in the pouring rain. It was funny—he hadn’t thought it was a bluff when you threatened to call the police. No, Toji expected his apartment complex to be swarmed with officers when he returned but… nothing besides crickets. That night was seared into his frontal lobe, every motion engraved and vivid behind his eyes. Still soaked to the bone, he melted into the couch and stared up at his water-damaged ceiling for hours before slumber pulled him into its embrace. 

Toji hasn’t slept in his bed since. 

“Oh, so that’s why you came to visit. Boss is cuttin’ your pay with me gone.” Toji smiles bitterly, then juts his lower lip out in a mock pout. “Aww, that must be so hard for you, I’m sorry. You can cry about it on the ride home in your fucking Bentley.”

“Hey asshole, this isn’t just a me thing. Your slacking affects both our paychecks.” Shiu rakes a hand through his gelled do, and Toji is acutely aware of the luxury watch glinting on his wrist. “I mean, shit, where have you even been getting your cash from lately? How have you been keepin’ the lights on in this shithole?”

That last question is a mystery to Toji, as well. Truth is, he hasn’t put a penny towards rent since he came back. Eviction was inevitable, he’d ride out the days he had left and then figure out what to do when he received his week’s notice. Only that pink slip of paper never appeared taped to his door. Surely, you weren’t still covering it… Not with the way you and him ended terms so roughly… But what the fuck else could it be? Toji wanted to ask you about it; wanted to use this entire situation as an excuse to contact you, but he couldn’t muster up the courage and resolve. Talking to you again sounded so fucking sweet, but so, so fucking painful. 

Toji didn’t answer, and Shiu grimaced at his quietness. On the couch, Shiu shifted uncomfortably, leaning forward to rest his elbows over his thighs. “You’re not,” he struggles for a moment to find the words, squinted eyes drilling holes into Toji’s. “Tell me you ain’t whoring again.”

Sex was Toji’s grimiest form of escapism. He started fucking other people again. 

Mostly women, with a few men sprinkled in between. Gender was irrelevant; genitalia didn’t matter much to him in the grand scheme of things, Toji only fucked casually for the sensation of a warm body to hold onto. Vying for satisfaction with a partner, competing for release; it became a damn near nightly procedure at this point. Scouring bars in the dark hours for any willing participant, then fucking one out in the filth of the public restroom. His sweaty back against the stall, or him seated on the lid of a toilet. It was gross, he was gross. 

Again, Toji is silent, and it speaks volumes. “God, man.” Shiu holds his face, pinching his brow bone, maneuvering the muscles in his jaw. He doesn’t sound angry or annoyed, just disappointed, and it makes Toji feel unnaturally immature; like he were a child again, getting a scolding from the family’s housekeeper for accidentally knocking the vase at the center of his dining table over and shattering it on the ground. “That’s—you can’t be doing this again.”

“Yeah well I don’t exactly got the resume for a nine to five, now do I?” He was forever tainted by his past. No employer in the country would hire a man with four jail sentences, drug misdemeanors, battery charges, no education, no work experience… the list of Toji’s fuck ups could fill a dictionary front to back. 

“You cannot go back to that.” Shiu looks pale in the face. I’m making him sick to his stomach. 

“Money is money. Don’t hear you whining when you got me playing assassin for you, but God forbid I suck a coupla’ cocks for cash.” Toji pushes off the wall and stalks towards the tiny kitchenette on the far side of this cramped living space; this conversation is irritating him, he needs something to quell his cotton mouth. “Fix your morals, then we can talk.”

Shiu’s argument was mind numbingly idiotic. Comparing slaughter to sex for money, the absurdity nearly made Toji burst out laughing. Sex never killed anyone. 

He’s rooting around in the fridge. It’s practically bare, housing nothing more than a few take out boxes and some lager, but that’s alright. Toji tears a can of beer from the plastic six-pack ring, and when he pops out from the refrigerator, Shiu stands there with his hip against the small counter. “You’re self-destructing.”

The can cracks open. Beer carbonation pops and hisses. “Am I?” Toji sniggers, tossing back a swig. Shiu’s eyes flit to the beverage, nose wrinkling. Toji catches on and nods to the kitchen sink. It’s full of dirty dishes. “Faucet’s fucked. Water’s full of lead. This is the only drink in the house and I’m thirsty, so hop off.”

“You’re self-destructing,” Shiu repeats once more, not matching Toji’s humorous lilt. “I’m serious, Fushiguro. You’re off.”

“What do you want me to say to that besides fuck you?”

It grows quiet again. The air is warm and thick and rife with apprehension; it presses on Toji’s chest like a sleeping cat. “So what?” Finally, Shiu speaks. “That’s it?”

He shakes his head contentedly. “That’s it.”

“You understand this is going to be Hell for me from now on. You’re the best hired gun on my roster, the boss is gonna have my ass if you quit.” 

Toji takes a long sip of beer. “You’re tough. You can handle it.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Shiu breathes, but there’s no real malice behind his words. “If you’re really serious about quitting, then fine. Fucking fine, I’ll—” He groans, massaging his temple, “I’ll handle it. But I’m telling you, this is the best it gets for guys like us.”

The best it gets is killing men. Leaving wives widowed, leaving kids fatherless. “Can’t be.” Toji feels nauseous at the thought. “There’s gotta be more.” There has to be. It’s the only affirmation that stops him from knocking back the whole bottle of vicodin in his bathroom medicine cabinet and calling it a night. 

“This is how the world works. This is us being punished for being shitty people.” 

Toji doesn’t have anything to say to that. He refuses to acknowledge it. 

Shiu rubs at his nape, pushing off the counter. “Look, I only dropped by to get on your ass for playing hooky, wasn’t exactly expecting… all of this. But, uh,” despite their expansive acquaintanceship with one another, they never really got a hang of the whole sentimental bit. Shiu tries for a moment, mouth opening and closing a few times as the words die on his tongue, before finally settling on a long exhale through the nostrils. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks, squaring his shoulders. “Just stay safe, would ya?”

Toji salutes lazily. “Aye aye.”

Shiu ducks his head in a wide nod. “Good, good. And uh, you got my number. So use it if you need to.”

Toji can tell that Shiu is trying to dole out formalities in the most unconventional way possible, so he helps him out by chuckling. “Get the fuck outta my house already.” Then, he drains the last few ounces from his can before crushing the aluminum in his fist, tossing the litter carelessly to the floor. He’ll get it later. Or not. Probably not. 

“Yeah, okay.”

The hotel room is pitch black, not even the moonlight reaches through the window. Toji stumbles through the door first, dragging another person in by the waist. He kicks it shut with the heel of his boot. A woman—mid 20’s, pretty, about two heads shorter than Toji so he’s forced to crane his neck uncomfortably low when they kiss. Some random he found off an anonymous hookup app he downloaded, a consenting body three miles away for him to use. They coordinated a time and place—midnight at this shitty motel—which brings us to the present. 

“Wait—” She struggles to speak in between wet kisses, patting Toji's bicep. “Wh—get the lights.”

He shakes his head. “Leave them off.”

Humidity stickied the air, clinging to his skin alongside sweat. He was coming down from something—some upper he popped hours prior to this—and because of that, a thin tremble rattled in his bones gliding through marrow. It’s so hot. He’s hot everywhere. It almost hurts, the heat.  

She doesn’t put up much of an argument and takes his bruteness like a champ. Let’s him hoist her up and jerk her onto the stiff motel mattress, its blankets coughing a plume of dust into the atmosphere when their weights fell upon it. The scratchy comforter reeked of mildew and clawed back at the jagged callouses sitting in the divots of Toji’s weathered fingers when he grabbed handfuls of bedding. 

He finds himself drafting comparisons in the moment, as he often did. Comparing his present to a better time; when he wasn’t slutting himself out to strangers for a fix of warmth or money, in this case the former. Your bed—God, no not tonight, he shouldn’t be devoting another night to you—smelled of a sweet concoction; your perfume, your laundry detergent, your shampoo, just you. There was no catching or pulling at his marred hands when he clawed at your bedsheets, no, the satin was gentle on his most rough parts. 

“How do you want me?”

Toji blinked in succession, snapping back to cold reality. It was easy to lose himself in his delusions, muddying the lines between his dreamscape and actuality. Maybe the liquor finally seeped into his brain and this was neurosis’s way of knocking at the door. What a hilarious thing to think about. Toji slips a hand beneath her back and maneuvers the smaller body himself. 

“Hands and knees.” He doesn’t want to look at her face.

Neither of them had even bothered to undress—this truly lacked all semblance of intimacy. Hands reach behind herself to inch suffocating denim down past the shelf of her ass, Toji thumbs down his own waistband just past the half-mast erection he sported. Everything felt robotic, it was a wonder he could even get hard in such a lifeless domain. 

“You brought a con—” 

“Yes,” he responds pointedly, eager for the talking to cease. He didn’t care to hear the whispers of a strange woman asking about whether or not he had protection on him. Of course, he had one. It goes quiet again. In the dark, dank air Toji kneels behind a wet, willing hole and yet all he can think of is you when he stroked himself to total hardness. 

“Are you kidding me?” You gawked at him, disbelief evident in the obtuse look you gave him. He was splayed out on your kitchen tiles, ducked back beneath the sink, working at the drain pipe with a rubber-gripped wrench. His ass ached from sitting on hard floors for too long, back groaned under the pressure of being bent backwards, neck stiff and knotted thanks to the awkward tilt he was forced to wear, but seeing the awe scribbled on your face made the pain dull. “I had two handymen take a look, neither of them could find the issue. But you just knew exactly what to do.”

He had to laugh at the ridiculousness. “You’ve just got yourself a fucked supply line. Ain’t rocket science, I’ll get you right.” Toji slips out from the cupboard, looking up from the floor through pin straight bangs. Scratching a brow with his thumb nail, “you hired a couple of idiots.”

You retort in a groan, unable to thrum up a defense. “I’m the real idiot, I suppose. You think they were just trying to scam me or what?”

“Probably.” Back under the sink he goes, wedging the wrench around the circumference of the pipe. Toji’s forearm tenses with each crank of the tool, and he doesn’t stop until the bolt is fastened as tight as his strength can manage. “Doesn’t matter. I’m here.”

Though he can’t see your face at the moment, Toji hears your sheepish smile wrapping around each word. “My hero.” The sarcasm was eminent, tongue-in-cheek and you nudged his foot with your own. He kicks you back, heel to your bony ankle. “Hey!” You’re laughing now. 

“Don’t get smart.” The drain pipe is secure, and he’s satisfied with his labor. Toji pulls himself to his feet, flicking the stainless steel lever on the sink’s tap with a knuckle. Crystal clear water flows out evenly from the faucet, collecting in a puddle at the basin, swirling down the drain. “Watch, look,” Toji points with his toe to the pipe under the cabinet, and he can’t quell the lofty smirk that tugs at scarred lips when there is no leakage. A successful repair; you look astonished for lack of a better word, and it gives the man a strange swell of pride hanging in his belly. 

He did that. He was useful to you in a way he hadn’t been useful to anyone in a long while. He didn’t have to kill, didn’t have to fuck; fixing a leaky kitchen sink seemed beyond good enough for you. Foolish.

“I’m impressed.” You turn to him. “Thank you, Toji.”

You blathered on some more, speaking such things of how generous you planned on being in return. Something about money in exchange for the service, but Toji wasn’t really listening past your declaration of gratitude. It was just straightforward plumbing work of the most basic level, and yet you thanked him like he hung the stars in the sky.

“Sure. It was no problem.” And he smiled back. 

That did it. He’s stiff, cock cradled in his fist with nothing less than a bruising grip. The condom was pre-lubricated and slick with odorless oil. Toji went through the practiced motions—hooking the ringed entrance over himself, pinching the tip of the condom, rolling it down to sheath every inch. 

“Oh,” she gasped, lurching forward at the feeling of Toji’s head sliding up and down between her legs. Between her folds. She’s wet for him. Hips whined back into his groin with avidity. “Put it in.”

He slaps her with an open palm, connecting with an asscheek. She moans again and reaches back to paw at Toji’s navel with blunt nails. Free from any of that fancy acrylic stuff. 

This time around was torturously similar to every other fuck he’s had in recent date. Everything is fast-paced and unforgiving, leaving not much room for anything else. Toji fucks to forget. He fucks to remember, too. 

“Y/n,” he groans shamelessly. There’s a muffled reply, but it’s murky and muffled and unable to be understood because Toji had taken the humble liberty of holding his conquest’s face into the flat, fluffless pillow. He doesn’t care for a response, to be corrected or called a piece of shit for being so inconsiderate as to not remember her name. It was Mandy, he wants to say. Maybe Maddy? Who gives a fuck. 

“That’s rude, you know.”

Toji pouts theatrically, forcing his bottom lip out in a way that has you playfully rolling your eyes. In his hand, a bundled ball of blanket that he’d stolen from you and hoarded to his side of the sofa. “Aww, I’m sorry.”

You sigh, throwing him a scathing glance. “No, you’re not.”

Movie night, or so you said. Sitting in the lonesome of your quiet penthouse just the two of you, watching some new finance documentary that just dropped on Netflix. It sounded absurdly boring to Toji, but you’d been keen on hyping it up all week long, offering him an invitation to view it together. Really, Toji couldn’t give a shit about a bunch of old guys talking crypto-bullshit for two hours straight—but it’s not like that’s what was really going to happen anyway. Toji had convinced himself this was all a ploy to snake your way into his pants at last. Naturally, he accepted your invitation. 

“Just gonna have to sit closer then,” Toji posed gruffly, eyeing down the gap between your bodies on the couch. Sitting at opposite ends like a couple of children who still believed cooties was a prevalent issue. He nods toward you,“come on.”

“You’re terrible.” Despite that, you scoot closer, invading his bubble of personal space and snatching your half of the blanket back. Focused on the Netflix explore page, tongue poked out between two rows of teeth as you enter the title of the documentary into the search bar, you miss the way Toji observes you. Watching. Waiting. 

And waiting. 

And waiting. 

For what? Who knows. Maybe Toji prepares himself  for the inevitable moment when you slip a hand beneath the blanket and drift over to his thigh. Ready for that familiar squeeze at his crotch, the same tango so many other curious hands have danced in the past. But he’d let you proceed without any qualms. He’d encourage you. 

“You’re bored, huh?” You chuckled halfheartedly midway through the film, pressing pause. Bored didn’t even begin to describe his pure disinterest. 

Toji shrugs. “Maybe.” His arm rests on the back ledge of the couch, not quite around you, but so close that it might as well be. He shifts, touches his right thigh to your left one, and tilts his chin down. “Listening to a bunch of rich fucks whine about the stock market doesn’t exactly captivate me.”

Frowning, “that’s only surface level. The audience is supposed to infer—” Fake snoring cuts you off. Toji rolls his eyes shut, hanging his jaw to fake the most obnoxious slumber. His head lolls onto your shoulder. You don’t shy away from the physical contact. “You’re not funny.” He begs to differ, what with the way nasally snorts crack from your sinuses. The shoulder he presses his cheek to stutters with stifled dissipation.

“Stop movin’.” Toji nuzzles closer, facetiously dumping body weight against you if not for anything other than to hear the struggle squeeze at your throat when you wrestle to keep upright. “I’m comfy like this.”

“You’re never this affectionate.” 

He’s not usually. But Toji’s hellbent on his premonitions. You want him. Everyone wants him. It’s been months of banter, months of getting spoiled by financial stability. You give him everything. You take nothing. His nose caresses the junction where shoulder and neck meet. Why won’t you just let him fucking give you something? You swallow hard. “Toji.”

“I constantly feel like I owe you. Like I got dues to pay.”

“Do I… make you feel that way?”

“All the fucking time.” It swelters beneath the blanket you share, and sweat starts to collect at the creases behind Toji’s knees. Bathing in the shared body heat, letting the convection hug his hips. He sighs, backtracking. “I know you got good intentions, ‘s what you keep telling me. And I like it, the way you reassure me. It’s… reassuring.” He titters into your neck, blinking slowly. 

“Then why do you keep doing this?” A ginger hand graces the rear of his skull, not forcing him closer, but not tugging him away either. It just sits there, scritching as calm as your voice. 

“Don’t know.”

This wasn’t the first time Toji succumbed to that shrill, little whisper in his head, the one that told him to spontaneously initiate closeness. It feels like common knowledge by now; to reciprocate in kind to any form of benevolence like a trained dog, because that was the expectation of him. To get on his knees and worship until bruises hammered into his joints and the hinges of his jaw grew sore from overuse. This transaction is familiar. It brings him a twisted sense of comfort, and you ripped it away. For better or for worse, Toji had yet to conclude.

“It’s like muscle memory.” That was the best way to describe it. Toji ached to give you the pleasure that felt long overdue in this affair. To offer some sort of repayment in the only way he knew how. Lips ghost over porcelain flesh—he’s never been so tempted in his life. Sex had always been the most exhausting and emotionally depleting aspect when he dealt with these kinds of unconventional financial relationships, but now as he unfurls his candied tongue and laves a stretch from collar to jawline, Toji has never wanted to be inside of someone more. Deft fingers were quick to pull him back by the scruff.

You studied Toji with unreadable eyes. He stares back, wiping excess saliva from his fatty lower lip with a thumb. 

“I don’t want this for us,” you speak up finally, meandering eyes roaming around his facial features. You look at his lips, then his nose, then between his eyes. “Are you listening? I’ll write it on my fucking forehead if that’s what it takes for you to understand.”

“What if I want it?” Toji breathes.

You’re shaking your head. “You don’t.”

Who the fuck are you to decide what he does or doesn’t want? And how fucking dare you be right about it. Because in all this build up—the panting, the heat, the licking—Toji hadn’t so much as twitched down there. It’s like his mind and body were completely detached, separate entities trying to cohesively navigate through an avalanche of generational trauma. Trying and failing miserably. He palms himself to confirm his limp appendage. 

“Fuck.” A bucket of ice water dumped over his head, washing away the illusion of lust and leaving behind reality in its wake. What the fuck am I doing? “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” Toji doesn’t really understand what you’re apologizing for. You’ve got no need to feel sorry when he was the one who threw himself at you so abruptly. But he doesn’t ask, either. It felt eerily nice to be on the receiving end of an ‘I’m sorry.’ 

You still hold his nape. The film is long forgotten at this point, set on the backburner, and dimmed with the Are you still watching? notification blanketing the screen. 

“Your movie.” Toji cocks his head, beckoning towards the gigantic television pinned to the wall all without tearing his eyes from yours. “Press play.”

This has the beginnings of a coy smirk straining your lips. “I thought it was boring you?”

He shrugs. “It’s not so bad.”

And so you resumed the documentary, if not for anything other than to dissolve the serious tension that palpated in the air. You didn’t force Toji to explain himself, you didn’t hound him for answers about his hypersexuality. You didn’t distance yourself, you didn’t act appalled when his thigh brushed yours again. You didn’t pity him, you didn’t treat him like a child. But you did stroke his neck. You continued to laugh with him. You let him fall asleep on you that night and didn’t wake him ‘till morning. 

You let him trust.

His orgasm doesn’t have any anticipation. It crashes down on him all at once, splitting down the notches of his spine and sending bouts of electricity zapping down to his curled toes, still encased in thick, mud soaked boots. She cries below, contorting in the direction of the pleasure, but Toji holds her down while he fills the rubber.

It’s unsatisfying. 

“Oh my fuck—” The woman pants on her come down, trembling around him. She clearly enjoyed herself, giggling stupidly into the pillow now sopping with drool and tears. Toji pulls out with little grace, sneering at the viscous mess of bodily fluids slicking up his navel. Proficient fingers work the sticky condom off, tying the end in a balloon knot.

It’s gross.

He folds, dropping onto the bed beside her. Sweat glues bangs to his forehead. His chest rises, then falls, then rises again with exertion. Sleep threatens to rear itself, weighing down his eyelids.

It’s tiring.

The body beside him stirs, rolling on her side. “How was it?”

“Good,” he lies through his teeth for the sake of sparing feelings. She smiles, feeling over his chest. 

“It was good for me, too,” she tells him like he asked. “Really good. Oh, also my name’s Maria by the way, not Y/n.” Maria chuckles like it was just a silly mix up. 

She drags him into mindless, post-sex banter. Rambling on about workplace drama, about her two pet cats and about her shity landlord. Mindless rattling that falls on Toji’s deaf ears; he’s disassociated, lying face-up on the terribly hard bed, fixated on the grime weighing down his lap. When an opening arises, Toji hauls himself up and claims the shower.

An intense wave of queasiness materializes in the centerpoint of Toji’s stomach when he closes himself in behind the bathroom door. The aftermath always felt this awful—bitter and lonely and degrading. Toji takes a moment to just be, perching on the lid of the toilet with his head in his hands, swallowing down sickness lest he subject Maria to a concert of his disgusting gags if he retches into the bowl. 

When Toji stands to fiddle with the shower handle, he becomes hyper aware of the weight in his sweatpants. There’s an awkward sag in the fabric, bunching around the object that sits heavy in his front pocket. His cellphone—he never bothered to remove it. Giving a sniffle to the air, Toji fishes out the device and taps the screen with little interest.

Oh.

He looks away. Looks at the sink, then the wall, then the glass door of the shower cubicle. Then back at his screen. Back at the very real notification that sits there idly, begging to be clicked.

Toji’s heart races at a perilous speed, something lethal for an old man like himself. He can feel the beat rumble his insides, blending everything up like a bloody smoothie. 

Yielding, he clicks.

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[peachesofteal]

The Pit

COD masterlist Part 1/2 - Part 2

Ghost/Soap/female reader 6.3k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI, dub con, kidnapping, manipulative hurt/comfort, whump, the guys shave you, humiliation, forced orgasm, predator/prey, medical inaccuracies. Clothed males/naked female. The Pit by Silversun Pickups. Horror-ish. Misery inspired.

Winter in the mountains can be cruel. 

This is something you’ve always known, even as a child. You were raised with it. Chose to return to it after school, decided to make a go of it, of a life here, as an adult. You knew what you were getting yourself into, long cold winters that felt both bleak and promising, unblemished blankets of snow possessing the ability to be stunning, while also lethal. Winters were dangerous, silent killers that left corpses in their wake and no amount of lupine or paintbrushes, glacier fed lakes or springtime moose calves could make up for the hell that winter wrought. Winter brings most living things to the knife’s edge of survival, forcing most to bow beneath the weight of its fury, backs breaking with the burden of just existing in an environment that truly acts, and feels, inhospitable. 

Although, there are those who do more than survive the cold, violent stretch of winter.

There are predators who thrive. 

“You closin’?” Your coworker, the new one, asks from where she’s settled across the dark wood bar, two amber Budweiser bottles empty in front her idle hands, eyes wandering to guys posted up by the loneliest pool table in fifty square miles. 

“I am.” She casts the only window in the entire place a surreptitious glance, fingers peeling away at a label. It’s snowing, has been for hours, flakes fat and wet, fluffy enough that the density of the snow on the ground is light, but dangerous, as it hides the real risk underneath; packed snow sitting with a slick sheen of ice on top. 

“You still trying to make it over Fall River pass tonight?” You nod. 

“Yeah. Supposed to see my brother and his new place this weekend.” 

“Fall River? Is that even open right now?” Andy, a regular who lives a few streets over from you, chimes in, twisting an empty rocks glass in his fist. You pull the bottle of Jameson from the rail and tip it vertical, honey brown liquid sloshing like a wave until his glass is halfway full, and he gives you a flirty kind of smile, the same one he’s been giving you for a year now. Yeeesh.

“It is. I could go around, but it just takes too long. And it’s Friday. I’m not trying to be stuck on the highway with weekend traffic.” You complain, and they both commiserate your opinion. The traffic is brutal, especially in the winter. Driving in hazardous conditions is considered to be a talent more than an innate ability here, and people often overestimate their aptitude for it, causing crashes and delays that get the highway shut down for hours, or even days, at times. You shrug. “I’ve had my snow tires on for weeks. Might as well get some use out of them.” Andy snorts. 

“Like you haven’t been gettin’ good use out of them? First real snow was before Halloween this year.” You nod. He’s not wrong. You did get dumped on two weeks before the end of October, twenty-three inches piling up within two days, before half the area was even ready for it. You throw him a polite smile, one that you hope reads like ‘okay thanks for the concern, we’re done now’ and he sighs. “Well, drive safe.” 

Fall River pass, it turns out, is not open. It’s closed by the time you split off from the interstate and start the windy, switch-backed trek in your jeep, flashing orange and yellow lights dotting the top of a barricade just barely visible through the speckled snow flying by in your headlights. 

Fuck. You could have sworn the DOT website said it was open. You take a deep breath, quelling the anxiety that roils your stomach. Okay. Not the end of the world. There’s another road. A less maintained option, but… you’ll be fine. You’ve driven in worse. 

The other road, a sharp, narrow, desolate path that cuts through a large swath of unmanaged forest just outside the national park, is easy at first. You’ve been driving the same jeep for years, a 2007 two door Wrangler, and you know how it handles like the back of your hand. With snow tires, it could pretty much cut through anything, even unplowed, fire watch roads like this one. 

Which is why, after the first few miles, your nerves fully settle, and you allow yourself to relax a little bit behind the wheel, easing the jeep across the dips and slicks in the road as you cautiously build speed, snow falling fast through night, growing thicker the higher you travel into wilderness territory, and the farther you left modern civilization behind. 

An hour creeps by, and then two. Long enough that you’ve now realized you’re the only one using this road, fresh snow blanketing the woods around you, topography and vegetation starting to change as you encroach on what you assume must be eleven thousand feet. You’ve seen this road on google maps once, or twice maybe, having noted it for future travel just in case of a situation like this. It runs perpendicular to Fall River, and eventually meets another, one that must be similar, on the other side of the range. The secondary road is one that takes you along the ridge, and then down, you’re pretty sure, although you can’t be one hundred percent certain, because you lost cell reception before you even turned off from Fall River.

Still, won’t hurt to check and see if you have this area downloaded. 

You pull your phone from the center console, thumbing at the screen, allowing your eyes to linger too long without looking back up through the windshield. No one else is out here. It’s not like you need to worry about oncoming traffic. The little SOS insignia blinks at the top corner, and you tap on the map icon, hoping it will bring up your geo location so you can glance at the satellite image of the area. 

You’re so fixated watching the little circle of death try to load, that by the time you look up and see the tree laying across the road, it’s far too late. You do the first thing you were always taught not to do in winter conditions, and slam on the brake, shoving the pedal to floor, heart rate sky rocketing as you panic and lose total control of the jeep. You spin, shoulders and chest jamming against the seatbelt, headlights flashing off into the woods, illuminating an endlessly dark web of trees, bark and branch scratching across the paint as you careen off the road, tipping too precariously onto two wheels and then rolling. 

Time, your life, stands completely still for a moment. You see every individual fiber of the pine needles, every uniquely designed snowflake, every single droplet of blood that floats away from your face and through midair as you crash through the forest, your grasp on consciousness slipping farther and farther away, the jeep finally coming to a stop on its side, your head cracked against the driver’s window, stars and streaks spawning out across your vision, headlights finally blinking out completely, leaving you alone in the dark. Your head spins like you’re still rolling, and the only sound in the dead silent snow is your harsh breathing, frantic terror bubbling up through your throat as pain surges through your body. 

It's freezing, but you feel surprisingly warm. 

You’re going to die out here. No one knows you took this road, you don’t have service, by the time they find you, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a bled out, frozen corpse, long gone and- 

You lose your train of thought quickly. Everything starts to fracture, fissures forming in your consciousness, part of you already losing the battle to the inevitable, darkness pulling over your eyes like a knit hat, lungs heaving just a little harder with each breath. 

You could just close your eyes. Just for a moment. 

Light sweeps across the ground, flashing across your face. You think, if you were truly with it, in your right mind, you’d think it was too bright. You’d say it was blinding. 

But you can’t formulate anything of the sort, mind too busy slipping away, falling into an inky black depth, just barely on the verge when you feel a gloved hand on your skin, the lilt of an accent on the wind. 

Sleep. 

You’re drifting. Falling through a stardusted, molasses filled haze, your mind ebbs and flows with consciousness; soft and warm feelings contrasted with sharp pain that bites through your body as if it’s slowly trying to eat you, chipping away piece by piece.

There are words, voices. There are hands too, fingers walking across your skin, limbs being moved, arranged, always with pain that’s followed by a hushed whisper of apology, a confusing sentiment in the dark. Your eyes won’t open. Your mouth won’t work. Your head is stuffed with cotton, wispy strands of connections that can’t quite get there, scrounging along the walls of your skull, trying to meet in the middle. You’re drowning, sinking to the bottom of a macabre pool, the one that’s infected your synapses and kept you just inside the shelter of delirium.

You try to call for help, but you can’t.

You try to swim to the surface, but the grisly black of your mind is never ending.

You’re dying, the tiny sliver of rational thought assures. Or you’re already dead.

Despair swells, and if you could feel your face, you’d think you were crying, lost to the sweeping desolation of your pain. It steals your breathe. Your sense. Everything becomes secondary to the obliterating agony that you feel. 

Something touches your cheek. Your eyes fight to open, straining against the heaviness that weighs on them, just barely blinking wide enough to let some light in, your vision fuzzily trying to focus.

Wood beams come into view. A ceiling? Where-

You try to turn your head but an electric shock rattles through your brain, forcing you to slam your eyes shut again, world spinning on an uneven axis as something on the edge of your sight shifts. A monster. A man?

Something is said, whispered, and then everything fades away, your mind and body slipping beneath the waves of darkness.

The next time you surface, you manage to cling to consciousness long enough to take stock of your surroundings, realizing you’re tucked into a soft, warm bed almost immediately, something hot near your feet, pillows fluffed beneath you. A hand stitched quilt is spread across the top of copious other blankets and sheets, and your fingertips scratch against the fabric. Flannel.

You’re also awake long enough to truly experience the pain you’re in.

One thousand tiny knives rattle around in your skull, slicing into the soft matter of your brain, tearing you apart piece by piece, everything in you unmoored and off balance. Searing pain radiates up your leg, through your arm and wrist to your head and neck, and when your instinct urges you to try to move, your body screams in protest, the pain so intense that you cry out.

That’s when you see him.

A man steps towards you from the edge of your peripheral, and you freeze in terror.

“Shhh. We’re not goin’ hurt ye. Ye had a terrible accident. Pure luck we found ye when we did, dove. Ye would’ve died out there.” He coos in an accent, inching closer, and you manage to get a better look at him, recognition failing immediately. An accident? An accident… memories come flooding back, broken clips of the jeep spinning, rolling, the woods, the fear. Who is he? Where are you? Brilliant blue eyes look down at you with concern, handsome face tweaked into worry, furrow in his brow partially covered by the long strands of an overgrown mohawk. He’s pretty. “Can ye follow my finger?” He presents one in front of your nose, but it splits into two, and then three, just the attempt to focus enough to make your head throb, and a whimper escapes from your throat. “I know, I know.” There’s a ceramic mug in his hand, and he carefully lifts it to your lips, encouraging you as he tips it back, warm, sweet liquid washing down your throat. You can’t even move your arms to push him away, and when he seems to be satisfied, his thumb wipes the corner of your mouth. “Good love. Well done.” You feel woozy all of the sudden, maybe even a little nauseous, and you think you could be hallucinating when another man appears at the foot of the bed, handsome, but in a rugged way, watching you with honeyed brown eyes, the broadest, biggest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Those bones need setting.” He says, and the pretty one grimaces, fingertips trailing along your cheek.

“Maybe tomorrow. I’m still worried about the concussion.” His thumb cards across your brow.

“It’s been three days, Johnny. Can’t put it off too much longer.” Three days? Your brain latches onto the time. Three days of what? Since when? You’re starting to fade, trying to focus on what they’re saying but losing the battle horrendously when the blankets shift, warmth tucking down around your waist and shoulders, unable to react or even speak when they both press a kiss to your forehead, affectionate and longing touch that startles you until you’re losing the battle to sleep.

It's snowing.

You don’t have to see to know. There’s something about how it hangs in the air, how the world sounds during a snowfall that blankets everything: houses, trees, mountains… your mind.

You love the snow. Even as a child, winter was your favorite. Winter brought you a sense of calm, of peace. It’s what brought you back here, kept you here, even amidst the perils. The feeling of a forest, lying still beneath the soft spun expanse of white, the crisp smell of the air the morning of a big snow, the eternal quiet that exists in the night when everything is dampened by the weight of a million, billion, uniquely crystalized webs of frozen water.

This snow feels different. It doesn’t feel like a velvety white, candy-coated dream world; but a nightmare… one filled with pain, anxiety. Where are you? What’s happened? 

And why do you hurt so fucking bad? 

“You’re awake.” A deep voice says from your side, and you flinch on instinct, immediately wishing you hadn’t as lightning sharp pain zings through you, your voice breaking with a cry. “Easy.” He cautions, and your head stops swimming long enough for you to realize it’s the brown eyed man, the bigger one. He’s sitting in a chair that looks far too small for his width, watching you with an intensity that makes you feel exposed.

“Where… am I?” You manage to choke out through stiff lips, your head spinning and the world tilting at the same time. It sours your stomach, more than you thought possible, and you try to swallow the burn of bile that’s racing up your throat.

“Are you going to be sick?” He strokes your face, the touch nearly sweet, but confusing, and you hold your tongue, unsure. He sighs, expression shifting into disapproval, and then a frown. “Tell me.”

“N-no, I don’t-“ You can’t even finish your denial before your stomach is heaving and he’s springing into action, shifting you onto your side where a clean bucket sits right next to the bed. You wail in misery, pain shooting through your leg and arm, your ribs, bile and spit leaking from your mouth.

“It’s alright, that’s it.” A hand soothes up and down your back as you dry heave, sputtering on nothing, tears dripping to the wooden floorboards with a splash.

“Nnrgh-“

“I know, I know. Poor thing.” He coos, and it sounds… endearing, so sweet yet… frightening, like the poison of a predatory, a pretty display meant to draw you in before it snaps a set of jaws shut around your face.

Somewhere, nestled inside the last shards of your sanity, an alarm bell whistles, but the intensity of your pain quickly drowns it out, and you cry aloud.

“Hurts.” He rolls you back to your original position, arranging you like a doll. “It hurts.”

“I know it does, sweet girl, I know. We’re going to fix it.” A cloth dabs at your forehead and then down to clean your mouth, just as the man with the mohawk appears on the bed, one knee down, leaning over you, worry rife in his features.

“Poor baby. Were ye sick again?” Again? You blink up at him. What is going on? He presses a glass to your lips, urging you to drink, and then pulling it away after you’ve had a few sips with a gentle “not too much.”

“Who are you?” The water is cold, refreshing, but a ting acidic, and you wonder if it’s well water, maybe?

“I’m Johnny.” He’s setting up something beside you, organizing it, but you can’t turn your head to look, and can’t quite catch it from your peripheral. “An’ this is Simon. Or Si, but ye probably willnae be callin’ him that quite yet.” Quite yet? What? Did they find you? Did they rescue you? Why can’t you remember? 

“What happened.” You try again, gritting your teeth.

“Ye had an accident, remember? We talked about it yesterday. Ye rolled off the road, ended up nearly down the mountain, in the thick of the trees. Ye’re lucky the one didnae impale ye.” Impale?

“And you found me?” You're starting to feel tired again, all the sudden, woozy and weird, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Shouldn't you be in a hospital? Why haven't they taken you to a doctor?

“Aye, we did. Pulled ye out, brought ye home.” Home?

“You don’t have to worry.” Simon, the bigger one, tells you. “We’re going to take care of you.” Take care of who? Everything is foggy, clouded, and you try to shake your head in confusion.

“I don’t… why-“

“Storm is pretty bad. One of those, once in a lifetime types. Pass is closed.” You close your eyes. Of course. The pass is closed. You guess you’re lucky. They could have left you to die, and you could have never been found. You could have frozen to death. Bled out.

“Thank… thank you.” Johnny hums, and then you ripple in shock as he leans forward and brushes his lips against your mouth in a kiss. This… this is not normal? Are Scottish people just… more affectionate? 

“Want ye to know, if we didnae have to do this, we woudnae.” What?

“Do what?” Simon casts you a mournful glance, rising from the chair. He’s got piece of leather in his hand, like a cut from a belt, and your eyes dart between them, fear freezing solid inside your pores. Do what?

“Bite down on this, precious.” Simon instructs, placing the swatch against your bottom lip, and you jerk away in protest, pain burning through your body.

“Do what?” You try to sound strong, demanding, but it comes out a little less than timid, and he gives you a sad smile.

“Your femur is broken.” A warm hand rests on your leg, over the covers, and you try to click the pieces together. “And I suspect your radius is, too. We need to set them.”

Oh. Oh no. 

“N-no, no, you… you ca-can’t.” You stutter. They can’t. A doctor should be doing that, shouldn’t they? Johnny hovers over you, placing his palm on your belly, stroking upwards to the middle of your chest, the other holding firm across your collarbone. His touch is gentle, but strong, and his thumb rubs in a cautious motion against your skin, lightly grazing the underside of your breast. It feels weird, and wrong… intimate in a way that makes you shiver. “Please. Please, please… don’t-“

“It’s alright.” He shushes you, and the pressure increases against your body as Simon wedges a thick finger between your teeth, slipping the worn leather in your mouth, bracing around your wrist, his other hand holding your elbow. You gasp for air, adrenaline fueled by pain and fear coursing through you, and Johnny coos, telling you ye’ll be alright, that ye’re with them now, and they’ll take such good care of ye. 

“Take a deep breath.” Simon urges, and you stare at him, wide eyed, pulse thundering in your ears.

“Ye’ll probably pass out, bonnie. We’ll get the second one done while ye’re down, and I already gave ye somethin’ for the pain.” He assures, like it’s supposed to relieve you, and your nostrils flare as something tightens against your arm. Simon’s grip. 

This can’t be happening. This has to be a nightmare. How can this happen? No, nononono-

There’s a crack. A crunch. Burning, obliterating torture rockets up your arm, exploding inside you like a shot. You scream and bite down at the same time, raw misery trying to claw it’s way out of your throat. You think you’re crying, hallucinating from the pain, having a heart attack, fucking dying, all at once. It hurts, it hurts so bad, stop, please-

“We’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Simon soothes, thumb wiping your cheek, but you can hardly hear him, your brain starting to sever itself from reality, floating away as you slip inside the dark tomb of your mind, losing yourself to the fog as they both stare down at you, sickeningly saccharine concern layered overtop the faces of wolves, predators licking their maws in preparation for a meal.

You sleep and wake in a haze.

You sleep. Your dreams are torments, visions of being chased through the mountains by monsters, being pinned to the ground, teeth tearing into your throat with no preamble, or nightmares of drowning, being swallowed by the ocean, lungs sputtering with concrete laden sea water.

You wake. Your vision blurs, mind scrambled by pain, vaguely aware of being moved, carried to the bathroom, held upright over a toilet, gentle touch soothing up and down your back, heavy palm cupping curve of your skull when your head is tipped back and something is dribbled past your lips. You blink blearily with stone weighted lids, taking in the room bit by bit, the wrought iron bed frame, crackling flames sparking in a fireplace, mountain of pillows sagging with the imprint of your body. Your limbs are wrapped and unwrapped, immobilized, and shifted, and the pain is enough to make you gasp for air, tipping you over into the decaying depths of unconsciousness again and again.

You sleep. Restless, chilled. Ice spreads from the nerves in the tip of your nose to your brain, your fingers, and you try to burrow it deeper, seeking the comfort of the pillows, but finding warm skin and muscle instead. In your sleep, it’s lovely. It’s comforting. Even when you’re rolled to your side, something sticking under your tongue, you chase the heady thick heat that seems to roll off the limbs around you.

You wake. There are voices, deep and rumbling, bouncing through the room. Warm water dabbing down your neck, your belly, your legs. You’re too hot, uncomfortable and smothered until you hear a sharp pitched snarl accompanied by a yank, and then there’s a void of emptiness around you.

You sleep.

You wake. The pain starts to change, melting into something that’s consistent, throbbing, but a little less sharp, unless you move, and then it shrieks through your nerves like an electrical shock, vibrating your jaw shut.

You sleep.

You wake. They’re there. Simon is dabbing a cool washcloth across your forehead. You try to flex away on instinct, but firm hands stop you, holding you in place.

“Hey there, dove.” Johnny whispers, smiling. It’s a shy kind of smile, sweet, and the world spins. You grapple with reality, trying to remind yourself where you are, what happened. The fire snaps and pops behind Simon, who stands at his side, massive hand on his shoulder. “Made ye some breakfast. Think ye can eat somethin’?” Breakfast? A steaming bowl of oats sits cradled in his hand, spoon at the ready. Nausea roars, enflamed by the pain in your bones, and you shake your head. “Ye need to eat. Been givin’ ye soup for the past few days, but ye need more carbs.”

“I- I don’t understand.” You try to explain your confusion, hundreds of questions brewing on your tongue, trying to spill out.

“You’ve been in and out consciousness for the last week.” Simon explains, and your eyes widen.

“What?” Panic knots, twisting you up tight, heart fluttering in your chest.

“We had to sedate you. Needed to keep you still through the first part of the healing process.”

“You… you drugged me?” You stammer, and Simon smiles, but it’s not sweet like Johnny’s. It’s severe. It’s dangerous.

“Soft calluses form around fractures, after they’ve been set.” He sits down on the other side of the bed, across your hips from Johnny. “Your breaks aren’t in casts, so we needed to minimize your movement until the calluses could strengthen.”

“Ye willnae be able to walk on the leg, or lift anything with that arm, but we’ll help ye.” Johnny assures. “We’ll be here for ye, as ye get better.” The words don’t compute, and you look at both of their faces, sweeping back and forth, blue eyes to brown, brown to blue, until the only thing that you can think of blurts out of your mouth:

“Where’s my phone?” There’s a flash of discontent in Johnny’s features, but it’s quickly smoothed away, and you wonder if it even there in the first place.

“I imagine it’s somewhere near where your jeep rolled. We weren’t exactly concerned with finding it, considering we were trying to save your life.” Simon’s hands flex in the sheets, and then relax, serious look on his face, and guilt swamps you. Right. They saved your life. You could have died. And the pass is closed. Maybe this is all… as normal as it can be, given the situation. Calm down. 

Still… 

Didn’t Johnny kiss you? 

The spoon clinks against the bowl, jolting you back to the moment, eyeing the scoop of oats as it drifts closer to your mouth, lips parting on instinct.

The first bite is difficult, an insipid, unsavory lump sliding down into your stomach, toothy grin stretching across Johnny’s face as you swallow. The second bite is easier. So is the third, and you manage a few more after that until you start to feel wooly, head fuzzy and stomach sick. “I can’t.” You bleat, and he nods sympathetically.

“Alright, ye did good.” Sleep tugs, insistent again, strong surge of fog pulling at your eyes, and you yawn.

“Tired?” Simon’s already moving, hovering, patiently adjusting your pillows and lazily urging you into them. “You should rest.” You’re too weak, too miserable to argue, so you let yourself fade to black, easily falling back into the webbed slush of sleep.

You drift in and out for days after that. A bright spot of consciousness here and there before it dissipates and you fall into oblivion, and you find yourself embracing it as often as possible, trying to escape into yourself, away from wooden beams and potential predators that flank you.

You’re content to let it stay that way, hiding away behind closed lids for as long as possible, until the morning you feel the washcloth.

“Sh-sh-shhh.” Johnny hums when you garble out a distressed question, tipping a glass to your mouth. Cold liquid rushes across your tongue, and you have no choice but to swallow, confusion webbing across your thoughts. Simon has the blankets pulled away, chilled air nipping and your skin, and you moan. It’s strange, like you’re exposed, half floating like you’re high, and half spiraling through your pain.

“It’s okay, we’ve got you.” They’re repositioning you, arms and legs like a little doll, and you frown. “Jus’ need to get you clean.” Clean? The washcloth coasts across your neck and down to your chest, warm water soaking a trail down your breasts. You’re naked, fully, a hot palm against your hip, skin on skin contact registering as you blink fuzzily, watching the way Johnny focuses on you, concentration shining in his stunning blue eyes.

Water sloshes. Squeezing and dripping, and then the warm, nearly hot cloth is being pressed against you, stroking over your nipples, washing the underside of your breasts. It feels nice, and you whine a little when it pulls away. Simon chuckles.

“Do ye like that?” Johnny coos, reapplying the cloth to your belly. “Does that feel good?” Does it? Is it supposed to? Your vision doubles then realigns, and you stare at the underside of Simon’s jaw, mesmerized by the scar on his chin, the width of his neck. He readjusts you, again, slowly moving your knees apart, spreading your legs, and heat climbs through your bones to your cheeks.

You’re naked. They’re fully clothed. 

“We’re goin’ clean this up a bit.” Simon murmurs, a thick finger tracing along your slit, through the soft curls between your legs, and you balk. Clean what? How?

“My… my-“ you can’t even get the words out, too embarrassed, and he nods, sliver flash of a razor twinkling in his hand. The air in your chest sputters.

“Your hair.” Johnny works the washcloth back and forth, water dripping down your skin to the towel that’s been placed under your hips, you can only lay there in mortification when you feel yourself getting wet, tepid arousal roaring to life between your legs. “If you’re a good girl for us,” Simon continues, spraying a big glob of shaving cream into Johnny’s palm, “we’ll give you a treat afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“A treat?”  You squeak, and then whimper, Johnny’s fingers creeping down your slit, rubbing the cream across your pubis and labia, heel brushing against your clit. You make a noise of a protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Ye’re alright.” He coos, bumping against the swollen bud again, and you try to stop the moan that builds in your chest with no success, slamming your eyes shut and trying to disappear into the pillows. “It’s natural, dove. Ye dinnae need to feel embarrassed.” He leans forward, slotting his mouth against yours, lips soft and fragrant in a pillowy sweet kiss that lasts too long, his eyes blissfully closed in front of your almost crossed ones. 

“Please…” you whisper, but you’re not sure what you’re asking for, and Johnny coos at you, bending at the waist to get a better vantage point between your legs. You shake your head, eyes wide with disbelief, with fear, your mind trying to catch up, trying to rationalize what’s happening at the same time as your body is betraying you, slicking the cream that’s lathered between your thighs, clit pulsing with desperate need.

“I- I don’t want you to… shave me.” You whisper. You don’t want them to touch you… there, and the panic that’s pulsing between your ears continues to rise as your protests go unnoticed. Just saying it out loud makes you want to die of embarrassment, and Simon clucks.

“We have to take care of you, sweet girl.” Simon grips your thigh, fingers pressing into flesh, and the cool blade of the razor moves against the grain with a flick of his wrist, drawing back to a bucket for a rinse before a repeat, breath frozen in your chest as he slowly eliminates the curls of your pubic hair. “It will be easier to do that, to see what you need without all this.” He hums, the smile of a wolf coy on his face. “Stay nice and still for us.” They work in tandem, perfectly synchronized, and your unwanted arousal starts to overpower the pain that’s radiating from your broken bones. It’s been so, so long since you’ve been touched by anyone, and your body does not care that you didn’t want this, or agree to it, too eager to be satisfied, to be touched in anyway it can get, and it gets worse, more intense the longer it goes on, the precise movements of their hands, the slow and methodical approach to your cunt. “Almost done.” Simon tells you, and the side of his finger passes over your clit unintentionally, and you whine. “I know, I know. You’re bein’ so good. Such a good girl.” Your good hand is shaking, gripping the sheets, and when he finishes, Johnny wipes you down with a clean cloth, passing over your clit again and again, electric shocks sparking in your belly. You’re paralyzed, helpless, and yet… soaked. Desperate. The warring emotions tear at you, shame and fear and desire rendering you speechless.

“I think ye need some relief, dove.” Johnny hums, looking from your pussy to Simon, both of them tilting their heads to stare between your legs. “Poor thing is so swollen, Si.”

“Do you want to touch her, Johnny? Give her a reward?” Simon asks him, so sweetly, and Johnny shimmies down to be eye level with your pussy, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Half of you screams no. Half of you shouts yes.

All you can do is watch, helplessly, as they settle themselves between your legs, Simon over Johnny’s shoulder, tempering his frenzied excitement with assured patience. 

“Will ye show me how?” He’s eager, and you frown, confused.

“Johnny’s never made a girl come before,” Simon tells you gently. “You’ll be his first.” Oh my god. “Will you help him? Tell him what feels good?” Your brain melts. You don’t know what to say, mouth half open, staring at the both of them, and after a few seconds, Simon sighs like he’s exasperated with you, before ducking back down next to Johnny and murmuring softly to him, probing along your cunt, finger dipping into your hole, swirling in the wetness gathered there and then moving up to your slit. You gasp, eyes nearly rolling back in your head.

“She likes that.” Johnny groans, breath blowing over your exposed flesh, and Simon takes his hand, thumb over thumb, guiding him in small circles around your clit.

 “Nice an’ slow at first, when you’re rubbin’ her clit. Feel how hard it is?” He instructs, pressing a kiss to the side of Johnny’s head, and he nods enthusiastically, looking up at Simon with wide, puppy dog eyes, sappy and saturated with love. It’s sweet, and affectionate, like they’re the only ones in the room, in the world… and you’re intruding on a private moment between these two men and your body. Like you’re a bystander. Or a doll. It’s confusing, your brain trying to sort everything that’s happening into neat little boxes that keep overflowing or falling apart, fracturing under the weight of your helplessness, the shock and fear that’s nearly made you dizzy. “See how her little hole is clenchin’ like that? It’s ‘cause she’s empty, needs to be filled up. When she comes, she’ll get real tight.” He explains, your body enflaming in mortified heat. They’re pushing you closer and closer to an orgasm, and Simon increases the speed as your hips jolt.

“Fuck.” You hiss.

“That’s it.” Simon coaches. “Are you close, sweet girl? Gonna come for us?” You shake your head, but even if you wanted to close your legs, you couldn’t. You’re trapped, lost in a sea of wild waves that break directly over your head, one after another until you’re drowning, gasping, muscles so tight they burn, pain in your arm and leg a secondary concern behind the pressure in your belly, the zap of your clit as they drag you too easily to the bottom, before sending you breaking through the surface.

You come with a distressed moan, hips jerking, and then a raspy plea for them to stop, telling them it’s too much, you’re too sensitive, to which Simon wraps his hand around Johnny’s wrist and pulls his hand away.

“We can’t overwhelm her just yet. Gotta wait until she’s healed up, hm?” He murmurs, reaching for the cloth. You blink at the ceiling, drifting, floating away, little boxes in your mind broken up into gnarled pieces that don’t make sense.

What just happened?

You stay silent, blank, as they settle you, cloth cleaning between your legs, blankets being fussed with around your body, pillows plumped. Simon curls some of your unruly hair behind your ear, swooping down until the breadth of his body blocks out all the light in the room, lips brushing over your ear. “What a good girl you are, dove. Did so well, letting Johnny give you an orgasm. So sweet for him.” He tucks you in a little tighter, and Johnny ducks around him, kissing you gently, like you’re made of glass, thrilled smile tugging at his cheeks, unfettered joy the last thing you see before your eyes slip shut.

The next time you wake, Johnny is in bed with you. It’s dark, a flickering orange glow casting shadow across the room, and you startle at the weight of his arm stretched across your chest, cradling you close, half curled around you like a cat. You turn, face to face, his mouth slightly agape, breath blowing over your cheek. You can’t get enough leverage on one leg to slide out from under him, and when you squirm, he only tightens his grip, pinning you to the bed. You’re overheated, and when you peek over his shoulder to get a look at the fire, you see Simon instead, sitting upright in a chair, fully awake, watching you. White hot fear shocks your system, forcing your eyes down in disbelief, surprise, his chair creaking in the night. Your breath stops in your chest, and then there’s a hand smoothing over your forehead, as he leans past you to brush his lips against Johnny’s, and then rough stubble presses against your cheek with a jagged whisper.

“Sweet dreams, little dove.”

[islandofsages]

HEYY!! I love your writing from what i've read and i was wondering if i could ask for a gn reader (yuu) teaching the housewardens about like classic fandom lore- like imagine them turning into matpat to explain fnaf and undertale!! 😭😭 feel free to not do this and have a good day!! Thanks :D

characters: housewardens x gn!yuu

tags: platonic, fluff, crack kinda, imagines format

warnings: swearing

author's notes: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG also all the fandoms mentioned here are all fandoms ive been in at some point :D fun times mhm

Riddle Rosehearts

He knows you’re very passionate about fandom culture but you never really had the chance to infodump about it to him

Until one day, you drop by Heartslabyul for a leisurely visit, when you see a not-so-clearly distressed Riddle sitting in the lounge

Not-so-clearly meaning he’s holding a teacup in his hand yet not drinking it, eyes closed as if he’s holding in all his emotions

You grow worried at this sight and slide next to him on the couch where he is seated, hoping you can help alleviate some of that stress

He sees you and he allows himself a sigh, then musters up a smile for you. He greets you and you cut straight to the point - can you help him with anything?

He releases a second sigh and shakes his head, telling you he only needs some sort of distraction. He just had a long day and needs to take his mind off things

You take a second to think of things that you can distract him with – that’s when a lightbulb goes off in your head. This is a prime opportunity for you

“Okay, I’m guessing you haven’t heard of Five Nights at Freddy’s since it’s a franchise from my world and all but the lore is crazy. So it starts like this…”

He wasn’t expecting to be paying much attention to the contents of what you’re saying but sooner or later, he ends up leaning towards you with his hand cupping his chin, mouth slightly agape at the story you’re telling

This inspires you to dump even more information about the media somehow at the rate that you’re going

By the end of it, he’s completely forgotten what he was so worried about. His head is full of creepy pizzerias for kids and haunted animatronics

He ends up having some trouble sleeping that night though. He’ll get you for that later.

Leona Kingscholar

He won’t lie, your interest in fandoms is too reminiscent of Idia for him – he doesn’t admit this to you obviously, since he hasn’t had the chance to

But on one particularly boring day, you decide to skip class with him and he lets you tag along for the hell of it

In the span of three seconds, he’s already off in dreamland. Sometimes you wish you had such a skill

Since you have nothing better to do and he’s way too deep in his sleep to even care anyway, you start rambling to yourself and a slumbering Leona

“Well, I’ve been thinking a lot about Undertale lately so I need to dump it all somewhere. So basically you play as this kid…”

Little do you know halfway through his nap, he wakes up from how much you’re talking. At first, he’s annoyed by your yapping but then he grows interest in what you’re saying

He’s almost tempted to try that game for himself and almost disappointed that it’s not available in Twisted Wonderland. Emphasis on almost.

When you’re done rambling, that’s when he stretches his arms over his head and yawn, commenting how noisy you were

You shrug it off. You're used to him complaining about you yapping instead of napping alongside him

…But then he asks you to tell him more about Undertale, if there's any more information you’re keeping from him out of the kindness of your heart

You smile smugly at this and his expression seems to say “don't make me regret asking” but oh, you definitely will make him regret even being friends with you in the first place

Needless to say, regrets were not the only thing he held at the end of that day.

Azul Ashengrotto

Similar to Leona, your fixation on fandom culture reminds him too much of Idia. not that that’s necessarily a bad thing - it’s more of an observation

And he gets more than an observation when you get the chance to show him what you’re made of: useless fandom culture and gaming knowledge

Speaking of Idia, he goes to you as a last resort to ask you to help him understand whatever the hell Idia’s talking about

You don’t know too much about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture just yet but when Azul explains the premise of a certain game and its fandom, it gives you an idea

“Sounds pretty similar to Yandere Simulator. Ooh, that one has a lot of history. Let me tell you about it…”

Unfortunately for him, he ended up unlocking your geekiness instead of having you address the things he was confused with

But at least your story makes it a bit easier to understand? He’s yet to decide that really but at least it sounds like you’re taking his lack of slang knowledge into consideration

Your infodump really gripped his attention though - it’s interesting to know another side of human culture, even if it’s not the humans of Twisted Wonderland

He would nod understandingly (or at least, politely) and thank you and your geekiness

He relays your story to Idia and finds it intriguing how similar fandom culture is in both Twisted Wonderland and your world

He would invite you to Board Game Club meetings so that you can rave and find out more about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture with Idia

He’d realize that was a big mistake and he may or may not have created the nerdiest pair in the world - but you guys are his nerdiest pair in the world.

Kalim Al-Asim

He’s very curious about fandom culture - he doesn’t know too much about it nor anyone who knows a lot about it so almost all the fandom information in his head are from you

He really wants to know more!!! So of course that warrants a hangout session fabricated as a study session to get Jamil’s stamp of approval

So there you are in his room, books laid out in front of the two of you but most importantly, a laptop

You two watch about a dozen videos on Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture and as you absorb all the very-much-useful information, you sneak in tidbits from the culture of your world

“This one in particular is reminiscent of Danganronpa. Man, that one was a wild ride…”

It’s exciting to be able to talk about it with someone you trust wholeheartedly, especially Kalim, whom you know wouldn’t be so judging

He only nods in understanding at every point you made, his eyes sparkling with all the curiosity in his body

You were on your thirteenth video when you two are interrupted by a rap on the door and an unfortunately-familiar voice

So obviously you and your bestie hurriedly rush to close all the tabs on your laptop and open up something more academically-inclined

Which is obviously a…dictionary site

Jamil blinks twice at this, says nothing (but probably noting how it makes sense for you guys since you two are bumbling idiots) and walks away

If there’s any dictionary being read that day, it’d be a dictionary of fandom terminology, that’s for sure.

Vil Schoenheit

He doesn’t know too much about it - and doesn’t bother to learn much about it since he has better things to do - but since it’s you, he tries his best to be a good listener

The two of you sit down in the courtyard one day, the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves music to your ears; beauty truly is everywhere around you when you’re next to him

He’s talking about something. You’re not sure what because you’re entranced by the way his hair hangs above his eyes so elegantly. He notices this and calls you out for it

You shrug and excuse how you can’t help it - he’s like a dating simulator love interest in the real. He asks you what you mean by this. Now’s your chance to shine!

“Hmm, you know, something like Mystic Messenger? Hehe, let me tell you a bit about it…”

Unluckily for him, your “a bit” turns out to be a four-hour long ramble about the aforementioned dating simulator a little too reminiscent of Rook for his liking too

Despite his reservations, he really did enjoy hearing you talk so passionately about your interest; it’s a bonus that the topic itself is interesting

He tells you he wouldn’t mind trying out the game or at least finding out more about it though unfortunately it’s not available in Twisted Wonderland

You share his shame - until he says he’ll pitch the concept of the game to some authorities he know and perhaps make it a reality

Sorry, he’s going to what now?

You’re a little shaken. Sometimes you forget he’s a world-class model, despite his looks and mannerisms. You save your nerves for if a Twisted Wonderland version of Mystic Messenger actually ends up happening

He thanks you for enlightening him about fandom and video gaming culture. You use this as a cue to add another four hours of ranting about V’s route in the game.

Idia Shroud

You’re another victim for him to taint… or so he thought. You’re more of an ally than a victim at this point, considering how nerdy you are

He’d dump fandom lore on you and you’d reciprocate it right back. He’s genuinely so impressed with your knowledge, even if they differ by some degree due to being from different worlds

He gets more impressed when you pull up with knowledge about Twisted Wonderland’s fandom culture like damn, you really brushed up on your talking points already

Friendly rivalry aside, he really does enjoy talking about fandom culture with you and hearing about the things from your world - every story you tell adds a little color into his world

One day, the two of you are leaning on each other, on your phones because of course you are, even if you two are friends, talking still isn’t Idia’s strong suit

That’s when you blurt it out–

“Hey, wanna hear about this game called Persona? It’s a turn-based RPG and…”

Regardless of his response to your question, you ended up babbling away either way. It’s how conversations start between the two of you

You’re speaking so fast, he would have mistaken you for a rapper - or a doppelganger of himself even

Consider him entertained - he finds himself smiling by the end of your yapping and intrigued by your story

He then obviously starts to relate it to something from Twisted Wonderland, passing the listener baton to you

You don’t mind – you can stay there for hours and hours, just going back and forth with your fellow nerdy-ass friend.

Malleus Draconia

This man barely knows how to use a smartphone so you had to be a little patient with him when guiding him through the fandom culture trenches

He’s happy that you trust and cherish him enough to talk about your interests with no reservations or shame – and the feeling is mutual

On a certain weekend, the two of you are hanging out as usual. Chatting as friends would do

You don’t know why but the conversation reminded you of a certain fandom

“It’s kinda like Genshin’s community, I guess. They’re a riot, let me tell you that.”

Oh? What’s a Genshin and why is its community a riot?

You’re glad he asked – because you’ve prepared a 100-slide presentation on the history of the game and its fans

He asks you why and how did you find the time to make that. You tell him to shut up and that it doesn’t matter, he just needs to listen to you

You start and it feels like you’ll never stop – there’s just so much to say and Malleus has so much time in the world

Seeing his reactions to certain events makes you crack up and at times, you’d laugh at his shocked expressions (or sigh exhaustively, depending on the event you’re explaining)

When you finally stop, he gives you a one-man standing ovation. You blush a little at the attention and unexpected reaction but you appreciate his sentiment nonetheless. He tells you that your presentation has been very informative for him

You’re relieved to have been able to get that off your chest… and Malleus is more than ecstatic to relay the information to everyone he’s ever known. You obviously pretend that you had no involvement in his sudden investment of a game from another world.

[simon-sehs]

due (18+) pt 3

pairing: f!reader x simon ‘ghost’ riley

tags / cw: f!reader, virgin!reader, inexperienced!reader, sexually repressed!reader, smut, pining, flirting, inappropriate conduct, seduction, mind games, theft, insults, sexual tension, possessive!simon, jealous!simon, manipulative!reader, injury mention, dirty talk, virginity kink, grinding, dry humping, come marking, oral sex, pussy eating, fingering, vaginal sex, creampie

His name was Carter.

The two of you talked once or twice, struck up a decent conversation here and there, but didn’t really see each other much outside of the mess hall during meals. You at first thought of calling up your ex, Billy, but that was too obvious, and also: Fuck. That.

No, Carter would do nicely.

He was pretty: black hair, green eyes, a sweet, warm smile.

Part of you knew you should feel bad for using him to get back at Ghost, but you took solace in the fact that he was only one part of your plan. After all, it was your gracious Lieutenant who taught you not to put all your eggs in one basket when it came to strategies.

You found yourself back in the mess hall, only a couple hours later. Your sleep had been small and futile, but you found yourself refreshed regardless. Whether it was from the excitement of your budding plan, or the action you had received last night, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter.

You stood near the door, and glanced around, your eyes settling on a familiar figure. Bingo. You began walking over to him, not bothering to look for Ghost. You couldn’t, you had to be subtle, or this entire operation would crumble before it even left the ground.

Carter glanced up as you sat down across from him with a warm smile. “Hi. Mind if I join you?”

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Yeah, help yourself, Sergeant.”

You sat down with your cup of coffee, your eyes glancing at his tray of food briefly before meeting his gaze. “Been a while. How’ve you been?”

“Ah, I’m fine. Nothing really worth talking about. Dislocated my knee a week ago. You?”

Time to put on a show.

You let your face fall slightly. “I, uh… I’ve been better. Just… stressed, about stuff.”

Carter nodded sympathetically. “Understandable. I’m here to talk if needed, my husband says I’m great at listening and giving advice.”

You paused. Husband? Oh.

You quickly composed yourself. “Really? How long have you two been together? If you… don’t mind sharing…”

Carter’s face lit up. “Ah, six years, now. High school sweethearts, actually. Married for three. What about you?”

This threw a slight wrench in your plans, but this could work.

“Uhh, well… it’s… complicated…”

“Mm, well, I hope it gets un-complicated for you.”

Meanwhile, across the room…

Ghost watched the two of you have a conversation. A fascinating conversation, by the looks of it. To say he was jealous was an understatement. Hell, you hadn’t even looked at him once this whole morning. Did you even know he was there? Or was this some sort of petty revenge for what he said last night?

He took a sip of his tea, wondering if he should risk getting closer to listen to the two of you. He ultimately decided against it, content with watching…

For now.

You smiled at Carter. “Thanks, I appreciate that.” You took a drink of coffee. “I… have a weird request, actually. Feel free to say no.”

“Weird, eh? Now I got to hear it, Sarge.”

“I, uh, could really use a hug…”

Carter’s eyebrows raised. “Hmm, well, I wasn’t really expecting that, but I don’t see why not.” He paused. “You’re, uh… not going to slap a note on my back that says ‘kick me’ or anything, right?”

You let out a laugh. A good, genuine laugh that reached Ghost’s ears.

“No, no… I promise. Just a hug.”

Carter nodded and stood from his seat. Then, so did you. The both of you met halfway around the table, and embraced each other. Ghost set his mug down on his table with a little more force than intended, gaze burning a hole through the both of you.

You pulled back with a smile, and lightly squeezed Carter’s shoulder.

Ghost grit his teeth.

“Thank you, Carter. I feel a lot better, already…” You said.

“No problem.”

The both of you sat back down, and talked a bit more. You eventually excused yourself after finishing your cup of coffee.

It was time for the next order of business.

You entered an empty training room and got everything set up. When it came to throwing knives, you were alright. You could use a bit of polishing when it came to that skill, and you were thankful that that would come into play, today. Now, you just had to wait for him to show up.

There was no way in hell Ghost wouldn’t follow you in after your performance with Carter…

You picked up one of the knives and twirled it in your fingers. To get this to work, you’d have to appear just a little more incompetent than usual. You got into an… adequate stance and lazily threw the knife at the wall target. It missed the entire thing.

Alright, let’s not appear that incompetent…

You picked up another knife as you heard the door open behind you. You didn’t bother to turn and look… you didn’t need to. You adjusted your wrist and threw. Outermost circle.

“Want some help?”

You tensed slightly as Ghost’s breath hit your neck. “No, I’m good.”

He chuckled. “You sure?”

You watched as he slowly picked up three knives, pretending to examine them in his hands. He turned towards the target, and threw one. Bullseye. Another. Bullseye. Then the last. Bullseye.

You glanced away, trying to mentally beat your growing arousal to a pulp. Focus.

He turned to face you once more, eyes crinkling as he smirked beneath the mask.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, you obviously don’t need the practice, and I don’t need your help. You can go, now.” You said, knowing fully well that he wasn’t going to leave.

“Nah. Think I’ll stick around, evaluate your progress.”

Excellent…

You sighed and got into position once more. The incorrect stance. You knew better, of course, but he didn’t know that. His scrutinizing gaze along your form burned into your skin, but you proceeded to throw the knife. Outermost circle.

You picked up another, ignoring Ghost all the while. Stance. Throw… Outermost circle. You were surprised how quickly it took for him to fold.

“Your stance is wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

He huffed. “You daft? The way you’re standing, you’ll never hit the center if your stance is fucked.”

He got closer to you, putting his hands on your hips and adjusting you. His feet kicked at yours, prodding them into a different position. You bit your cheeks in an effort to not grin. Time for the next part.

Your movements were subtle, so agonizingly minuscule, as he focused on fixing your form. You slowly leaned into his touch, your back melting into his chest, and he was none the wiser.

“There. Now throw.”

You did, the knife hitting a ring closer to the center. You carefully fidgeted in his grasp, undoing his work.

Ghost groaned. “What are you doin’? You just undid your stance.”

His movements were a bit rougher as he manhandled you back into place. The perfect excuse to… accidentally… bump back against his groin. He froze, and you could hear his breath hitch. But only for a second, and then he continued his task as if nothing happened.

He jostled you forward a bit, making you ‘lose’ your balance slightly and bump back against him once more.

“Dammit, stop that.” He hissed.

“Me? You’re the one throwing me around!”

“Don’t be dramatic and stay still like a good girl.”

“Why, so you can keep ‘accidentally rubbing’ up against me?” You say, turning it around on him.

He scoffed and leaned forward, his breath hot on your ear. “You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you? Having me rutt against you like a damn dog...”

“You are a damn dog.”

“Mmm, is that so?” He lowered his head and started kissing your neck, pulling you flush against him. “Then you won’t mind if I do…”

You let out a shaky breath, trying not to smile with giddy glee. “There’s a camera in here, too.”

“No shit.” He grabbed your hips and started circling them along his—now prominent—bulge.

He then braced one of his arms along your ribs, under your breasts, to keep you locked against him, while his lips continued leaving wet kisses on your throat.

You let him grind against you for a bit, his fingers tightening around your skin as he got closer to his peak, his grunts and groans increasing. You suppressed an evil grin before sighing. “Alright, I’m getting bored.”

He huffed and puffed. “Sh-shut up, I’m getting close…”

“That’s too bad…” You pulled away, and out of his tight grip.

For a second, the intensity of his glare had you internally sweating, and wondering if he was going to attempt to continue, but he just clenched his jaw.

And stared, of course.

“Fuckin’ tease…”

“Getting déjà vu, Lieutenant? I know I am…” You walked over to the wall targets and began pulling the knives out.

“Don’t pull that, with me. I made you see stars twice last night.”

You ignored him and proceeded to put the knives away. Ghost kept glaring, sulking over his lost orgasm.

You sighed and faced him. “Well, if you want to make yourself useful, I guess we could spar.”

Ghost rolled his eyes. “I’m still recovering from your fuckup.”

“Hm, but you seemed fine manhandling me last night…”

He stared at you, weighing the options in his head. “Fine. I only need one good arm to beat your ass, anyway. But if you deliberately harm my shoulder, you will regret it.”

“Give it a rest, LT, I’m not going to hit your precious shoulder…” You crossed your arms and watched as he unzipped his jacket, and threw it at you.

You barely caught it in time and narrowed your eyes at him, trying to ignore the sight of his beefy arms in the—wow, black again, what a surprise—t-shirt he wore. You noticed the bandage on his lower forearm was now gone. You sighed and walked towards the nearest bench.

You were not expecting him to just hand you his jacket outright, but you didn’t care. If anything, he just saved you a step. How kind of him…

Your hand deftly slipped into the left pocket. The security camera wouldn’t catch this angle. Even if it did, it would be too late for Ghost to even think to check the footage later. No, by then, things would have played out as hoped. They had to.

Your fingers curled around the lighter, and you slowly pulled it out, switching it to a pocket on your leggings; the ones you specifically picked out for today. Why? Pockets with zippers. Can’t risk his precious lighter falling out during the sparring session, after all…

And then you tossed his jacket onto the bench, before joining him on the mat.

His arms were crossed. “You didn’t have to go on a damn journey to set it down, the floor would have been fine.”

“Then why throw it at me?” You raised an eyebrow.

He smirked. “Because it’s funny.”

“Right…”

“Ready to get your ass kicked?”

You sighed inwardly. You really weren’t, to be honest, but the proposition to spar was only an excuse to get him out of his damn jacket.

“Don’t get cocky, now. You’re at a disadvantage, remember?”

But it didn’t matter, he was right…

He only needed one good arm.

•••

Ding!

Your gaze left the page of your book and landed on the lit-up screen beside your thigh. You set the book in your lap and picked up the phone. One new message from ‘Ghostie’.

You opened it.

Ghostie: Hey. Have you seen my lighter?

You smirked to yourself. Damn, already? You weren’t expecting him to reach out to you about his missing lighter so soon. If anything, you thought he wouldn’t catch on to your possible involvement until one or two more days after.

You: found a lighter in the hallway earlier. what color is it?

Ghostie: Hey that’s mine. Bring it to my office ASAP.

You: tell me the color! i’m not giving anything until you confirm.

Ghostie: Red.

You: fine you can have it back

You: but in the morning

You: i’m in jamas and busy reading.

Ghostie: Bloody hell. Fine, I’ll stop by.

You chuckled to yourself and set the phone down, returning to your book. But the words blurred together as you excitedly waited for him to stop by. There was no guarantee that things would escalate tonight, but all the buildup, the planning… it would at least be another stepping stone.

A minute later, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in.” You called out.

The door opened, and there he was. He shut the door behind him and walked over to you.

“Alright, give.” He said holding out his hand.

You rolled your eyes. “Hello to you, too, Lieutenant.”

You leaned over the bed, grabbing your leggings off of the floor and unzipping the pocket, pulling the lighter out and handing it to him. “You should keep better track of your stuff, LT.”

“Quiet.” He pocketed the lighter, watching as you dropped your pants to the floor and laid back down on your bed, book still in your lap.

Then it dawned on him, just how intimate this situation… felt. Standing in the sanctity of your room, you dressed in your pajama shirt and shorts, the lamp lighting low and warm, and the candle on the nightstand filling the room with the sweet scent of vanilla.

His gaze lingered on your bare legs, up your body, to your midriff. Your shirt was slightly hiked up your stomach, but you didn’t seem to mind.

You cleared your throat. “Did you need something else?”

Was that a trick question? He needed you. Needed to rip those stupid little shorts off, stuff your virgin hole and make you come over, and over, and—

“No. What are you reading?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “A book.”

He huffed and looked away. “Not leaving until you tell me.”

“…Fine… It’s a romance novel: ‘Reverie’ by Stephanie Fenderson.”

“Yeah? What’s it about?” He found himself intrigued.

“Two nobles from rival houses start a forbidden love affair. Think… ‘Romeo and Juliet’, but raunchier… and with actual adults, of course.”

“Hmm. How raunchy?”

Perfect.

You fake a scoff. “I’m not telling you.”

“I’ll find out eventually. Rather hear it from your pretty lips.”

You meet his gaze. “Well… there’s this… one scene… They’re at the same fancy ball, and sneak off to a room to… have fun.”

You sit up on the bed, crossing your legs as you set the book on your nightstand. Ghost can’t help but notice the small opening of the shorts along your inner thigh, and his teeth clenched. It was just the tiniest of peeks, but there was no mistaking the sight of black, lacy panties. He felt his cock twitch.

“Specifics.” He says.

“Hmph. Sure. So, they’re getting busy, having a great time. Pretty standard, vanilla. But then they almost get caught. The man, Fredrick, hides underneath the woman, Constance’s, gown. It’s one of those… hoop skirt dresses, or whatever…”

You scratch your chin. “The guy who interrupted them is this important dude who wants to marry her. Fredrick gets jealous of the guy’s attempts to court her, so… he starts eating her out while she tries to be polite to her suitor, and he’s none the wiser.”

Despite the fact that the two of were intimate the night before, you still found yourself blushing as you recounted the smutty novel.

He carefully walked over to your bed and sat beside you, laying his elbows on his thighs in an effort to conceal his growing boner. “Interesting… maybe I’ll have to borrow it from you, sometime.”

“Mm, I don’t think so. Your big hands would likely ruin the spine.”

He leaned in closer. “These big hands took good care of your pussy last night. Or did you forget?”

Heat pooled in your abdomen. “I didn’t. But it doesn’t matter in the long run, I have plans beyond you…”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

You looked at him incredulously. “Huh. It sounds like you’re the one forgetting about last night. Do you not remember what I said about finding someone else?”

His blood ran cold, and his jaw clenched. “You… you wouldn’t. I told you, your virginity is mi—“

You tilted your head. “You also said to forget about the favor. That you forgive me.”

He breathed deeply. “I was being sarcastic. I didn’t expect you to be that dense…”

“Oh, well. I guess you’ll be getting sloppy seconds, Mr. ‘I’m a Patient Man’.”

The seconds ticked by in silence. You watched in his brown eyes as he went through a journey of emotions. It was so, so, satisfying. But this wasn’t even the end, or the best part, for that matter.

“Now, are you going to leave, Lieutenant? I really should get some sleep…”

You watched in real time as the last of his resolve snapped, and he seemed to come to terms with something. “…No.”

Yes…

You leaned in. “No?”

“You want a dick that badly? Fine, you greedy girl, I’ll give you one…” He seethed.

And there it is… I win.

He continued. “You’re not going to anyone else. I’m gonna fuck the very notion of that out of your daft head.”

You shook your head. “You’re not thinking clearly. You shouldn’t feel pressured into this—“

“Oh, shut up. You? Pressure me?” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve wanted this for months, and I’m not letting some stupid motherfucker get his hands on you first.”

Time for the pièce de résistance…

You gingerly placed a hand on his warm, toned thigh. “Simon…” You say softly, so sweetly. “Are you sure?”

You gasped as he pushed you back onto your bed, your head hitting the pillow.

He crawled on top of you, his breathing heavy and labored. He stared down at you, his gaze making you feel like you were trapped beneath a predator ready to make their kill. You waited for something, anything, but then realized…

He was calming himself down.

It would be easy—so easy—to just take you without mercy, without care, but he knew better. As much as you were getting on his fucking nerves, he was adamant on making sure your first time was great. No, more than great. Indescribable.

He finally chuckled, lifting his balaclava to reveal his mouth and nose.

“What’s so funny?” You asked.

“Have you ever been kissed? That sleazebag, Billy, did he ever kiss you?”

You sighed. “Yeah, unfortunately.”

“A shame. But I’m here now, we can pretend I’m your first kiss…”

“That’s not how it—mmh!”

His lips smothered yours, and you started blushing; the realization that this man had ate you out the night before, but never even gave you a proper kiss, washing over you. You probably would have laughed, if your mouth wasn’t busy.

He was a good kisser, his lips rough but plump. You felt disappointment, realizing that all the times you kissed Billy, it was nothing like this. That boy had no idea what he was doing.

Not like Ghost, and you felt yourself getting soaked.

He moaned before pulling away to gaze into your eyes. “Now, are you sure you want this?”

“Ah, now you’re being considerate?”

“Of course I am, love. Want to hear you say it, out loud.”

“You know how I feel, but fine. I want you, Simon, I need you…” You grabbed his hand and slipped it through the leg of your shorts, his fingers grazing along your wet folds, making him moan.

You made a silent prayer, hoping that your lack of experience wouldn’t shine through too much as you prepped yourself for the ultimate challenge: dirty talk.

“Feel that?” You whispered. “All for you…”

So simple, so small. But you knew it would resonate with his infatuation towards you, and the jealousy you had carefully built up from that morning. You watched him breathe deeply.

“Yes… all mine…” He continued staring into your eyes, his dark and heavy. “No one can get you wet like me… not Billy. Not that dickhead in the mess hall. Not those filthy little books you read… Me.”

“Are you getting jealous over my reading materi—ah!”

He swiped his fingers around your entrance, gathering your wetness. “You ever taste yourself, love?”

You could feel a blush forming. “I, uh… sometimes…”

He chuckled. “No need to be embarrassed…”

He pulled his fingers out of your shorts, his other hand delicately moving your chin to part your lips. Then, his wet fingers entered your mouth, and you instinctively wrapped your lips around them, letting your tongue lick and taste them.

Like before—during your experimenting—the taste was pleasant, but not overwhelming. Nothing in particular came to mind when trying to compare it to other… flavors, other than… sweet? Maybe?

You snapped out of your daze as his fingers started moving, in and out of your mouth. They were now clean of you, but it seemed he wasn’t ready to take them out just yet. So, you continued to lick, to suck.

The look in his eyes confirmed your suspicions, he was imagining something better than fingers in your warm mouth. He groaned and then took them out with a soft pop, his hands now moving to undo his jeans.

Oh, finally. Yes…

He took them off with ease, revealing basic white boxers. His shirt? Well…

Ghost must have forgotten about the state of his shoulder amidst his horniness, a hiss leaving his mouth as he attempted to lift the hem with his bad arm. You immediately sat up. “Let me…”

You expected him to push you back down, allow his stubbornness to take over…

But he didn’t.

He let you carefully begin to take the shirt off, being mindful of the bandage still present on his shoulder. You lifted it past his head, fingers clutching onto the warm fabric as you oggled his bare muscles. He grabbed the shirt from your hands and tossed it onto the floor.

“Like what you see?”

You ignored him, eye-fucking him without a sliver of shame. You grinned.

He laughed softly, gently lowering you back down, and crawling back up your body to look over you. “Oh, yeah. You do…”

You palmed him through his boxer shorts, earning a hiss and then a groan. You had wanted this since last night, knowing he had been touching himself while pleasuring you…

“Ahh, what are you doing, love?”

“Want to… uh… help you…”

He gingerly took your wrist in his hand. “Mm, next time. Yeah, next time, I’ll teach ya how to please a man properly. Me, I mean. It’s not like you’ll be sleepin’ with other men after this…”

“Is that so?” You smirked, your expression waning as he made you moan by grinding against your clothed pussy.

He ignored your bait. “Nnf, damn… I’m gonna treat you so well, sweetheart. That way, I’ll be able to punish you after for ruining my fun earlier.”

Excitement bubbled up inside you. “Heh, yeah? How?”

“Mmm… oh yeah… I think I’ll continue what I was doing earlier. Hump you like a toy, all over… You won’t be allowed to come at all.”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

“You heard me. Maybe I’ll let you finish after I’m spent, but that depends on how good you are, hmm?” He leaned in. “All the meanwhile, I’ll paint allll of you pretty in white…”

Holy shit. “Simon…” You whine.

“So needy, so fuckin’ desperate. I give you two orgasms last night and you’re already addicted. Be a good girl, and you’ll get what you want.”

You whimper and nod.

He grasped your hips and grinded you up and down his clothed bulge. “Fuck… yeah… feels better than before… soak through those shorts and my boxers, love, ruin them…”

“Unnnhh…” You lazily rutted against him, the friction feeling lovely but not enough. “Simon… I need more…”

“Poor girl, you achin’ down there?”

“Mhmm…”

He put a hand on your face, his large fingers caressing your cheek bones. “I’ll take good care of you, love. I promise.” He said softly, the weight of his words making your heart ache as well.

He slowly pulled back to take your shorts off, his grin widening as he got a proper look at your underwear. Pretty black lace, almost too small to properly cover your leaking cunt. He couldn’t help himself, gripping your hips and grinding against you once more.

He shivered. Your underwear had completely soaked through.

“Simon.” You whined once more.

He grunted in response, tentatively pulling back again to remove the lace. However, you didn’t crook your knees in time to help, making him rip the underwear in half.

“Shit, sorry, love. My bad...” He said sheepishly, and then held them up, raising an eyebrow at you. “But… seems like you won’t need them anymore. A good ‘lil keepsake for me…”

You huffed.

He didn’t spare a glance at your bare sex. Not yet. He dropped the ruined underwear. His fingers curled into your shirt and he started lifting it, his nails softly scratching along your skin. Then, he paused.

“Mm. No bra?”

“Not tonight, no. They can be uncomfortable to sleep in.” You said nonchalantly.

“Uncomfortable… hm… but you’ll wear panties that barely cover your cunt…”

Uhh…

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to care or look more into it. He shook his head and continued taking the shirt off. “Not like I’m complaining, mind you. But I do want to see the matching bra, sometime. There’s no way you don’t have one.”

You smirked. “Alright, noted.”

He threw the shirt aside and leaned back to admire your naked form. “How lovely… better than I imagined…”

His hands grasped your breasts, three of his fingers still slightly cold and moist from being in your mouth. You shivered with a moan. “So pretty, so soft… can’t wait to deflower you.”

“Technically, after last night—“

“Oh, don’t go there. I don’t care about the technicalities of last night. You’ve never been dicked down, and that’s what I’m referring to. Now, be a good girl and shush…”

Ghost leaned back again, and finally pulled his boxers off. You couldn’t hold back the moan that left your mouth at the sight of his dick, leaking with pre-come. He leaned forward again, resting his member on your clit.

“See that, pretty girl?” He slowly stroked himself against your folds. “That’s what a cock looks like.”

You had to resist the urge to face palm yourself. “Jesus, Simon, I know what a dick looks like.”

“No, you don’t know what mine looks like. Get well acquainted, you’re gonna be seeing it a lot.” He paused and peered down once more. “Aha, damn, you’re soaking your bed, love. Pretty pussy is working so hard, preparing itself just for me…”

He pulled his lower body away and inserted a finger. You moaned, he groaned. He began pumping it in and out, making your pussy sing with your slickness.

“Shit, I think… think you’re wetter than last night. Good…”

You smirked at him. “Yeah, the book I was reading is pretty spicy…”

“Shut up, or I’m burnin’ the damn thing.” He took his finger out, and you began to regret your teasing.

Before you could beg and plead your case for more, he stuffed his face against your pussy and started lapping at it.

“Gahh, Simon, not again, I want you inside—“

“Quiet,” he growled, “I know what I’m doing. Ya need to be ready for me…”

You pouted but didn’t say anything more, only opening your mouth to moan softly as he licked and sucked. But then, his finger entered you once more, and he proceeded to stimulate you with both his hand and mouth.

Oh, this is new.

You clutched the bed sheets, trying to keep still and let him do his thing, lest he chastise you again like last night.

“Tell me when you’re close…” He breathed out, inserting another finger.

“O-okay… god, Simon, ohhh…”

“Mhmm…” He mumbled, still licking and fingering you.

You noticed his whole body moving in junction with his head and fingers, and you peered downward. You saw him dragging his weeping cock along your bedsheets, the sight making you whimper and clench around his fingers.

“Simon… I’m gonna come…”

“Mm, good girl. Thank you for telling me.” He stopped all movements and pulled away.

“H-hey! What are you doing?”

“What you did to me, earlier. Sucks, doesn’t it? But don’t worry, you’ll get to come…” He leaned in and started kissing your neck. “You smell so good… you always smell good… drives me fuckin’ crazy…”

“God, Simon, please, I want to come…”

Ghost licked along your neck. “Don’t worry, love, you will. I’ll let you come around my dick, how’s that?”

“Please…”

“Good girl… such a good girl…” He cooed.

He leaned back and adjusted his position, lining himself up at your weeping sex.

“Now, I want you to hold onto me. This might hurt, sweetheart…”

You did as he requested, and that’s when he started entering you.

You winced and bit your lip, the stretch feeling a bit more painful than you anticipated. Suck it up, you’ve taken bullets...

He slowly eased his way in, your hole trying to push him out, despite it having done so much prep beforehand to welcome him with open arms. He leaned in closer and caressed a cheek.

“Relax, love. Loosen those muscles, breathe deeply… I got you.” He whispered.

His words helped alone, making you sigh with relief as you steered focus towards the new wave of arousal washing over your body. Something about the way he spoke softly just never failed to do wonders for you.

But then you realized he wasn’t moving anymore. You looked down in confusion and saw him already all the way in, to the hilt. Oh.

He also glanced down, admiring the joining of your bodies as he held your legs up, placing your ankles on his shoulders. “Fuck, look at that… what a pretty sight. Feels even better inside…”

Then, he started moving. His thrusts were slow and gentle, caring. But the sensation was still deliciously overwhelming; you could feel his cock rubbing against your soft, virgin walls, tight and pulsing around him.

“God, you don’t… understand how hard it is… to hold myself back… right now…” He grit out.

“D-don’t hold back, Simon…”

He grunted. “Don’t be saying shit like that. You’ll get it in the future, but for now, I’m keeping it simple, sweetheart.”

He held onto your thighs and squeezed hard, grounding himself as he maintained a sweet and slow pace, one that gradually increased in speed, if only by a minuscule difference. His eyes raked up and down your body, soaking in every reaction to his ministrations.

“Talk to me, lovie. Tell me how it feels…”

“Uuuuhhhn, feels… good…” You croaked out.

“Good? Just good?”

You groaned. “It feels amazing, don’t stop…”

“That right? Tell me, you still think you would have done well with someone else for your first time?”

“Uffff, mmm…”

He chuckled. “Can’t even think properly, can you? So cock-drunk…”

Then he stopped and pulled out.

“Sim—“

“On your stomach.”

You blushed, but rushed to do as he said, the side of your face hitting the pillow. He grabbed your hips and tilted them upwards, his knee pushing one of your legs open aside. “There we go…” You couldn’t see much from this angle, but the excitement in his voice was palpable.

He slowly lowered himself on top of you, his chest connecting with your back. He wasn’t squishing you, not completely, but enough to make his presence felt. Then, he entered you once more, stuffing his face into your neck.

“Mmmh… make you feel all of me… every inch of my skin… make sure you memorize it. It’s okay if you forget, though, I’ll happily remind you…” He started moving, his pace still casual and languid.

“Can’t… can’t wait to ruin you… turn you into a fuckin’ degenerate… heh, unless… you already are, and we just don’t know it, yet…”

He adjusted one of his legs, the angle of his hips making him reach deeper, and you whimper. “Ohh, god, oh…”

Ghost then sped up, reaching a faster rhythm that would satisfy you, but wouldn’t be too much.

You whimpered. “G-gonna…”

“Gonna come, baby? Good… milk my cock, wanna feel that cunt thank me for taking your virginity…”

“Jesus…” You groaned loudly, your orgasm hitting you hard; your walls clamping around him like a vice, pulsating like a heartbeat.

“Fuuuuck…” He snarled into your ear, his fist digging into your pillow, beside your head. “Want me to fill you up?”

“Y-yes, please, yes…”

“‘Attagirl. Need to make sure this pussy learns who it belongs to…”

His movements slowed but got harder, and then eventually, halted, as he reached his climax. He groaned into your neck, filling you up with his seed. “Good… girl… take it… all…”

He stayed on top of you for a minute, your muscles starting to ache. “Simon… you’re squishing me…”

“Ah. Sorry…” He rolled off of you, laying beside you and pulling you into his arms. “You alright, love?”

You started blushing, still trying to catch your breath. “I-I’m fine. It was good… really good…” You smiled.

You expected a snarky, arrogant comment like usual, but he just smiled in response. “Good. I’m glad.”

He used a hand to caress your body, slowly trailing down to your pussy. His fingers delved into your hole, coating them in his come before pulling them out and rubbing it along your slit. “Yeah… this is all mine…”

He then licked his fingers and pulled you closer with a content grunt. “Mm. You should have listened to me. I always get what I want, and I told you this would happen.”

You laughed softly, leaning into him. “Oh, Simon… you think this was all a coincidence? Did you really think… you’re the only one who can fight dirty?” You cooed.

He stared at you, eyes wide, the realization that, perhaps—he had been thinking with his dick too much—dawning on him. You weren’t sure how he’d react, but mentally prepared for the possibility that he’d be pissed for getting beaten at his own game.

But instead… he grinned.

“You… That’s my fuckin’ girl… all mine...”

[part one] [part two] [part three]

taglist: @corvusmorte @oceanicexolorer @icouldntthinkofanythingclever

[tacticaldiary]

You are so talented?? Hells bells!!! could I please request Simon Riley x Wife!Reader where Simon is “pronounced dead” for a mission and it has to seem real enough so like price shows up to your shared home and hands over dog tags? And then like months later he shows up at the house and they reunir?! Like all just very very sad and very comfort/ hurt??

please and many thanks , sugarbean

Till Death Do Us Apart

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"Love..." He finally breathes out, and she realises that she hasn't said a word in a full minute.

The single word tears a gasp out of her throat, makes her take a small step back. The rasp of his voice, the scent of him as she breathes in...

It's him.

Death itself couldn't stop him from crawling home to her.

Masterlist

Song: I, Carrion (Hozier)

It's funny how fragile the illusion of safety and content is.

Her life had seemed so unshakable, so sure and sturdy and promised. She'd fought for what she had with her husband, made a home with him, gone through years and bumps and ups and downs all because the chance of having him was better than giving up without ever having tried.

Truth be told, she'd never really liked the silence of their home when she was the only one living in it. Simon had asked her a couple times if she got lonely, whether it was too much. He'd asked her about it pretty much every time he packed up and left for a mission halfway across the world. Brows furrowed and voice lilted in concern late at night with his arms around her.

He's met with her smile and a reassurance that the silence was worth his arrival back home. Distance makes the heart go fonder, doesn't it?

And so Simon took it in stride, let the knowledge settle the creep of doubt in his heart beacuse this? Them?

It was more than he'd ever hoped for himself.

Never did he think he'd be the reason someone smiled at him like she did, not once did he consider himself one to want something so cliche as a home until she came around with her warmth and promises of unshakable devotion.

And God had he tried to shake her off. His indifference had only fuelled her determination to worm her way under the cracks of his armour. Once she'd reached inside and pulled out a part of himself he'd long thought was killed by 'Ghost', Simon had found himself letting go of his carefully crafted distance and crumbling under her hands. The best decision of his life.

It's why his breathing is ever so ragged as he watches Price console his hysterical wife from afar, a pair of bloody dog tags with his name engraved in them clutched in her shaking hand.

Simon Riley. Deceased.

If he didn't feel like his world was off kilter he might have made a joke about how it's the second time.

Simon barely manages to hold himself back from running to her, to their home, their bed. It's his instinct to protect, and right now seeing Price let her clutch onto him in grief, everything in Simon is telling him to go, to run and hold her, console her, assure her that he hasn't broken his promise of coming home to her.

It had been a vow whispered against her lips in the dead of night after she'd aired out her fear under the light of the moon. The fear of losing him. Of opening the door to Price instead of him.

Just a few months, he repeats in his head over and over again, because it's the only thing keeping his legs from moving. Just a few months and he can fix this, go back to how everything was. He feels like a jackass, making her go through this, but there was no other option.

And fuck if he hadn't tried to argue.

Death itself couldn't stop him from crawling home to her.

But his line of work could.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

Four months and it still feels like yesterday.

Nothing felt...right anymore.

She felt guilty sitting at the kitchen table where the use to eat together, the sheets on their...her. On her bed had long since lost the subtle scent of him. The living room where she'd curl up in his lap, snicker at him complaining about her choice of movie even when the bastard was just as enraptured and into it and she was.

Everything felt off.

She sets down the half eaten plate of food in the fridge and swallows down the lingering emotion.

When she'd opened the door that day, she very nearly slammed it back shut.

It seemed surreal. Her Simon, her untouchable husband gone in the line of fire. An accident, Price had phrased it as.

She missed him so much it fucking hurt.

Taking a deep breath, she grabs the shopping list she'd scrawled last week onto the fridge and tucks it in her pocket. The dog tags clink against each other around her neck, tucked into her sweater as she moves.

It had taken weeks for her to even look at them.

The doorbell cuts the search for her car keys short.

It's been a while since she's seen anybody, really. Her friends come over every now and then to keep her company, bring her homemade foods and gifts to cheer her up and it does work, but only for a few hours. She appreciates it, she really does, but the small periods of relief are only followed by the guilt of trying to forget and the pain of remembering all over again.

She'd tell them to come back later, she decides. Today was worse a day than usual and she's not in the mood-

Simon.

Simon...?

Her knuckles pale with the grip she has on the doorknob, it's all she can do to stare up at the figure that she only held in her dreams nowadays.

He's so familiar, with that hair she loved to rake her hands through, the slight downturn of his lips, the scars that scatter across his face that she loves to trace in the dark. He's looking down at her with brown eyes so tortured and serious, and...and a little anxious?

This is a cruel joke.

Here he is, bare faced in front of her just like how she'd dreamed about for all those weeks. How often had she cried at night, hoped that this was all a joke and she'd pull open the door to him one more time?

But he wasn't here, was he? No, there was no way. Her fingers touch cool metal and distantly she realises she's clutching onto the piece of himself he left behind, looped around her neck.

"Love..." He finally breathes out, and she realises that she hasn't said a word in a full minute.

The single word tears a gasp out of her throat, makes her take a small step back. The rasp of his voice, the scent of him as she breathes in...

It's him.

It's him.

Something akin to a sob tears its way out of her throat as she lunges towards him, tangles her hands in the fabric of his uniform. She only cries harder when his arms circle around her just as tightly, crushing her to his chest.

"You...you're home?" She manages to push out between stuttered intakes of breaths and sobs. "No, you're...you were-"

"I'm here." He hooks his chin over her head, sways her a little from side to side. If she hadn't been trembling she would have noticed the slight shake of his hands. "Said I'd always come back to you, didn't I?" He walks them backwards, shuts the door with his foots.

"You died!" She exclaims, choking on the words as she pulls back, not far but enough to meet his own red eyes. "You died, I thought you died-"

"Mission," He rushes out, "For a mission, yeah? Wouldn't ever leave you alone-"

"You did!" She suddenly pulls away from him barely out of his grasp and it takes everything in Simon's willpower not to pulls her back in.

Beneath the worry and the grief and the sadness, there's a hint of running anger.

"Four months, I thought you were...were dead." She wipes away her tears, still crying but angry. "And you show up now? Just like that? What the fuck, Simon I thought I was a widow!"

"I'm sorry." It's all he can say. It's pathetic and desperate and he feels frustrated and angry at everyone and himself but it's all he can say to her and he'll repeat it as many times as possible.

They stare at each other for a second, grieving and angry and crushed and hopeful...

And she falls back into him with the promise of an explanation later on, a tangle of limbs, muttered apologies and kisses.

Not because she forgives him. Not because she's willing to brush past it and move on, but because this crushing wave of relief feels better than the last four months of suffering. Because they'll always find their way back to each other.

Because she has her husband back, in one piece, and for the first time in months...

Something in her life clicks back into place.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(20/10/2023)

[piastrinorris]

What Are Friends For?

Pairing: Steve Harrington x f!Reader

Genre: smut

Tags: Stranger Things (series), 18+ (MINORS DNI), oral (m receiving), handjob (m receiving), masturbation (f receiving),

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: A late night post-Truth or Dare chat with your best friend has you admitting your own lack of experience, sexually. Thankfully, he's more than happy to tutor you.

A/N: finally got inspo for one of my wips! just another 12 to go 🙃

As Nancy and Robin work together to drag a near-catatonic Eddie out of Steve's living room, you nudge the party’s host’s foot with your own. “Alright, Harrington, truth or dare?”

He chuckles, “Seriously? Still? We’re the only two people left, right now.”

You shrug, “’M not ready to go home, yet. Unless you’re really willing to turf out your best friend onto the cold, dark streets of Indiana?” You look at him, doe-eyed, and he laughs again.

“Okay, fine, I’ll bite. Truth.”

“Who’d you lose your V-card with?” you ask plainly, and Steve, halfway through a sip of his drink, chokes on it.

“What the hell! Remind me who it was that insisted on the ‘nothing sexual’ rule when we started playing?” he sputters out.

You shrug, “Around the others, sure, but I’m curious. It’s like, the one thing we never talk about.” 

Steve sighs in defeat. “It was… Tina Langdon. At that party on the last day of sophomore year. The one you wouldn’t go to.”

“Couldn’t,” you correct him, “I was ill, remember?”

He scoffs, “Please, you were fine all day, you can’t fool me, you just chickened out!”

“This isn’t about that,” you shake your head, feeling yourself get flustered.

Steve grins slowly. “Yeah, it is! I know you, you were getting some heavy hints from… Who was that guy, oh my god, this is gonna bug me…” He falters, rubbing his jaw in thought.

"Greg Patowski," you mutter.

"Greg Patowski," he repeats in a reminiscent tone, shaking his head and looking up as he waves his finger up and down. "Alright, 'fess up, your turn now. Who was yours?"

Your cheeks burn hot. "Steve!"

He grins wickedly at you. "C'mon, dishing out what you can't take? That's not like you! You started this!"

After a moment, you bashfully murmur, "It was… It - you just…" Steve still looks at you with anticipation, so you blurt out, "It was Greg, okay?!" He scoffs in disbelief. "He - it was that night, too, actually. He came over from the party to 'check on me', we made out on my bed, it… went further. He was in the room and out again within ten minutes," you admit with a scowl.

Steve's jaw drops in shock. "Are you serious?!" You nod. "Who el-"

"No! My turn to ask now." You take another moment to compose yourself before asking, "W-what's your favourite, like, part of it?"

"Sex?" he asks, and you nod. He blows a long breath out before eventually answering, "Probably the stuff before it. Like head, god. Giving it? Hell, yeah. Getting it? I swear, I don't care what else happens," he throws his head back and smiles wistfully.

Shuffling in your seat, you ask, "H-how did you know what to do?"

"Hm?" Steve asks, and you die a little internally as the thought of repeating yourself, though it seems as though he's heard you. "Oh, well, Tina was, as you know, the grade above us, so she was already more… Experienced, and that helped a lot. She pretty much told me where to go and what to do." He shrugs. 

You're already nervous enough about having to explain yourself to him, when Robin and Nancy reappear at the doorway. "Hey," Nancy calls, making you jump. "Uh, we threw Eddie into one of the guest rooms. Rob and I are just gonna head home, now."

Steve frowns, "You carried him all the way upstairs? I could've done that for you!"

Robin glares at him from under her brow. "What, because two poor, defenceless young women couldn't handle it on their own?" She gives you a look which you silently translate and respond by punching Steve in the arm, which makes Robin laugh, "Nice. See you kids around!"

"Night!" Nancy calls after her before they both head out the front door.

Steve rubs his arm and pokes your shoulder. "So, Jumpy McPuncher."

"Good one," you deadpan, and he laughs.

"C'mon, spill. What's got you so worked up?"

"Well…" you start hesitantly. "You know I was telling you about the guy who's been kinda flirting with me at work?" Steve nods. "I was, uh, thinking of asking him out, but then I was thinking about the bigger picture, and how eventually that's gonna lead to - to, y’know, possibly sleeping with him, and I was wondering how to make it… Enjoyable, since I don't really know how to…" you falter through the end of your sentence, and Steve frowns.

"You've… Been with others since Greg, right?" You shake your head, and he looks at you incredulously. "What?! You've dated people since then!"

"Dated, sure, but I'd make up some shit about not being ready for a commitment before it got to that point," you admit quietly. 

Steve nods slowly, with a thoughtful frown. "Okay. So… You wanna learn how to please a guy?" You nod bashfully and his nod quickens as he hops up onto the couch you'd been leaning against. "Alright."

You look at him in confusion. "W-what are you -?"

He takes some pillows off of the couch and hands them to you. "For your knees," he explains.

"Are you…?" You ask quietly.

"Offering myself as your test dummy? Sure, if it'll help you out," Steve's reply is so casual. "That is, of course, if you want, don't feel like you have t- oh, okay," he smirks as you tentatively unbutton his jeans.

You snap your hands back into your lap in embarrassment. "Oh, sorry, did you want to do that?"

"No, no, if… If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, we really don't have to," he studies you with concern, but you shake your head.

"No, I… I want to. This is the best case scenario, right? I can learn, and not worry about disappointing - not that I don't care what you think, but like, you're you, you know?"

He smiles warmly. "Sure am, and you're you. And I'll guide you on what to do, but you gotta be confident with it, 'kay? Just get going with it, and don't take it personally if I tell you to do something a little different, alright?" You nod, and once again reach to undo his jeans. He shuffles them down to his thighs, and you can see a noticeable bulge in his underwear. "You wanna take it out, or me to, or not yet?"

"Can I…?" You clear your throat, remembering what he just said about confidence. "Can i just touch it over…?" You hold your hand to hover just over his crotch area and he smiles with a nod. The affirmation is oddly calming as you start palming him, and he hums out a soft moan.

"That feels nice," he muses. "Nice and gentle."

He keeps humming with delight as he watches you, and you notice something as you keep palming him. "You're getting hard, already."

"Doesn't take much, right?" he smirks. "Plus, you're doing so well, there."

"I, um… I know you're saying I should take things at my own pace, but I don't wanna take too long, should I take it out now?"

"Go for it," Steve mutters under his breath, still smiling.

You reach beneath the elastic of his underwear, take his shaft in your hand and move it out into view. Your eyes widen and your jaw drops when you see the size of it. "You, uh, you're much bigger than Greg Patowski."

He chuckles, "Good to know. Still wanna keep going?"

You nod, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah. So, what do I do from here?"

"Whatever you feel like doing," he shrugs. "You can use your lips and kiss it, or use your tongue and lick it, or you can get straight onto putting it on your mouth. I promise you, as long as it feels good for you, it's gonna feel good for me, too."

You study his member for a few seconds before tentatively licking along his length. He lets his head loll against the back of the couch. "Oh, god, yes. That feels so good. Mmm, and you look good doing it, too," he muses as he looks at you. You look up at him and chirp in questioning affirmation, and he bites his lip. "So good. You know, if you really wanna tease them, you can push your whole mouth against it without wrapping your lips arou- oh, fuck, just like that," he groans as you lean into your motions.

You sit back on your heels to frown, "But if I do that, there's still so much that I can't fit."

"So there is," he raises his eyebrows. "Why don't you try spitting into your hand and getting to work on the rest of it?"

After spitting into your palm, you smirk up at him. "Oh, you want me to get to work?"

He's about to give you an equally smug response when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock and start working it. "Fuck, yes, there you go, just keep touching m- mmfff," he moans. "God, see? You're a natural."

Still stroking him, you experimentally run your tongue around his swollen mushroom tip, to which he grips the cushions next to him oh-so tightly. You finally wrap your lips around his member and sink down onto it as much as you can.

He moans so loudly that he brings the couch cushion up to his mouth to bite down on it. It makes you instinctively hum around his cock, which makes him squirm and whine more. You pull back again to look up at him in awe, and he asks, "What? Surprised that I'm moaning, or that you're able to make me?

"A little of both," you admit bashfully, and he sits back, spreading his legs further as he leans back. 

"Well, when you're doing such a good job, of course I'm gonna," he smirks.

"S'pose I've got a good teacher, huh?" You raise your eyebrows as you jerk him off.

He shakes his head, "Can't take credit for that, baby, this has all been you. Though, if you want a little guidance, why don't you try sucking your cheeks in while you're down there?"

You happily take him back into your mouth, revelling in his moans as he encourages you. Every ounce of praise he gives you tingles that shoot to your core, and every instance of him calling you a good girl has you light-headed.

You try and sneak your hand between your thighs, but it doesn't go unnoticed. With a chuckle, Steve asks, "You good?"

You whine, "Y're not… Th'only one who's… Enjoying this."

His smug expression stretches into a full-blown grin. "Yeah? You wanna touch yourself? Go ahead."

"Is this good? The right thing to do?" You ask as you reach inside your panties, face melting with pleasure as you finally make contact with yourself.

"Fuck, yes, baby, you look so fucking hot down there, getting yourself off to - what is it, huh? You like the praise? The moans? Or do you just really like having my cock in your mouth?"

That's the real answer, right at the end. You've never especially wanted to get this intimate with anyone, not even that one flirty customer you'd thought about asking out, but now there's only one person you ever want to be thus close with.

But he's your best friend. He's doing this in the name of helping you overcome your anxieties, that's all. You can't jeopardise what you've got with him.

"All of it," you whimper out, briefly looking over to glance at his fingers to allow yourself to imagine them as you sink your own inside you, getting back to sucking him off, making sure you hollow your cheeks every now and again like he told you.

With his moans, you lose yourself in the moment of imagining him touching you that as you hook your fingers inside of you, you instinctively keel over, sinking yourself further down on his cock. Steve lets out a long, stuttered groan at that. "Fucking shit, baby, y'almost got me in whole, god, wanna fuck the rest of me into you, too." You whine around him and he tuts, "Don't think you're ready for that, yet. You're gonna gag, and I don-"

You push yourself even further down, trying desperately to ignore your gag reflex, and he throws his head back to moan, "Fuck, yes, good girl! Such a good girl, taking all of that fucking cock, and holding it there, all while touching yourself, fuck. You're so hot, y'know that? Oh, fuck, baby, you need to breathe, c'mon," he reminds you softly, pushing you away. "That's it, oh, look at all that drool," he simpers, wiping the spit from your chin.

"Do… Do people like that? Seeing all… This?" You gesture towards your face, and he shakes his head.

"Don't know, don't care, doesn't matter. I fucking love it," he groans as you wrap your hand around his shaft again, stroking him all the way from base to tip. "Oh, shit, you really are a fucking natural at getting me off, baby. You gonna get us both off at the same time, yeah?" You nod, and his face contorts with his impending climax. "Fuck, get that mouth back on me, I wanna feel your moans against my cock coax the cum right outta me."

Not needing to be told twice, you happily comply, making sure you try to moan around him as much as possible. He strains out another moan, gasping out, "Fuck, so… So proud of you, look at you. Taking me so well, looking so fucking good touching yourself. Such a good little student, 'm gonna teach you so much more. How a real man eats you out, how a real man fucks you, fuck, so much for you to learn. Y'want that, baby? Tell me. Tell me with my fucking cock in your mouth."

"Wan' y'to hh-fuck me, hh-so bad," you whine, not moving, and he groans.

"You're so fucking cute when you talk with your mouth full, baby. Aww, you gonna do it? You gonna make me cum in that pretty little mouth of yours?" he groans, and you rub at your clit rapidly. "That's my good girl, fuck, look up at me with those eyes, so sweet, so sexy, while you get us both off, c'mon, baby, you can do it, atta girl."

The impending desperation in his tone mixed with his words finally sends you over the edge, moaning shrilly around his cock as you feel your orgasm press deeper than anything's ever felt before. You practically see spots as you squirt all over your fingers, trying desperately to stay focused on keeping Steve's cock in your mouth long enough to take all of his load, swallowing everything as he gives it to you.

He breathes deeply as he comes down from his high, smiling blissfully as he sits forward, cradling your face in his hands. His large, thick-fingered hands. He licks his lips to speak when the wet patch on the pillow you'd been sitting on distracts him. "Holy shit, did you squirt?!" You look up at him and shrug, and he strokes his thumbs against your cheeks. "From now on, I'm making that happen for you, 'kay?"

"So, you meant it? You'll keep teaching me?" You ask hopefully.

"In a ways," he shrugs. "I'll keep showing you what real pleasure feels like… But not for some… Guy who shows up at your work sometimes. Sure as shit not for some Greg Patowski type. I'm. Here to please, you. Got that?" 

You nod, licking your lips, a hint of a smile tickling at you. "Real hung up on Greg still, huh?"

"Yeah, well, it should've been me," Steve admits. "I wanted to make my move that night, but then Patowski bounced early, and everyone was talking about how he was bragging about how he was gonna seal the deal with you. And so, my young and stupid self went and drowned my sorrows with Tina."

You chuckle softly. "You know, when I heard knocking at my window that night, I really hoped it would be you. Always dreamt of you sneaking in through my window and having your way with me. But I like this better."

"You do?" he asks, leaning closer.

"Yeah. You were right, about getting with someone with more experience." You shuffle yourself closer to him, further between his legs, letting go your arms rest around his hips. "'Cause now you've definitely ruined other men for me."

He grins, pulling you up and scooping you I to his lap before grabbing you by the back of your neck and kissing you fervently. "You wrecked me a long time ago, baby. Glad to see you're finally catching up."

[tims-shi]

tags: itoshi!sister, baby itoshi is named kei, fluff, sae and rin as older brothers, some spoilers for the u20 match !!, this is v self indulgent tbh 😭 kinda ooc characters im sorry

first post !! also not proofread lols again this is p much self indulgent oml ending is rushed my mind went blank,, i tend to coddle my baby cousins A LOT and ive been missing them these days so it led to this 😧

“hey prodigy boy, a little lady’s looking for you.” aiku announced, entering the break room with a miniscule smirk on his face.

sae merely raised a brow, coldly saying, “send them away.” aiku laughed, waving his hand in the air, “i can’t do that. she seems very persistent. i feel like she’ll cry if she gets sent away.”

getting annoyed, sae dropped his bag. rolling his eyes as he stomped his way out of the room. he opened the door, prepared to tell the tepid creature to scram off, only to be met with air.

“are you fucking with me, you selfish captain?” sae muttered to himself, about to close the door. pausing halfway when he hears small mutters.

“nii, up.” looking down, sae sees his little sister, no older than three years, looking up at him with raised arms. “kei,” sae lets out a grunt as he picks her up. running his eyes through her figure once she’s nested in his arms. quirking a brow at the familiar looking blue pentagon brooch pinned at her jacket. 

“why are you alone? where’s mom?”, sae interrogated, fingers tucking her maroon locks behind her ear. “i’m with nanny. told her i’ll be back.” kei replied, fiddling with the string around her brother’s neck.

“okay, you’ve seen me. now go back to nanny.”

“no! wan’ see rin-nii, too.” kei whined, arms tightening around sae when he tried to put her down.  at the mention of the name, sae’s face scrunched up, reminded of the not-so-good relationship he has with his brother. “do you know your way? i can’t bring you there ‘cause my manager’s looking for me.” at that, kei nodded. placing her palms on his face and kissing his cheek before wriggling down his hold. “do you have your phone? i’ll text your nanny where you are. stay safe, alright?” sae crouched down, pinching her cheek.

“i will. bye-bye!” kei waved at him before dashing off to where her rin-nii could be.

—

kei’s lost. at first she was confident she’ll reach her rin-nii in record time, but after a few turns in this maze of a facility, kei’s starting to lose hope. tears brimming at her eyes, letting out sniffles.

—

with blue lock winning the match against japan’s u20, it’s safe to say the excitement hasn’t really died down. now done with showering and freshening up, the athletes are now on their way to the cafeteria, where a feast is waiting for them, as anri said. 

“that was a fun match! i’ve never played a match with so many talented players before! hell! i wasn’t even expecting we were gonna win!” bachira babbled excitedly. at his chatter, chigiri’s brows furrowed, “what do you mean you weren’t inspecting us to–”

“do you guys hear that?”, isagi hushed them. 

“...hear what?” reo asked. “it’s like someone’s crying” isagi answered, looking around for a person crying?

“is that a child?” nagi, who had been silent throughout the walk, pointed out the small figure not too far from them. bachira, ever the happy person, approached the crying child. “hi! are you okay? why is a little girl like you crying?” he asked, now on his knees in front of the child.

“can’t find my nii. ‘m lost.” kei muttered. feeling comfortable with the stranger before her, she went closer to him, hands now gripping his shirt.

“do you want us to help you find your brother?” this time, it was chigiri who asked. also crouched in front of her as he wiped her tear-stained face. “wan’ my nii.” the little girl uttered out, cries gone and was left sniffling. 

as bachira and chigiri were comforting the little girl, reo can’t help but feel familiar with the child. has he seen her before? he can’t really recall. looking over at isagi, it seems like he has the same thoughts as well.

“doesn’t she look like rin-chan? so cute!” bachira exclaimed, now holding kei in his arms, cooing at her cheeks. hearing her brother’s name, kei perked up. eyes twinkling at bachira, silently pleading to lead her to her brother. 

“oh? is he your nii?” when kei nodded, bachira turned to isagi and handed him the child. “isagi will bring you to your brother. right, isagi?” 

while panicking inside, isagi couldn’t help but sigh softly when kei looks at him expectantly. “i’ll take her to rin. save us some food.” isagi bid them goodbye. over his shoulders, kei waved at the group of boys left behind. 

—

“what’s your name?” isagi sparked up a conversation, the awkward silence getting to him. “kei and ‘m three!”

“what’s your name?” kei asked him, resting her head on his shoulders. “me? i’m isagi. i play soccer. do you play soccer, kei?” 

“no, can’t push the ball by myself.” kei pouted, recalling the times she tried to do the sport both her brothers love. “then you have to eat a lot so you get strong and kick the ball by yourself.” isagi told her, a palm resting on her back.

“we’re here. are you good by yourself?” isagi put her down. kei nodded at him, smiling at him in gratitude. “thank you, ‘sagi.” 

—

rin can’t help but be disappointed. at himself or at his brother? he’s not entirely sure. maybe he’s angry instead? he doesn’t know surely, too. sat alone in the break room with a towel over his head, rin curses inwardly as multiple thoughts run over his head. small pats on his knee made him look up. as teal eyes meet with another set of teal eyes, rin wasn’t expecting to see his little sister in here. let alone, by herself. “kei, are you alone?”, rin hushed out, picking her up and settling him on his lap, facing his body. 

“wan’ see rin-nii. miss rin-nii.” despite his cold demeanor, it’s no doubt that itoshi rin has a soft spot for his sister. always the sweet and loving child she is, unaware of the darkest sides of the world as she keeps lighting up every corner of their home and their hearts.

“rin-nii missed you too. have you eaten yet?” rin hummed, tugging kei closer and fixing a part of her hair that got messed up.

“i cooked my lunch! nanny helped me with the stove but i made my lunch by myself.” kei puffed up her chest, boasting about her blooming skills in the kitchen. “that so? should we go to the cafeteria? i think they have your favorite.”

“what we waiting for? let’s go! hurry!” with eyes gleaming at the sound of food, kei got off and started pulling her brother’s hand. “you wait here, i’ll just freshen up.” rin told her, arms under her arms as he sat her on the bench.

“rin-nii.” kei called out. “yeah?”

“can i sit with ‘sagi?” 

“WHAT?”

likes & reblogs are appreciated !

[solarmorrigan]

🪱Wiggly Worm Wednesday🪱

I was tagged last week by @devondespresso! Thank you <3

I've mostly been working on prompt fills for Steddie Spooktober, and that's taken up pretty much my whole entire brain, but in the spaces in between, I've been thinking about autistic!Steve

See, Steve sort of "lucks out" in that his special interests fall under what's considered acceptable for a boy to be interested in. He loves sports. He loves cars. He loves learning everything about them - about statistics, about the players, about how engines work, about all the different makes and models there are. He just... has to learn not to talk about these things so much, after a while. Or maybe not talk about them at all, because he thinks they're fascinating, but other people - maybe not so much, and he's bad at gauging when people have lost interest until they're telling him to just shut up already

But he learns

And stimming? Well, it turns out that exercising and playing sports are the perfect, full-body stims for Steve. Things like rocking and flapping his hands and wiggling in place? Not acceptable. Things like going for a jog, swimming laps, shooting basketballs again and again and again until he's perfected his technique? Great; encouraged, even. And for the times when he can't exactly go for a run or start doing sit-ups, he finds something to fidget with; he learns how to spin and twirl pretty much anything he can get his hands on (anything to keep him from doing those socially unacceptable things)

Emotions are harder. When he's a kid, and the world is too loud too close too much and he hasn't learned how to handle it yet, when he has meltdowns, he gets written off as a spoiled brat, crying because he hasn't gotten his way. That's no good, so Steve learns how to internalize it; when things get to be too much, he's likelier to withdraw and shut down. Outsized emotional reactions aren't cool, and they make the other kids pull away from him, so he swerves towards the other end of the spectrum and expresses very little. Being aloof, it turns out, is considered cool, so Steve keeps it up

So he's out there masking so hard that the thing is practically glued to his face when he falls in love with Nancy Wheeler. Nancy, who isn't impressed by his cool facade or by how well he can play basket ball or by who he's friends with, but who seems to like him when he's being a goof, when he lets tiny slivers of himself out

So he lets a little more out. Nancy likes it, likes him, and it makes him feel safe

It doesn't work out, of course - of course. Steve should have known better. No one likes it when he lets all his shit out. He's halfway through duct taping his mask back on when Dustin happens. The kid works his way into the cracks, widens them, makes himself at home there, encourages Steve to be loud and weird if he wants to - all of Dustin's other friends are, and they seem... happy for it

Maybe Steve can be happy that way, too

Maybe he can watch movies he used to consider himself too cool for and come up with a secret handshake that he practices the motions for over and over again because it's fun. Maybe when he and Robin become friends, he can listen to her infodump about foreign languages, and then he can tell her all about sports statistics without worrying that she's going to tell him to shut up. Maybe he can talk to Eddie about cars and learn about them from a new perspective, and he can soak the information up and never wonder if Eddie is getting sick of talking to him. Maybe, with time and distance, he can realize that he and Nancy just hadn't been what the other needed, that she had never hated him, and he can be a goof around her again, and they can make each other smile

Maybe, bit by bit, Steve learns that he doesn't have to cut himself into small pieces in order to be loved, and he thrives

-

Gently tagging @paperbackribs, @estrellami-1, @momotonescreaming, tag-back for @devondespresso, aaaand hell, anyone else who wants to talk about their brainworms. Tag me and show me, I love hearing about people's ideas c:

[avocado-writing]

Poly aziracrow based on 2x04, where Crowley and R react to Aziraphale during this scene👀

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZM2KFemoQ/

notes: yes. this isn’t the first time I’ve had a request about his voice in this scene. and I will NEVER get tired of them ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

pairing: aziraphale x reader x crowley

rating: M (smut at the end)

tags: the light, the dark, and the space in between-verse; references to ptsd; slightly Dom!Aziraphale

You hate this bloody war. 

You’ve been part of a few, and all of them have left their scars on you. In you, buried in your soul. You remember your time in those trenches barely thirty years ago and bile claws at your throat. 

No. Don’t think about that. Concentrate on this. Concentrate on this horrid little demon who’s threatening the two people you love. Hands behind you, you finger a decorative paperweight, wondering if minions from hell are susceptible to being thwacked over the back of the head. 

He finishes his little tirade and tries to read Aziraphale’s name from a book (you’re amazed that the cretin is literate). But his demonic lips can’t make heads nor tails of the syllables. 

“Azil-pha-pha-la-luh—”

Aziraphale’s brow furrows just slightly, lips purse.

“Aziraphale.”

It’s not often you see your angel reach the end of his tether. He is a holy being after all; the pinnacle of patience, epitome of virtue. But sometimes, when something grinds his gears just right, that voice will come out. 

It does something to you and Crowley both, and the two of you exchange a glance across the room. This will be explored later. 

The demon, irritated, snaps his little book shut, then does a double take as his gaze passes over you. He didn’t even notice you were here. You try to look the picture of innocence as you ready the paperweight, thinking about the best way to swing a bludgeoning weapon when he has that ridiculous hair. 

“And you? What’s going on with you, why are you here?” He steps forward and takes a deep sniff. “You don’t smell divine.”

“Oh god, don’t bloody smell me!” you hiss, planting your hand on his chest and shoving him backwards. Aziraphale and Crowley move towards you to intervene if needed, but you wave them off. 

“Don’t bother with him, nightingale,” Crowley sighs, voice unbothered and bored, “he’s not worth your effort.”

You turn to the mirror in the dressing room instead and focus on smoothing out your clothes, ignoring the foul little gremlin until Crowley and Aziraphale sort him out. Which they do, inevitably, because they’re very clever and wonderful. The three of you head back to the bookshop for a very necessary glass of wine, and within the hour you’re all piled on the sofa, slightly blotted and very glad for each other’s company after a rough day. 

You and Crowley are either side of Aziraphale, each with a leg hooked over one of his plush thighs. You’re doing that thing they love where you compliment them about how smart they both are, and they get all smug and silly (and you love it); but halfway through you catch Crowley’s eye behind those dark little glasses and something shifts subtly. 

“You know, angel, you really gave that lapdog a dressing down earlier.”

“Oh, well, I’m not sure I’d go that far,” Aziraphale says, but he’s all puffed up like he gets when he’s flattered. Crowley runs a finger up the seam of his trouser leg, gently, slowly. 

“And you know what really sealed the deal? That voice you used on him,” you continue. “There was something quite dominant about it. Sexy.”

You snake your hand up his chest. Finally he cottons on. 

“Oh.”

“I think we both just wondered what it might take to get you to use it again.”

Aziraphale takes a final sip of his wine before carefully placing the glass on the table. He sits back, looking between the two of you, and there’s no missing the glint in his eye. 

“If you wanted me to tell you what to do,” he says lowly,

and you shiver, “you need only ask. I’m sure I’ll do it if you both behave.”

Crowley shifts. You can see the effect Aziraphale’s had on him: the tightening of his trousers, the bob of his adam’s apple as he swallows. 

“So. Will you behave?”

“Yes,” you and Crowley both whisper at once, voices thin and needy. 

Aziraphale smiles. 

“Then I think you’re both wearing far too many clothes.”

Your clothes end up a muddled pile on the floor, and between the two of you, Aziraphale doesn’t leave the couch for the rest of the evening. He has you ride his thigh while Crowley swallows him down his pretty little throat, whispering his praises to both of you in that delicious voice. 

“Look at you both. Being so good for me. I love you both so much, my darlings.”

You bury your face in his shoulder, face burning with desire. He has Crowley fuck you over the arm of the couch as he watches the show, palming himself through his trousers, telling you where to touch each other. You’re happy to be his puppet, his plaything, anything. 

So long as he keeps talking.  -

taglist: @angiestopit @dazed-soul  @foolishprincipalitee @smile-eywa@staygoldsquatchling02 @underratedboogeyman @specter-soltare @candlewitch-cryptic @cool-ontherun-world @emilynissangtr @willbedecided @bdffkierenwalker @cool-iguana @ilyatan @civil-groupie @willyoubethepookietomypookster

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Hangover Cure

Summary: In which Karl helps you through a hefty hangover with peculiar methods.

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg x afab!reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Content Warnings: Plot? What plot? Porn! 18+!, Heavy On The Daddy Kink 🥴, Karl Has A Dad Bod Because It's Hot AF, Karl Is A Service Dom, Pet Names, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Mentions Of Drinking, Intoxication Kink, Slight Praise

A/N: The brain rot is actually insane this time…

-I'm adapting the fanon that Heisenberg is German because I wanna use my language for a cool thing for once, please and thank you! 🙏🏻-

Tagging in case you're interested: @blueberrypancakesworld @queer-crusader

Show me where it hurts this dirty little curse

Don't have to be ashamed if you wanna scream my name

While I fuck away the pain

- Fuck Away The Pain - Divide The Day

There were few things Karl Heisenberg really, genuinely loved but your ass shamelessly grinding into his crotch was certainly one of them.

You hadn't even opened your eyes properly and yet your body already did the talking for you. A wide grins stretched across Karl's lips as he felt how you pressed your thighs together, your still halfway asleep silhouette whispering to him what it needed as it had done plenty of times before. Karl knew you well enough to know what you needed after you got into his vodka stash. He certainly enjoyed drinking with you but the mornings after were even better. So much so that the lord of metal sometimes fucked you up entirely on purpose, refilling your glass faster than you could decline the highly alcoholic offerings.

“Oh, sugar, let daddy help with that, hm?” He cooed into your ear in a smooth whisper, his warm breath gently stroking along the shell of your ear and the skin of your neck coaxing a soft rush of goosebumps to wash along.

“Hm-hmm…” You agreed with a sleep-drunken tone and a wobbly nod of your pounding head.

The ache pulsing away inside of your skull rendered you regretful towards the copious drinks you had knocked back the night prior but once the booze hit you, you couldn’t find it in you to stop. It felt purely too good, the loss of inhibition accompanied by the warm buzz growing in your guts and you knew just fine that Karl enjoyed it, too. Besides, what else, really, was there to do at the factory since the dust around mother dearest had settled? Fucking and drinking had turned into the main attractions next to rebuilding the land around the factory.

A groan heavy with remorse slipped from your lips as you tried opening your eyes for a moment. Immediately back to the soothing dark of your eyelids before another jolt of pain could shoot right to the forefront of your head.

“It's okay, keine Sorge, you can be a sleepy pillow princess for me while I take good care of that gnarly hangover, buttercup.” The soothing words slithered into your ear as you turned your hip to give Karl enough access, effectively pressing the round of your ass along his muscular thighs once more.

“Hell, so needy today? Daddy better be quick.” The sly grin plastered on his face was audible as your truly desperate way to gather his attention went straight to his rapidly hardening cock.

Karl's lips peppered a few quick pecks to your earlobe whilst his calloused fingers snaked along your hip down to your panty. To not just give in to your need immediately, his fingertips brushed over the thin layer of fabric to cup your pussy with the full width of his palm. His warmth seeped into the increasingly dampening cloth immediately and sent a tingle through your lower abdomen. Karl's hand pressed lightly, caressing your cunt to draw the focus from the pain emitting from sore and thoroughly toxicated synapses and you couldn't keep yourself from rolling your hips into his gentle grasp, it made you feel too good to not do.

“Could ride yaself all fuzzy on my thigh later, sugar, I bet you'd love that, huh? Get yourself all silly and wet until the pain goes away, no?” Just the way Karl talked to you, pulled a new gush of arousal from amidst your legs to soak through the panties and a breathy moan spilled from your lips as you felt the heat creeping up into your cheeks, giving you away.

“Ah, thought so.”, Karl clicked his tongue, playfully taunting you a little, “I know how you need'ta chase those orgasms when your hungover, makes it all so much easier n’ don't worry, I'll make you cum so many times that you can't walk tomorrow.” He sealed his lewd promise with a kiss to your cheek before languidly stroking over your gradually more needy cunt.

“Mhmm, thank you, Daddy.” You quipped in response, knowing that it rendered your lover a little more feral with each time.

“Nothing but the best, für meine Liebe.” The tip of his nose nudged against the shell of your ear as his fingers slowly started worked you.

“Love you touching me like that so much.” You whined, buttering him further up whilst the wish for his fingers to sneak past the lacey fabric grew.

“N’ I fuckinh love fingering that pretty pussy just as much, sugar.”, just as if to prove that he knew your own body better than you yourself, Karl led his fingertips to play over the seams of your string, edging it to the side little by little, “Imma have my fingers right up in that wet hot cunt all day long.”

With every further brush of his broad fingers his breath alongside yours turned more labored and shallow.

“Please…” You begged unto him, the tease growing nearly unbearable.

“Fuck it, can hardly wait either.” The words hadn't properly rolled over Karl's tongue as his fingers were spearheading through your slick-soaked folds already, dragging down for his index- and middle finger to thrust inside you whilst the thick pad of his thumb nudged your throbbing clit.

The doubled stimulation sent an almost electric jolt of pleasure through your entire body and straight into your head, making you effectively forget about the hammering ache in your skull for a moment because the ache between your thighs gained the high ground.

“Hmm, yeah, that's better, buttercup.”, He sneered, his fingers stroking and curving against your insides in a devilishly slow pace that led you to arch yourself against them, “Fuck, so wet for me, good girl. There you go, fuck Daddy's fingers.”

Moving with his fingers, you jutted your hips, the lewd squelching sound of Karl's digits rutting in and back out of you repeatedly, filling the gloomy bedroom and being joined by poorly choked-back moans. The forming soundscape intoxicated Karl and fogged his mind to the point where it went entirely past him how he himself grinded his waist against your side to alleviate the pressure in his pulsing and twitching cock held back by the confines of his boxers, pre-cum leaking through the cotton. If it wouldn't have been for the raging hangover, he'd fuck you stupid on the spot and gotten himself balls-deep inside of you until you were a cock-drunk, babbling mess but that had to wait. He'd coax and pull two or three orgasms out of you before getting his dick properly wet.

“Fuck…shit…” Your breaths came quick and shallow, your rib cage fluttering up and down whilst your muscles started to tense up with every flick of his thumb.

“There, there… issok, let yourself go.” His lips pressed a sloppy kiss behind your ear, the pleasurable tingle nearly sending you over the threshold, however, you kept yourself tethering right at the edge with your pelvis thrusting against Karl's fingers harshly now.

You felt your insides clench around his fingers, worked-up muscles starting to contract in the first spasms of an explosive orgasm that rippled through your entire body. For mere seconds all the pain was washed from your system and instead flooded with the purest of bliss. The coil inside your stomach had snapped and with it, warm and soothing ecstasy sprung from one nerve ending to the next like a spark that carried the raging fire to the entire forest.

Karl didn't bother to move his fingers by just an inch, not until every last orgasmic contraction had faded and left his hand covered in your release. A meak wince fell from your lips as he left your cunt empty and instead brought the fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean in feral enthusiasm.

“How ‘bout you sit that pretty pussy on my face next, huh?

[jasntodds]

Penance [7]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader

Words: 8,230

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, fluff, mentions of death, hurt/comfort, mentions of scars, small description of jason's autopsy scar, smut, 18+ mdni

Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don’t care.❞

It’s been a month and a half since Crane’s reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that’s not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you’ll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right?

Right?

A/N: It was my birthday a few weeks ago and 2 days later I was in the ER with a bad kidney infection so that's why this is late lol I'm sorry!! lol You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary  and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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Jason and you patrol together and it feels like old times. You work well together just as you always have and it’s something the both of you really needed. Patrolling with Tim was different because you had to and you couldn’t really do it how you were used to because it was about training Tim and showing him the ropes. But this? This is like it always was, fighting side by side, teaming up and taking turns interrogating people. You stop at Excellent Gotham halfway through and park yourselves by Jason’s favorite gargoyle to eat.

You think tonight is healing parts of you. You felt hopeless before and now you're sitting here with your favorite person as if nothing has really changed. Maybe you don’t need to punish yourself all of the time and maybe this can be good. Maybe you can let yourself heal from everything. If Jason can, don’t you deserve to try?

“Wasn’t too boring tonight, was it?” Jason quips, the both of you back in your street clothes as you stand outside of your apartment building, Jason having rode home with you to make sure you got home safe.

“Eh.” You shrug. “It was alright I guess.” You scrunch your nose at him.

“Alright?!” Jason scoffs. “Bullshit. I’m a fucking trip.”

“You’re something.” You let out a cackle and Jason is relieved to see you look so happy. You looked lost earlier. “Can I ask you something?” You ask.

“What’s up?” Jason shifts his weight to his left leg, resting the helmet on his hip.

“When do you go see Leslie again?” You look down, tugging your sleeves over your hands before your eyes come up to Jason's.

Jason's brows raise slightly before he shrugs. “Uh…few days, why?”

“Can you, uh, a-ask her if she…ya know…maybe I need…to go.”

Jason nods his head with a warm smile. “Yeah, I’ll ask her and give her your number.”

“Thanks, Jay.” You give him a small and shy smile.

“Of course.” Jason smiles softly. “Hate fucking admitting it, but it’s been helping a bit again.”

“Good. I, uh, that’s why I wanna go. Might be for the best.”

“Good. Can’t hurt.” Jason nods his head.

“Yeah.” You smile softly. “Well, I’m gonna head in but thanks for tonight.”

“Do it again?” The corner of Jason's tugs into a hopeful smirk.

“Hell yeah.” You laugh softly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” You beam before spinning on your heels and entering the apartment building.

A smile is stretched across your face as you make your way up the three flights of stairs to your apartment. No part of you believes going to see Leslie is going to be easy but if she’s helping Jason who literally died, surely she can help you. And it feels really good to finally feel like you and Jason might be falling back into some sort of normal after everything.

You enter your apartment, pressing your back against the door as it shuts behind you. The TV is playing quietly from the living room, the rest of the apartment is dark. You're so stuck on how well the night went, you almost miss the sound of Molly’s voice coming from your living room.

“Molly?” You question, pushing off the door and walking the few feet into the kitchen, looking into the living room thanks to the open concept layout.

Molly is leaning against the arm of the couch holding her phone against her thighs. A wide smile splits her face as Jurassic Park is playing on the TV. Molly is still rambling on about the first time she saw the movie, completely ignoring your presence. You roll your eyes and walk over to the back of the couch, looking at her phone screen.

“Hey.” Gar chimes.

Molly jumps. “When did you get back?” Molly ask.

“Just now?” You question. “Hey, Gar?” Your brows furrow, looking between the two of them.

Nothing going on, sure.

Molly looks at the time on her phone. “Did it go okay? You’re not mad are you?” Molly questions.

“What happened?” Gar asks.

You look between the two of them and maybe nothing is going on but from where you're standing, it definitely looks like it. You aren't even upset about it, but if something is going on, you think it's weird and confusing neither one of them would just say something but you aren't going to push. It's not really your business or your place. So, you decide, you're not even gonna say anything. You'll sit back and see what happens with them.

“Nothing?” You shake your head. “We patrolled together, grabbed some food, and came back.” You shrug your shoulders. “So, I’m gonna shower and head to bed.” You reach over the couch and steal a handful of popcorn from Molly’s bowl. You glance to the TV, watching the water in the cup on the dash of the Jeep start to vibrate. “You guys are missing the best part.” You state as you start walking away. “Get it together, guys.” You make your voice cheery, making sure they know you're joking and you can hear Molly laugh quietly as you enter your room.

You grab your change of clothes before heading to the bathroom and hopping in the shower. Music plays through the bathroom until it's interrupted by a ding from a text. You peek out of the shower just in time to see your phone screen still on with Jason’s contact on your screen. He’s texted you a quick ‘made it home’. You smile to yourself and continue washing your hair while your phone chimes again. This time when you look over, it’s a second text from Jason telling you you should just meet him at his place around noon and you can go to Home Depot together. You roll your eyes but your smile is glued to your lips while you finish your shower.

You take a seat on the toilet seat with a towel draped around your body. You pick up your phone while your stomach bubbles and twists.

You: What? Don’t trust my driving?

Jaybird: No ☠️

You: Fuck you 🔪

Jaybird: I’m really shaking in my boots babe

You: You suck

Jaybird: 🤤

You: 🤮

Jaybird: 🖕

You: Ill see you tomorrow I do like to be chauffeured around

Jaybird: How many times did it take autocorrect to get that word right?

Your jaw drops before you burst out laughing. He’s such an asshole but it did take more than a few tries to get that damn word right and he would know.

You: I will walk over to your apartment and fucking stab you so fucking help me jason todd

Jaybird: You’d have to catch me first babe

You: That a dare?

Jaybird: I dare you

You: Okay

You toss your phone and immediately start getting dressed in sweats. You don’t bother with makeup or anything else. You get the bathroom tidied up before you exit the bathroom, phone in hand before you go for your backpack. Molly is still peaking over the couch on her Facetime call with Gar.

“What’re you doing?” Molly asks.

“Going to stab Jason.” You answer casually while Molly looks to her phone at Gar.

“She’s doing what?”

“He dared me, Gar!” You yell but Molly and Gar can tell by the airiness in your voice it's really not that serious.

“He dared you to stab him?” Molly asks, unsure if she really heard you correctly or if she really wants to any sort of context.

You widen your eyes at her, nodding your head quickly. “Yeah! And I’m not gonna back down. It’s a dare.” You scoff with the furrow of your brows.

“Were they always this weird?” Molly asks Gar.

“Hey!” You yell.

“Yes.” Gar answers with a nod.

“Okay, I’ll be back!” You call with a smile as you kick your shoes on and head out, locking the three locks on your way out.

Jason prepares for you to get there, knowing you take dares seriously. He unlocks the door and shuts every light off in the place. If you want to come for him, he’s not going to make it easy. That ruins the game. It’s silly and he knows but at this point, he doesn’t want to miss even a single opportunity with you. Yes, he shouldn't have wasted a month and a half and neither should you but he’s thinking maybe that was for the best. It did give you both space to start to healing. It gave you both space to start setting up your own lives and finding out who you are today. It seems to have helped and there’s nothing saying you can’t continue while trying to get back what you once had. Optimism is not something that ever came easy to Jason Todd but he’s letting himself feel optimistic about you for just a second.

You pull up to Jason's place, seeing it’s completely dark. At first, it almost scares you, thinking maybe something happened and this is a trap. That would be something that could happen. But, that thought fades quickly because you don’t have that pit in your stomach and Jason would never have played along with anything to endanger you. This is Jason being a shit.

You dig in your bag and pull out your phone, using the flashlight as you enter the building, keeping light on your toes.

“Finally.” Jason's voice rings through the speaker system. “Usual rules?”

This was something you did at the Manor when Bruce was out. You blacked out the entire house, the only light would come from the moon outside. Other than that, it was just you two and a black house trying to locate each other. The only rules were not to permanently injure the other one -- don’t shove each other down the stairs and no lethal weapons. First person to disarm the other wins.

“You’re on, Jay.” You call as you shut your flashlight off, pocketing your phone.

You have your hands at your sides as they start to warm and glow a vibrant shade of green. Your steps are careful, using the glow to guide your feet. Back at the manor, you didn’t even need the light from your hands at one point. You had the whole place memorized from doing this with Jason which did kind of defeat some of the purpose of the blacking out the building but it served enough purpose. Plus, there are more stakes. It has the same premise as Dick’s whole thing with the blindfolds but this is more fun.

Jason is positioned at the end of the hall, carefully listening. He can see the glow of your hands which he said was cheating at first, until he realized he can also find you. He doesn’t need the glowing but it’s definitely not a bad thing to have on his end. So, he stands against the wall, watching and listening to you walk closer. His eyes track you, knowing you’ll search the full hallway before attempting the stairs. A part of him wants to dodge around you and essentially play a weird game of hide and seek but instead, he keeps his feet planted. The idea is to disarm, not to find.

Your hands stop glowing the further down the hallway you get. Jason's brows furrow, still listening to your footsteps. They echo softly no matter how light on your feet you try to be. If you know anything, it’s that Jason likes to play games. He’s going to make finding him easy the first time because that’s the point. And then you’ll have to spar it out until one of you backs off and runs off. He’s done this before so you keep walking with soft feet until you reach the end of the hallway. Jason is like a radiator. He could heat up an entire room if left there long enough so as you stand right in front of him, you can feel the space between you growing warmer.

You strike first, just missing his head as Jason grabs your arm. He spins you around as you kick your leg around his, sending you both to the ground. Jason falls on top of you, barely catching his weight on his hands to not crush you and you don’t miss a beat, crawling from under him only for Jason to grab your ankle and yank you back. Jason hears your laugh through a squeal.

“That’s a fucking ego boost.” Jason laughs with you.

“You’re not scary, sorry, Jay.” You tease, yanking your ankle free.

“Lotta people'd beg to differ." Jason defends as he hears you run off down the hallway.

“Not to me!” You sing-song, your voice echoing off the walls and staircase.

A smile stretches across Jason’s face as he shakes his head. He starts walking after you, not hearing your footsteps anymore and he knows you've hidden yourself behind some sort of corner so he’s careful with his steps.

A large part of him thought the good parts of him died and the pit kept them. It kept them in exchange for his life, maybe that’s just the price he was to pay in order to live. Someone can’t come back to life without sacrificing something. Look at Ra’s. But, over the last few days, he’s learning that may not have been in the case.

His bones still ache and something still feels hauntingly different but the good parts of him are still there. Tim didn’t even blink when Jason showed up in the alley, he was so unbothered by all of Jason’s training methods that even got you to pitch a fit every once in a while. Jason had a good time training Tim and him and you are back to doing this stupid game in the middle of the night with laughter bouncing off of the walls. He’s smiled more the last few days than he has in two months. Maybe the good parts of him aren’t entirely gone. They were just covered in guilt and remorse.

You're tucked away in a corner and you always wonder how Jason manages to be so silent as he walks. You can be quiet but you can’t even tell when he’s moving until it’s almost too late. It’s for his own protection, he’s been doing this longer, but it’s always fascinating to you and it'd be a little scary if you didn't know him. One second he’s down the hall and the next, he’s standing in front of you without ever making a sound. It’s his most intimidating quality.

But you're careful anyway, listening, focusing on your surroundings and then the hairs stand up on the back of your neck with a subtle throb starting to your right. You dodge just as Jason's fist flies through the air and you grab his arm, elbowing the inside of his arm. Jason lets out a groan and you twist it around before Jason laughs.

“It’s cute you think you still stand a chance.”

“I’ve taken you before.” You quip, holding his arm behind his back.

“You’re out of practice.” Jason chuckles, pulling his arm away before he spins back around, going to grab you but you jump back.

“So are you.” You quip.

“You sure?” Jason asks making you nearly scream. He’s right in front of you now and you didn’t feel him that time. His breath is fanning over your face and without needing to see him, you can tell he’s smirking, cheeks probably that pretty shade of pink.

“Uh-huh.” Your voice catches in your throat.

“Right.” Jason gives you this chuckle that makes you want to kiss the smirk off of his face but you know you can’t very well do that now so instead, you make your move.

You quickly slide to the right before kicking his feet from under him. Jason lands on a knee and he swipes his leg across the floor, knocking you down just as you try to run off. It’s Jason’s turn to get to his feet and find a new spot.

The two of you go back and forth like this and it’s different this time. Usually, you spar hard and you both make solid efforts to disarm the other but this time, you’re spending a lot of time hiding and running. It wasn’t so much intentional at first from either of you but the more you do it, the more you realize this is just more time to spend together. Tomorrow comes eventually and tomorrow always has some sort of surprise in it. Tonight, you don’t wanna worry about that. You spend your time in the dark, finding each other and going back forth with fists and quips.

Two hours in, Jason is hiding out on the landing of the first staircase, tucked away in the corner. The window is two feet away from him, the city lights cascading through the pains and onto the wood flooring. His eyes stay trained in front of him, hearing you from downstairs walking around. You've been looking for a few minutes and Jason is wondering if you’ll give up. And then he hears a smack and a groan from down the stairs. Jason has to stifle his own laugh, far nicer than you who burst out laughing when Jason hit the doorframe. You seem to recover okay, your steps picking up a few seconds later and he can hear you ascending the staircase.

Your steps stop right at the top.

You roll your eyes and you know damn well Jason is right behind the light of the window. He’ll be able to see you before you can see him. And if you know anything about him, you know he’s standing right in the corner, right foot lifted and pressed against the wall with his arms crossed and that stupid smirk on his lips. This game was never very fair from your perspective. You've never won. Jason’s senses have always been better, Bruce trained him well. As much as you hate the thought. You let out a sigh, take two steps forward and stand directly in the light, a taunt telling Jason to get it over with.

Jason pushes off the wall with his right foot and makes his move but he’s cautious. You do not give up, especially to him when there’s a game like this in play. He strikes first, you block him in an instant, using the light to drag him from the shadows and you get him with your knee right in his side. Jason doesn’t even flinch, throwing another hit, this time hitting you on your side. The two go back and forth, breathing turning heavy as you use the city lights to your advantage. But, it’s Jason who gets the upper hand as he almost always does, grabbing both of your wrists as you use one to try to punch him and the other to block his hands. His grip is tight and unwavering.

Jason’s chest is nearly touching yours as you look up at him. There’s a devious gleam you can make out even in the low light, the corners of his mouth perked into a subtle smirk. Your heart jumps into your throat.

“Giving up so quick?” Jason questions.

“No.” You let out a soft pout but you aren’t fighting him.

Jason can feel his heartbeat on his tongue. His grip loosens on your wrists but he doesn’t let go. Instead, his thumb rubs your skin softly, not even realizing he’s doing it. It’s been hours and he’s been having a blast and he knows she is, too. For the life of him, he can’t figure out why you both let time go by. He does know why, because it all hurt but maybe it was just getting over the hump of it all. He thinks it must be just as hard for you to overcome as it is for him. But, you both always seemed to be able to cope better around each other. It’s the understanding of every action and word that leaves your lips. The feeling that you’ll both never be alone.

Jason nods once. “Not trying very hard.” Jason whispers softly.

Last night felt so good and cathartic. Maybe you just want to live in another one of those moments for a few minutes.

“You’ll just tighten your grip.” You whisper back, watching a cheeky smirk grow on his lips.

“Doesn’t seem to bother you much.” Jason quips and his eyes glance to your lips.

What if he kisses you anyway? Just one more time. Then you can do this friend thing with the game and the banter. What if he kisses you anyway?

“No.” You answer back, glancing to his lips.

What if you kiss him? Just one more time and then you can do the whole friend like you did before. What if you kiss him?

“How’re you gonna get out of this then?” Jason quips.

Fuck it.

You lunge forward, your lips connecting with Jason’s. He groans and immediately drops your wrists as his hands come to your cheeks, pulling you closer to him. Jason melts right into you, nearly exploding at the seams with the very thought you were thinking the same thing he was.

His mouth moves with yours and you push forward until Jason’s back hits the wall. Jason grabs your hips, turning you both around so your back is pinned against the wall. He kisses down your neck, nipping and biting at the flesh. Your heartbeat skyrockets as your hand tangles into his messy hair. Your eyes are closed as a soft moan escapes your lips. Jason bites down, sucking a mark into your skin.

You pull his head back to your lips, the kiss turning sloppy and wet. Jason slides his hands under your thighs, picking you up to pin you against the wall as his knee slots into between your legs. His thigh hits just the right spot making you let out a moan into his mouth immediately followed by a groan.

You pull his hair back, getting a pretty groan from Jason before you go to his neck, leaving your own purple mark. Jason holds your hips helping you grind down against his thigh. The sound of your desperate gasps makes him want to lose his mind. He wants to surrender all control he has ever had and forget anything bad ever happened. His head is lust drunk and all he wants is you. His bulge is growing and throbbing through his sweatpants, desperately wanting free.

You feel yourself growing closer and wetter but more desperate. There’s not quite enough friction and he knows it. He knows this only ever gets you teetering on the edge but it’s never quite enough. He knows exactly what he’s doing and you want to bite him. Your pussy throbs and aches for something to fill you up.

“Jay.” You pant desperately into his mouth.

He fucking snickers.

And stills your hips.

“Jay.” Your brows pinch together as if you're in pain.

“What’s that?”Jason teases.

“Fuck. You.” You nod your head, trying to move your hips but his grip keeps you steady.

Jason leans forward, nipping up your neck making you whine. He can feel your pulse against his lips as he kisses his way up to your cheek. You feel him grin against your skin and you think your skin might set the both of you on fire.

“Say please.” Jason mocks you, whispering in your ear, his voice deep and graveled.

You think you've melted into the palms of his hands.

Jason loosens his grip slightly, allowing you to get some friction for just a few seconds before stilling your hips.

“Didn't hear ya, babe?” Jason’s eyes lock on yours with the quick raise of his brows, using all of his self-control not to cave himself.

There's a sliver of you that wants to push him, see who can actually outlast the other because you know it'll be him begging for you in about ten minutes. But, your head is swimming and your body is erupting in goosebumps. The desperation of wanting him all over you makes you lose every other thought that was once there.

You kiss him, keeping your lips close to his, pulling away just enough to speak. “Please.”

Jason doesn’t waste a single second to dropping his knee as his lips connect back with yours.

Jason pulls you with him, his back towards the second set of stairs as you both walk up them, unsteadily with your lips connected. Once you’re up the stairs, Jason is grabbing the hem of your hoodie, tugging it over you and tossing it on the floor. Jason’s hoodie is next, tossed somewhere in the dark hallway. By the time you reach Jason’s room, he’s tugging your top off and tossing it to the floor.

It’s all hasty and hot, desperate and needy as Jason pulls you to his bed. He lands on top of you, catching you to mind your fall and your hands are under his shirt. They’re warm and soft. They make him feel whole again.

The words ‘i need you’ circle his brain but never quite make it out. He needs you like he needs air. You're the breath of fresh air on the first day of spring. It’s the first day the air doesn’t hurt his lungs. You taste how the word cathartic sounds. He needs you like he needs the oxygen in his lungs.

You scratch up his back and Jason arches his back right into you. His head spins. His lips trail down to your cheek and then your neck. He leaves a second mark in his wake and your head falls fuzzy. You aren’t even entirely sure you're even here anymore. All you know is that you want him and your skin is on fire. You can’t form a single coherent thought as Jason makes his way down to your collarbone, leaving yet another mark. All you can think about his him. His mouth and his the way his teeth graze over your skin, how warm his hand is as it trails up to your breast. All you can think about is the pretty moans and groans that leave his lips as you claw his back again. You've turned to mush all over again.

He presses some kisses around where your braw cuts off, just enough to tease you before he comes back up, kissing your lips. And all you know for certain is how badly you need him. You need him today and tomorrow and every day after. Every moment with him is worth every bit of pain and agony. Every moment without him is boring and lackluster. Jason walks into a room and it’s like a color bomb explodes through the room. His laugh could light up the darkest of hallways and his eyes are the prettiest shade of green, they could convert anyway to love the color. Breathing is easier whenever he's around.

Your hands go to the hem of his shirt and try to tug it off of his head but Jason stops you, shooting up immediately. Your high immediately vanishes seeing the look of panic spread over his feature. Jason’s head comes back, still spinning but down in panic and his chest heaves. What’s he supposed to do?

“I-I’m sorry.” You shake your head, leaning up on your elbows. “I-, uh, I thought…well…I…I should have asked--”

“No.” Jason shakes his head, looking down then back to you. “It’s not…that.” Jason nearly chokes on his own words.

“What’s wrong, Jay?” Your brows tug together and even though you're the one half-naked, he’s the one feeling exposed.

Jason’s teeth grind together and he didn’t really think this far ahead. His mind was clouded with the thought of you and the desire to just have one more fucking night. His mind was clouded with the idea of chasing the feeling you shared just a few months ago. He didn’t think about this step. This part of the whole sex thing. You don’t care. You never care about scars but it hurts him.

Jason clears his throat as he brings his hands back to your hips, watching your chest quickly rise and fall with every breath. He's running through everything he could say. How is he supposed to tell you he has a thick, protruding scar from his collarbones all the way down his abdomen? That can't possibly be some sort of turn on and if anything, he's almost certain it'll send you into a spiral because it nearly does to him every damn day he looks at it. What's he supposed to say? What's he supposed to say without making you feel worse or feel like you need to push to make sure he's okay?

What's he supposed to say in order to keep this moment intact without it being just another moment tainted by painful memories?

“We can just keep doing this. Um…I-I don’t mind…if you don’t.” You try to pull in a breath. The guilt chews at your stomach. “I, uh, I don’t—“

“Y/n.” Jason cuts you off, not wanting you to spiral. “It's not that, I fucking swear.” Jason squeezes your hips and his brows twitch up with reassurance. He's just not sure if he's ready to reveal that part to you. It makes him feel guilty. He's supposed to be able to share everything with you but the shame eats at him. “I want to.” He clarifies, earning a nod from you. “It’s just…” His eyes go distant for a second before coming back to yours. “Stays on.”

You offer him a large nod and you thought it was odd he turned around before to change. Jason has never been very modest about anything ever. He has worked very hard for his chest and abs and he doesn’t mind showing off a bit, especially in front of you because he’s still a shithead. But, last night he didn’t and sitting here now, you're putting the pieces together while a piece of your heart breaks for him.

“I, uh…I know.” You nod softly, pushing yourself up to sit up fully.

Jason sits on his knees, his knees on either side of your legs.

You can't know.

“What?” Jason’s brows tug together.

“The night Crane kidnapped you, you, uh, you couldn’t get out of your gear so I had to help you.” You offer him a soft shrug. “So, uh…I just want you to know that I already know. It’s completely fine, I get it, but I wanted you to know that I already knew.”

Jason can feel his throat wanting to close and his world feels like it's closing in on him. It feels like a nightmare. He doesn't want you to know. It's embarrassing.

“You saw it?!” Jason’s voice cracks as his cheeks burn a vibrant red as he bites his own tongue to try and hide and his shame.

You nod again. “Yeah. You, uh, you were really high and I figured it would not be something you would want brought up.”

Jason shakes his head looking down. He feels tainted, ruined, a mess of broken and damaged pieces piled on the floor to be discarded and forgotten about. He's not even sure what's worse. The fact you knew and then never said anything or the fact he didn't even get a chance to make peace with it before he told you. He hates it so fucking much and it just makes him feel like the biggest failure there is. What more proof does anyone really need? He failed at being Robin, failed at taking down the Joker, failed at being a good son, failed at being a good boyfriend, he even failed at staying dead. It's just embarrassing and shameful.

You can see the gears in his head working overtime. He's going to spiral and the scar doesn't mean shit to you. Your entire back is riddled with them. Any one of those could have caused massive bleeding and killed you. The way you see it, his scars were better because most of them were just part of the job. He got them putting himself in danger for the greater good.

"I don't care, ya know?" You state with the raise of your brows and all Jason does is shake his head. "I don't fucking care about it, Jay. I know you do. Whatever the fuck you're thinking about it, you're wrong." You rest a hand on his cheek. "You don't have to take your shirt off around me if you don't want to. I get it."

"I fucking hate it." Jason states, taking your hand in his, his fingers delicate over your skin. He uses both hands to rub circles into your palm, massaging the muscles.

"For what it's worth," You let out a breath. "I don't. I don't care and I don't mind. That shit doesn't matter to me, Jay."

"I know." Jason nods his head because he knows you don't. It's something in his own head. It's just really difficult to move on from.

"So, whatever you wanna do, I don't mind." You offer him a tender smile.

Jason lets out a breath. “Thank you.” Jason says back. “Did you know? That Bruce had it done?”

“Yeah.” You pull in a breath, biting back your bitterness for Bruce. “He didn’t say why though I was screaming at him when I found out so he didn’t have much chance, I guess.”

Jason lets out a quiet but sad chuckle because even in death, you will fight tooth and nail for him. “You were screaming at him for it?”

“Well, yeah, I thought it was pointless. I figure it’s just legal reasons, maybe.” You shrug. “But I didn’t wanna hear it then.” You chuckle softly. “So, yeah, I uh, I knew he did and I knew the Pit didn’t take it away.”

It's something he's going to need to find a way to make terms with but at least, you're understanding about it. He wishes he had the opportunity to tell you himself but...he's thinking maybe this was easier. You've known and never batted an eye or said a word about it. Maybe he doesn't have to feel all that shame and embarrassment around you.

“White hair, kept all of my scars, and got the one my chest.” Jason lets out a scoff.

“Least it fixed your face.” You quip back with a cheeky smile in hopes it'll help cheer him up a bit.

You see the flash of something kind and cheeky cross over his face.

Jason drops your hand, leaning in. “What’s wrong with my face, huh?” The corner of his mouth perks into a grin and you always have a way to make him feel better about anything and everything.

Your name might as well be synonymous with catharsis.

“Did you want a list?” You raise with a smirk as you tilt your head to the right.

Jason lets out a laugh. “Fuck you.” Jason shakes his head at you and his eyes go to your lips before traveling back up to your eyes.

“Say please.” You lean in closer to him, brushing your nose against his.

Jason shakes his head, bursting at the seams with a devilish grin. His hand comes up to your cheek before he kisses you, pushing the both of you down to the bed.

“Please.” Jason nearly growls into your mouth.

Jason leans up and tugs his shirt off quickly before coming right back to your lips. Your hands tangle in his hair and give the strands a light tug. You push on his shoulder, signaling for him to roll over. You get on top before you trail down and press kisses to his cheek and then to his neck, leaving your second mark of the night.

The words ‘i love you’ bounce around Jason’s head like a pinball in a pinball machine. He’s so in love with you he thinks he might have lost all of his sanity. He did not know it was possible to feel so strongly for another person but he does. And he wants to live here forever. You make him better and he is so certain of that if not for everything that has happened but the reason that Jason doesn’t want to self-sabotage with you. It’s not worth it. You’ll fight and make up and it’ll have been for nothing. All it would do is hurt the both of you and haven’t you both been hurt enough?

You can feel Jason's hardening bulge beneath you. Without breaking the kiss, you slide your fingers into the waistband of his pants, helping him tug them down. Jason sits up, helping you get the rest of his clothes off before he flips the two of you so you're back on your back. You let out a laugh just as you always did and Jason thinks he'd never grow tired of it.

Your hands are in his hair and he can feel you smiling against his lips despite the haste of your kiss. Jason slides his hand under your back, undoing your bra before he helps you get off. His hand goes right to your right breast, pinching your nipple between his thumb and finger. You moan into his mouth as your head starts to go fuzzy all over again. You squirm under him and a grin comes to Jason's lips.

You snake your hand to his cock, wrapping your fingers around the shaft before you start pumping him slowly. Jason's mouth opens against you as his hips stutter for just a second. You start moving your arm faster and Jason's mouth trails back down to your neck. His teeth graze the skin and you think you'd let him mark every part of your body without ever putting a thought into it.

He sucks a mark into your neck.

And then another.

And another leading down the scar on your shoulder from the bullet wound.

He stops there, switching to a kiss and your stomach twists while your brain starts to turn to goo. He presses kisses back up to your lips and you're squirming under his touch as you can feel yourself growing wetter by the second. 

"Condom." You mutter against his lips before removing your hand from his cock, precum leaking from the tip.

Jason wastes no time in reaching for his nightstand to tug out a condom. You're already stripping the rest of your clothes by the time Jason has the package in his hand. 

Jason smirks down at you. "Not wasting any time, huh?"

You shrug, almost taunting him as you keep your eyes locked on his, careful not to look down at the scar. "Been a while."

Jason chuckles as heat runs over his neck. "Having withdrawal?"

"I could just do it myself." You quip back.

"Can I watch?" Jason questions and a part of you thinks he's serious.

You roll your eyes. "Maybe next time."

Jason has to clear his throat as his cock twitches with the remark. "Hold you to it." Jason mutters as he finally gets the wrapper open.

"Then I get to watch you."

Jason's eyes flash over to you as his stomach drops and spins. "Whatever you want, princess." Jason finally gets the condom on and you pull him back down to you.

His lips connect with yours, hot and fast at first, hungry as if he hasn't eaten in a month. His cock is lined up with your soaking pussy but the kiss slows and deepens. Jason's hand trails down your right thigh, delicate fingers running over your skin as goosebumps erupt over your body. You run a hand down his shoulder and to his arm, his bicep twitches under your touch.

Jason is warm and sturdy, an unwavering force that you find yourself so intertwined with, you really aren't sure how you've managed to live so much of your life without him. It always feels like he's meant to be around you like someone out there made him just for you and you were made just for him. In some ways, that's scary and feels like a big responsibility, but in others, it's comforting. It's the reassurance that it's just you and him in the end of it all. You'll get there one day. That's how it's supposed to be.

Jason pulls away, resting his forehead against yours before he starts sliding his cock into your aching pussy. The pit in your stomach grows as you start to see stars. Jason's eyes are shut and he's thinking he's left this whole plane of existence. He sinks into you slow and steady until he bottoms out.

His eyes open, locking on yours. Your fingers are lightly running up his arm and the words of 'i love you' almost spill from his lips like an overflowing cup of water. His nose brushes yours and he almost says it. He doesn't want to scare you away with piling too much on you at once. Last night and the scar tonight, he knows you're worried the Titans.

He'll tell you later.

Instead, Jason settles for something with the same meaning.

Your eyes close and the words of 'i love you' almost escape your lips like an easy breath. You brush your nose with his and you almost say it. Jason has been through a lot. You don't want to add to it, not right now. You don't want to add more pressure if he can't say it back yet. You don't want to scare him off.

You'll tell him later.

Instead, you settle for something with the same meaning.

"You and me." Jason whispers to you as he goes to kiss your cheek.

A tender smile pulls at your lips as your heart stutters in your chest. "You and me."

A smile rips through Jason's lips as his heart feels like it's just burst through his ribcage.

Jason pulls out and pushes back in, just as slow this time before he starts picking up the pace. Your mind starts swimming with his quick movements. His mouth is on yours again and you can barely keep up. Your mind is flooded with how full he's making you as your pussy clenches around him.

You try to form words, anything to tell him to keep going but nothing can form quite right, giving Jason the ego boost he doesn't exactly need. He gets the idea and doesn't lighten up. His hand grips your thigh, tugging your leg up near his hip. With the new angle, he's tapping the patch of nerves inside of you. You gasp against him, your nails digging into his back.

"J-Jay." You nearly whine into his mouth and Jason nearly finishes right there with the first word you're able to get out being his name.

"Hmm?" He hums, trying to hold his composure. "Gotta speak up, babe." Jason teases.

"H-harder." You get out.

Jason grins wickedly against your lips, doing as you asked but only for a few thrusts before he stops entirely. "Like that?"

Your eyes shoot open, pupils blow with desperation and lust. "Please."

You don't have to ask again.

Jason thrusts his hips harder and faster than before. You groan louder below him almost immediately. Your pussy is clenching around him more and more and he can tell you're getting close. He slides a hand between you, rubbing tight circles around your clit. You nearly scream with the new sensation.

You grip his hair and pull his neck closer to you just as Jason gets you to reach your high. You let out a mixed whine and moan of his name before you bite down where his shoulder meets his neck, desperately trying not to scream. Tears prick your eyes as your stomach tightens and your whole body shakes and twitches beneath Jason.

It takes everything in him not to lose himself until you're finally finished, panting below him. His hips stall against you as his head hangs in the cook of your neck, his cock twitching as he shoots his load into the condom.

Jason leans up, chest heaving and he places a kiss to your cheek and then your forehead before he rolls off of you to dispose of the condom in his bathroom.

You sit up, wrapping the blanket around you with your chest still heaving and you give Jason a tender smile as he walks back towards the bed. He grabs his clothes as you watch him and you're getting your first full view of the scar. It doesn't bother you but you understand why it bothers him. Seeing it in full, it's a harsh scar, not something that looks like it'll even fade. You think if it were you, it'd bother you, too.

Jason makes his way back to the bed, plopping back down before he leans against the pillow. His eyes are still lustblown as he gives you a soft and tired smile, and you think his eyes are filled with something you became so accustomed to. Your hand goes to his hair, brushing the white streaks away from his face. Jason’s hand grabs your hand before bringing your palm to his lips and he presses tender kisses over your hand.

“For the record,” You start as Jsaon places your hand back down. “I don’t care what scars you come home with.” You say so easily and your word choice doesn’t go unnoticed by Jason. “I know you do but I don’t…” You pause, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Just as long as you come home.” You nod a few times as your brows pinch together.

Jason sits up, his face coming just a few inches from yours. “I’m sorry I didn’t.” His voice is rough and this is a different apology than the one you got on the roof. The one you got at his safe house. There are no stakes in the apology.

“It’s not your fault.” You place a hand on his cheek and Jason leans into it. "I forgive you anyway, though."

He still wonders how you were ever able to bear it. Despite his general feeling of self-doubt and self-loathing, he knows your feelings have always been very real for him. You didn’t cope, that he knows for certain and he’s not entirely sure if you ever will. It’s something you have to make peace with just as much as he does. And he thinks about how maybe that’s an important part of you both moving forward. You forgive him for some reason but Jason doesn’t think you've accepted it yet. A part of him has, it happened to him and he’s alive. He went through it. One second, your world is moving at a steady pace and the next it’s halted, suddenly stopped with no warning and then it’s thrown in the other direction. It sounds more like whiplash. So, Jason wonders if you’ll ever hit the acceptance stage. He wonders how you were ever able to bear any of it. He knows for certain if it were him, he’d never be able to.

Your eyes are soft and tired and there’s the tiniest, adoring smile on your lips. A look Jason is privileged enough to be the only one to receive. And he thinks about he’d never be able to bear the loss of you. It rips him to shreds. It would take all of the remaining good parts of him and shatter them. He’d never recover if something happened to you. Even if it's beyond his control. It’s terrifying feeling that way about another person.

Jason nods against you before he presses a kiss to the palm of your hand. “Yeah…” He lets out a breath. “Thanks for sticking around.”

“Thanks for letting me.” You smile softly. "You and me?"

Jason offers the same smile back. "You and me." Jason confirms. “You still gonna talk to Leslie?” Jason asks as you pull your hand away.

You nod softly. “Yeah. If she has anything open.”

Jason gives you a soft smile. “Good.” He nods softly. He sits back up all the way, looking to his doorway. “Gonna grab your clothes.” Jason chuckles softly, tossing his shirt over his head before he gets up.

You watch Jason disappear through the doorway and you're quick to grab his pillow, checking to see if he’s replaced the knife with a gun. Your chest warms with the sight of your blue switchblade still locked and lying under his pillow. It’s a relief he hasn’t put the gun back. Your thoughts are jolted as fabric hits your face.

“Hey!” You yell through a laugh, your clothes falling into your lap.

“Fucking nosey ass.” Jason nods his head at you, making his way back to the bed with his hoodie in hand.

“You’re an interesting person to be nosey about.” You shrug as you get the blanket off of your shoulders. You can feel the tiredness weighing on your bones and you know if you don't head home soon, you'll end up staying here. As much as you really want to, you do not want to overstay your welcome. “Well,” You sigh as you tug your shirt over your head. “I should probably head home.” You laugh softly, seeing the orange light of sunrise seeping through Jason’s window.

“Guess so.” Jason nearly pouts at the thought. He never wants you to leave but he doesn't want you to feel obligated to always stay just because you're here late. You'll be back here later anyway. “Still gonna help me today?” Jason’s eyes are hopeful and big.

“Of course.” You laugh softly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I’ll just sleep for a few hours and how about we like one?” You ask. “We’ll both be out of it if we don’t get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Jason says in agreement. “Want an escort home?” He asks but you can tell by the way he raises of his brows and the way he's already moving to get up, it's not really an offer. He's going to do it anyway.

“Thank you.” You stand up, putting the rest of your clothes on. "Just get some sleep when you get back, okay?"

Jason nods with a grin. "Of course. Gotta be well-rested hanging out with you."

"I can not help you." You quip as you grab your bag.

"Sorry." Jason lets out a chuckle.

"Let's just go." Your eyes widen at him to tease him before Jason gestures towards the door for you to lead the way.

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Congrats on 1k!!

for the ask game!

J: “dont touch me, get away from me”

in Someone who cares

hurt/comfort

book

and if I can make a special request that Eddie is the hurt party?

Thank you so much! 🥰 Always thrilled to write more about my favorite family.

Some dreams come true

Words: 954

Rated: G

Tags: Modern AU; No UD AU; Established relationship; Married Steddie; Steve is Dustin’s dad; Author Eddie; Hurt/comfort; Fluff

Notes: Set in the same universe as Someone who cares

“Eddie?” Dustin knocks on the door of the study. It’s slow and hesitant, and that alone is enough to tell Steve that the kid was not exaggerating when he called and told him to get home immediately. “It’s me. I’ve brought Dad. Please open the door?” 

There’s no answer. 

“Damn,” Steve murmurs. “What the hell happened?” 

Dustin scowls.

“No idea. He opened that package that arrived for him, and then he went all silent and weird and locked himself in there, like- … oh, do you think it’s a bomb?” 

“A what?” Steve squawks. “What the fuck, Dustin? Of course it’s not a- who’d even send us a bomb?” 

“Dunno, grandpa?” Dustin is wibbling in his spot, weirdly elated with the notion. “He must still be pretty damn pissed, right? I mean, last time you saw him, Eddie punched him in the-” 

Steve groans. “Jesus Christ, Dustin, I promise it's not a bomb. Go do your homework or whatever, I'll handle this.” 

Dustin deflates, but sulks off towards his room, grumbling under his breath. Steve sighs and turns back to the door.

“Eds? I'm not leaving, just so you know.” 

For a few seconds, everything stays silent. Then, something shuffles and footsteps approach. The lock clicks, but the door doesn't open. When Steve steps into the tiny room, Eddie is already back in his desk chair, elbows bracketed on his knees, head almost level with his hands. He's holding something. A book.

A familiar mix of feelings stirs in Steve's guts. Alarm. Worry. The overwhelming need to find out who hurt his husband and slowly tear them limb from limb.

“Eddie? What's-” 

“Don't touch me. Get away from me.” 

Eddie doesn't raise his voice. Steve catches himself wishing he had, because the quiet brokenness of the words is somehow infinitely more scary. His feet stop dead in their tracks, halfway between Eddie and the door. From where he's standing, he recognizes the book Eddie has in his hand. 

“Author's copies arrived,” Eddie says, almost as if he read his mind. His head jerks weakly at the package sitting by his feet, holding a stack of identical books, all bearing Eddie’s name on the cover. 

“But…” Steve mutters while his brain is still parsing through the situation. “But that's amazing, honey. You've been looking forward to this so long, why-” 

“I know,” Eddie groans. The book flops to the ground as he brings his hands up to cup his own face. “I was. I am. It's just that …” 

He exhales a long, shaky breath. 

“It's all real now, Stevie. It's here. And- … and next week, it's gonna be in stores, and everybody will be able to pick one up and what if it sucks? I've been dreaming of this for as long as I can think of, but that's all it was - a dream. But now … I dunno, I'm just … I'm scared.” 

“Hey,” Steve whispers, sinking to his knees to bring them face level. “Hey, look at me.” 

Eddie does, big brown eyes peering out from between long fingers. Steve chuckles, reaching for those hands to pull them down into Eddie’s lap. 

“Do you remember the pizza party?” 

Eddie blinks at him. “Huh? What are you-” 

“That was the first time I wanted to kiss you. I had only known you for a few weeks, but somehow, I was already falling in love with you.” Steve smiles, running his fingers over the familiar shape of Eddie's hands and arms, tracing the black ink of his tattoos. “I didn't do it then. Do you know why?” 

“Because Mike puked on your sofa?” 

“Yes,” Steve says automatically. Sputters. “I mean no. I mean- God, you're such an asshole.” 

Eddie’s mouth twitches. Steve sighs. 

“The reason I didn't do it,” he clarifies, “was because I was scared. Because I thought I'd rather spend a lifetime dreaming of having you than turning it into a reality and somehow messing it up. But you know what?” 

“Hm?” Eddie hums, melting into him as Steve leans in to touch their foreheads together. “What's that, love?” 

Steve smiles at the pet name, pressing a kiss to the dimple at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. 

“I'm so incredibly fucking glad we got our shit together in the end,” he says. “Because the reality of it is so much better than anything I ever could've imagined.”

“So much fucking better,” Eddie whispers against his lips, and then neither of them says anything for a while. When they pull out of the kiss, Steve presses the fallen book into Eddie’s hands. 

“This'll be fantastic,” he promises, smoothing over the wrinkle in Eddie’s brow with his lips before he can argue. “You just wait. Now, come down and help me with dinner? Dustin’s convinced you have a bomb in here.” 

Eddie snorts a laugh and stands from his chair, carefully putting the book back with the others before slipping his hand into Steve’s. “What, seriously? And here you are, wondering why I’m doubting myself. With the things that kid comes up with, he should be the author in this family, not me. A bomb, fucking hell!” 

Steve laughs softly as they make their way down the stairs. “You just wait until that book blows up and it turns out he was right.” 

“Yeah, as if,” Eddie says, but there’s no bitterness left in his voice. He smacks a noisy kiss to Steve’s temple, pulling him into the kitchen with a dorky spin and twirl. “Keep dreaming, honey.” 

He definitely will, Steve thinks as they get to work between a constant stream of bickering and kisses. His dreams have a habit of becoming true, after all, and he's no longer afraid of that. 

More celebration ficlets

[gloomysoup]

@steddieangstyaugust day 4 | prompt: angst with a happy ending | rating: g | word count: 748 | tags: hospital, vague description of a near-panic attack | ao3

it starts with a phone call

Eddie can't breathe.

He’s in his car, music off, breaking every law possible in his haste to get to the hospital.

This is a nightmare.

It started with a phone call. A vague call from Wayne that gave no details whatsoever. Something happened. Steve was in the Emergency Room. Eddie needed to get there. So, that's exactly what he was trying to do.

Eddie had never been so terrified. He didn't know what happened, or if Steve was okay. Wayne didn't say anything. Eddie is thinking the worst, of course. A freak accident has left Steve in a coma for the rest of his life. He's never waking up. It was the end of Eddie’s life as he knew it.

So, yeah, he was panicking. A lot.

His chest was tight, his vision a little blurry. He wanted to throw up, but didn't know if he even could. He had a white-knuckled grip on the wheel just to keep his hands from shaking.

Eddie swung into the parking lot, barely shifting it in park and shutting it off before throwing himself to the pavement and racing inside the sliding glass doors. Tiny pinpricks were settling under his skin as he searched the room for any sign of someone he knew.

“Eddie.”

His head snapped around. Wayne was standing up from a chair on the other side of the room. Eddie met him halfway, tugging his hands through his hair. “What happened? Where is he? Is he okay?”

“Slow down, kid,” Wayne said calmly, placing a firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “He just took a little tumble helpin’ me with some house work today. The docs are still runnin' tests. Knocked his head pretty good, so they're just rulin’ out further injury.”

Eddie breathing came a little easier, but not much. More head trauma for Steve was not great. What if it did something to his brain? What if something was seriously wrong?

“Where is he? Can I see him?”

“Gettin’ some imaging and such done. The doc’ll be back to update us soon.”

Eddie reluctantly followed Wayne to the collection of chairs, sitting beside him. His knee bounced anxiously. He hated this part; the waiting. He wanted to be useful. He wanted to do something. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do. He just had to sit, and wait, and hope for the best.

It was nearly half an hour later when someone came to update them.

“For Steve Harrington?” the doctor asked, nodding toward them. Eddie was immediately on his feet.

“How is he? Is everything okay? Can I see him yet?”

The doctor smiled softly. “So far, all the imaging has come back clean. We’re still waiting on results of a blood test, just standard procedure, but everything looks good so far. He does have a fractured ankle, so he’ll need to stay off his feet as much as possible for the next few weeks or so, and also a sprained wrist. Other than that, he should be just fine. I can take you back to see him now, if you'd like.”

“Yes, please.”

Eddie and Wayne followed the doctor back to a separate room. Steve was sitting up in the bed, a cast on his ankle and a brace on his wrist and forearm. He smiled when they walked in the door, and Eddie finally felt like he could breathe again.

The first thing he did was wrap Steve in a tight hug.

The second thing he did was slap Steve’s shoulder.

“What the hell were you thinking? You scared me half to death, Steve.”

Steve shrugged, looking a little sheepish. “Sorry. I was just trying to help. I figured it was safer for me to be on the ladder than Wayne. Guess I was wrong.” He looked up at Eddie, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. “I swear I'm fine, though. It wasn't even that bad of a fall.”

Eddie plopped into the chair by his bed, rolling his eyes with a huff. “Yeah, because a fractured ankle, sprained wrist, and more head trauma 'isn't that bad’. Bite me, Harrington.”

Steve grinned. “Gladly.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Eddie said with a loud, put-upon groan. There was no heat in his words, though. Not with the way he grinned right back.

Maybe his morning hadn't gone quite the way he'd planned, but at least Steve was safe. And Eddie would never let him climb another ladder again, as long as he lived.

[xetlynn]

Twilight- The Switch Of Daylight: Chapter Six, Reincarnate pt. 1

(Alice x Reader x Jasper)

[five] [six] [seven]

Bella was currently getting ready for the night of shopping with Jessica. I sat in her chair, watching her. She obviously was forcing herself to do this but I was proud nonetheless. I know how much this is probably taking out of her. She looks at me with her eyebrows furrowed. “What?” She suddenly speaks and I tilt my head. “What?” I repeat back to her. “Why are you looking at me like that.” She questions me. “Because I can?” I stand up, smiling in an annoying way on purpose. “Well, knock it off weirdo.” She throws a pillow at me from her bed, which was easily caught in my hands. I gently toss it back onto the mattress. “Shouldn’t you get going? That movie is in like 30 minutes.” I point out to her, changing the subject.

“Oh, I didn’t even notice.” She lets out a loud sigh, messing with her hair before grabbing a few things. “Uh, do you think you can come with?” She asks, a hand in her back pocket. “Jessica might get upset if I tag along.” I start to think about it. “More the reason to come, I guess.” I shrug my shoulders as Bella rolls her eyes trying to hold back a laugh. “C’mon, [Name].” She shakes her head, she turns her lights off and we head out.

We exit a theater, just getting done watching some Zombie film, I wasn’t really paying attention. A smell was bothering me the entire time and I couldn’t even tell what it was. “I don’t get why there are so many zombie movies.” Bell states out loud, and it sounds kind of muffled at first when she speaks. “It’s, like, a metaphor? For crass consumerism or something.” Jessica says and both Bella and I glance at her then at each other. “Not that you’d know anything about consuming, Bella. You didn’t buy anything. Surprisingly [Name] did.” Jessica announces, slightly lifting my bag that holds a few clothing pieces. “I bought something.” Bella argues. “Socks don’t count. ‘Course I was surprised you even called.” The girl says truthfully. “I’ve been kind of out of it.” Kind of? Girl was in mourning. “Kind of? I mean, at first I was worried. Then I’m like okay, she’s still bumming? It’s not like I wasn’t going through things too. Like Mike deciding he wanted to “just be friends?” That was really hard and…” Wow… way to make things about herself, Jesus Christ. “How ‘bout a ride girls?” A guy questions from across the street. “How about you fuck yourself?” I flip him off, Jessica and I start to walk off, listening to the guys whistle and talk about my little comment. “Come on.” Jessica tries to pull on Bella to follow with us. “I know them… I think.” Bella mutters and my eyes widen then give her a dirty look. “Bella Swan, come on right now.” I fold my arms. “Can we just go-“ Jessica pulls at her arm but it’s shrugged off. “I want to see something.” Bella walks away from us. Jessica and I watch my sister go up to these guys and I notice her heart speeds up and then for split seconds it has a weird beat to it. Her body stops realizing something. I don’t listen to the guys speak, just focusing on Bella’s movements and her heartbeat. Bella climbs onto the bike and I stiffen up .”Bella!” The bike already went to a movement and then I hear Bella tell the man to wait. Then she screams at him to stop and he does so, of course with a stupid ass comment. She scrambles off and comes back up to us. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Jessica storms up to Bella, meeting her halfway. I pinch my nose bridge shaking my head. “I saw something.” Bella was really just speaking to herself. “You are insane. Or suicidal.” Jessica walks in front of us. I observe my sister. “The more dangerous… the more real it was.”

“So, what, you’re like an adrenaline junky now? Go hang-gliding or bungee-jumping. Don’t be a complete freak.” Jessica tells my sister and Bella looks over at me to which I shake my head at her. “That was not okay.” I point to her chest, walking ahead with Jessica.

The next day I decided to do some research on a few things. I guess Bella went to the rez. I would’ve gone if it wouldn’t have been awkward around Sam now. Charlie’s been getting phone calls from Sam every two hours it seems. He’s been practically begging me to just answer it but I have nothing to say to the guy. I scrolled on my laptop, trying to find the myths of the Quileute tribe. Only to find the same ones over and over again about werewolves. I rolled my eyes, accidentally slamming the laptop closed, standing up as I do so. “Shit.” I mutter, I’m gonna have to go to the library the Quileute people have. And usually I get stares from the older generations because they can sense what I am somehow.

Placing my hands on my hips I think about what I’m going to do. Staring at the window I could sneak out of or just tell my dad the truth about where I’m going. I close my eyes and listen in on my dads heartbeat from the other room. It was steady and slowed. Definitely sleeping. That means I have about an hour until he wakes up to try to figure out dinner or whatever. I hurry out of the window and get my motorcycle. Since it’s going to make noise I glance around to see if anyone would be outside. Seeing as it’s clear I rush it down the road before starting it up and speeding down. Hearing the roar of it speed up made me think back to the feeling of jumping off that cliff. The little things that almost make me feel human.

I had to snap out of my thoughts before I get carried away and forget where I was going. Pulling into a parking spot I stared at the building in front of me. Bella said she went here before when she was trying to find out about the Cullens before. I got off my bike and slowly made my way to the building, looking around feeling something watching me. Trying to shake the feeling, I enter the library with a smile. The lady at the front desk goes to smile back but once she looks at me directly her face falls slightly. “Do you have any books on the myths of the incarnates?” I speak up, patiently waiting for her to calm herself down. “Yes, who is it for?” She questions me to which I raise a brow to. Taken a back obviously. “Myself? I am interested in knowing more about them.” I try to give her a smile again but she just gives a dirty look, walking to the back. Knowing she’s not going to want me to follow I just stand still. Moments later she comes back with two books in hand. “Here, books are usually taken out for two weeks, most I can give is maybe three. Unless you’re looking to purchase.” She doesn’t look me in the eye anymore. I figured that’s the response I would’ve gotten. I’m not an idiot. “Two weeks is fine.” I tell her. “Name.”

“[Name] Swan.” I can be just as short too but that’s not how I am. I stick with my sickly sweet attitude and still have a smile on my face. These people obviously have their myths for a reason. I’m not upset that she’s treating me like this because I have no idea the extent of what the vampires have done to her ancestors and others. “Email.” I give the rest of my information out to her and tell her to have a goodnight as I leave. Barely getting a mumble out in return.

I get on my bike, still feeling this odd sense of being watched I look around again. What the hell is going on? I speed off, going around people who decide they should walk in the middle of the road and not on the side walks. Of course getting middle fingers, I do it back.

Getting back to the house I sneak back into my window, hearing my dad’s heart beat still slow and steady I know he hasn’t even woken up. I close my window and turn on my bright ass light that’s on my ceiling. I stare at the books that now lay on my bed, wondering what I’m even going to find out.

I opened the first one. It’s definitely older. I feel like I shouldn’t even be able to hold this in my possession. My eyes scan the first page. The title sending shivers down my spine, “Reincarnate of Gods.”

For hours I read each page, observed each picture, reread many lines and paragraphs. Listening to my sister come through the front door didn’t even faze me. Along with my dad coming into my room numerous times just to stare at me. Not one word was said to me. Not even for dinner for some reason. Maybe he thinks I’m reading for school. Who knows.

I started writing down the information I was getting from the books as well. Knowing that I’m going to have to speak with Billy Black after this. There’s no way I can understand most of this on my own. Like how it says it’s a descendant from the Gods then to the Quileutes. I’m confused to say the least.

I then should’ve been an incarnate for Wolves. And if that’s true I can’t be a vampire. And I am. Most definitely am.

Sorry Tumblr is acting up I had to delete the last one. This one’s editing is a little worse but there’s really not much I can do🙄

[everythingelseisextra]

Horse To Water

Part Fourteen: Come Home (Tommy's POV)

I'm too lazy to write a description, have fun. Warnings: Kind of torture, kind of police brutality, talk of war, PTSD, language Word Count: 4535 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited  @ttaechi  @weaponizedvirtue  @majesticcmey  @optimisticsandwichgladiator  @zablife  @princesssterek  @mm0thie  @callsignvenus @ay0nha  @mgdixon  @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel  @ce1iat @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul

You find yourself in handcuffs, sitting in an empty cement cell. Water drips slowly from the ceiling. A bucket in the corner fills the room with the rotten scent of excrement. The bar you sit on permeates cold through your jodhpurs and you shiver. When you exhale, your breath fogs in the frigid air. 

You’re unsure of the details of how you got here. What you do recall is a blur of hands pressing you down or pushing you forwards, shouts of men discovering the bodies scattered through your property. The one who lasted longer must’ve called the police between the first man’s death and his. Confusion steeped through the officers, and you remember questions yelled at you, your voice failing you as usual, and your consequent incarceration. 

They’ve asked you your name. They’ve asked you your birthday, your address, your affiliation, and you can give them nothing. All the words in your mind fail to move past your lips. And so you sit alone in an empty cell and every time you close your eyes you see blood. Every time you take a breath you feel the weight of life in your lungs and you wonder when it got so heavy. 

There’s an ache left over from being young in you. This world isn’t quite what your soul expected. You went through childhood with a kind of awful surprise, like each repeated pain you felt was a new betrayal from God. Now, you’re trapped, hands tied, with nothing but your clothes between you and the world. The hair on the back of your neck rises, and you look up to see a policeman peering through the hatch, hazel eyes cold. You suck in a breath and pull your body as far from him as possible, pressing your back against the wall. 

After a moment, he enters, closing the door behind him. “So, you’re the mute.”

You stare up at him, halfway between defiant and fearful, your blood trying to boil and freeze at the same time. 

“You killed two men. One was particularly brutal. Lure him into a trap and use blunt force trauma from a height? You’re fucked in the head.” He steps towards you, slowly taking a thick, heavy baton from his side and holding it up, eyes on the black metal. “I’ve been sent in here to make you talk. I’m known for my skills, right? I make people talk. I’m good at it. I’m good at making sure people don’t get knocked out when I hit them.”

There’s a smile on his lips. You straighten in your seat, jaw tightening, and smooth out your expression. You blink slowly at him. No way in hell you’re talking, not after a challenge like that. 

“I start out gentle.” He holds the baton out, the end right below your chin. “Who are you?”

You close your eyes and breathe. When you were younger, you used to play a game with yourself, when men were particularly rough with your little body. You’d pretend that you were someone else, standing outside of your own body, watching from afar. You’d sink into the role of this person. You’d make up their story; their name, their age, why they were there. And you’d sit in their head and watch yourself be abused. It made the pain lessen. It made it go faster. 

Now, as the baton cracks into your chin, you’re standing outside of yourself to the left of the man, considering him. You imagine yourself with a strong, large body, without the aches you always seem to have, and you slip into that form. 

“I asked you who you are!” The policeman pulls the baton to the side, resting it above your ear. “I expect an answer!”

The baton hits hard into the side of your head. You fall to the side, but you don’t feel the pain. Your mind is elsewhere, hovering beside the policeman, watching his arm move the baton again, preparing for another strike. There’s hot blood rolling down the side of your head, and you’re aware of it, but you don’t feel it. You don’t feel anything. 

You will win this game. 

“Who are you?” He waits a few seconds before drawing back and striking you again with the baton. Something flickers in your off-centered mind, and your eyes slowly slide open. 

He shouts something again, but you don’t hear it. You’re focused, existing inside and outside yourself, and you’re waiting for him to draw back. He winds up, aiming for your shoulder, and you know if he were to hit, it would break your bone. Seemingly in slow motion, the baton comes crashing down, and you lift your hands, and—

The baton lands on the chain between your cuffs and breaks the metal cleanly in half. Before he registers what has just happened, you’re on your feet. You kick him hard in the groin and make for the door as he falls to his knees, whimpering. You open it, knowing full well you’re about to be caught and put right back into your cell, and shoot out, thinking somehow, maybe, you’ll get past them. 

You slam straight into someone, almost falling with the force of it, and back away, looking around wildly for some way to escape. You heave, not even trying to fend off the panic as your body trembles and your eyes search desperately for a way out. 

“Easy now, love.” Tommy’s voice. You look up to see his clear blue eyes, a faint smile on his lips. “You didn’t need my help at all, did you?”

Your wide eyes blink to try to clear your vision, give yourself some kind of groundedness in the familiar shape of his face, but the world spins around you and a burning sensation rises in your chest as you lose your breath time and time again. 

A hand reaches out for you and you jerk away, trying to catch the breath that runs chaotically away. You continue to back away, frantically seeking freedom. 

“You’re not back there. You’re not trapped. Look around, you’re free as I am.” 

There are eyes on you, pinning you to the ground, scorching your skin with their seeping gazes. You shake your head, brow furrowing, wishing you could get out from this cold, dark hallway, away from the eyes on you, away from the clattering of other prisoners. 

“Look around. You’re alright. You’re alright.” He steps towards you and you try not to cower. “Come on, let’s go, eh? Hold your head up and let’s go.” 

You take a gasping breath, then another, trying to get ahold of yourself. He reaches out a hand to you, letting it hover softly in the space between. After a moment, you look up, meeting his eyes with a kind of feral recognition that you’ve only ever seen in spooking horses being calmed. Slowly, you reach out a trembling hand to take his. 

“You’re okay.” He gives your hand a slight tug and starts to walk. Your body, pumped with adrenaline, stumbles to move by his side, falling into step with him. 

Down a cold cement hallway, with eyes seeking somewhere to land through the bars of cell doors, you walk with him. Behind you, officers watch in silence, your silhouettes slowly getting smaller in their vision. He knows his way through the maze-like building, knows how to navigate through the frigidity, and before you realize it, you’re out into fresh, equally cold night air. You stop and tilt your head up, searching the sky for stars and finding only the polluted gray of Birmingham. You continue to tremble, half from cold, half from the residual fear that skewers you, a slow, painful death. 

Once you’re in his car, tires rumbling down the streets, he speaks again. “Fucking coppers wouldn’t tell me anything. Said they brought in a girl from a barn on the outskirts for double homicide. Even Moss kept his mouth shut.”

You close your eyes, pressing them together, then open them again. Your voice comes out as barely more than a whisper. “That’s because they didn’t know anything.”

“They tried telling me that. Told them they needed to find out, then changed my mind.” He reaches out to gently brush the bloody side of your head and you flinch. He drops his hand, jaw tightening slightly. His voice raises. “Does anyone ever fucking listen to me?”

You hold back tears, voice breaking and pathetically small. “They were scared that you’d hurt them if they couldn’t tell you more.”

“What were you thinking, running off and killing two men?” His tone remains harsh and you suddenly realize you’re trapped, alone in a car with a very dangerous man. 

“I obviously didn’t do it for fun, Tom.” You wrap your arms around yourself, a silent tear dripping down your cheek. “They found me. I don’t know how, but they did. One of them was an old client, the other… I don’t know. It was self defense. They would’ve taken me back.”

He’s quiet for a moment, blue eyes reflecting the lanterns lighting the streets, little embers in the iciness. “One man with a crushed skull, the other with his brains blown out the side of his head.”

“I had to protect myself.” Your words grow louder, hoarse. “What did you want me to do, just go with them? Is that what you think of me? Just some poor haunted girl, helpless? Is that who you want me to be?” 

“No,” he says, and the word is final. “No. Everything you did, every choice you made, is exactly what I would’ve done. I don’t want you to follow down the path I did.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “I’m not following any path, I’m just trying to survive.”

“In the morning, we’ll go to your house and pack your things. You’ll stay with me.” 

Suddenly, the lump in your throat is gone, replaced with a kind of surprised rage that can’t fully be described. “You’re expecting me to put my life on hold, lose my independence, and move in with you, without even asking me first?” 

He blinks, glancing over at you as if he hadn’t realized it might not be what you wanted. “You’ll be sa—”

“Safer? I protected myself just fine, Thomas.”

“Next time, there’ll be more men, more guns, and you’ll be alone.” 

“Oh, yeah? Well then, why don’t you move in with me? Why don’t you upend your life and leave everything behind?” You turn your head to look at him, glaring. “How does that sound to you?”

“It’s not the same.”

“What, because you have money and I don’t? Because I have less to lose?” 

“You won’t be losing anything.” His hands tighten around the wheel and he straightens. “We’ll bring your horses to my stables.”

Your jaw almost drops. “Tommy, do you have any idea what it means for a woman to move in with a man? Do you realize that I’d be losing my financial and physical independence? You can’t be serious.”

“I am.” He glances over at you. “There are no rules that say you must give up your independence. Doesn’t matter what everyone else does. We can do it differently.”

You look away, refusing to meet his eyes. “I can’t rely on you for everything.” 

“You can rely on me for protection.” He nods. 

“I’m not— I hope you realize, Tom, that I will never belong to you. I will never be owned by anyone. I need space. I can’t be so close to you that there’s no room to breathe. If you want another possession, another trophy, you need to find someone else.” Your voice grows steady, strong. “I’m tired of belonging to a man. I’m tired of being told that I can’t exist without being attached to someone. I can. I exist, despite it all, and I refuse to do it again.” 

“I’m not asking you to belong to me.” He sighs, a subtle sign of frustration. “I’m asking you to keep yourself safe. Let me help you. Even just for until this is over.”

“I can protect myself.” 

“You can. But even you can’t be so strong.” His eyes flick down to his hands on the wheel, then back up to the street. “Even you can’t do it alone.”

You let his words fade into the cool night air. You try to siphon through the conflicting thoughts that flit through your mind like hummingbirds. You want to be yourself, separate from everything around you. You want to be where he is, wherever that may be, a constant yearning for the companionship he brings. You want to learn who you are without being caught in someone else’s orbit, without being owned. You want to teach yourself how to love without the constant fear of loss, and there he is, asking for nothing in return. There he is, and he has never done anything to you that was not good, and he has never tried to lead you astray. 

You lean your head back against the rest and stare out into the now clear night, the stars showing now that you’ve moved from the city. “You would take in all twelve of my horses… let me live with you… for nothing?” 

A faint smile appears on his lips. “It’s a big house. Needs someone else to fill all the empty space.”

You manage a small, watery smile in return. “Thank you.”

“No need.” He turns into the driveway of Arrow House and slowly pulls up. He stops the car but doesn’t get out, simply stares down at his hands and lets them slowly fall from the wheel. 

“What?” You shift hesitantly closer to him, trying to read his expression, trying to peer into those blue eyes and decipher the depths inside of them. 

“I know you take care of yourself,” he says slowly. “I know you always will. I want you to let me help. With everything. I want us to take care of each other.”

You take in a small breath. This, you think, this is when I hurt him. This is when it ends, all the softness and care, all the pieces of each other shared back and forth. 

“I don’t know how,” you say. “It’s always been me. I’ve never learned how to help and be helped.”

“You do know.” He looks over at you, eyes flicking over your face. “I’ve seen you do it. Care for the horses every day.”

“Then I don’t know how to let someone help me.” You reach up and touch the side of your head; you can feel it now, the throbbing, swollen pain pressing through your skull. “I don’t know how to give up that kind of control.”

He considers you, expression soft and quiet. “I know I’m not the man you imagined, but I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait for you to be ready, and I’ll wait for you to learn.”

You smile a little. “I didn’t imagine any man. You’re quite the plot twist, you know that?” 

“Will you try?” His head tilts slightly, a faint, wordless acknowledgement to your statement. “Will you take the time to learn how to be helped?” 

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes. I’ll try.” 

“Good.” He lucks up at the house, tone accomplished, as though he’s checked off another task on his to-do list. He slips out of the car and into the night, and you follow him. The cool wind batters at you, burns the broken skin at the side of your head, and you stop for a moment to watch him walk, head down, hands in his pockets, silhouetted in the grand light of Arrow House. 

When you were younger, you made a promise to yourself that you’d live long enough to have your own place. You’d survive until you could create a home, where you weren’t alone but weren’t taken advantage of. Where no one yelled and threw things, where there was no such thing as saying something wrong, a sanctuary of warmth and light and quiet appreciation. 

It was a child’s dream of paradise, and now, as an adult, you know that nothing is that simple. But, as he stops and turns, waiting for you to join him at the doorstep, you think that, maybe, you’re taking a step towards keeping that promise. Maybe you’re reaching out a hand to that young, desperate self, and showing her that there is kindness, and there is warmth, and there’s somewhere out there for her. 

And that younger self smiles, knowing that though there are battles ahead, she has made it home. 

Your eyes are closed as Tommy gently uses a washcloth to remove the blood from the side of your head. The pain throbs dully with each touch, but you somehow don’t mind it. There’s a raw, open gash underneath your hair that he drenched in alcohol a few minutes before. He’s quiet. You’re quiet. The bathroom you sit in is cool and the light is soft on your eyelids. 

You’ve seen him dream at night. His closed eyes move with nightmares, his jaw clenches, his body tenses, trembles, sometimes jolts as though in pain. All this time, and you haven’t been brave enough to ask. All this time, and you haven’t known how to ask him to talk about that wound without reopening it. Now, though, as he cleans the blood from your neck, you think, maybe the air is stable enough. Maybe the softness is steady enough. 

“You have nightmares,” you say quietly. “You never talk about them.”

“No. I don’t.” He doesn’t seem to want further questions, asking you to allow the conversation to end there. 

“Sometimes you talk in your sleep. Did you know that?” You keep your eyes closed. 

“Grace never told me.” 

“You do. It’s always indistinct. I catch names, sometimes. Someone called Danny, or Freddie. Sometimes you count. You’re quiet, but I can hear it in your voice. You’re scared. I’m never sure if waking you up would help or not, so I stay quiet, let you ride it out.” 

He doesn’t respond. You open your eyes to find his face a little paler than usual, his eyes covered in a momentary, hazy film that slowly melts away like ice. He blinks, and gives you a small nod. 

“I’m not proud. It’s no treat to relive it.” He goes back to cleaning your blood, his hand steady, his voice the same. “I get stuck in the mud again.”

“I can help,” you say quietly. “I’m not going to let you get trapped in your own head because of me. I will never let you fall apart.” 

His jaw tightens, then relaxes. “I’ll tell you. Only if you promise not to ask about it again.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes again, waiting, giving him the space to take his time. 

“I was the sergeant major of the 179th Tunneling Brigade. I spent most of my time fighting underground. Won medals for surviving what others couldn’t.” His voice flattens out, low and even, emotionless. “What else do you want to know?”

“You were… underground?” 

There’s a pause before he responds. “Yes. It was small. The cold bit our feet because shoes weren’t allowed and we couldn’t drain the water. The light came from candles that wouldn’t stay lit. Sometimes the air got thin. Sometimes the canaries and rats died before us.” 

You stay as still as you can, as quiet as you can, unwilling to break the sacred silence around you as his words settle around you. “And the nightmares?”

“A cave-in. We could hear the Germans digging above us. They sent word to get underneath them and set up enough charge to stop them getting to our trenches. Maybe it was an accident or maybe they heard us. All I know is their mines went off before ours did. I felt it before I heard it and—” He pauses and clears his throat, then continues, tone a little softer, a little more worried. “Then the ground shook and fell to bury us in a grave we’d dug for ourselves. It scared me more to realize I was alive than thinking I was dead. I remember trying to get air, get some of the weight off me and thinking: Fuck. Alive. I have to keep going. I have to get out. Five of us found a space large enough to get some air. I never heard about the rest of them”

It seems he had holds it in, grappling with the memories that swirl around his mind, intoxicating and bewitching, and, once you ask, it’s all he can do to stop it from spilling out. There’s a weight on his shoulders that never lets up, and he stays quiet about it, never complaining, never even mentioning it. You squeeze your eyes, kaleidoscope patterns of color sparking on your eyelids, and think you should’ve asked him sooner. 

“How did you get out?” You match his tone with a steady, quiet voice. 

“We dug up for a day and a half till the fixed air took our consciousness. Even before then the five of us accepted we would never see the sun. Some men dug down and got three of us out. There was another still alive underneath. His legs had broken and tangled in the apparatus for clay kicking. One of my comrades stayed down with him. The roof collapsed. Their corpses will never be recovered.” 

He sounds tired. The words he speaks seem to barely leave his throat, as though the low growl of them remains confined to his vocal cords. Finality rings from his voice like an order, or perhaps a plea. He seems to beg you, in his own silent way, not to ask for more. You can only be so selfish, so brazen in how much you push him to fake steadiness. Any further now and his façade would melt fully away. Thomas Shelby came home from war to test how many times he could ignore the broken parts of him till they shattered, and this conversation has forced him to see the cracks.

“That’s what you dream about. The cave in. The ones you left behind.”

“Sometimes. Sometimes the tunnel gets broken through and we have to fight and kill and leave the bodies to rot. Sometimes all it is is the sound of picks and shovels at the other end of the tunnel, coming towards us, and the only thing to do is wait.” His voice grows emptier, hollowed out, and you open your eyes to look up at him. 

“Tommy,” you say quietly. “Look at me.”

He does as you ask, haunted blue eyes searching for something in you that you’re not sure you have. 

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t hurt you.” You watch his hand as it shifts from steadiness to trembling, then back to steadiness again. “I can hear in your voice that you’re faking it to protect me. It’s okay. I’m not going to leave you if you’re hurt. I am, too. Remember our promise?” 

He nods blankly. “Yes. I do.”

Like a horse to water, you try to coax him to step out of the darkness and bring the parts of him he hides into the light. You know he’ll refuse. You know he’ll consider it, over and over, and then back away. Or, maybe, you’ll get lucky, and some trust will glow like an ember, and you’ll see him lay himself down in front of you and show you who he is. 

“You still feel like a soldier, don’t you?” Your tone is slightly sad. 

He nods again, curtly, but his eyes are almost sleepy, exhausted by the task of remembering and acknowledging. 

“Have you been trying to forget?”

Another nod. He looks like a boy, spooked late at night by some horror story spoken by his friend, eyes glassy and tired but, underneath, so, so afraid. The hand that holds the bloody cloth lifts and presses against his chest, over his heart, protective. 

“You wanna know what I do? With the memories that are too big for my body?” 

His eyes flick down to you, acknowledging, giving permission. 

“I sort of… sit with them. I do it alone, and I give myself time. Sometimes I panic and can’t breathe, and sometimes I fall out of myself, like I’m not quite me, but not anyone else, either. But, always, after I think about it, after I let it take me over, I can call it back without having such a strong reaction.” Slowly, you stand from your seat and turn to face him. “It hurts. I’ll be the first to admit it. It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever done, worse than when it happened the first time. But after… It's catharsis. It’s being reborn. And you’re exhausted, but you survived it, and you can do it again.” 

His eyes latch onto yours, helpless, and you reach up to caress his cheek. Slowly, he caves to you, his eyes closing. 

“And you just did it. You called back a ghost, faced it, and now, here you are.” You bring him closer to you, pressing your forehead against his. “You survived, Tommy. You survived, and I survived, and there’s something to that. There’s something to the fact that we never deserved what happened, and yet, we’re still alone, together. And now I know that I need to wake you when you have nightmares.”

He releases a slow breath. You close your eyes, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. 

“We’re gonna be okay. I think you’re right. I think we’re meant to take care of each other. You’ll teach me how to let you help me. I’ll teach you how to love again.” 

He swallows hard, and you feel a faint tremble run through him, subtle, barely there. You reach up with your other hand and take the cloth from him, setting it down on the counter, and then take his hand. You feel your heart settle into your body, and you feel something you haven’t felt in a long, long time. 

Hello love, your invincible, hopeful friend. For a moment, you forget where you are, and you squeeze his hand and start timing your breathing to his. You have so many words to speak, so much bubbling up in you, but you hold your cliches and just stand with him, waiting out the memories, holding him quietly. He squeezes back, and you smile faintly. 

“There you are.” You drop your hand from his cheek, open your eyes, and step back. 

He watches you, eyes soft, then looks away. “You were right.” 

“I was?” You blink, surprised. “About what?”

“It’s better, after, if you… sit with it, like you said.” He lets go of your hand, picks up the cloth, and walks casually to the door. “Won’t be doing it alone. I need you with me.”

“Apparently I’ll be here.” You follow him. “I live here now.” 

He shakes his head, and you catch a small smile on his lips. “Not yet. That could change.”

You chuckle. “You would never.”

“I would never,” he agrees.      

[sixhours]

who knows where the time goes

It's New Year's 2027 and the dads are going through it. An i know you by heart one-shot.

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut. Words: 11k Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), fluff for once, canon-compliant with season 1, SMUT, smut right off the bat, don't say I didn't warn you, gay sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, bisexual!Joel, gay!Ezra, homophobia and use of homophobic slurs, romance, age gap (~10ish years so barely a thing), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Notes: Look Ma, no angst! The boys are back and they're stupid in love and their kids are growing up even if that's hard to accept.

You can also read who knows where the time goes on AO3

Joel is beginning to wonder why the hell he agreed to this.

Ezra came what could have been minutes or hours or days ago. He’s in no rush to finish the job they’d started in the shower, and now Joel is hard as a rock and trussed up with a belt securing his wrists to the headboard, and his partner seems intent on edging him to the point of delirium.

Ezra releases his cock from between kiss-swollen lips and Joel looks down, gritting his teeth in frustration. This is the third time he’s come so close to release he could almost taste it, and now Ezra is smirking that coy little smirk and crawling up the bed in the wrong fuckin’ direction. He kisses his way back up Joel’s body, lingering on his stomach, nipping at the softness there, dipping his tongue into Joel’s navel, then coming up to tease a nipple with the flat of his tongue until he arches.

“Hello, songbird,” he whispers, nuzzling at Joel’s lips with the tip of his prominent nose.

“I hate you,” Joel growls, an errant tear of frustration drawing a wet trail down to his temple.

“You don’t mean that, cher ,” he says, eyes flashing. “You know the safeword. Use it at your leisure, mon coeur , unless…you think you can take a little more…”

Joel groans as Ezra purposefully lays his weight along him, thigh pressed firmly along his leaking cock, offering barely enough friction to satisfy. He wriggles against him anyway, seeking any kind of release at this point, reduced to humping his goddamned leg like a dog.

Oh, the things he’s going to do to that man when he gets his hands free.

Ezra seems preoccupied with his neck, the line of his jaw, stubble scraping against stubble that he wishes was scraping somewhere else. Like between his thighs. There’s the brush of his lips at the hollow of Joel’s throat, the bite of teeth testing the tender flesh. Then he’s being kissed soundly, hungrily, lower lip sucked greedily into Ezra’s hot mouth, tongues slipping over one another in a lush dance that does little to cool the roaring fire in his lower belly or soothe the heaviness between his legs.

And then he’s left gasping, no more friction, no more warmth or weight, and he growls a protest and tugs at the restraint. His eyes roll in his head at Ezra’s gentle huff of laughter, and he’s halfway to slipping his hands out of the belt loops–they’re not that tight–when Ezra’s mouth finds his cock again.

“Ohhh oh oh fuck,” he manages, a strangled cry of surrender.

His breath comes in hot, frantic pants as Ezra’s tongue swirls a brand just inside the tip of his foreskin, and an errant flick against the slit elicits an involuntary whimper from Joel’s lips. Then he’s wrapped in the hot wet silk of Ezra’s mouth, his tongue sliding and slicking every inch, grunting when his cheeks hollow and he sucks, a rough tug upward that sends sparks of molten ecstasy up Joel’s spine. He’s so worked up at this point, it takes almost nothing to bring him to the edge, hips bucking and straining to follow the source of his pleasure.

“Baby…oh, god, Ez, please…I’m gonna…gonna come,” he grits out.

Ezra chooses that moment to pull away, deep brown eyes wide and feigning innocence.

“I do believe that’s the point of this little exercise, mon cœur .”

“Fuck!” Joel roars as his orgasm slips quietly out of reach. Again.

“Mmmhmm,” Ezra coos, drawing it out in a self-satisfied hum as he plants a kiss on Joel’s hip, rubs his scruff against the tender skin of his inner thigh, levers his legs apart with broad shoulders and draws lazy circles along his sac with his tongue. “Yes, that is the idea here.”

“Is it?” Joel pants, bucking his hips in a vain effort to get Ezra’s attention back where it needs to be. “Because that’s not…not what…oh, fuck, Ez, don’t stop…ah, fuck.”

He loses his train of thought as Ezra adeptly sucks one of his balls into his mouth, holds it, runs the soft wet muscle of his tongue around it.

“I think you like it,” Ezra murmurs, muffled by the vee of his legs as his tongue dips and licks and sucks lower, tasting his own sticky release between Joel’s legs. Then one thick finger slides in easily, followed by another.

Joel squirms as he begins petting that spot inside with the tips of his fingers, stoking the throbbing heat in his gut. He’s leaking precum in a steady stream, cock twitching whenever Ezra pushes in and hooks his fingers at just the right angle. Rubbing and rubbing and stroking until Joel fairly keens.

“Please,” he whimpers. “Oh, fuck, please Ez, please I need…I need–”

“What do you need, cher ?”

“You,” Joel growls, the word rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, reduced to the throbbing between his legs, the heat boiling at the base of his spine, the persistent aching want of it.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Ezra murmurs.

Ezra lifts his head, securing his fingers and taking Joel’s cock so deep his nose brushes the soft thatch of hair at the root. He can’t look away when Ezra’s eyes meet his own, anchoring him, even as his body arcs and twitches like a live wire, heels digging into the mattress when his sensitive head hits the back of his throat. And when he finally begins to move with purpose, when it’s clear he has no intention of slowing or stopping or delaying the inevitable, Joel thinks he might black out from the intensity, head slamming back to the pillow with a cry that is as much relief as pleasure.

please, please, baby, please, ezra, love, please

He’s not even sure if he’s saying the words aloud. His mouth is moving, sounds of pleasure bubbling forth as Ezra devours him with firm strokes of his mouth, over and over and over, fingers tapping a heartbeat rhythm inside him. He’s nothing but heat and throb and pulse and so full and wet and–

oh oh oh yes there right there right oh god ezra yes please

Joel finally comes, and comes, and comes, orgasm drawn out for what feels like eternity. Arms aching and taut, shoulders on fire, body jerking and arching until he’s drained and limp with it. And Ezra doesn’t stop, just continues his ministrations, softer swipes of his tongue, gentle suckles, licking him and lapping at him like a fucking ice cream cone until even the slightest movement sends his body into a fit of overstimulated shivers and the safeword is dancing on the tip of Joel’s tongue.

When he’s completely soft, Ezra finally releases him, carefully straddling his hips. Joel doesn’t have a single muscle left at his command. He tries to move and his body just…doesn’t.

And Ezra, the smug bastard, seems really fucking pleased with himself.

“Did so good for me, love,” he murmurs, tugging at the strap securing Joel’s wrists to free him from the headboard, guiding his arms down to rest against his chest. He’s far too adept given his lack of a second hand, and if Joel weren’t so fucked out, he might think to question Ezra’s skill with restraints.

Ezra takes one of Joel’s wrists in hand, examining it with soft eyes. He kisses the pink stripe of skin where the belt etched a mark, soothes it with his tongue, then kisses the tip of each knuckle before gently lowering the arm, repeating the ritual with his other wrist. Joel winces; his shoulders are gonna feel it tomorrow. Hell, his whole body is going to feel it tomorrow.

“Sore?” Ezra murmurs as if reading his mind.

Joel doesn’t have the energy to do much more than blink in response. He’s coated in a fine sheet of sweat, the sheets beneath them soaked. His heart throbs in his throat.

When he finally finds his voice, all he can utter is, “You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

Ezra grins then, the boyish, cocky smile that made Joel fall in love with him. He slides down until he’s resting against Joel’s side, lets their lips meet and parts them easily with the deft swipe of his tongue. He tastes himself, lets Ezra lick into his mouth with a shuddering whimper. Even now, overstimulated as he is, he lets Ezra take what he needs, take and take and take, deepening the kiss until his head swims, until they’re both breathless from sharing each others’ air. Ezra is somehow more needy after sex, nuzzling and nipping like he can’t get close enough, only satisfied when Joel finds the strength to roll to his side and wrap an arm and a leg around him, caging him with his body and pressing him firmly into the mattress.

“Let me take my reprieve for a moment, then I’ll draw us a bath,” Ezra rumbles against Joel’s throat.

“Ain’t movin’,” Joel says.

“You are,” Ezra says easily, kissing his nose. “I cannot abide the night in this sweaty, soiled bedding.”

“Shower, then,” he mutters. “You put me in the bath and I’m stayin’ there ‘til next week.”

“Fair enough.”

And they do eventually work up the energy to shower, a perfunctory wash that has Joel leaning against the wall with exhaustion and Ezra doing most of the work to clean them both. He leaves to let Joel finish up, and by the time he’s dried off and pulled on his boxers, Ezra has already changed the sheets and is sitting up in bed, reading glasses perched on his nose as he frowns at some psychology text, damp hair curling around his ears.

The sight of him like this, so domestic, still flushed from sex and the shower, stirs a primal feeling in Joel’s gut, something new and unexplored. It’s the same feeling that led him to stash a small blue box in the back of his nightstand drawer, a box he hasn’t worked up the courage to think about since he put it there a few months ago.

But he’s too damn tired to ponder that right now.

He slides between clean sheets and pulls the quilt up to his chin and plants a kiss on the side of Ezra’s thigh because it’s the only part of him within reach. He’s already half asleep when Ezra pauses his reading to curl over him, whispering a soft goodnight into his ear.

~*~

Joel wakes with a groan several hours later. He’d barely moved in the night, hadn’t even turned over once, and now he’s paying for it, every muscle stiff with the pleasant ache of overuse.

“Songbird,” Ezra rumbles in his ear.

A slow kiss good morning turns into something more, something unhurried and deep and languid with no ulterior aim. Just the thought of trying to get it up again makes Joel’s groin ache, anyway.

“Mmm, mornin’,” he murmurs into Ezra’s mouth, not quite breaking the kiss, not quite ready to leave their warm cocoon. His lips wander, nipping at Ezra’s chin, his neck, suckling at the freckle just behind his left ear, that hidden spot that makes him shudder.

Downstairs, the door slams.

“Joel?”

Ellie’s voice echoes up the stairs. She moved into the garage over the summer, after she turned seventeen, right about the time Ezra started sleeping over on a more permanent basis. The extra space seems to have done their relationship some good and given them all some necessary privacy, but usually she’s the one joining them for breakfast and not the other way around.

“Jesus, what time is it?” Joel mutters.

Ezra rolls over and squints at the clock. “Eight-thirty.”

“Joel? Ezra?”

“We’re comin’,” Joel calls, stealing one more kiss before he slips reluctantly out of bed. “Hold your damn horses.”

By the time he makes it downstairs, a pot of coffee is bubbling on the stove and Ellie is frying eggs in the large cast iron skillet.

“Wild night?” she asks, not looking up from the pan. “Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”

Joel snorts, headed straight for the coffee, dropping a kiss on the back of her head.

“This the good stuff?” he asks, peering over her shoulder.

“Mmhm. Leftover from Christmas,” Ellie says, flipping an egg, yolk breaking all over the pan. “Damnit.”

He groans in wordless appreciation and pours himself a cup. The first sip is almost as orgasmic as…well. He sighs a deep, rumbling sigh and carries his mug to the table, holding it in both hands with reverence.

“Should I leave you two alone?” she snarks, just as Ezra joins them.

“Morning, gem,” Ezra says, eyes brightening. “Ooh, is that real coffee I smell?”

“The finest shitwater this side of the Mississippi,” Ellie drawls. “100% pure, uncut shit.”

This does nothing to dissuade Ezra from pouring himself a cup and indulging with the same reverence as his partner. Ellie pours herself some apple juice and slides the eggs onto three plates, carrying all of it to the kitchen table.

“Are you two going to the bonfire tonight?” she asks, sitting down and forking half an egg into her mouth in one swift motion.

“Wouldn’t miss it, gem,” Ezra says, just as Joel mutters, “Don’t think so.”

Ellie smirks as they exchange a look.

“S’the same thing as last year,” Joel grumbles. “New year, new flag, someone gets drunk and tries to set themselves on fire by fallin’ into the pit. Not a whole helluva lot to miss.”

“Come, songbird, you can’t tell us there isn’t a certain hopeful, buoyant energy about the time. Is there nothing more sacred than the ritual of a community overcoming all odds, welcoming the year with fresh spirits?”

“At least it’s not a stupid dance,” Ellie supplies. “And there’ll be marshmallows. Talia made loads.”

“See? Marshmallows!” Ezra nudges Joel, who grumbles a non-answer and returns his attention to his coffee.

“And I heard Marnie Jacobs designed the flag this year,” Ellie continues. “So you know it’ll be weird.”

The town flag has become a Jackson New Year’s tradition. Instead of a ball drop, the final ten seconds of the year are celebrated by raising a new flag in the town square. The design is kept secret by the council and its creator until its reveal, and at this time of year, speculation runs rampant. Joel figures this is what passes for entertainment in a world without reality TV.

“Ellie,” he scolds mildly.

“What? It’s true, Marnie’s a fuckin’ weirdo. Didn’t say it was a bad thing. Anyway, I’m going to be with Cat and Dina and Jesse so feel free to pretend you don’t know me.”

“Won’t Cee be joining you?” Ezra asks.

“No, she’s going with Luke.”

There’s a heavy pause as Ezra narrows his eyes. “I see.”

“You don’t like him very much, do you?” Ellie says nonchalantly, taking a sip of her juice. Joel gives her a light kick under the table and shoots her a look.

Ezra scowls, grabbing his plate and taking it to the sink. “I have no reason to dislike the boy.”

He spits out the word boy with clear disdain. Cee and Luke have been an ongoing topic of contention since they started dating last summer. Ezra seems to have abandoned his usual easy-going attitude with regards to this particular part of Cee’s life in favor of watching the two like a hawk and griping about how close they’ve become, both literally and figuratively. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the relationship that Joel can see–just that Cee is one of the two people involved.

“However–” Ezra begins, clearly about to hold forth. Again.

“Annnnd that’s my cue,” Ellie says, hopping up from the table with a mouthful of food, gulping down the rest of her juice, and tossing her plate in the sink.

“Deserter,” Joel hisses under his breath as his kid abandons him to Ezra’s monologue, practically frolicking out the door. 

“Cee is too young to be tying herself down, she’s barely old enough to know what she wants, what’s good for her–”

“Uh-huh,” Joel says, sipping his coffee, knowing it’s better to let Ezra wear himself out than try to interject. But he’s still going when the dishes are done and they’re walking to their respective assignments; Ezra to his office, still at his old house, and Joel to a remodeling project on the north end of town.

“I know you see her as a kid, but she’s twenty years old, Ez,” Joel tries, when it’s clear his partner is not going to be subdued.

“He’s older,” Ezra counters.

“By six months,” Joel says, quirking his lips.

“Still, I am loath to see birdie’s impressionable young mind corrupted by–”

“She’s a smart kid. She ain’t gettin’ corrupted.”

“They’re always together, always on top of each other–”

“Most I’ve ever seen ‘em do is hold hands.”

“The autumn dance?” he says insistently. “Remember? One couldn’t have pried the two apart with a crowbar.”

“He was nothin’ but respectful, hands never went south of her waist. I know, because you made us watch ‘em all damn night,” he grumbles. “Luke’s a good patroller, hard worker, got a good head on his shoulders. He’s polite, does his job. Mom’s on the council–”

“None of which means he isn’t harboring sinister motives, songbird.”

“They seem happy enough. They’re young, sure, but…Cee could do a lot worse.”

“Well, I don’t trust him. You and I are far too familiar with the habits of young men of a certain age.”

Joel snorts. “You’re preachin’ to the choir. But the clinic’s got birth control.”

“She’s on it, I made sure of that,” he says, frowning. “But there are worse things than pregnancy. She has that whole house to herself, and I can’t help but think they have a bit too much freedom, too much space in which to make trouble.”

“Don’t think ‘trouble’ is the word you’re lookin’ for,” he smirks, eliciting a scowl from Ezra. “You could sleep at your place more often.”

He hates the idea as soon as the words are out of his mouth.

“Don't doubt I have considered it. I recognize the need for some independence on her part. I just…I can’t help but feel incredibly protective of her.”

“Congratulations, dad ,” he says wryly. “Welcome to the club.”

“I know where we come from, songbird,” he says, shoulders sagging a little. “I know what she…what we…went through. I fear she doesn't have a solid grounding in intimate relationships and therefore lacks the experience and…and foresight to fully grasp the consequences.”

“You fared alright,” Joel counters softly.

“Yes, well, I’ve had years to draw my own conclusions. She’s–she’s…”

For once, Ezra seems to find himself at a loss for words.

“She’s gonna figure it out the way the rest of us did,” Joel finishes for him. “Trial an’ error, an’ a little bit of heartbreak.”

They’ve reached his office. They linger outside while Ezra frowns, thoughtful.

“Would you be so cavalier if it were our…your young prodigy?”

Joel can’t help but notice the our , but he bites his lip on that.

“Y’know…I think I would,” Joel says. “‘Sides, Ellie’s not into that stuff yet. She’s got her friends…her patrols. Doesn’t seem all that taken by anyone.”

Thank fuck , he doesn’t say. He tries to imagine Ellie in a romantic relationship but can’t quite manage it. That Jesse kid seems to have taken a liking to her, but then he’s always hanging around with the girls…to the point where Joel wonders if he’s a little more like Ezra than Joel.

“Well, when she is, perhaps you’ll see it from my point of view,” Ezra sighs.

“Maybe so,” Joel says agreeably, placing his hands on Ezra’s shoulders until they’re standing face to face. “What was it you said? ‘Hopeful, buoyant energy?’ New year, new start? It’ll work out.”

He brightens. “Does that mean I’ll see you at the bonfire tonight?”

Joel huffs a breath into the cold. “Yeah…fine. I’ll be there.”

“Perhaps we’ll share a New Year’s kiss?” Ezra grins, moving closer. “We could practice…”

Joel lets himself be pulled into a one-armed embrace, lets Ezra’s mouth slant over his in a kiss reminiscent of their morning explorations, something on the edge of indecent for standing in the middle of the street.

“Yeah, yeah, go on,” Joel mutters when he finally pulls away, a blush creeping from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears. But he walks the rest of the way to work with a lightness in his step, thinking of the small blue box in his nightstand drawer.

~*~

The evening of the bonfire settles over Jackson crisp and clear. Joel goes home after work to wash up, finding a note on the table from Ezra–he got roped into helping set up in town. Ellie is nowhere to be found, probably finishing up with her work shift or off somewhere with her friends, so he eats a supper of leftover chicken and potatoes standing at the counter, alone. There was a time in his life here when this was the norm, and he doesn’t miss it.

He heads to the party around nine, drawn to the north field by plumes of fragrant woodsmoke and the sound of live music. They’re far away enough from town not to cause concern but still in sight of the square, and close to the creek so they have ready access to water, but there’s no wind tonight and no reason to think there will be trouble. There’s already a crowd around the roaring fire. Cold as it is, the intense warmth radiating from the central pyre is welcome.

Joel helps himself to a bottle of hard cider–it’s the closest thing they have to champagne–and finds Ezra at the edge of the crowd, chatting animatedly with Marnie. She’s eccentric, he’ll give Ellie that–bushy red hair, Coke-bottle glasses, neon pink ski jacket decorated with patches and buttons, but she’s friendly and talented with a sewing machine. She’s made clothes for half the town, and Joel is pretty sure the flannel he’s wearing under his jacket is one of hers.

He lingers in the background, content to watch his people enjoying the celebration. He glimpses Ellie and her friends off to one side, huddled together in that secretive way of teenagers, wanting to be in the middle of the action while still appearing aloof. Tommy is wrangling Isabel, the toddler doing her best to keep her father on his toes, drawn like a moth to a literal flame; Joel can’t help but think of Sarah at that age, the constant need for distraction and redirection. Maria is chatting with one of their neighbors, looking more relaxed than he’s seen her in a while. Izzy must finally be sleeping through the night.

Then he catches sight of Cee sitting on a log on the other side of the fire with Luke. They’re close, heads bowed together as they strain to hear one another over the crackling, popping fire and the crowd, lost in their own little world. Ezra sidles up to Joel with a frown.

“Perhaps I should check in, ensure our little birdie is–”

“Leave it,” Joel says, threading their fingers together. “And hello, by the way.”

“I just–”

“Ez, c’mon,” he murmurs, tugging him back, wrapping an arm around his waist. He’s not usually so affectionate in public but Ezra is pliant enough. He settles against his side, still eyeing the oblivious young couple with suspicion, and Joel not so subtly turns them and marches them in a different direction.

“C’mon, let ‘em enjoy the party without us old guys hangin’ around.”

“Their ‘enjoyment’ is exactly what I’m afraid of,” he grumbles, glancing over his shoulder as Joel practically drags Ezra to the cider table and forces a bottle into his hands.

“Never developed a taste for this stuff,” Ezra says, wrinkling his nose.

“Well, develop one,” Joel says drily. “You need to relax.”

“I am perfectly relaxed,” he mutters sourly, but he takes a large swig from the bottle.

At some point Ellie flits by, licking her fingers clean of what is probably her fifth toasted marshmallow, if Joel had to guess. She’s talking excitedly with Cat through a mouthful of white fluff when she notices them, waving with a grin and wandering their way. Cat is the most reserved of Ellie’s friends. Like Dina, she lives with her older sister, but Joel gets the sense she’s not looked after closely.

“Dude! You actually came,” Ellie says, punching Joel on the arm in greeting.

“Seems that way,” he agrees mildly, keeping what he hopes is a not-embarrassing distance. It takes all his self-restraint not to pull her into a hug and give her a noogie.

“What a pleasant surprise, you’ve decided to acknowledge our presence,” Ezra quips.

“Don’t worry, it’s temporary,” she smiles, eyes shining. “We heard Marcello found a bunch of those sparkler things on a scavenging run. We’re gonna go see if twenty-year-old fireworks still light.”

“What could go wrong?” Ezra says at the same time Joel opens his mouth to protest. But someone taps him on the back–Tommy with Isabel in tow–and Ellie and Cat and their plans are lost to the crowd. He sends up a silent wish for his kid to survive the night with all her fingers and toes intact before accepting his niece, bundled up against the cold in her winter snow suit.

“Someone wanted to see her uncles,” Tommy says, looking a bit rough around the edges.

“Unca Jojo! Unca Ra!”

“Sure she did,” he smirks. “More like daddy just needed a break from chasin’ her around all night, huh bug?”

“Biiiiiig fow,” she agrees. “Big fow owie.”

“You bet, kid. What’re you doin’ up this late, anyway?” he asks, and she launches into an explanation in toddlerspeak that Joel just barely understands.

“Mama n’ Dada bing Izzy wiff. Big fow! No ni-ni.”

“Everyone an’ their great aunt is here tonight,” Tommy shrugs. “Couldn’t find a sitter so bedtime is canceled. Don’t think we’re gonna make it to midnight, though.”

“Didn’t ask me,” Joel says. “Would’ve loved to have an excuse to get outta this.”

“I beg your pardon,” Ezra says, feigning offense, sticking out his tongue at Izzy, who giggles shyly. Babies aren’t Ezra’s thing, but he and Izzy have developed a tentative friendship based on a regular exchange of funny faces.

Conversation turns to the usual subjects; the weather, the never-ending list of community construction projects, council business, Izzy’s sleep habits, Ellie’s misadventures. At some point, Ezra quietly excuses himself and Joel loses track of him, focused instead on talking to Tommy and keeping Izzy from wiggling her way out of his arms.

When Joel thinks to look for him, searching the crowd of familiar faces, he finds his partner hovering over Cee and Luke. The kids look less than pleased. Joel is debating whether to intervene when Cee stands and leaves in a huff, and Ezra takes her place on the log next to a very uncomfortable looking Luke.

“Shiiiii–shoot,” he mutters, interrupting his brother and handing the baby back. “I gotta go.”

Tommy arches a brow. “Everythin’ okay?”

“Dunno yet,” he mutters before striding over to the other side of the bonfire.

“‘Scuse us,” he says to Luke, pulling Ezra up by the hand before he can protest and steering them away from the poor kid. Joel remembers when Sarah was little, how he and Tommy would joke about sitting on the porch, cleaning their guns if she brought a boy home. He’s pretty sure he just saw Ezra’s version of that in action.

“The hell did you say to them?” he growls when they’re away from the crowd.

“ Moi ? Nothing untoward. I simply asked after Luke’s intentions toward our…my…toward Cee.”

“Uh-huh,” Joel says, unconvinced.

“And then I had a…chat…with this Luke boy.”

“Worse than the damn toddler,” Joel grumbles. “Gotta follow you everywhere just to keep you from gettin’ in trouble.”

Ezra sulks, but he promises to leave the kids alone for the rest of the evening—an easy promise to make now that Cee appears to have abandoned the party.

The last of New Year’s Eve passes with conversation and music and the heat of the fire on their faces. Joel nurses his bottle of cider and keeps to the edges while Ezra wanders and returns to his side every so often. At some point, glittering trails of light appear in the distance, writing nonsense patterns against the dark. Apparently, twenty-year-old sparklers do still light.

Eventually, Ezra returns and tucks into Joel’s side for warmth, wrinkling his nose as someone on the music crew strums an off-key rendition of Prince’s 1999 .

“You should be up there,” Ezra nudges him, nodding toward the makeshift band.

“Hell’s gotta freeze over first,” Joel says.

“If hell were going to freeze over, Jackson would be the place to do it,” Ezra mutters, shivering a little despite the heat of the fire. 

“S’nice, though,” Joel murmurs, low enough for only Ezra to hear. “Glad you talked me into it.”

The countdown begins at ten seconds to midnight. The crowd watches as the new flag ascends to its place in the square and the design is pretty tame for Marnie’s work. The silhouette of a bison stitched onto a canvas backdrop, quilted from dozens of scraps of fabric representing the town’s diverse citizenry. Tomorrow they’ll examine it up close and see remnants from blankets, shirts, and even a scrap from last year’s flag—pieces of cloth that have likely touched every single resident at one point or another. It reaches the top of the pole just as they welcome in the new year with raucous cheers and the ringing of bells and a chorus of Auld Lang Syne .

But Joel has stopped watching the flag ceremony, unmoved by the din, head turned instead to watch his partner in the firelight. And when the final cheer rises up, he’s waiting and ready to take his kiss. More chaste than their exchange this morning, but still a balm to Joel’s heart.

“Happy New Year, songbird,” Ezra murmurs when they pull apart, and Joel thinks there might be something to his words of hope earlier, because his eyes are the slightest bit wet. He’ll blame the smoke from the fire and the single cider he finished an hour ago.

Then Ellie’s voice rises above the din, the shrill, angry note turning Joel’s stomach and tightening his jaw before he can spot her.

“Say it again, motherfucker!”

She’s squared off with someone on the other side of the fire, blurred by the heat haze. Joel is moving toward them without thought, following the sound of Seth McLeland and his big drunk mouth. Ellie is still tiny for her age, barely coming up to Seth’s shoulder, but she’s solid on her feet and her opponent sways like a tree in the wind.

“I said,” Seth spits, slurring his words, “m’surrounded by a buncha fuckin’ faggots.”

“Ellie, c’mon–” Dina is coming over, but Joel gets there first.

“You piece of sh–”

“C’mon, kid, he ain’t worth it,” Joel grits out, grabbing Ellie by the arm just as she’s winding up to take a swing.

“Joel,” she hisses, turning on him. “He said–”

“I heard what he said, but he’s drunk as a fuckin’ skunk and he’ll get what’s comin’ to him. Ain’t worth your time or mine.”

Seth snarls. “Used to be this was a decent town. Can’t go ten feet without seein’ this…this rainbow gay shit all over the fuckin’ place.”

“Perhaps I can help mediate?” Ezra pipes up, and Joel glares at him, still hoping to stave off a Miller family brawl with the town’s notoriously homophobic jackass. Ignoring Joel’s silent plea, Ezra steps up to Seth with a smile that’s more predatory than friendly, leans in, and whispers something into the other man’s ear. Joel waits, still holding Ellie by the arm, watching closely. Seth’s face twists in a sneer, then he ducks his head with the air of someone shamed.

“What do you say, my good man?” Ezra says, still smiling his shark-tooth smile, clapping Seth roughly on the shoulder. “Let’s say you call it a night and we all forget this ever happened, hmm?”

And whatever he said, it looks like that might have done the trick. Seth grunts a wordless response, and Ezra turns away.

But then Seth sneers under his breath, the slur unmistakeable. “Turn tail and run, fag.”

The crunch of the man’s nose breaking under Joel’s fist is the most satisfying thing he’s felt all damn day.

~*~

“My hero,” Ezra says drily, when they’re back at home and he's tending to Joel’s bruised knuckles at the kitchen table. He definitely aggravated the old hairline fracture; his hand is going to ache for weeks. Thankfully Maria and two others intervened before Seth could throw a punch, so that’s the worst of the damage.

Worth it , Joel thinks.

“Wish you’d let me hit him first,” Ellie sulks from her perch on the counter.

“Better me than you if someone’s gonna get in trouble for fightin’,” Joel says. “‘Sides, I’m stronger. He ain’t gonna be able to breathe out his nose for a month.”

“Rude,” Ellie says, but a smirk pulls at the corner of her lips.

“I had hoped we might extract ourselves without it coming to fisticuffs,” Ezra says pointedly. “But your Joel here couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie.”

“He’s only mine when he’s behaving,” Ellie supplies, hopping off the counter with a yawn. “He’s all yours tonight, Ez.”

Joel gives her a look, but she just pats him on the shoulder on her way out the door. “Great start to the year, dudes.”

“Fucker was overdue,” Joel grumbles when she’s gone, then remembers Ezra’s failed intervention. “The hell’d you say to him, anyway?”

“Oh, I know all sorts of dirty little secrets about the people in this town, songbird,” he says, eyes glittering. “Just went through my mental rolodex of contenders with regards to our dear friend Seth and found the sweet spot. The one thing that might ruin him should it get out.”

“And what might that be?”

“It’d be unethical to share, I’m afraid,” Ezra says, feigning a pout.

“And blackmail ain’t?”

“Mmm, I am not aware of any such laws on the books regarding blackmail. And in the case of blatant hate speech at a family function? I don’t think the fine members of the Jackson council will revoke my license in this particular situation.”

“You don’t have a license,” Joel grumbles.

“My point exactly,” he grins, finishing the wrap on Joel’s hand. “There, that should hold. The next time you feel the need to defend my honor, try to use the un broken fist. I can give you some tips on throwing a punch with your left. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“Wasn’t just about you,” Joel says, flexing his busted hand with a grimace. “We’re not the only ones. Kids shouldn’t have to hear that shit.”

“Yes,” Ezra sighs, rubbing the back of Joel’s hand with his thumb. “I can’t argue with your logic or your sense of common decency, cher , it’s perfectly sound. I just wish you didn’t need to come to physical harm in the process.”

“I can take it,” he says, standing and stretching, heading for the stairs. “Did you find out what happened with Cee?”

“I…no. What with all the evening’s drama, I didn’t catch up with her. I suspect she went home.”

“Hmm.”

They leave it at that while they get ready for bed, the kind of mundane routines that still surprise Joel despite having lived together for most of the year. Two toothbrushes by the sink, two razors, and the mouthwash Ezra likes. A stack of books on each nightstand, half a closetful of clothes, and a slew of record albums on the dresser. Joel isn’t sure when he started thinking of it as their home, not his home, but it probably has something to do with the little box in his nightstand drawer.

“Do you think I’ve been too harsh with her, songbird?” Ezra asks as they’re getting into bed. For all his earlier bravado and posturing, he seems deflated now.

“No,” Joel sighs. “Think you’re tryin’ your best, same as the rest of us. Prob’ly been a bit hard on that Luke kid, though.”

“I admit, I’m…I’m probably not at my most objective when it comes to Cee,” he frowns.

“She’s on the patrol roster,” he says, flicking off the lamp. “Maybe I can pair up with her next time we’re on the same shift, see if we can talk it out.”

“You would do that?” Ezra brightens. “Perhaps she’d listen to you. Or…talk to you, at least. I’m not always her first choice.”

“Chasin’ her off tonight prob’ly didn’t do you any favors,” he sighs. “But yeah…I can try.”

“Thank you,” Ezra murmurs, slipping his arm around Joel’s waist.

“‘Course,” he says. They stay like that for a while, Ezra’s head on Joel’s shoulder, fingers tracing the scars that litter his chest and stomach.

“You know,” Ezra murmurs into Joel’s ear. “I hesitate to say anything in the interests of preventing future encounters, songbird, but…there is a certain… je ne sais quoi to watching the man you love brutalize a raging homophobe.”

“Yeah?” Joel snorts. “That do it for ya?”

“Mmm.”

And Joel can feel exactly what it does for him, a certain familiar insistence at his hip. He turns over, met with those dark brown eyes, remembers them lit by firelight, and presses his lips to Ezra’s. Soon they’re panting, Ezra breaking the kiss to huff the words into Joel’s mouth between kisses.

“I…presume you’re still a bit…sore…after yesterday’s…endeavors…”

“I think we can figure somethin’ out.”

And they do.

~*~

A few days later, Joel goes to the stables early to check the patrol schedule. Cee did her training over the spring and summer so she was still considered a junior patroller, but winter patrols were perfect for that. The cold and snow made it difficult for humans and infected alike, making for shorter, less eventful runs and good practice for those with less experience. Joel re-jigs the schedule to put himself with Cee that morning, figuring a few hours on horseback might give them a chance to talk.

If Ellie arrived in Jackson like a feral cat ready to scratch and bite, Cee was more the type to hide in the back of a closet. She was skittish and less inclined to socialize, not unlike Joel himself. They both liked their space, but that meant he and Cee didn’t have Ezra and Ellie’s easy friendship. They’d shared a few conversations here and there, usually over family meals, but little else.

The weather is clear, and the ride to the north ridge passes in comfortable quiet. Joel doesn’t broach the subject until they’re close to returning to Jackson. At least if it goes bad, they’ll only have to suffer for a few miles.

“Hey, so, uh…how’re things goin’ with that guy you’re seein’? Luke, right?”

Cee glares at him. “Did Ezra put you up to this?”

“He didn’t, I swear,” Joel says. “This…this was my idea. I think he’s bein’ a little overprotective, myself.”

“A little?” she huffs.

Joel bites his lip on a smile. “Alright…maybe more than a little.”

“To answer your question, things are fine with Luke,” she says tersely. “They would be better if Ezra wasn’t intent on making a complete ass of himself every time he sees us together. But I can’t seem to get that through his thick skull.”

“Yeah, I…I noticed.”

“I don’t get why he’s being such a dick about it,” she says after they’ve ridden a little further. “I’m almost twenty-one. It’s like…it’s like he still sees me as this little kid.”

Joel clucks his tongue. “You spend long enough protectin’ someone…that’s a hard habit to break. He’s lookin’ out for you the best way he knows how.”

“I don’t need looking after, though.”

“I know. An’ I think he does, too, even if he won’t admit it,” he says. “It’s more about him than you, kiddo. He…he worries he’s not doin’ right by you. Worries he’s not…enough.”

“He’d be doing better if he’d just back off a little,” she scoffs.

“Yeah, I reckon he would,” he agrees. “Ezra’s stubborn, but…he’ll get there. Just has to do things on his own time.”

Cee frowns as they ride on, loping across the frigid landscape.

“I had a thought,” Joel continues. “Might not be the most comfortable way of doin’ things, but…what if we invited you and Luke to supper? Maybe give y’all a chance to, uh, talk. When Ellie an’ I were new here and things were…rocky…with Maria, Tommy had us over every week. Was pretty awkward at first, but then we kinda fell into a routine with it.”

She wrinkles her nose. “That sounds painful.”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, it don’t sound like a good time to me, either. But it shows Ezra you’re willin’ to meet him halfway. And he’ll probably come around if he can see how much Luke cares about you.”

She doesn’t answer for a while and that suits Joel fine. He relaxes his attention a fraction and enjoys the ride, the crunch of snow under the horse’s hooves, the biting January air. They’re almost home, well within the safest part of Jackson’s territory.

“Okay,” she sighs finally. “We can try the dinner thing…I guess.”

“Yeah? Alright then. It’s a deal,” he says. “An’ it prob’ly goes without sayin’, but…if that kid ever lays a hand on you in the wrong way, it won’t just be Ezra he has to answer to. Understood?”

She smiles her shy, subdued smile. “I know. Thanks.”

“I mean that. You’re family. If anything happens–“

“I get it, I do, but he’s…he’s sweet,” she blushes, looking down at her hands on the reins. “He’s…careful. And kind. He writes. And we like the same books and music and…I dunno. I guess I just feel this…connection with him that I haven’t felt before. I never had the chance. Feels like I’m making up for lost time when I’m with him…y’know?”

“Yeah,” he says softly, thinking of Ezra. “Yeah, I do.”

“I wish Ez would just relax about it,” she sighs. “Like with you and Ellie.”

Joel blinks in surprise, thinking “relaxed” is not exactly how he’d describe his relationship with Ellie. But he doesn’t have a chance to question it before she continues.

“I mean, you’re not all on her case about…oh.”

She trails off with a faint squeak, going stiff in the saddle and jerking the reins. The horse rears and hesitates, sensing her rider’s distress, and Cee has to soothe and shush the animal to get her back on track.

“On her case about what?” Joel asks once the horse has settled.

Cee’s words come out in a rush. “Nothing. It’s nothing, I–I mean…nothing.”

“Wait, Cee…is Ellie…is Ellie seein’ someone?”

“No! No. She’s…she’s not…I didn’t say that,” she sputters, cheeks flushed.

“But you said–”

The gates are in sight and she’s brought the horse to a trot, pulling ahead of him. “Race you back!”

“Hey, hold up!”

But she’s already closing the gap between him and Jackson, waving the red flag to signal their reentry as she leaves Joel in her dust. By the time he rides through the gates, she’s abandoned her horse to the care of one of the stablehands and disappeared. It had gone so well, too; Cee said more words in the last half hour than she’d probably said to him in the last two years.

Goddamned skittish cat , Joel thinks miserably.

He’s still processing their conversation as he walks back from the stables. His chest goes tight as he considers the implications, remembering his seventeen-year-old self, carefree and reckless to a fault. He thinks of the steady rotation of condoms in his wallet and two lines on a pregnancy test. Fuck, they’ve never even talked about this and god knows what bullshit they taught in FEDRA school.

He’s been Ellie’s guardian for three years and he doesn’t even know if she’s on birth control.

This swirling mass of emotions is not assuaged as he approaches the house. Ellie’s garage apartment is unusually dark for this time of day. She’s probably just out with her friends , he tells himself, but the uncertainty churning in his gut leads him to knock on her door.

No response.

He’s raising his hand to knock again when he hears a noise. It’s faint, but not faint enough to escape his poor hearing.

“Ellie?”

Muffled sounds from within, but no response. The hair on the back of his neck prickles.

“Ellie, I’m comin’ in–”

“NO! Don’t!”

His hand snaps back from the doorknob at the sound of her voice, relieved to know she’s safe inside…and yet, not. “You alright, kid?”

“I’m…fine! It’s fine!”

“You don’t sound fine.”

More muffled sounds, a thud, then scraping and shuffling. And…giggling?

“I’m comin’ in,” he growls, but the doorknob turns under his hand and Ellie appears, face emerging from the darkened slit of her barely opened door.

“Don’t,” she pants. “I’m…I’m fine. There’s…I’m just…I was tired and needed to…rest before dinner.”

“You’re not gettin’ sick, are you?”

Another noise. Definitely a giggle. Not from Ellie.

Her ponytail is down, hair curling in wild wisps around her flushed face.

Her shirt is inside out.

She shoots a frantic look over her shoulder at the source of the giggles and offers Joel a weak smile. He puts two and two together just as Cat appears at the door clad in nothing but jeans and a sports bra, equally flushed and tousled.

Joel turns on his heel because he sure as hell doesn’t need to see more.

“I’m…you’re…I’m gonna…go,” he chokes out.

Ezra is sitting on the couch with his book when Joel stumbles in on wooden legs, looking up in alarm at Joel’s shell-shocked expression.

“What happened?”

“Ellie’s…uh…Ellie’s with a girl. With Cat.”

Ezra’s brow furrows. “And…?”

“I, uh…I almost…walked in on ‘em,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Together. Christ.”

“Oh–OH,” Ezra says, eyes widening in understanding. “You mean with -with?”

“With-with,” Joel echoes dully.

His partner slowly closes the book and sets it on the coffee table. “Well that’s…an interesting development.”

Joel trudges over, not bothering to take off his jacket or boots, and sits heavily on the other side. “You didn’t know about this?”

“On my honor, songbird, I hadn’t the faintest inkling of a romantic entanglement on the part of our young prodigy. Are you…certain?”

Joel fixes him with a wordless stare.

“I see,” he murmurs. “Well, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

Joel groans and sinks further into the couch, rubbing at his face with both hands. “Go ahead an’ get it over with, then.”

“I don’t follow.”

Another wordless stare.

Ezra tsks and smirks at his lap. “Come now, cher , I’d like to think I’m a bigger man than that. And ‘I told you so’ is such an unattractive turn of phrase.”

“Uh-huh,” Joel grunts. “So Ellie, uh…she likes…girls?”

Ezra’s face takes on a pinched expression that Joel has become all too familiar with in their time together. 

“But you knew that already,” he sighs. “Christ, do I even wanna know how long?” 

“She…may have sensed a kindred spirit in me early on.”

“How early are we talkin’?”

“I believe it was our sixth appointment or thereabouts,” Ezra has the decency to wince.

Joel balks. “You’ve…you’ve known for two fuckin’ years ?”

Ezra gives an apologetic shrug.

“How the hell’d I miss it?” he murmurs.

“I wouldn’t take it to heart, cher ,” Ezra says, reaching over to rub a soothing hand up and down Joel’s arm. “I suspect it’s only recently become something important to the development of her identity. Her first foray into a romantic endeavor, so to speak. It’s natural she’d want to keep it…close for a while. You might recall you were hesitant at first.”

“Yeah…yeah, I s’pose. Jesus. Even Cee knew,” he mutters.

“You spoke with Cee?”

“Yeah,” Joel sighs. “Switched patrol partners for the day so we could talk. Rode up to the ridge and back.”

“Any…insights you might be willing to share?” he asks hopefully.

“We’re gonna invite Cee and Luke over for supper.” 

Ezra blinks. “That’s…not exactly what I had in mind when you suggested a conversation.”

“We’re gonna invite the kids over, and we’re gonna get to know him, and you’re gonna behave. He ain’t goin’ anywhere anytime soon,” he says pointedly. “So if you wanna keep her around, you’re gonna have to figure out how to get along.”

~*~

Ellie storms in the next morning, cheeks flaming, and flops down on the couch without further greeting.

“Let’s get it over with,” she says.

Joel takes a sip of his coffee, thankful it’s still the good stuff because god knows he either needs to be caffeinated or drunk for this conversation, and it’s way too early for a stiff drink. “An’...what are we gettin’ over?”

“Y’know. The usual.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific or let the coffee kick in, kid, ‘cause you’re not makin’ a lick of sense.”

She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. “You lay into me, tell me I’m being a fuckin’ idiot or whatever, and then we talk about our stupid feelings and I tell you I have no idea what I’m doing and you make me feel better by reminding me that you’re here for me no matter what and then you ground me for like half of forever or until I’m forty, whichever comes first.”

He bites back a smile. “Seems like you’ve already parented yourself. My work here is done.”

“Ugh, dude, stop putting it off and just tell me how bad it is already.”

He walks over and settles into the chair in the living room with a muffled groan.

“So…how long have you an’ Cat been, uh…datin’?”

She rolls her eyes. “Nobody dates , Joel. It’s not dating, we just…hang out.”

“Alright, so how long have you been ‘hangin’ out?’”

“A few weeks,” she shrugs.

“And you didn’t think you could tell me…why?”

“I didn’t tell you because Ezra’s been really fucking weird about Luke, and I figured you’d be on my ass and be all scary to Cat and I don’t want to…to mess it up.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, leaning forward. “Okay, I get that.”

She narrows her eyes. “So…that’s it? You’re not pissed at me? I’m not, like, grounded until I’m forty?”

“Would it stop you from seein’ Cat?” he asks wryly.

“Probably not.”

“Exactly. No, I’m not pissed at you for, uh…’hangin’ out’ with someone…like that. Just want you to be safe about it, is all.”

“I feel like there’s a big-ass ‘but’ coming up.”

Joel snorts. “Honestly, kid, I dunno what I’m doin’ here. I never…Sarah never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, far as I know. Hell, we had the, uh, talk when she was twelve, an’ that was–”

“Awkward as fuck?” Ellie shudders. “Please don’t. I know how all that stuff works.”

“Good,” he says quickly. “Good. But…there’s more to it than just…the mechanics. There’s, uh, protection, and–”

“Ugh, gross, man,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. “I know about…all of it. And we’re being safe. Promise.”

Joel sighs, biting his lip. “What I’m gettin’ at is…is she good to you?”

“What, does she like, bring me flowers and chocolates and shit?” Ellie says.

“No. I mean, maybe, if that’s what you like. But what I’m tryin’ to say is…in a relationship…like that…you want someone who’ll bring out the best in you. Someone who loves you for you, not what you can do for ‘em, y’know? Someone who…has your back. It ain’t just about the material stuff.”

Ellie arches an eyebrow in a silent what the fuck, dude?

“It’s…it’s a hard time to grow up,” he tries. “It’s always hard growin’ up, I guess, but…it’s especially hard now. You’ve seen things that no kid should have to see, done things no one should have to do. That…scars a person. Makes ‘em see things a certain way. An’ a lot of the people you’ll love are walkin’ around with similar…stuff. Am I makin’ any sense?”

“About as much as you usually do,” she sighs, but she’s smiling in that way that tells him he’s getting through.

“It took me twenty years of fightin’ to get to the point where I could…um. Where I could love someone…like that…again. An’ I want you to know you don’t have to…settle for anything you don’t want. I know you prob’ly haven’t had a lot of…examples…”

Ellie seems to consider this for a minute, looking at her lap as she speaks softly. “Cat’s good. She’s…we’re good. You don’t have to worry.”

Joel huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “I’m always gonna want to protect you. Keep you safe. That don’t just mean infected or raiders or…or bad people. Sometimes it’s about protectin’ your heart, too.”

She wrinkles her nose and fakes a gag, and he can’t resist reaching over to tousle her hair.

“Yeah, alright, enough of the mushy stuff. You’re not in trouble, kid.”

“That’s nice for a change,” she smiles. She’s making to leave when he has another thought.

“Oh, um…I hope you didn’t think I’d be mad it’s…another girl. ‘Cause I’m not. That’s…you’re, uh…you love who you love an’ all that.”

“Why would you be mad?” she asks, brow furrowing, then her eyes widen in understanding. “You didn’t know?”

“Uh…I guess I–are we talkin’ about the same thing?”

“You mean that I’m gay?”

“Yeah, uh…that.”

“Dude, I didn’t tell you because I thought you already knew,” she laughs. “You seriously had no idea?”

“How would I know somethin’ like that?” he grumbles.

She throws up her hands. “I dunno! Gay-dar or whatever!”

“That ain’t a thing.”

“Oh it totally is, and yours is broken ,” she says. “Besides, even if it wasn’t totally fuckin’ obvious–and it is–I figured Ezra would have said something forever ago.”

“We don’t talk about you like that, kiddo. Wouldn’t be right.”

“Wow,” she breathes, then laughs again. “I can’t believe you really didn’t know.”

“You can quit rubbin’ it in any time,” he mutters.

She grins. “What can I say? I’m a chip off the ol’ block, emphasis on the old .”

“Alright, alright,” he says, chuckling. “Ease up, I get it. I’m out of touch.”

“ So out of touch,” she grins, but her words carry an easy affection. “Ancient history. A fucking dinosaur.”

“You love dinosaurs,” he reminds her.

“Yeah…I guess I do.”

“Hey, uh…before you go. We’re havin’ Cee and Luke over for supper next week. Maybe you wanna invite Cat? Make it a family thing?”

“Not a fucking chance, dude,” she says easily, then ducks her head. “We’re not…there yet.”

“Alright,” he nods. “I get it.”

“But I will be there,” she adds, eyes shining. “Wouldn’t miss that shitshow for the world.”

~*~

He decides on pasta because it’s quick and filling and something he can’t easily fuck up. Joel is ready to open one of the jars of summer tomatoes for marinara, but Ezra intervenes, insisting that a cream sauce is faster and less prone to staining.

“Preferably with lots of garlic,” he mutters. “To discourage kissing.”

“They ain’t vampires, Ez,” Joel says, but he lets Ezra take over dinner preparations. He’s the better cook, anyway.

When Cee and Luke show up, shuffling their feet and offering a plate of cookies, Joel has to elbow a tight thank you out of Ezra, and it doesn’t get much better when the food is served.

They crowd five people around a table that’s made for four and Jesus fuck , it’s awkward. Joel wonders if this is how Frank and Tess felt watching him and Bill snarl at each other over wine and roasted rabbit. Unfortunately, this party doesn’t have the benefit of Bill’s curated wine selection or Frank’s natural aptitude for hosting.

Cee stares at her plate and pushes her food around, Luke looks slightly green, Ezra glares and takes tense sips from his beer, and Ellie props her chin on her hands and takes it all in with a smile, occasionally asking pointed questions designed to stir the pot. Joel has to kick her under the table twice.

But somehow, they get on the topic of music. As it turns out, Luke plays guitar and writes songs and poetry. And when they settle in the living room to peruse Ezra’s impressive album collection, Ezra is smiling and chattering enthusiastically about some obscure indie punk band from the 90s, and Luke is looking slightly less inclined to flee.

Eventually, Joel excuses himself and tugs at the hood of Ellie’s sweatshirt, nodding toward the kitchen.

“C’mon. Need help with the dishes.”

She rolls her eyes but follows him willingly enough. They stand together at the sink; he washes, she dries. And when the kitchen is clean and it’s clear the other three are still wrapped up in discussion, Joel ushers Ellie quietly outside to let them continue undisturbed. They go to her little garage apartment, and he sits in the chair and she perches, cross-legged, on the bed. They have the kind of conversation they used to before Jackson, when they were on the road and it was just the two of them around a campfire.

She tells him about her art, about Shimmer, about Jesse and Dina’s on-again-off-again relationship. He tells her about the time he and Tommy got caught egging his social studies teacher’s house on Halloween, then immediately regrets it when she asks where she might procure some extra eggs.

And then it’s getting late, and Joel tips his head back and closes his eyes and they drift in a comfortable shared silence. When Ellie speaks again, her tone is soft and thoughtful, almost shy.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, about Cat and me…I know it’s a different time, and we haven’t had…a lot to look to. But…we have you and Ez.”

“Oh…yeah?” Joel croaks out, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably. Ever since Ellie came into his life, his heart might as well be emblazoned in flashing neon pink on his sleeve.

She smirks, fidgeting with the corner of her comforter, eyes downcast. “Yeah. You two set a pretty high bar.”

Joel looks at her, his girl, their girl, and swallows hard around the lump in his throat. 

“I–oh…”

He’s interrupted by the sight of the front door opening back at the house. They watch through the window like nosy neighbors as Cee and Luke emerge onto the porch with Ezra behind them.

“Well, Luke appears to have all his extremities,” Ellie says as Joel draws up alongside her to get a better view, breath fogging the window pane. “And no one’s yelling. That’s a good sign, right?”

“Sure hope so,” he murmurs.

The three of them talk for a minute, then Ezra pulls Cee into a hug, and the young couple turns to leave. Ezra stands on the porch, watching them go with a wave. Then he turns slightly and cocks his head, squinting until he’s looking directly at Joel and Ellie in the garage window. Even at this distance, Joel can make out his partner’s arched brow before he shakes his head and disappears back into the house.

“Oops,” Ellie giggles. “Caught.”

Joel can’t help but laugh a little himself before they’re interrupted by a knock at the door. He goes to answer and finds Cee on the other side, already pink-cheeked from the cold. Luke hangs back, offers a tentative wave from the end of the driveway.

“Hey,” Joel says. “Everythin’ go alright?”

Cee nods, and before he can speak, she’s leaned in and wrapped him in a hug. “Thanks, Joel.”

“It’s, uh…s’no problem. You’re always welcome, y’know. Both of you,” he adds.

He leans in the doorway and watches them disappear around the end of the cul-de-sac. Ellie joins him, tucking herself under his arm in a rare moment of affection, bumping him with her hip.

“Not bad for an old man who’s shit at talking about feelings,” she says.

“There’s hope for me yet,” he agrees.

He says goodnight and returns to the house. Ezra is sitting at the kitchen table sipping a beer, waiting for him.

“Well, out with it, then,” Ezra says, all feigned annoyance, easing back in his chair.

“With what?”

He narrows his eyes. “Oh, surely you’ve earned your ‘I told you so’.”

“I’d never,” Joel smirks. “S’an ‘ugly turn of phrase.’”

“The mark of a gentleman,” Ezra says, thumbnail scratching absently against the ridge of the bottle. “Though I suppose I do owe you a debt of gratitude for helping me see the light, songbird. I was too quick to judge and too harsh in my estimations. Luke is…an acceptable mate for our birdie. As long as he continues to treat her well, I don’t foresee us coming to blows.”

“Let’s hope it don't come to matin’ for a few years yet, either,” Joel says.

Ezra snorts and stands. He wanders to the sink to deposit the dregs of his beer, thoughtful, eyes darkening.

“But if he so much as mars a hair on our young gem’s blonde head, songbird, mark my words…there will be no force in heaven or earth that could save him from the pain I will inflict.”

It’s an all too familiar sentiment. Joel sighs and moves to Ezra’s back, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. 

“If that happens,” he breathes, letting his lips graze the shell of Ezra’s ear, “I’ll be there with the shovel.”

~*~

The next day, Joel’s evening patrol duty gets cut short by an incoming blizzard, and he comes home early, stomping the fresh fallen snow off his boots, shaking the stuff out of his hair. They’ll be snowed in tonight, but Joel can think of worse ways to spend an evening.

Music drifts from the record player in the living room, something soft; he places it after only a couple of seconds— Songbird . A fire crackles in the fireplace, emitting a soft light and a steady heat that prickles Joel’s wind-burned cheeks. He finds Ezra sprawled on the couch, fast asleep on his back, head pillowed on his arm. His book lays face down and open on his chest, reading glasses having fallen to the floor. His t-shirt has ridden up to reveal a stripe of warm caramel skin and a trailing vine of dark curls peeks over the waist of his jeans, sending a heat up the back of Joel’s neck that has nothing to do with the fire.

That feeling is back, the usual aching want and the new thing, the softer thing he hasn’t named but can no longer deny. He thinks of Ellie’s words and knows instinctively what comes next. He wants this, he wants them , for as long as he has left.

We have you and Ez. You two set a pretty high bar.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he climbs the stairs and goes to the bedroom, heart a frantic staccato in his ears. The little blue box is still in the back of the nightstand drawer. His hand shakes slightly as he pulls it from its hiding place, fumbling to take off the lid, pouring the contents into his palm. The result of a spare moment of exploration on a scavenging run and a whim born of hope, a pair of dark brown eyes, and a cocky, boyish grin.

He clutches it tightly, pausing only for a second to take a breath, steadying himself before he heads back downstairs.

He kneels beside the couch, picking up the reading glasses, folding them carefully and setting them on the coffee table. With the same care, he reaches out and draws a thumb along the crescent scar on Ezra’s cheek, down the line of his jaw, reveling in the familiar scratch of scruff, running over the hidden dimple of his smile.

Ezra stirs at his touch, blinking slowly awake.

“Songbird,” he whispers, a sleepy smile blossoming on his face. “You’ve returned.”

“Hey,” he rasps, throat tight. In the background, the record plays on, the first strains of I know you by heart fill the room. Joel doesn’t know what to say.

“I—“

Ezra waits, patient as always, blinking up at him with a love that makes it hard for Joel to breathe, let alone speak.

“I thought—I found these…a while ago an’ I—“

He’s holding out the offering in a closed fist but he’s so overcome he can’t bring himself to uncurl his damn fingers.

Then Ezra’s hand covers his, gentle but curious, reminding him to relax his grip. He does, revealing two identical gold bands. Joel can’t pull his eyes away from Ezra’s face, hoping to find the answer in the arc of his smile or the tear at his lash line, terrified he will see neither of those things, or maybe terrified he will.

But Ezra doesn’t even see the rings. One fingertip lightly grazes gold, dips in to touch the center of Joel’s palm. Then he’s surging up, hand cupping the back of Joel’s neck and pulling him close, noses brushing, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

He shudders a single word against Joel’s lips, sealing the vow and their future with a kiss.

“Yes.”