#BRING BACK AO3 YOU FUCKERS!

[artzychic27]

And now a random post that totally doesn’t explain my current feelings by using Marc

Alix: Tell him! Do it!

Nathaniel: I don’t want to! I’m scared!

Ismael: It’s either you, his doting boyfriend he’d never hurt, or us. Just give us the signal and we’ll get him in The Box. Now go! *Pushes Nathaniel into the art classroom and shuts the door*

Nathaniel: … Uh… Rainbow?

Marc: *Looks up from his journal* Oh, hey Nath. What’s up?

Nathaniel: Um… So… AO3 is down.

Marc: Yeah, that sucks. I was right in the middle of this really good fic, but it’ll be back up in an hour or two.

Nathaniel: … Actually, Rainbow… Sweetie pie… Light of my life, my love and reason I get up every morning… There was a… DdoS attack… And… AO3 might be down for… A while…

Marc: *Creepy head tilt* … I do not understand the words you are saying…

Nathaniel: … Well…

*Outside*

Aurore: *Holding a cattle prod* How do you think it’s going?

*Before anyone could answer, a crash is heard*

Alix: GET THE FUCK IN THERE, PEOPLE! MOVE!

Marc: I’LL BURN EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE! *Chucks a table out of the window* WHO THE FUCK DO THESE BLOODY CUCKS THINK THEY ARE?! SO MANY OF MY STORIES ARE ON THERE, AND THEY HAVE THE FUCKING GALL TO DO THIS!

*Denise and Ivan tackle Marc to the floor and restrain him*

Nathaniel: They’re just gonna have you rest in The Box for a while, Rainbow. It’ll be okay.

Marc: *Getting dragged away* NOOOOOOO! I’LL BURN THIS FUCKING CITY TO THE GROUND! *Headbutts Ivan, bites Denise’s arm, and escapes while the teachers chase him down* YOU’LL NEVER TAKE ME ALIVE!

Adrien: Uh… What’s The Box?

Nino: Oh, just something the school had made when Marc couldn’t access AO3 for… For like a week.

Adrien: How long did he stay in there?

Nino: A week.

Denise: *Bleeding from their arm* It’s pretty brutal.

Adrien: Denise! You’re bleeding!

Denise: Oh, I don’t think it’s as bad as last time… I hear colors.

Louis: *Getting choked by Marc* You have the shot! Take the shot!

M. Grotke: *Shooting tranquilizers at Marc* I am taking the shot! He’s resisting! These things are supposed to take out Clydesdales!

*One hour later*

Meme. Mendeleiev: Okay, Nath. You know the drill. Here’s his lunch, and your tranq gun. *Hands Nathaniel a lunch tray and a tranquilizer gun*

Alya: Why does he need a tranq gun?!

Marinette: Did you not see Marc rip a door off of its hinges?

Mme. Mendeleiev: Remember, if you miss, play dead, and he’ll lose interest. Godspeed. *Pushes Nathaniel into the basement and shuts the door*

Nathaniel: Okay, it’s just like last time. Nothing to worry about. *Approaches a glass box in the middle of the room, and standing dead center in it is Marc in a prison jumpsuit*

Marc: Hello, Clarisse.

Nathaniel: Really?

Marc: What? Just trying to lighten the mood. Come onnn! Let me out! I promise, I won’t try to murder anyone this time. Don’t you trust me?

Nathaniel: Marc, of course I trust you. But you just need to calm down until AO3 is back up. For God’s sake, we almost lost Louis.

Marc: … Okay. That’s fine. I get it… Why don’t you be a dear and slide that tray in?

Nathaniel: Sure. *He opens a small glass door and starts sliding the lunch tray through it, only for Marc to grab his wrist* MARC! WHAT THE HELL?!

Marc: LET ME OUT OF HERE! I’LL MAKE OUT WITH YOU UNTIL YOU’RE SICK OF ME!

Nathaniel: *Yanks his arm away* There is a laptop next to you! You can read Wattpad, Fanfiction.Net, or Quotev. Love you, nutcase. *Blows him a kiss and leaves*

Marc: YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO PEOPLE! THERE’S NOTHING ON WATTPAD BUT STORIES WRITTEN BY EMO MIDDLE SCHOOLERS! IT’S ALL BAD!

[imagine-you]

won't somebody come take me home? [Logan/Reader]

Summary: You've been abandoned to the Void after experiencing heartbreak in your universe. Instead of becoming food for Alioth or one of Cassandra's underlings, you find a new family with the resistance seeking to bring her down. When Johnny doesn't come back to the hideout, you keep watch in the hopes of seeing his return. Instead, you find a Deadpool variant fighting someone who looks achingly familiar. Someone who reminds you of your old life and the person who broke your heart. When you finally come face to face with a Logan after being pruned from your universe, you're not expecting the longing you're met with or the fact that in his universe, you were his wife. Word Count: 7.7k Author's Note: I've wanted to write for X-Men for so long and then I saw Deadpool and Wolverine and fell in love with Logan all over again. If you like this, please let me know! I'm so nervous about writing for a new fandom. And if you want to see more X-Men stuff from me, please let me know that as well! Reader's song for this is definitely I'm With You by Avril Lavigne, but I kind of imagine Logan's ends up being Hanging By a Moment by Lifehouse.

closer to where I started // all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me

Read on AO3

Everyone in the Void had a tragic backstory that was befitting a hero or villain or anything in between. You were the ones who were lost, abandoned, or forgotten by your worlds and the people you cared about more than anyone else.

You didn't remember much about how you got to the Void, but you had a pretty good understanding of why you were dropped into the barren wasteland for the multiverse's landfill.

Like most people in the Void, you were here because of heartbreak. The one person you had loved with your entire being had loved someone else. You had given him your all, but he only gave you a piece of himself. And when he ripped that piece of himself away, leaving you aching and broken, you were swept out like unwanted trash and right into the Void.

"What's got you so down today, ma chérie?" Remy dropped down into the chair at your side.

You huffed out a laugh that was nowhere near amused. "Besides the fact that we're all stuck here and trying to avoid Cassandra and her wandering fingers?" You brought your hand up and wriggled them in Remy's face, reluctantly letting out a laugh when he snapped his teeth at them.

"Ah, there's that smile," he mused, bumping his shoulder into yours. "You thinkin' 'bout your old life?"

You rolled your eyes, inanely feeling your throat tighten as you fought the urge to cry. You kept your gaze on the bottle of whiskey on the table. Remy reached for it, but he met resistance and turned a glare on you.

You shrugged your shoulders before dropping the forcefield. "I had a dream about him last night," you admitted with a scowl. "About what happened and how no one on my team had my back. How they all thought it was inevitable." You snorted before you quickly grabbed the bottle and took a swig, relishing the burn that traveled down your throat and sent warmth pulsing through your chest. You handed it over to Remy, ignoring his obvious annoyance.

"Listen, you're a lot better off now than you were with those fuckers," he consoled as he finally wrapped his hand around the bottle. "But don't go gettin' between me and my drink, now," he warned, his eyes briefly flashing red before fading away. "I'm not like those assholes who abandoned you. You've got nothin' to hate me for."

"You're real shit at pep talks, you know that?" Johnny cut in, knocking into Remy as he walked by. "Leave Y/N alone. She doesn't want to put up with your bullshit right now."

"And you suppose she wants to put up with yours? All you've got is bullshit," Remy taunted, idly twirling a card between his fingers. It was half a threat, but Johnny would only fight fire with fire and Remy knew it. Elektra had forbidden both of them from using their powers in the hideout, since they had almost burned it down last time.

"Will you both just stop?" You groaned, letting your head hit the table. Someone reached out to pat you on the shoulder, but you didn't bother to look and see who did it. "I love and respect you both dearly, but if you leave another scorch mark in here, then we'll all be in trouble."

Remy obediently stowed the card back up his sleeve while Johnny rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever," he sighed before making for the door. “See you later.”

"Where are you going?" You called, watching him retreat.

"I'll be around," Johnny answered, shooting you a smirk over his shoulder. "I always come back, don't I?"

You didn't get a chance to respond before he was gone. You always worried about Johnny when he went on his little trips around the Void. He swore he would be careful not to run into any of Cassandra's goons, but you knew all of your days were limited. Whether it was Alioth or Cassandra or one of the many rogue Deadpools wandering around, it was only a matter of time before trouble found you.

Remy stood up and placed the half-empty bottle of whiskey in front of you. "Just this once," he allowed with a wink. "You appreciate that, though, you hear?"

"Thanks," you muttered before reaching for the bottle.

You spent the rest of the day trying to block out the dream while you trained with Laura.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't realize you had company.

"Damn, what's got you so riled up?"

You turned to look at Eric, surprised to see him standing there. You then realized your knuckles had split open and you had trashed the makeshift punching bag you had made out of an old blanket and some sand.

"Nothing," you deflected, half-tempted to go invisible just so no one could see you. Even though he was wearing sunglasses, you knew you had his full attention and you didn't want another lecture on leaving your past behind.

No one on your team was good at that, but you were arguably the worst at letting your pain go.

You always hated when you dreamt about Logan. His last words to you echoing in your mind over and over. You hadn't been enough for him, but Jean? Jean was everything he wanted. You supposed your powers paled in comparison and you would never measure up when all you could do was conjure forcefields and become invisible. Logan had been in love with her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but you had never seen that look on his face when he looked at you.

It was a pity that you had given Logan everything only to be cast aside for the one who truly held his heart.

If Johnny were there, he would have told Blade to mind his own business, but he still hadn't come back.

"Again," Laura prompted, drawing your attention towards the punching bag. It was half-demolished, but you figured you still had some fight in you.

You noticed her shake her head at Eric as you turned away and focused all your hurt into your fists, watching the bag fall apart.

Johnny hadn't returned by the next morning and you were starting to worry.

You considered everyone your family, but you had a special bond with Johnny. He had been the first person to welcome you to the resistance and you, specifically your powers, had reminded him of his sister. He opened up to you about how much he missed his team, his family, and you told him about the heartbreak you had endured in your universe.

"I'll tell you what, if I ever get my hands on your Logan, I'll light the fucker on fire."

You felt a laugh bubble out of you. It was the first time you had laughed in ages and it felt so good to know you could still find joy in things. "He'd just regenerate."

"Not when I'm done with him," Johnny promised. "I'll cook him 'til he's just a heap of ash and then you'll dance on his remains."

You shook your head, but let Johnny carry on with his elaborate plan for revenge on your behalf. Johnny would never meet your Logan and you knew you would never actually see him again. Everyone in the Void was forgotten and there was no escape.

"You worried about Johnny?" Elektra wondered, coming to stand at your side.

You were keeping an eye on the horizon, searching for any sign that Johnny was coming home.

"It's not like him to be gone this long without some kind of message he's okay.

"He's gotten this far, hasn't he?" Elektra pointed out, shooting you a reassuring look. "He'll be fine."

You nodded your head, but didn't budge from your spot.

"You plan on staying out here all night?" Elektra asked.

"If I have to," you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders. "What if he's in trouble?"

"Then you won't be any help to him sleep-deprived," she answered.

"I've had worse," you deflected with a forced grin.

Elektra sighed, but didn't try to dissuade you again.

You had a pair of binoculars Laura had scavenged and you were doing your best to keep an eye on your surroundings. You were surveying a forest when something caught your attention. You focused on the sight, wondering for a moment if Elektra had been right and sleep deprivation was messing with your mind.

You pulled the binoculars away and blinked a few times before looking through them again.

"Ah fuck," you groaned when you realized that what you were seeing was real.

"What's wrong?" Laura asked, startling you.

"Shit," you hissed, nearly dropping the binoculars. You handed them over and pointed towards what previously held your attention. "You see that?"

"Is that--?" Laura cut herself off before shooting you a disbelieving look. "It's him."

"With a Deadpool," you confirmed with a nod of your head.

"We should get them before someone else does," Laura suggested, handing the binoculars back to you.

You hesitated, knowing she was right, but hating the idea of seeing him again.

"I can go alone," Laura offered. You knew she also loved her Logan, but he had been like a father to her up until his final moments. Your Logan had managed to bring you nothing but pain and insecurity.

"No," you told her with a firm shake of your head. Johnny had gone off alone and now it had been almost two days since the last time you saw him. In the Void, that was as good as a death sentence. "I'll go with you."

You let the others know you were off to rescue two new recruits to the resistance and helpfully left out the fact that one of those people was a Logan variant.

Laura led the way and you followed in her tracks. You kept yourself invisible, knowing that if anyone came after Laura, then you could use your presence as a surprise. You had also learned to use your forcefields as a weapon as much as a defense and you were ready if anyone tried to attack.

Once you got to the station wagon, you let yourself become visible again. You slowly approached the car while Laura investigated the clearing for any signs that you might have been followed. You could see the Deadpool variant wrapped up in the seatbelts, but you couldn't help but let your focus stray to Logan.

He was different from your Logan, but seeing his face hurt all the same. Your Logan had taken everything from you and given nothing back except for pain. This Logan was a stranger, but he still brought up familiar feelings. Love and confusion and agony.

"Is he yours?" Laura wondered, finally joining you in your study of Logan.

"No," you assured her. "Mine would've never been caught dead in the yellow suit," you admitted with just the tiniest hint of relief. You never wanted to see your Logan again, but you couldn't help but admit to yourself that didn't mean you never wanted to see any other Logan. You were scared, terrified of the pain he might cause you, but you hadn't been able to let go of the love you held for him. You were sure, even in that moment, that you would love Logan in every universe. It was too bad he wouldn't love you just the same.

Although, you supposed you didn't really have a Logan. You never did, since the one from your universe was never yours in the first place.

Doubt and wariness began to creep in and you started to herd Laura towards the Honda you were half-sure belonged to the Nicepool variant. "You drive," you prompted, opening the passenger door seat and carefully sitting among the wreckage and blood that was practically painted on every surface of the car.

Laura started the car and you glanced over your shoulder, waiting for the two backseat occupants to stir, but they were both still knocked out.

"They really did a number on each other," you muttered, your gaze already back on Logan.

Laura was silent for long enough that you thought she was ignoring you. "It's not your Logan," she reminded you after a couple of minutes. You realized you were still watching him and finally forced yourself to turn around in your seat.

"It's not," you confirmed, studying your hands in your lap. You let them shift in and out of visibility, a nervous habit you had when you were torn between fight and flight.

"Then he's not the one who hurt you," she continued, keeping her focus on the path in front of you.

"He's not the one who saved you," you shot back. The way she looked at this Logan like she was seeing her savior miraculously alive all over again had felt like a punch in the gut. You were both mourning and the source of it had just dropped right back into your lives. "He might be worse," you pointed out.

"He might be better," she argued with a quick glance at you. "He might not even know us."

"Yeah," you sighed, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, silently apologizing for being so defensive. "Eric's right," you conceded with a grimace. "I need to let it go."

"Hard to let something like that go," she allowed with a soft smile at you. She was the only one who knew the full story. Johnny knew most of it and the others knew enough, but Laura had loved her own Logan like family. She knew what it was like to lose him, albeit in a very different way.

When you got back to the hideout, Laura helped free Deadpool while you formed a forcefield around Logan and used it to lift him out of the car. Charles had claimed it was a form of telekinesis, but you always told him you were just controlling the forcefield. Whatever was inside it just happened to move with it. If you dropped the forcefield, then whatever was inside it would fall.

Laura dragged Deadpool inside while you let Logan hover through the air and into the hideout. Laura left Deadpool on the floor, but you were careful with Logan and let him hover just over the bed you used before letting him go.

Laura shot you a bemused look before going to let the others know you had company.

You weren't really sure what to do with yourself, so you settled for pacing from one end of the room to the other. You were halfway across the room when you heard a rustling noise behind you. You half-hoped it was Deadpool waking up, but when you turned around, it was to see Logan squinting up at the ceiling.

You froze, not daring to move a muscle. Logan blinked a few times before he began to sit up. He stopped and then tilted his head up, sniffing the air. You had always found the way he used his enhanced sense of smell adorable, even if no one else did. He suddenly turned and buried his face in your pillow, pulling in deep breaths. He reached up to clutch the pillow in his hand as he sat up, keeping it pressed to his face.

You weren't even really sure what was going on, so by the time he finally lowered the pillow and met your gaze, you were staring at him completely dumbstruck.

Several emotions warred for control on Logan's face when he saw you. Grief, despair, heartbreak, hope, disbelief, and relief. Finally, he seemed to pull them all together into a neutral expression.

"Y/N," he started, taking a step towards you.

You instinctively took a step back. You knew that this Logan wasn't the one who hurt you, but it was hard to let all of that go when someone who looked exactly like your Logan was staring right at you.

"You're alive," he tried again, taking another step, as if he was drawn to you.

"I am," you answered, your hands clenched into fists at your side. You couldn't handle the way Logan was looking at you. He looked at you like you were his whole world. You would have killed to get your Logan to look at you like that. But having it now, from a different Logan, felt equal parts thrilling and unsettling. "Who am I to you?" You asked, needing to know what you were dealing with now. You had assumed maybe you were part of Logan's team in his universe, but he was hopelessly in love with Jean and didn't give a fuck about you. The way he was looking at you told an entirely different story.

"You're--," he started before he looked down at his left hand. You could see a wedding band around his ring finger. "You're my wife," he finally admitted as he balled his hand into a fist. "You were, at least," he added with a grimace. "And me? What am I to you in your universe?"

You didn't know whether to tell the truth or lie. But Logan had always known you way too well and any story you spun would unravel as you told it. "I loved you," you finally confessed. "But you left me for someone else," you continued, noting the way Logan's expression tightened, rage flashing in his eyes.

"Who?" He growled, advancing on you.

It was your biggest shame and worst heartbreak, so you faltered over the name for a moment. But you weren't even in the same universe as her or him anymore and it was time for you to stop running from your pain.

"Jean. He left me for Jean, alright? It didn't matter that I loved him and it didn't matter that we were together. Scott died and Jean needed someone and apparently that couldn't be anyone but him. He told me it was nothing, but I knew. He never looked at me the way you just did. He looked at her like she was the only person he cared about and when he left me for her, I ended up here," you hissed, finally walking towards Logan. "And I bet neither of them ever gave a fuck that I just up and disappeared. So, seeing you now has brought up all the shit he put me through," you snarled, reaching out to push at his shoulder.

"Y/N, I--," he started, reaching out for you. His expression was nearly reverent as he let his hand fall on your shoulder.

"Don't," you said, pushing away from him. "I'm not your wife," you snapped, hating the way his expression closed off and was replaced with that look he got when he was trying not to feel anything at all.

"And I'm not him," he shot back. His gaze drifted to the side and he reached out to grab a bottle of Remy's whiskey. He popped the top off the bottle and took a long swig.

You heard someone groan before you looked over at Deadpool. He brought a hand up to his head and Logan turned to watch him. He took another drink, keeping the bottle close to his chest, as he approached Wade.

"Ugh, what's with the angry bear staring me down?" Wade wondered, finally sitting up. "Also, where the hell are we? Are we about to be skinned and used as decoration for some post-apocalyptic lair?"

"Do you ever shut up?" Logan growled, taking another drink.

You knew it took a lot to get Logan drunk, but at the rate he was going, he would end up there by nightfall.

Deadpool finally scanned the room and noticed you. He got to his feet and pointed a finger at you. "Oh, holy shit. You're Y/N! You're a big part of this guy's tragic backstory, I can tell ya that, so what are you doing here?" Wade reached out to clap a hand to Logan's shoulder and got brushed off.

"That's enough!" Elektra called before walking into the room.

Wade looked shocked to see Elektra, but his eyes went wide at the sight of Blade striding into the room. Gambit then made his entrance before Laura took up the rear of the group.

Introductions went around, before Wade started in on Gambit and his accent. You could tell Remy was reluctantly amused, but he was distracted by something else.

Remy dismissed Wade and focused in on Logan. He shot you a quick, concerned look before he began flipping a card as he studied Logan. "Well, we've never had a Wolverine up in here before. Not sure we've ever wanted one here before," he said with another look at you. "I can tell you now it's just a common courtesy to at least ask before you go drinking up all my liquor."

"It's a good thing I don't give a fuck," Logan responded before taking another drink.

Remy's eyes burned red as he muttered an insult under his breath. He let the card in his hand go, letting it slice the bottle of liquor in half. Glass and whiskey rained down on Logan's boots, but he looked unbothered. He reached out to grab another bottle before pulling the top off and taking a drink.

"Oh, you sure are an asshole, aren't you? I'm starting to see why you hate this one," Remy continued, aiming the last sentence at you.

"You hate him?" Wade asked, whipping his head back and forth, from you to Logan and back again. Wade gasped and turned to point an accusing finger at Logan. "You and you," he pointed to you, "aren't a you in your universe?" He pressed his hands together, letting his fingers interlock. "What'd he do? Was he too busy practicing his brooding in the mirror? He try to slip you a little adamantium surprise in the bedroom? Did he--"

"Shut up," Logan snapped, tightening his grip on the bottle in his hand.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," you admonished Wade.

Wade held his hands up in surrender, but he reached out to put a hand on Logan's shoulder. "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, my friend," he consoled before he approached you. He held his arms out as he walked towards you. "Come here, baby bird, and tell Papa Deadpool all about it," he said as he wrapped his arms around you.

"Get your hands off her," Logan growled, unsheathing his claws.

You brought a forcefield up between you and Wade. It was big enough to encompass his chest and abdomen and you used it to forcefully push him back. You slammed him into the wall, easing up, just to slam him into it again.

"Alright, alright," he coughed out, holding his hands up in surrender. "Don't piss off the Invisible Woman, got it," he conceded as you let your forcefield drop.

You rolled your eyes before crossing your arms over your chest. "That's not what they call me." The reminder of Johnny's sister brought up the worry you had for him. "Where the hell did you two come from?"

Wade did most of the talking and explained about the TVA, Cassandra, and their near-miss with Alioth.

"No one's ever made it out of Cassandra's clutches before," Elektra observed with something verging on respect in her tone.

"No one alive," Eric interjected with an unimpressed glare at Deadpool.

"Well, she is quite terrifying and a little grabby," Wade allowed with a nod of his head.

"One of ours has been missing for two days," you told Wade, carefully not looking at Logan. Logan had been watching you the whole time and you knew he was only mourning a ghost, but you hated how much you liked finally having Logan's undivided attention. "His name is Johnny. Did you see him?"

"The little flameball might've made an appearance, sure, but he's not with us," Wade explained with a flippant wave of his hand.

"Yeah, because you fucking got him killed with your big mouth," Logan snapped at Wade.

"Johnny's dead?" You asked, not wanting to believe it. You loved the others like family, but Johnny had practically been a brother to you. Sure, he let his mouth get him in trouble half the time, but he always managed to get himself out of it. "What the hell happened?"

"Cassandra decided she liked his insides on the outside," Wade answered, "because she's a megalomaniacal, psychotic asshole. Johnny’s words, not mine."

"Well, we've all been knowin' that," Remy said, idly shuffling a deck of cards in his hands. "But what're we gonna do about her, huh? She's got an army and we've just got us."

"Look, you've all been forgotten by your universes, but we can still take her if we team up. You got a Magneto here?" Wade questioned, hope in his voice that you knew was about to be crushed.

You moved to sit down at the table while you listened to the conversation carry on. There was a lot happening all at once and you didn’t know how to process any of it. Wade was desperate to get back to his own timeline, but Logan only seemed resigned. You didn't know how to accept the fact that Johnny was dead and you didn't know how to ignore the fact that Logan was still watching you.

When a plan was made to go after Cassandra and use Juggernaut's helmet to block her powers, you reluctantly agreed that it had some merit. If only because you wanted to get any type of revenge on Cassandra that you could to avenge Johnny.

The others were all on board and you knew most of them wanted nothing more than to bring Cassandra down as well. It was a suicide mission for most of you, but you figured if it meant stopping Cassandra and saving someone's universe, even if that someone was Wade Wilson, then it might be worth it.

"I'm in," you found yourself saying.

"Like hell you are," Logan cut in. "You'll just get yourself killed again and I can't--"

"I'm not dead," you pointed out, aware that the others were watching the pair of you. "I'm right here, because I'm not the one you lost."

"Well, I sure as hell don't want to go losing you again. You can't tell me you think this whackjob's plan is actually going to work out? He’s an idiot."

“Sticks and stones,” Wade muttered, rocking on his heels as he looked at Logan. “Sticks and stones.”

"You can do whatever you want," you told Logan, finally standing from your seat at the table. "But I'm going and if I die? Then at least I die doing something that's not just hiding and waiting for my inevitable end. At least I can help someone, even if it's a Deadpool," you said, gesturing towards Wade.

"Thanks?" Wade tried, sounding torn between flattered and insulted.

You didn't give Logan a chance to reply, because you left the room, opting to walk outside to get some distance from him.

Later, you heard from Remy that you were heading out first thing in the morning. You agreed to be ready by then and spent the rest of the evening invisible. You wanted to be alone, but you also hated the idea of losing one last opportunity to talk to Logan, even if he wasn't yours.

He was outside, staring into the fire he started, and steadily drinking Remy's liquor. You approached him as Laura was leaving his side. Even though you were still invisible, she seemed to know you were there, and walked around you.

You stayed a few feet behind him, watching him frown into the fire.

"I know you're there," Logan called out, turning to look over his shoulder. "You were never good at hiding from me."

You let yourself go visible before you continued to walk towards him. "My Logan didn't really give a shit about me, so I guess he knew where to find me, he just didn't care," you observed with a sigh. Having this Logan around was only showing you what you had missed out on in your universe with your Logan. You reached out to grab the bottle from Logan before taking a drink and handing it back. "You know, I wanted nothing more than for him to love me back. But I wasn't enough for him. And he knew, he knew everything I felt for him, but he never felt the same. I was just someone to warm his bed while his thoughts were with someone else."

Logan was quiet for a few moments before he held the bottle back out to you.

"You've made it clear you're not my wife," he started, keeping his gaze on the fire. "But I don't think you get that I'm not him. I see you and, God, I wish I could keep you safe. I wasn't able to save her. I wasn't able to save any of them and it's my fault my team, my family, my wife are all gone. I walked away and they died because of it," he admitted and you could see a tear begin to slip down his cheek. You had never seen your Logan so vulnerable and you didn't know what to do with this one. "I don't want to lose you again. I know you're not her, but I don't want to walk away and know that you died because of it."

"Then don't walk away," you whispered, moving until you were right beside him. You could feel the heat emanating off him and it sent a shiver down your spine. You had felt the chilling sense of isolation for so long that feeling Logan again felt like you were coming back to life.

"I know I wasn't happy to see you," you allowed with a grimace. "But since you got here, you've done nothing but remind me that I could have had what I wanted all along, but I was stuck in the wrong damn universe. And maybe it was possible for my Logan to love me all along and I just wasn't enough."

"Your Logan is a fucking idiot," he growled, finally looking at you. "You're here in this shithole because of him and you're ready to sacrifice yourself for someone you don't even know. He was the one who wasn't good enough. I guess I'm more like him than I would want to be."

You took a chance and reached out to grab Logan's hand. You were both grieving different people and you knew you weren't his wife, but you wanted to offer him comfort all the same. You also couldn't deny that the feeling of Logan's hand in yours felt like a balm for the pain you had been carrying around since falling into the Void.

His hand tightened around yours and you saw some of the tension leave his shoulders.

"You're enough, Logan," you assured him. "And I believe in you," you confessed. "You don't have to go tomorrow, but I'm going to be there. And if this is the last moment I ever get with you, then there's one thing I want to do."

Logan furrowed his brow in confusion before his expression smoothed out into surprise. You had leaned forward, just barely letting your lips brush his, waiting for him to either lean in or push you away.

You waited for a beat longer, sure you were making an idiot of yourself, before you felt Logan's hand at your hip. He pulled you closer, practically into his lap, as he returned the kiss. It was passionate and tender and in turns aggressive and searching. His tongue was twined around yours and his teeth were nipping at your lips and your head was beginning to spin from the rush. Logan let out a whimper and his hand clutched your hip tighter, and you knew you were going to have a bruise there by the next morning, but you didn’t mind that there would be a reminder of this moment.

You reluctantly pulled away, meeting his eyes and noticing how Logan looked like he was ready to drag you back into another kiss.

"Thank you," you whispered, reaching up a hand to brush your thumb over his bottom lip. You let it drag down briefly and leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to it. Your Logan had been rough and demanding and uncaring, but the love and want this Logan had poured into the kiss had shown you what it would have been like for the love of your life to love you back. Maybe, with that memory, your death the next day would be a little sweeter.

"Y/N," Logan started, but didn't continue.

You offered him a sad smile and started to stand. "I should try to sleep. I've got a big day tomorrow."

You moved to leave, but Logan reached out and grabbed your hand. He reeled you back towards him, causing you to drop down into his lap, but he caught you by the hips. He wrapped his arms around your waist and trailed his hand up your back before it was resting against the back of your neck. He pulled you down into another kiss, this one just as intense, but less frenzied. Logan kept you in place with just the slightest pressure of his hand on your neck and you let him pour everything he had into it.

By the time you pulled away, you were breathless and speechless, reluctant to leave now that you had another taste of him.

"I'll see you in the morning," Logan promised, finally releasing you from his hold.

It took you while to shake off your daze, but then you realized what he was telling you.

You felt a smile tug at your lips before you got off his lap.

"See you in the morning," you agreed before leaving Logan in search of your bed.

The drive in the Honda Odyssey was cramped, but Wade insisted if it could house an all-night brawl between a Deadpool and a Wolverine, then it would hold the rest of you just fine all the way to Cassandra's lair. And then he started spouting off something about safety features and cup holders and you started to wonder if following his plan had been the dumbest thing you had ever done.

You found yourself sneaking glances at Logan at the rear of the car. He was watching you the whole time and every time your eyes met, a little spark of heat shot through you. Maybe he wasn't your Logan, but he had helped you begin to heal all the same. And now you were starting to fall for an entirely different Logan who was likely leaving the Void while you stayed behind and died to get him out.

Life had never been fair to you, but you hated that it was downright cruel to you as well.

By the time you were arriving at Cassandra’s, you were starting to wonder if there had ever been a happy ending for you in store or if it was just supposed to be one tragedy after another.

You lined up with the others as you faced down Cassandra's henchmen. You could see Azazel popping in and out of view and Psylocke trailing through the crowd. Juggernaut was staring down the group while Toad perched high above, a smirk on his face. There were dozens of them and you had no idea how you were going to pull it off, but even if you did die, at least it was to save someone's universe, even if it wasn't your own.

"You know how long I've been waiting for this? Ooohuee, I'm about to make a name for myself here," Remy boasted, eagerly bouncing on his feet while he began to charge a card.

"I don't think any of you walk away from this," Logan pointed out, sending a quick glance your way.

"You just make sure they know what happened here today," Remy continued, not seeming to care that he was staring death right in the face.

"We'll watch your six," Blade told Logan and Wade. "You get up there and we'll get you that helmet."

Before he could follow Wade, Logan turned to you and pulled you close. He pressed a kiss to your lips, one full of longing and grief. "I don't want to leave you," he murmured into the kiss.

You pulled back to meet his eyes, ignoring the fact that you felt like you were losing him all over again. "What you're fighting for is more important," you told him. "Maybe we'll meet again in another universe."

"Maybe," he agreed before kissing you again.

This one was brief, but it left you wanting more.

You watched Logan follow Wade before you were caught up in the fight between your friends and Cassandra's lackies.

The fight was terrifying, because the stakes were so high. You flickered in and out of visibility as needed and used your forcefields to protect your friends or attack your enemies. You used a forcefield to gather rocks and then propelled it into someone just to turn invisible to avoid someone's knife.

You were exhausted as the battle waged on and you knew that circumstances were beginning to look dire for you and your friends. Most of you were hurt and bleeding, and the fight was beginning to drain out of you.

You got distracted by Laura taking Juggernaut out and managing to get his helmet up to where Logan and Wade were no doubt dealing with Cassandra despite Psylocke intervening. You moved towards them, but you felt a searing pain in your side and you looked down to see the end of Azazel’s tail sticking through your flesh.

He jerked you back towards him and a blade sliced through his tail, freeing you. You were quick to form a forcefield around Azazel before he could escape and you began to press in on the sides, shrinking it down so he had nowhere to go. You could see him trying to teleport out, but it wasn’t working, and a look of panic flashed across his face.

You kept pressing in until his skin started to split and blood began to pour. All at once, you swept the sides in, watching as Azazel was crushed. You let the forcefield go and watched as his remains fell to the ground with a splat.

“You squashed him like a bug,” Eric observed with a nod of his head, cleaning Azazel’s blood off his blade. “Impressive.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at Blade, glancing down at the gash in your side.

“Keep your head,” he warned you just as someone rushed at you. You went invisible and stepped to the side, letting them impale themselves on Eric’s sword.

The battle took twists and turns, but after getting stabbed in the shoulder and nearly losing consciousness when someone hit you on the back of the head, you realized that the bodies were starting to drop, but your friends were still standing.

You figured your victory would be short-lived when the skies began to darken and Alioth showed on the horizon.

“He’s looking for a meal,” Elektra grunted, avoiding a hit to the side before using one of her twin sais to bring someone to their knees. She finished them off with a strike to their neck before she turned to look at the rest of you. “We need to get the hell out of here.”

You were distracted by a portal opening up in the air above you and you looked up in time to see Logan and Wade jumping through it.

Someone grabbed your arm and you instinctively moved to hit them, but you realized it was Elektra.

"Come on!" She yelled over the roar of Alioth and pulled you to cover inside Cassandra's lair.

"That was a close one," Remy said as he helped Blade into the makeshift shelter.

"But they got away," Laura pointed out with a small, satisfied smile.

"And we got to kill the fuckers that've been making our lives hell," Remy added with a grin. "Any of you see that one trick I pulled? I got the cards charged up and then guy went boom."

He looked so pleased with himself that you couldn’t stop the helpless little laugh you let out. The past few days had felt absurd and surreal, and you couldn’t even tell if it was all some fever dream. Maybe Remy had spiked his liquor to keep unsuspecting people out of it and you were currently back in the hideout, riding out one terrifying trip.

But when you twisted to the side, you felt like your side was splitting open all over again and you let out a gasp. Elektra knelt at your side, studying your wound with a frown.

"So, what happens now? Are we just stuck here until we know it's clear? We go back to our hideout and wait forever? Half of us need some kind of medical attention,” she pointed out, searching around her until she found a discarded jacket. She pressed it against your side and you let out a hiss of pain.

"Well, we didn't die, so at least there’s that," you offered with a shrug of your shoulders. "I figure we've earned some retirement. Even if we're still stuck here," you allowed with a wince as you pressed a hand to your shoulder. The wound was deep and still bleeding, but you figured you had suffered worse before. You were going to need stitches and painkillers and some more of Remy’s liquor, but at least you were still breathing.

You weren't sure how long you waited for the storm to pass, but by the time you got back outside, it was already dark. Most of the bodies were gone, consumed by Alioth, and you leaned into Elektra’s side as she helped you navigate the various body parts left behind.

"Think the car will make it back?" Remy wondered, surveying the Odyssey with its crushed sides and flat tires. It was practically drenched in blood and viscera, nearly indistinguishable as a vehicle.

"Why don't you start it up and see?" Eric prompted, looking at Gambit like he thought he was a special kind of stupid. “Maybe we can ride one of your little cards back to the hideout. How far can you throw them?”

"That won't be necessary," a voice interrupted, startling you.

A portal had opened up to your left and a woman had walked through it. She had soldiers behind her who were wearing uniforms with a TVA logo stamped on the right arm.

"Wade Wilson struck a deal for all of you," the woman continued, surveying the group. "It's time for all of you to go home."

“Home?” Remy repeated with a skeptical look at the rest of you. “What if we don’t have a home?”

“Then wherever you’d like to be,” she amended. “With conditions, of course.”

It turned out that Wade and Logan not only saved Wade's universe, but every universe. Cassandra had wanted nothing to exist except for the Void where she reigned and both of them had managed to stop her.

You never considered that your fight with Cassandra’s minions wound end with anything except for your death. You certainly never thought you would have the option to leave the Void.

You definitely didn't want to return home, so you asked if you could stay in Wade's universe. Logan and Laura had opted to stay as well and since your variant had never been born in Wade’s universe, you were welcome to stay. It felt like you were getting the opportunity to carve out the kind of life you wanted all along. One where you knew you would be welcome and wanted without fearing that you would be abandoned for someone else.

Now, you were sitting around a table with Wade's family and the beginnings of a new one for you. Laura was sitting to your left and Logan to your right and you couldn't help but feel like this was where you had belonged all along.

Logan had admitted that he wasn't allowed to try to save the people in his universe, but he wanted to be whatever you needed or wanted him to be in your new one. You knew that was a daunting order for someone like Logan, so you settled for telling him that you wanted to start at the beginning.

You wanted to get to know this Logan, because even though you already loved him, you knew that you wanted a clean slate. One where you weren’t comparing him to your universe’s Logan and one where you gave him every opportunity to show you that he was better. You also didn’t want him to just see the ghost of his wife in you, so you wanted him to get to know you.

You soaked up the love and laughter that flowed through the room and met Logan's gaze. You weren't even surprised to see that he was already watching you. You reached out to grab his hand, delighting in the way he immediately welcomed your touch.

You no longer felt forgotten and hopeless. Everything you had yearned for, fought for, in your old life had quite literally dropped right into your new one and you couldn't have been more grateful for another shot at happiness.

From the way Logan smiled at you and brought your hand up to kiss the back of it, you knew he was just as appreciative at the opportunity to turn his life back around.

"Thank you," you whispered to him, leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder.

"Nothing to thank me for," he answered before dropping another kiss on the crowd of your head.

You wanted to argue with him and tell him that he had saved you, but you figured you would tell him later. For now, you were going to enjoy the feeling of belonging you felt and look forward to the fact that there would be a later with Logan.

Edited To Add: I am writing a sequel! It's going to involve Cable (even though he didn't test well) and Logan getting payback on reader's original Wolverine on her behalf and a whole bunch of other fun surprises!! If you want to be tagged, just let me know!

The sequel is HERE for anyone interested!

This is now a whole series! Main post for the series is HERE.

[d0rothydraws]

After a night out things get heated and Sylus can't control himself, revealing a new side of him.

content: f!reader, monster cock, porn without plot, public sex, multiple orgasms, Inappropriate use of Evol, after care, just a lot of smut idk

w/c: 3.7k

Ao3: Here

a/n: This took so long i'm so sorry works been wearing me out so much I haven't been able to post much. I hope this satisfies all the monster fuckers that wanted this from my one post.

Tonight had been.. A lot. You and Sylus were at a dinner banquet. Apparently a very important man was hosting the event and Sylus was looking for information about something. You didn’t really know or ask. You don’t really ask many questions these days. Sylus had custom fit you one of the most beautiful dresses you had ever seen. It was made of the softest silk, the neckline was low yet tasteful, showing enough to catch some looks but not enough to feel exposed. The skirt had a high slit that went to the top of your hip, exposing your leg once in a while. As you walked, the long skirt looked like it was flowing around you like water. You wore matching blood red heels that looked like they were carved out of ruby. The light catching them in a mesmerizing way. Your hair was done in a way where it framed your face, pulled in an updo that bounced slightly every time you took a step. And on your neck was a crow pendant embedded with a ruby. 

To say it simply, you looked beautiful. Elegant. 

And Sylus couldn’t keep his eyes, or hands, off of you.

As you walked, his hand was draped around your waist, hand on your hip. Or his hand was on your lower back, or when you sat his hand was on your thigh, fingers drawing patterns that sent a chill down your spine. He looked at you from the corner of his eye, meeting yours once in a while. You almost could feel the hot breath that left him when this happened, exhaling every time as if he was trying to control himself. 

You couldn’t lie, it felt good to see him like this. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what you would look like in the dress, it was custom fit, custom designed just for you. He had seen it on you before. And yet when anyone looked over at you, giving you just the smallest bit of attention, you felt his hand tighten, body pulled closer. Your hip flush against his. You could feel heat radiating from his body.

Part of you wondered if he was going to end up dragging you into the bathroom. A couple times you thought he was considering it, especially as his hand moved to the inside of your thigh halfway through the banquet. His rough fingers trailed higher, brushing against your panties. He leaned over whispering in your ear, his voice thick as honey. 

“You look delicious.” His words sent a shiver through your body as your hand tightened on the fork you were holding. You looked around, everyone was talking about something you didn't understand. Nobody knew what was happening under the table. And in a bold decision, you parted your thighs just a little bit more. Moving your hips to press against the fingers that were tracing your folds through your panties. You heard his breath catch, his hand pausing for only a second, Sylus’ lips returned to your ear. 

“Try not to squirm too much, kitten. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold back.” He said as his fingers dipped under the fabric, calloused fingers grazing the sensitive skin. You took a bite of food to hide a moan, your face red as a shaky breath left your lipsticked lips. You wanted nothing more than to ride his hand. To throw all caution to the wind and thrust your hips against his fingers until you were clenching and twitching around him, begging for more. 

And suddenly, his hand was gone. Your disappointment must have been audible because he chuckled, bringing his finger to his lips. Swiftly he liked them as if he was licking off a stray drop of sauce that fell onto his hand. You caught the look in his eye as his right eye started glowing slightly. Glancing down you seen the red and black tendrils of his power snake its way around your leg. It felt warm and you tried to not shiver or make a sound as you felt the weight of it move between your thighs. Your panties pushed to the side and as a reflex you tried to close your legs. The tendrils pushed your legs back open gently, like a pair of hands and as you felt the warmth against your core, you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching a hand out, putting it on Sylus’ thigh, nails pressing into the thick meat. 

It felt as if it was Sylus himself between your thighs, just a different version. The feeling was like a warm tongue licking at you, lapping up every bit that you provided as you tried your damndest to not moan, or at least, too loud. You never felt anything like this before. You almost forgot you were in public until you heard his voice in your ear again. 

“Quiet, kitten. You’ll get caught.” His voice was low, strained. A rush of adrenaline flooded your veins as you choked back a whine. The energy pushed inside you, curling exactly where you needed it. Licking your sensitive, throbbing clit. Your hand on his thigh tightened, nails digging in more making him give a low groan deep in his throat. 

“Sylus-” You said, trying to be quiet, but the sound was choked out. Your breathing was heavy, face red and eyes were starting to get glossy. “I can’t. P-please, I-” You let out a choked gasp, louder than you wanted as your orgasm rushed through you. You clenched around the thick mass of energy inside you as you panted, blushing so dark that you probably matched your dress. A few people turned to look, eyebrows raised in curiosity as they saw your out of breath expression. 

“We will be taking our leave now.” Sylus said, the energy around your lower half dissolved as if it never happened. Your legs felt numb as you tried to steady your thoughts, your heart pounding and blood rushing. Your body moved on its own as Sylus stood, as if being willed by him to follow. You had no complaints about this, your anticipation was as high as ever to get him alone. His hand was firm on your lower back giving you much needed support as you walked to the car.

The drive home was quiet but the tension was thick. His body was tense as he pulled into the driveway and before you could even open the door, the red-black tendrils of energy embraced you again. Your body was moved by a force you couldn’t fight even if you wanted to. A thrill ran through your body. He had never used his Evol on you like this before. 

You were placed in the middle of the bedroom, Sylus following you through the door as his eye glowed. His hands in his pockets as he looked at you with a hunger you never saw from him before. You let out a slow breath, feeling the energy dissolve into the air as he towered over you, a hand moving to your chin. 

“Sweetie, you almost made me lose control, looking like that in public. It’s dangerous, you know.” He said, fingers trailing your skin as his other hand trailed down the curve of your waist, admiring the figure hidden under the dress he picked out. 

“I guess you could say I had a good stylist.” You said with a half laugh, he chuckled, a low sound that warmed your core. His hand moved behind your neck, fingers making quick work of the tie that held the light dress on your body. With a flick of his fingers, the fabric fell to the floor around your feet. Your hand moved to his chest, trailing up to wrap around his tie. 

The tension broke as you pulled him down into a rough kiss, one of his hands curled in your hair while the other moved to your hip. He guided you as you felt the bed hit the back of your legs, one of his legs coming to rest on the edge of the bed as you fell back. His kiss was hot, hungry. Teeth bite your lip, tongues pushing against each other as your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer. He took your hand from his tie, his fingers wrapping around yours as he pinned it above your head. 

“Do you trust me?” He breathed in your ear as he pulled back, panting softly. You could feel the hardness of his cock against your thigh, straining his pants. You arched your hips up to apply some pressure, making him groan. You knew there was only one answer to his question.  

“Yes.” 

The grip on your hand tightened as it was pushed harder into the soft mattress, his other hand moved to your face bringing your lips to his as he kissed you. Slow, deep. Different from the kiss you just had. You felt hot breath on your cheek as he breathed out through his nose asif he was holding his breath waiting for your answer. In turn, the kiss took your own breath away as you pulled back, your lips slightly red from how he bit your lip as you pulled back. His fingers traced the outline of your lower lip as his eyes stared down at you, red orbs swirling.

“Darling,” His voice made a low sound as his eyes looked into you. A serious look that brought you back to reality for a moment. He didn’t give you that look often.  “I’m not sure if I'll be able to hold back tonight.” Sylus sounded just as breathless as you felt. “If you need me to stop at any point, tell me. Promise me.” He said, the hand on your cheek gently tracing the skin under his fingers. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Your heart fluttered as you looked up at him. Your cheeks flushed as you took a deep breath, processing his words. 

You two had a safe word. It was well established when you started becoming physical. There was one time you did have to use it, not because of anything horrible but you weren’t in the right mindset for what he had planned that night. So instead of putting yourself through it, knowing that he wouldn’t want you to do that, you said it. He stopped instantly followed by a warm bath, snacks, and your favorite show. 

“I promise.” You breathed, looking into his eyes as he stared down at you. There was something that you couldn’t tell, that you never had seen before. “I trust you, Sylus.” You whispered, bringing your free hand to pull him into a slow kiss that matched the last one. You put your whole soul into that kiss, as if hoping he would understand just how much you cared for him. How without a thought you would put your life in his hands, knowing damn well that he would do the same for you. 

As the kiss continued, the energy began to change. Once soft and gentle was becoming something more. His lips were hot, hungry as he straddled your hips. His clothed cock grinded against your thigh making your body twitch and shiver with need. His hand on your face became rougher, holding your jaw firmly as his kiss devoured you. He pulled away with a soft growl, licking his lips. 

“You’re like a drug to me.” Sylus said as his hands moved to pull at his clothes, buttons unfastening to reveal his chest. Your mouth started to salivate at the sight.  Your hands moved up to help him, guiding your palms over the surface of his skin. Sylus let out a low sound, watching you as you made your way to his belt. He didn’t stop you as you undid the fasten. The sound of metal was loud in the room as it fell from its hold as Sylus pulled the belt and tossed it on the floor. 

His lips were on you again. Hungry, hot. You felt your breath be taken from your lungs as your hands were pinned above your head. His tongue pushing into your mouth, devouring you whole. He pulled away with a low growl, looking down at you, his eyes dark and his lips red from the kiss and the stain of your lipstick. 

“Roll over kitten.” Sylus purred as he let go of your hands and instantly you followed his direction. You felt the slick of your arousal as you moved, making your need even more known to you as you turned. Now with your ass to him, arched as your cheek laid against the pillow. You felt his fingers wrap under the lace of your panties, pulling them down to your knees. You looked over to him, your view obstructed but still managed to match his eyes. 

No words needed to be said, both of you needed the same exact thing and he wasn’t in a mood to tease you, at least not at the moment. His hands worked on his pants, letting them fall to the floor as he stood off of the bed, his boxers following. Your mouth watered, moaning into the pillow at the sight of him. Hard, dripping. His hand wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly as his thumb brushed against the angry red head. You felt your pussy clench as if trying to draw him in. He was beautiful. He didn’t even look human. No human could be this beautiful. 

As he climbed back onto the bed he wasted no time in positioning himself. He kissed your back, one hand on himself to adjust while the other was on your ass, sinking into the soft flesh. He kissed your back again before speaking into your ear, his voice was rough, deep.

“Remember our promise?” He whispered, his voice strained. Reminding you that you would use the safe word if you needed. You felt his tip slide against you, eager for the final confirmation. You nodded into the pillow, shifting your hips as you grinded against him. He groaned, the hand on your ass getting rougher as he held you still. 

He began to push into you slowly. You felt your body stretch to accommodate him, your moan loud as your body felt like electricity was pulsing through your veins at the feeling. Fuck he always felt so good. So thick, so heavy inside you. Your eyes rolled as he bottomed out his hands gently rubbing your back, your ass, the back of your thighs. He waited a moment, his breath strained as he tried to contain himself. But as he started to thrust it was a lost cause. 

You cried out moaning as he pulled out, thrusting back in. Your body shook as you felt him fuck you, his thrusts started to get faster the louder you moaned as if the sound of your cries edged him on, which was very much the case. You tightened around him, gasping as you felt his hand coming to rub against your clit, his rough thumb brushing the sensitive skin. 

“You sound so beautiful darling. Let me hear how you sound as you cum on my cock.” He purred in his ear. His voice sounded.. Different. Deeper somehow, more primal, needy. It drove you wild. You moaned gasping as you moved your body against him, fucking yourself on his cock while he pressed his thumb against you. You felt the sensation take over your body as Sylus hit that spot inside you that made you cry out and see stars. Your orgasm flowed through you as your pussy fluttered and clenched around him, pushing him to the brink as he filled you with his hot cum. 

You caught your breath, your forehead sticky with sweat as you felt your body tremble from the release. Sylus on the other hand, was still inside you. Cock hard, twitching as if he didn't just cum inside you. His hands gripped your hips, his lips moving to your back as he kissed your sweaty skin. You could hear his heart pounding, as fast as ever. 

“I’m not done with you yet, sweetie. That was a warmup.” He said as he started to thrust again, slowly at first. Your body shivered and moaned at the sudden movement, sensitive from your orgasm as he stated to fuck you. You felt his cum inside you, being fucked deeper. You blushed gasping, your head spinning with pleasure. 

As he fucked you, you swore his hands on your hips felt larger. His nails were digging into your skin as if they were talons. Not cutting into you, but more noticeable than before. You gasped, your mouth opening against the pillow, eyes widening as you whimpered. 

“Sylus!” You cried out as you felt your pussy stretch more than before. You felt his cock, which was already big and thick, get even bigger. The girth stretching you out more to the point your legs were shaking. You felt him hit places inside you you didn't even know existed. You felt tears fall from your eyes, sure it hurt a little but god you never felt so good in your life. You felt his tongue lick up your spine, long, thick. His mouth moved to your ear, sharp teeth nipping the skin. You could hear your heart pound. What was he? How did he become… like this? 

“Wow kitten, you took me so well.” Sylus purred. He wasn’t even moving yet and you were a whimpering crying mess. “I bet you love being stretched out on my cock like this, don’t you? I’m not even moving and it feels like you’re about to cum again.” He teased as you felt a rough, larger than normal thumb brush against your clit. “Careful, if you do, you might boost my ego. I could get addicted to this.”

Your head spun as you whimpered and moaned. You couldn’t see him. Even if you tried to turn, he was pressed against your back. But he wasn’t wrong. You were close. So agonizingly close that when he touched his thumb to that damn spot between your legs it was instant. You cried out, clenching around him and he hissed at the feeling. His cock twitched inside you as he felt you cum on his cock from nothing more than just being inside you. Filling you up completely. Stretching you to your limit to the point you weren’t sure if you’d be able to walk later. 

“Good girl. You’ve been such a good girl for me, haven’t you?” Sylus purred into your ear as he started to move. Your eyes widened as you cried out, hands clawing at the bedsheets as you felt how massive he truly had become now that he started moving. Your legs shook as you struggled to keep yourself propped up on your knees. His hands came to grab your hips as you whimpered and moaned mindlessly into the pillow. His hands felt so big, so strong. He had always been strong but this was different, otherworldly. He held you exactly how and where he wanted you as he began to fuck into you. Your body bounced and shook as if you were a ragdoll. 

“That’s it, sweetie, just like that. You’re a perfect little slut for me, aren’t you. Taking anything I give you, no matter how big. You’ll stretch your tight little pussy for me, won’t you?” Sylus growled in your ear and you gasped, eyes rolling back at his words. You couldn’t control the sounds coming from your lips, or the drool that spilled out onto the silk pillowcase. You couldn’t stop the loud needy whimper at the things he said to you. His nails pressed into your soft flesh as he continued to ravish you. 

His thrusts started to get unsteady as he panted, one hand groping your ass as the other curled into your hair, turning your face for him to kiss you. His long tongue forced its way into your mouth, his teeth were sharper but it felt more like fangs now that you could feel him better. You opened your eyes for a second, catching a glimpse to see that he looked normal. As he pulled away and opened his eyes though, you noticed how both eyes were glowing red. It looked like orbs of the red mist of his Evol flowing inside his eyes. It was beautiful. If you weren’t getting your brains fucked out you would have more time to appreciate it. 

The hand returned between your thighs, drawing circles against your sensitive nub. As he felt you twitch and whimper, his hand continued until he pulled another orgasm out of you. Your scream was muffled by the pillow but the sound made him take in a sharp breath. Even when he was like this, the sounds you made affected him more than you could ever know. You felt as his cock twitched, his thrusted uneven before he came inside you. The feeling was different than before. It was thicker and it felt like there was more than usual. You gasped, moaning as you felt him thrust a few more times, the thick globs of cum running down your thighs. 

Slowly, you felt him begin to pull out. Your body was too weak and tired to turn around and look at him but that was the last thing on your mind right now. You didn’t care what form he took. He was still yours. And you were still his. You felt him shift around you, his arms pulling you into his chest as he kissed your head. The smell of him flooded your senses as a sense of calm you never felt before came over you. 

His hands were so gentle as he carefully checked for marks and scratches. You felt a warm cloth on your thighs. A cold bottle of water pressed to your lips. You opened your mouth and the bottle tipped so gently. His hands were still on you, gently touching and caressing you. As you opened your eyes gently you saw the oh so familiar black and red mist surrounding you. Cleaning you, giving you water. You felt a kiss on the top of your head as Sylus pulled you closer. 

“Relax, kitten. You’ll need to recover. I’ll take care of everything.”

~•~•~•~

some people on my post asked to be tagged or really seemed to want this so here u guys go i hope you dont mind the tag

@lunacielooo @in-too-deepspace @sefynarose

[safination]

Partners in Death...and Life.

Part I: Radio's not dead

| Part 2: Radio Will Be Dead if He Doesn’t Explain Himself. | Masterlist| ao3 Pairings: Alastor x wife!reader Tags: fem! reader, established relationship, human!alastor, hopefully not but just in case ooc!alastor (I'm trying my best to keep him as canon as possible) acroace!alastor

"Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow. You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.” “Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?” You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” [Or after a seven-year absence, you find the man you were married to in life, not only back in town, but also helping . . . *checks notes* . . . the Princess of Hell run a hotel aimed at rehabilitating sinners who were sent to the bad place for a reason.]

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

You pass the tissue box—the third one already.

Your patient blows his nose, rubbing snot off his snout. He has to stretch his arms to reach his nose. Alligators are known for their long snouts. His nostrils flare when he sniffles.

Used tissue is discarded on the pastel-pink floor despite a pastel-pink trashcan stationed by his webbed feet. It’s been the same pattern for the last fifteen-minutes. Tissue, Sneeze. Floor.

“—and I have this . . . uh . . . like this real bad itch on my eye. I keep rubbing and rubbing but it doesn’t do shit! My eyesight’s gotten worse—It’s already fucked up but this is just different. My roommate hissed at me about getting blood all-over the carpet floors if I kept scratching my scales. Oh. Oh! I’ve been snee—achew!” Alligator snot lands on the pastel-pink floors of the clinic.

Your eyes twitch.

He takes another tissue and waves it around his head. “The top of my head is killing me. Ya’know where that is right?” He blows his nose. “It’s right here,” he says, inching his head closer to you. “The last nurse I went to was blind as a bat! Literally, she had the wings and everything. It was kinda hot.”

“I’m well aware of the location of your head,” you say. “You can lean back now.”

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Tissue. Sneeze. Floor.

Pastel pink floor.

Underneath the mix of feathers and hair strands, the bustling of the waiting room catches your ears. Someone curses, booming and violent at another waiting patient. A cough, a sigh, a barf. Painful curses erupt after that. You bring a hand to your ears, wincing as your eardrum ring. Pentagon City’s best and biggest hospital needs better doors, but those lazy sloth fuckers at the top invested at the first material they found.

The alligator sneezes into another tissue. He flicks it with his wrist, and it hits the pastel-pink wallpaper adorned with closed eyes. Maybe Belphegor should be the sin of Pride instead, considering all items are covered in her symbol.

“I really feel like t’was those exterminators ya’know?”

You do not, in fact, know. Half of what this young man says is incomprehensible.

His snout sways left to right when he shakes his head. “It’s only my second one, and this was a close call, and uh . . . well, ever since then I’ve been like this. One even got to my roommate. “

You hum, leaning back on your chair. You should petition to for thicker doors. And while you’re at it, better interior design, and better paint—something that isn’t pastel pink.

“Ugh, and it’s so not cool that this new roommate of mine’s been shedding since the day they moved in,” he says.  “Speaking of shedding, do you think it’s because of those exterminators? Do you think they like spread some sort of weird pollen to make us sick? They’re totally the type to do that.”

You take your pen—your pastel-fucking-pink pen—and poke his alligator sinuses.

Hell does have its own brand of humor. You gave your 20s to studying human anatomy, only to die and find yourself with the need to re-learn the boring part of biology.  (Two books on reptiles, four on mammals, and fifteen on sea creatures.)

“YEOWCH!” His teeth stick out again. You do not know what this means.  “What kind of nurse ar—“

“Doctor.”

“—you? That’s not the top of my head!”

You push back on of the feathers on your head. “Your roommate ‘hissed’ at you? And they’ve been shedding fur for two weeks now.?

“Yeah . . . ?”

You stare at him. “Have you ever considered that you’re allergic to your roommate?”

“Ooooooooooh,” he says. ‘Yeah, I was allergic to cats back when I was alive.”

You grab your (pastel-fucking-pink) prescription pad from the desk drawer. “Control it with some antihistamine. Four pills every 12 hours.”

His teeth start showing. You’re not sure if he’s frowning. It’s hard to tell. “Pills, really?”

You toss what you were writing into the massive pile of germs, mucus, and tissue. “I can give you a nasal spray. I’ll flush the mucus then insert a spray that prevents build-up,” you say. “They last for two weeks and then you’ll need to come back.”

He grabs the last tissue from the box. It still lands on your floor. “Ma’am nurse, do you have any more of this?”

You sigh and reach for a fourth box of tissue. “It’s doctor,” you say. “We keep nasal sprays here in the clinic. I’ll just grab one and you’ll be out in fifteen minutes.”

“No can do,” he says. “Before I died, my coach told me to stay away from that non-organic shit. It’ll mess us up real bad apparently. All those steroids.”

“You have phencyclidine sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Pheny—what?”

“ . . . Angel Dust.”

“The porn star?”

“The drug. You have drugs sticking out of your coat pocket.”

“Come on, nurse—”

Threads erupt from your fingers. It snakes around his wrist, coiling and twisting.

He jerks his arm away and cries out when you tighten your hold. Your threads wrap around his legs. It pulls against his waist. Magic binds his arms, and tightens around every joint he owns.

You stop, only when the alligator struggles, trashing against the clinic chair.  His teeth bare and he snaps at whatever he can reach. You tug on one of the thousands of strings digging into his skin. His jaw snaps shut, and it will stay shut. Another tug and his back stretches to straighten. You move your fingers as if a piano laid before you, and he sits up like a good puppet.

Another month of clinic dury will be your punishment if those sloth from down below are lucid enough to do their jobs.Sadly, killing this idiot would have you suspended for three months.

“I am a doctor,” you tell him. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

The tension on your strings marks even the few scales scattered on his body. He’s a real idiot if he continues to struggle.

Delicate movements of your fingers bring him forward, his back still strained, and tilt his snout at a forty-five-degree angle.

Your threads elongate as you move toward the clinic drawers. It loosens around you, careful at keeping you able to move freely. It’s one of the handier parts of your magic. You shake your hands and the threads detach. It sticks to the floor to keep the alligator as your puppet. You scrub your hands thoroughly before taking the nasal spray and filling with with distilled water.

You place on nitrite gloves. It’s always best when dealing with bodily substances such as mucus.

You place a pan underneath and jam the tube up his nostrils, hosing his sinuses with water. The tension of his binding keeps him still. (If you ignore his whining, then that’s your business. The brawl you heard from the waiting room drowned it all out anyway.) He starts breathing better when all the snot flushes to the pan.

“Finished,” you say with satisfaction. You grab your prescription pad and write one for a nasal spray. “I cleared the mucus buildup so you shouldn’t feel any more headaches. The spray will keep your nose clear for as long as you use it. Come back if you start to feel any discomfort. For the rashes just get cream.” You point at the pastel pink door. “The exit’s right there.”

The threads dissolve in the air. He rubs his wrist, trying to soothe the red marks that your strings bring. You hand him the signed prescription.

He doesn’t close the door on his way out.

The broom and dustpan are hidden in one of the taller cabinets—pastel-pink like everything else in the room.

(Well, not everything. The radio sitting on the corner of the counter gives a splash of red into the room.)

You sweep the tissues into the dustpan. Your control over your strings is much more proficient when living beings are involved. Inanimate objects whip around when you use your magic on them, and radios have been difficult to purchase recently. It’s more convenient to clean using your own hands.

“Tagatha,” you call out when the floor is clean. “You can bring in the next one in.”

Silence is your reply.

“Tagatha?”

Your ears quirk. The noises are faint—an occasional cough, silent weeping, and muted voices coming from the television. You peek out the door, eyeing the crowd formed around the corner of the hall where a pAstel-pInK television mounts on the wall.

The door closes with a faint click. You sink into the cushions of the office chair. Vox’s yapping bore you. It was probably some man-child debate about the new extermination date.

Although . . . those serialized dramas he produces, sadly, are interesting enough to be consumed. If asked for your honest opinion, you’d tell them that they were a hot pile of smelly garbage, but you like to leave it playing mindlessly in the background.

Your husband will throw the television out the window the first chance he’ll get.

Too bad he’s occupied.

You grab a piece of paper from the drawer. Management is forcing you to write a thousand-word formal apology. There are about three-hundred words left to write.

Getting caught dissecting the dead bodies from the morgue is a mistake that won’t be repeated. One dead body and suddenly those lazy fuckers have diligence weaved into their DNA.

The body was already dead, and it’s not every day a chance to poke around a chimera’s entrails appears.

The sinner would contribute to something meaningful at least. You’re stuck on clinic duty until you dot your last sentence, and not a moment before

The coffee’s cold now, but consumable.

You reach across the desk, feeling for the knob of the radio. You twist until you feel the clink. Music fills the air—the same twenty-five songs on a loop. You stare at the radio for a moment. Just . . . a small . . . single moment.

 . . . On your kitchen counter, that second cup of coffee should be cold by now. It’s always cold when you trudge through the door. It’s been cold and untouched for years.

Yet, without fail, that second cup you brew will always be waiting for its owner.

“Salutations!” You snap your head to the radio. “Good to be back on the air.”

Huh? The feather on your hair preens. You swipe the radio, your hold on it feather-light.  You turn the knob responsible for volume. The static noise stings your eardrums.

“—ile since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast. Sinners rejoice!”

Murmurs erupt outside your door. You blink and find yourself slamming it open. One foot after another, one step after the other, brings you closer to the television. Your shoulder throbs when you bump into someone, but you keep pushing until you see Vox and his tacky suit enlarged on the screen.

“What a dated voice!”

A reply comes from the radio. “Instead of a clout-chasin’ mediocre video podcast.”

Your feather rises higher. Laughter escapes your lips, it leaves a dry taste. That . . . that ṁ̵̭͔̲̙̦͎̝̜̲̠͙͇̂̏̃̐̂̓̊̂̕̕o̴̢̭̝̙̤̬͚͐̅͗̌̇̂̌̕ţ̷̛̝̂̿h̶̯̟̙̲̘̟̟͙͔̔̋͊̋̿̐͘͜͜ę̶̗̰͔̫͔̗̝̘̻̰̓̓̈̊͜r̵̨̂̏f̶͖̻̱̺͕̹̫̭̠̚u̸̬̺̯̟̦͖̅̂́́̌̚͝ć̴̖͙̰͈͕̉͌̈́́̈̔̀̉̍́͜͠ḳ̴̨̧̗̫̗͖̞̟̑͌̂̀̈́̀͆͒ę̷̛͓̼̟͍̆̆́͆̾͛͝r̵̹̮̤͓̗̹̈́̎̉͌̾͌̏͑̋̚͝.

“Doctor!” Tagatha screeches when she spots you. “I am so sorry. I’ll bring in the next one right away!”

Your eyes are trapped by the screen and your ears by the radio. “It’s alrig—”

Tagatha grabs the closest person to her and shoves you back into the clinic. The door slams shut just as everything goes dark and silent. (Well, it’s not completely dark, once your eyes adjust you can still see as if the lights were open. Another small perk to this body). Your radio, along with the power, stopped working.

“Oh my!” Your new patient bleats.

“We have generators,” you find yourself saying. “I’m sure the power will come on in a minute.”

The cushions of the chair do little to ease your nerves. You pat your hair, trying to get it in control. A pile of feathers starts forming on the PASTEL-FUCKING PINK FLOORS. T̴̹̜͇̅̅͗͜H̶̰̗̄Ơ̶̡̡̻̗͖̋̎̓̓S̴̨͉̝̻͋̽̆́͆Ẹ̸̡̢͐͐͠ ̷̨͚̞̙̀͒̆̆͊Ŭ̵͕̲̪͇͓͐̚G̷̹̝̦̬͊͒Ḷ̶̭͓̎̏̈͘Y̶͇̟̍̉̚ ̷̟͎͕̞͂͑̂̇À̶͉̍̄̈̚S̸͖̖͕͑̏͛̈́S̶͚̤̼̯̀ ̶̻͆P̷̬̝̉Ä̵͕́͊̌S̸̢͍̆̓͝Ṫ̸͖̲̠̾̉͜͝E̷̺͆L̷͖̏͐́͝ ̶̛̟̽͝P̷̪̔͜I̴̹̥̹͖̮͒́̏͘N̸̳̙̼̾̆̿Ķ̶̟̞̜̉͊̓̂̚ ̵͈̬̃̿̄̈́̋F̵̨̨̼̫̘͘L̸̙̠͎̓̆́O̷̧̘͚͉̤̓O̷̤̟̱̼̤͋̍͐R̷̰̝̓͌̌Ș̵̲̝̈́ “Excuse me?” You will paint this room red with the blood of management.  You tap your foot again, and again, and again. “ . . .Doctor?”

Your neck snaps in her direction, eyes wide and staring.

“The . . . uh . . . the lights are back.”

You blink at your patient—huh, she’s a goat. “I apologize,” you say, smiling. “Please, tell me, what brings you here in this hellish afternoon.”

She holds up her bleeding arm. “It’s been like this since the extermination,” she explains. “Some angle got me. Luckily, I was able to run off before I was finished. I thought it would heal on its own like it usually does but it just hasn’t. It keeps bleeding.”

“Well, angel-induced injuries are my specialty,” you say. Tucked away to the side, a mirror hangs. You catch your reflection, and you blow your hair away from your vision, your red sclerae “This will cost you. Injuries caused by angels are . . . difficult to stitch, but not impossible—not for me at least.”

“Oh, yes.” She bleats one more “Dear God, where are my manners? I’m sorry can I ask for your name?”

Your smile widens. “Of course. I’m—"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you. Quite a pleasure!” One hand reset on his chest, and the other shoots into the air. It’s the bow you did in high school, back when you wanted theater to pay your bills. A performer’s bow.

You chuckle. “I don’t think it will be quite the pleasure you think.”

“Is that so?” Alastor’s smile remains constant. “And why would that be?”

You show him the tray you’re holding. “I’m here to do your sutures.” He steps closer to take a peek. You watch him as his eyes gloss over your matches then your needle driver, then the alcohol lamp. His smile wobbles when he lands on the syringe.

You move the tray, dropping it down on the little cart by the examination chair.

“There’s no need to worry.” You beam at him. “I have the steadiest hands in this city.”

“Hmmmm,” he says. “You must be the other doctor then.”

“Not at all.” You point to your uniform, where the initial ‘NP’ is embroidered next to your name. “Just the nurse practitioner.”

He takes a closer look and reads your name. “Then I have no reason to fret. None at all! In my experience, doctors usually have their noses buried in their books. It’s the nurses that actually get the hands-on experience.” Alastor’s hands move when he talks. “What’s such a talented practitioner doing in such a dinged-up clinic?”

“Management caught me in the morgue dissecting the dead—It’s how I practice my stitches.”

“Really, now?”

You bark a laugh. “Not at all—I’m far too smart to get caught.”

“A witty sense of humor and a steady hand! I am in good hands, indeed.”

You take a seat on the rolling stool. “Yes, yes,” you say, waving your wrist. “You make fine compliments, Sir. I’ll be sure to be extra gentle.” You point towards the examination chair. “But, please hurry to the chair. You’re dripping blood on my floor.”

Alastor glances down. His eyebrows furrow as he glares at where the blood seeps from his sleeve . . . almost . . . almost as if he’s angry. “My apologies,” he says, allowing his blood to drip to the floor.

Alastor shrugs off his coat. It’s rare to see such a dark red—only a few choose such a color. You hum. Alastor is a well-dressed gentleman. Lovely. Those are your favorite kind. He drapes his coat over the spare chair, ignoring the coat racks the clinic provides.

You turn away and wheel yourself closer to one of the drawers on the counter. It takes two attempts until you find the stash of sterile gloves. “Take your seat when you’re ready,” you say. “I’ll take a look once you are.” You place the gloves on the little green cart, right next to your tray.

Alastor takes his seat, landing with an audible ‘humph’. He smiles at you, sleeves rolled and arm ready. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You hold your palm out. “May I?”

His smile wobbles—it’s a small change in expression that you wouldn’t notice if you weren’t looking. “Of course.”

Along his forearm, a long and sharp cut wounds him. The sight of grime that covers the opened abrasions makes you inwardly cringe. You need to clean these as soon as possible. “Why was this not checked sooner?” You rest his hands on the armrest and use your foot to bring the cart closer. “This looks old, and not at all like a freshly deep cut. I prefer it when patients come to me with fresh wounds.”

You grab a bowl with distilled water and pour in a sterile solution. “I assumed it would heal on its own,” he tells you. “It was quite a surprise when it did not.”

“I need to clean this before you die of infection.” You dip his arm into the bowl. He remains silent, but you feel the tension of his muscles under your fingers. “Hopefully there will be no next time, but just in case, next time, please don’t wait a month.”

He laughs, and there, you faintly see it—a twitch in his eye. “It was only a week actually.”

You smile to yourself. “I’d prefer it if it was only a few hours.” You dry his arm with a soft towel, his arm still tensed underneath your touch. “There, much better.”  You release your hold to go to a shelf filled with different labeled vials and select the one you need. With the clean syringe, you draw the contents of the vial. “You’ll feel a bit of a pinch,” you say. You tap its side. “It’s morphine— wouldn’t want you screaming and writhing”

You study his face for a second. There’s just that same dismissively polite smile.

“You can look away if you wish,” you tell him. “It’s why we pin such . . . er . . .interesting decorations around. . . . May I?”

You feel it again when Alastor inches his arm closer. His muscles tense under your touch. It’s almost as if he wishes to pull away. You keep your hold feather-light, but firm.

“Are you a hunter by any chance?” you ask. You don’t prick him—not yet. Not when tension coils in your hold.

“You could describe it that way,” he says, chuckling like he’s told a humorous joke. (You don’t understand why.)

“I figured you were.”

Alastor slides his glasses up the bridge of his nose. You inject the morphine into his skin, right inside the soft pink tissue. Good. Alastor relaxes when he speaks, it seems. “I do love a good hunt,” he says. “How ever did you know.”

You release your hold and discard the syringe. “Your hands are rough,” you tell him. “And hunters always have this silly notion that injuries magically heal given enough time—along with farmers, actually. Although, farmers are usually much more deluded.”

He flashes that same polite smile. “I'm guessing you’re not a hunter then?”

“How ever did you know?”

You watch his eyes flicker to your palms as you re-arrange the needles. “Delicate hands.”

You flash the same polite smile right back at him. You take a match, and light the alcohol lamp.

Soap spreads all over your palms and up your arm as you scrub your hands. You slip your hands into the sterilized gloves, careful not to contaminate the surface. “I’ll begin now.”

Alastor hums in reply.

You take a scapple and pass it over the flame. You poke him, lightly, but he doesn’t react. Satisfied, you cut back fibrous tissue underneath the skin. You replace the scapple with a needle driver. There was a quiet click when you pinch the tiny curved needle. You pass it over the flame as well. “Can you do me a favor? Can you tell me how many stars are on that wall over there?

Alastor turns to look at you, but you block his eyes with your palm, shielding him from your stiches.

“The wall isn’t over here.”

“I assure you, I’m not afraid of a silly needle.”

“I’m sure you are,” you say. “However, you’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. The last three people who said that took one look and started squirming. One even fainted. It makes your life miserable, and my job harder.

He counts.

“Out loud please.”

He does as he’s told, rather reluctantly.

Hands steady and determination set, you pierce the soft pink tissue with your needle The tissue nearest to the surface is always delicate. You’re certain not to catch any fat in your suture, for fat dies, and a loose stitch is useless. “Well, isn’t this fun!” he says. “I really feel nothing.”

Your concentration does not break. “I don’t remember there only being twenty-six stars. I’m positive there are more.”

“Why is someone as talented as you only a nurse practitioner?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a nurse,” you reply, tugging on the needle. “Well . . .we . . . we certainly could be paid more.”

“Why not become an actual doctor then?”

“My father couldn’t afford it. He wouldn’t send me . . . and . . . hmm.” You smoothly pull the suture thread and begin the next stitch. “And I enjoy this.”

He looks down at you. “Is this all you’ll be satisfied with?”

You focus back on your stitching, hiding your glare. You bring your needle underneath the flesh, making sure to catch the soft tissue. You’re doing an uncommon stitch, but it would be a shame to leave a scar. “You sound familiar.”

You pause to look at him, His smile brightens, and it actually looks like a genuine elated smile. “Why, I’m a radio broadcaster. You might have heard me there.”

“Oh yes,” you hum, turning back to your stitching. “Alastor . . . I remember now. The ladies and I listen to your broadcast as we do our crafts.”

“Knitting?”

“I personally prefer embroidery,” you say. “I get to practice my stitching and make beautiful art.” You pull the thread and begin a new one, stitching his skin like they were shoe laces. “You’re quite the humorous gentleman, I must say, and quite a lovely taste in music. We enjoy your broadcast very much”

“Do you have any of your artworks here?” he asks you. “I would be eager to see them.”

“Maybe next time.” You tug the suture, and his laceration snaps to a close. You tie a knot and snip the end. “Unfortunately, I’ve finished your stitches.”

“Next time then.”

You discard your gloves and go back to the shelf with the vials. You fill up another syringe. You jam the needle into his skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to scare him a bit. “To prevent infection.”

He jerks away from you. “What happened to that gentle touch of yours?”

“It’s still a sharp object, Sir. They tend to hurt.” You smirk and carefully clean the remaining blood on the skin around the sutured wound. You take a bandage from your cart and begin wrapping it around his forearm, covering your sutures. “Don’t forget to drink your pills every 8 hours, with a meal in your stomach, preferably. Replace the dressing every three days. You can come back here or if you’re able to do so, you can change them yourself. Any by the good God, please, visit the nearest hospital should this incident repeat.”

Alastor slides off the examination chair. He grabs his coat as if you didn’t just stitch him close. You start packing when you notice him fixing his bow tie, and smoothing his hair. Huh . . .There’s blood on his coat, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Like he’s used to having it there. Like it’s just something he’s learned to live with. “You were wrong by the way.”

“Pardon?”

“It was quite the pleasure to meet you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Next Part |Part 2: Radio Will be Dead if He Doesn't Explain Himself| Hello, welcome to the hell that's been plaguing my head. In case you didn't know Belphegor is the ruler of the sloth ring, and she seems to be in charge of medical-related stuff in Hell. I have the story mostly plotted out, it's just a matter of writing it down. If you have any questions, ask away

[justagalwhowrites]

The Savage and the Sanctuary - Ch. 1: Wrong Foot

Joel takes on a new contract as a bodyguard. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: Non-consensual groping (not by Joel.) Mention of grief and child loss. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.1k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Next Chapter

Two years later - September 2024

“You really want me for this one?” he asked as he rode up the elevator at the nicest hotel in Austin. Even after two years protecting wealthy assholes, Joel wasn’t used to shit like this. The fast elevators and the plush carpets and the trappings of wealth that provided everything his charges needed. Everything, it seemed, except safety. 

For that, they needed him. 

Protecting people, as it happened, was something Joel was good at. It almost surprised him how good he was at it. It forced him to be aware of what was happening around him for a change instead of just moving through the world like a ghost. It took that awareness for him to even realize just how dead he’d been in the years since the death of his daughter.

Usually, things went fine. Most often, he was shepherding tech or oil executives with inflated egos from business meeting to business meeting while they were in town and looking the other way when they cheated on their wives or put half his salary up their noses. Nothing ever happened with those assholes. 

Occasionally, though, his job got interesting. Rabid fans tried to mob some pop star Joel had never heard of at a club on 6th Street once and he had to carry her out, forcing his way through the crowd before she got crushed. Then there was the supermodel who was posing for photos with fans when one little college-aged fucker thought it would be smart to grab her ass to cop a feel. Joel took a little too much pleasure in punching him so hard that he fell to the floor, knocked clean out. The football player had been the biggest trouble, though. Some hotshot asshole who’d just won the Super Bowl coming back to his college town to party. He picked a fight with the wrong drug dealer and damn near got shot for it, Joel whisking him away and getting winged in the shoulder by the bullet for his trouble. 

He didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he liked when the work got dicey. Being shot at was the closest to alive Joel has felt in years. Getting to lay out some asshole without the cops trying to arrest him for it had been the highlight of his month. It made him very good at his job and he liked that, both things that surprised him. 

“You’re my best guy,” Tommy said. “You’ve seen more action on this job than almost any of the other guards and they want someone with a good history. Plus you don’t give a shit about… higher profile clientele. I can’t put fuckin’ James on a job with someone he knows, he’ll fan boy over ‘em. Remember when that one band came through?” 

“Jesus,” Joel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had been an easy job but it was one that he’d had to do most of the work on, James practically giddy the entire time. “Yeah, you’re right. So, what, this some pop star or somethin’?” 

“Not sure,” Tommy said. “They’ve been playin’ it real close to the chest, won’t ID ‘em until we sign an NDA.” 

“So you got no idea what we’re workin’ with,” Joel said, grinding his teeth. 

“Just that it’s someone people know,” Tommy said. “Long term contract, real good money. They mentioned a stalker, they’re bringing all the information along on that to review, wanted you to see it before we signed on.” 

Joel nodded slowly. 

“Well,” he said. “Least it’ll be interesting.” 

They made it to the top floor of the hotel, only four doors and Joel fought the urge to laugh. God, this breed of rich asshole was a whole new level. 

Tommy led the way to a door labeled Presidential Suite and knocked, a young woman with close cropped dark hair and a headphone in her ear answered the door. 

“One second,” she said, tapping her headphone before she smiled at the two men. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Miller. My boss prefers to have people come to where she is when she travels, I’m sure you can understand…” 

“Of course,” Tommy said. “Happy to go wherever you need.” 

“Can I get you anything?” She asked, leading the way into a hotel suite that had to be damn near the size of Joel’s entire house. “Coffee? Water? Tea? Also have a variety of Coke I think you call it here if you’d like that.” 

“Water’s fine,” Tommy said. 

“Still, sparkling?” She asked. “Also have cucumber, lemon, mint…” 

“Uh,” Tommy blinked for a moment and Joel fought the urge to laugh. “Still’s fine. None of that other stuff.” 

She nodded before she looked to Joel, her brows raised. 

“Coffee,” he said. “Black.” 

“Of course,” she smiled, leading them to a sitting room and gesturing to a couch. “Quinn will be with you shortly.” 

She disappeared and returned with their drinks, handing them to each of them with a smile before she tapped the headphone again. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice almost syrupy sweet as she went to another room. “I appreciate you waiting since you’re apparently so willing to try to fuck us over…” 

Tommy’s eyes went wide and he looked at Joel, the conversation becoming almost silent as she closed the door behind her. 

“Definitely ain’t from around here,” Joel said. 

“Guess not,” Tommy said. 

It wasn’t long - Joel only drank half the coffee which was far better than he was expecting it to be - when another door opened, a woman closer to his own age coming out, dressed in an expertly fitted gray suit, her dark hair in long, tiny braids that hung to her waist. Sarah had always liked hair like that, always begged Joel to let her get them. He wished he had whiskey for his coffee. 

The woman was on the phone, too, but she was on speaker. 

“I don’t care,” she said. “You know the deal and I’m not going to just sit here and pretend that you don’t because you decided today was the day to play fucking games. Call me when you want to handle shit like a fucking grown up.” 

She hung up and sat heavily on the couch opposite them, the girl who answered the door almost scurrying into the room and hovering near the large coffee table. The woman in the suit - Quinn, Joel assumed - giving her a single nod and she rushed off, quickly returning with a bottle of water and several folios. 

“Tommy,” Quinn smiled. “While it’s good to see you again, I’m sure you’ll understand when I say I’m looking forward to getting this settled so we can stop meeting like this.” 

Tommy smiled back. 

“Can’t say I disagree,” he said. “Wanted you to have the chance to meet Joel, he’ll be the lead on this contract assuming we go ahead. He’s one of my best guys, got the history you asked for…” 

“I’m sure being your brother doesn’t hurt,” she smiled a little. Joel raised his eyebrows and looked to Tommy but she answered his unspoken question. “We pulled backgrounds for everyone on your payroll. We can’t be too careful.” 

She tossed one of the leather folios on the table. 

“This is what we’re up against,” she said. “Redacted, of course, so you can’t ascertain who my client is but you’ll have access to the full versions should you accept the contract and sign the necessary NDAs. We’ve naturally brought them to the police and they believe the threat is credible. They have a lot of information - some of these were sent to my client’s private residence, for example - and it’s clear they’ve seen my client in person numerous times. We have reason to believe they will follow my client wherever she goes and there is genuine concern for escalation…” 

Tommy picked up the file and looked it over, nodding slowly, before passing a page off to Joel. It was the photo copy of a printed letter. 

You were beautiful today in that green dress. 

One day, you’ll come home to me. One day, I’ll make you see. 

Joel passed the page back to Tommy. 

“I can see why you’re concerned,” Tommy said, handing the folio back. “Don’t seem like anything we can’t handle. I think we’re alright to move forward with the contract as discussed…” 

There was a knock at the door and the girl ran to go answer it, Quinn ignoring it completely. 

“Excellent,” she said, grabbing another folio and passing it over. “This is the contract and the NDA, already reviewed by your legal team. We just require a wet signature.” 

Tommy nodded, looking over the pages, anyway, and Joel was starting to wonder why he’d had to be trotted out like some kind of prize show pony just to sign some damn paperwork when there was a commotion at the door. 

“This really isn’t necessary,” the girl was saying, her voice oddly pleading, the total opposite of how she’d been on the phone. 

“Oh I’m sure Quinn won’t mind,” another voice - a new one but there was a tug of familiarity to it that set Joel’s teeth on edge - said. “I am her favorite client, after all.” 

Quinn’s head snapped in the direction of the sound and, in a sweep of gauzy clothes and floral perfume, you were there. 

Joel recognized you immediately, everything about you seeming to have been built to be remembered. The whole world remembered you, it had been years since he’d been able to escape you. The biggest movie star on the planet, helming major franchises and winning fucking Oscars, on the cover of gossip rags at the fucking grocery store and on billboards advertising perfume and on Saturday Night Live. In person, from the second you appeared, you were a force. Your face, your voice, the way you held yourself, no wonder he always noticed you when you were all around him. No wonder his daughter had been obsessed with you. 

Your face was a poster on her wall, a picture where you had the slightest, confident smile on your lips but your eyes always seemed sad. You turned those eyes to him, ranging over him like you were taking stock and Joel’s heart stuttered before your gaze turned to Tommy and back to Quinn. 

“So glad you got the meeting started without me,” you said, all saccharine sweetness, stepping over Joel’s legs and sitting down on the edge of the couch between him and Tommy. You crossed one elegant leg over the other - your pants ever so slightly sheer so Joel could just make out your thigh below the loose fabric - and leaned forward, taking Joel’s white china coffee cup off the table and helping yourself to a sip with a jingle of your bangles that were piled high on your wrists. You gave him a wink as you did, setting the cup back on its saucer before leaning onto your leg, your arms folded in front of you. “I’m sure the fact that I didn’t know it was happening has nothing to do with wanting to cut me out of the decision making for something that’s going to be apparently integral to my life over the next year.” 

“I just don’t want to bog you down with petty things like this,” Quinn waved you off. “You have enough on your plate, that’s what you pay me for…” 

“Oh I’m sure that’s all it is…” 

Quinn leaned forward, too, meeting your steely gaze from across the table. The knowing smile that had been on her lips just a second earlier was gone. In its place was a no nonsense expression that Joel imagined carried her far when dealing with Hollywood assholes. She, it seemed, was done coddling you. 

“The studios know,” she cut you off. “Someone at the police station leaked it. And they won’t insure you without higher levels of security, especially if you want to spend this much time outside LA. You want to keep working? You need security. At least until we get to the bottom of whoever is sending you letters.” 

“Have you tried telling them how well the tickets will sell when I die?” You asked, brows raised. “I’m sure they’ll be champing at the bit then, especially now that they can just replace me with CGI for whatever isn’t in the can…” 

“That’s not funny,” Quinn said sharply. 

“Oh, come on. It was a little funny.” 

She glared at you. 

“Do you really want someone like that getting close to her?” She asked, her voice almost unsettlingly earnest and gentle. You almost deflated then, giving in. “It’s not safe, babe. I’m trying to keep you safe. It just so happens that it’s also in the studio’s best interest so you don’t have to foot the entire bill.” 

“You must not have told them about the boost in ticket sales, then,” you said wryly. She rolled her eyes. “But fine. If you really think there’s a risk to her? I’ll do it.” 

Joel wondered who this “her” was. Knowing movie stars, probably some tiny fucking dog you carried in your goddamn purse. 

You looked to Joel for a moment, your gaze oddly cutting, like you were seeing through every part of him before turning your attention to Tommy. 

“When does your contract begin then?” 

Tommy glanced at Joel, almost asking if he was actually OK with this. Clearly, this wasn’t what Tommy had expected either. Joel gave a minute shrug. 

“Tomorrow,” Tommy said, looking back to you. “Joel here will be your point man but you’ll also be working with a few other guys from my company. He’ll get you oriented tomorrow and we can work out a way to ensure your protection that’s minimally disruptive to your daily life.” 

You scoffed. 

“Something tells me having a wall of muscle follow me everywhere is going to disruptive,” you said. “But the studio says jump, we say how high, right?” 

“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Quinn said.

“We all know who does,” you muttered darkly, getting to your feet. “Well, since all this was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not, I think I’m done wasting my time here.” 

You turned to Joel and he found himself in the unnatural position of looking up to someone, his jaw tight as you levied those exacting eyes on him again. 

“See you in the morning,” you said, reaching down and helping yourself to another sip of his coffee with a wink before stepping over his legs and heading out the door in a whirl of soft perfume and flowing fabric. He looked back to the coffee cup. Your lipstick was on the rim.

Joel tried not to think about how you looked at him as Tommy finished up with the formalities, the conversation between his brother and Quinn a drone he couldn’t really make out over the noise in his head as his leg bounced impatiently.

When Tommy had looked at him just now, the silent request for permission, he should have bowed out. He should have said he didn’t want to put his life on the line for some spoiled fucking brat and gone home. But he hadn’t and he couldn’t back out of this now. It didn’t matter how much you made him think of his daughter. It didn’t matter how your eyes seemed to cut him to the quick. He owed Tommy. When he’d started in this business, he’d told his brother that he could do this work and sometimes that meant doing shit he wasn’t comfortable with. He would just have to live with that. 

Eventually, Joel gave up on sitting still. 

“Be downstairs,” he said gruffly to Tommy when the conversation with Quinn lulled for a moment. He didn’t wait for a response before going for the elevator, relieved that it as empty on the way down to the lobby as it had been on the way up. 

But the ground floor of the hotel was not the quiet place it had been when Joel had arrived. Instead, there was a press of people just outside the doors, phones up and loud enough that he could hear them through the glass. He frowned for a moment before he realized what it was, the metal of your bangles catching the light as your arm rose above the crowd, a phone clutched in your hand as you took a selfie. 

“Jesus,” Joel muttered, stalking over toward the door. 

At least, he thought, he wasn’t on duty until tomorrow. If you really wanted to handle shit that bad on your own? Fine by him. 

The doorman held the door for him and Joel gave him a stiff nod as he tried to force his way from the building, but the press of people was becoming suffocating, every inch of sidewalk crammed tight. 

“Can I get a selfie?” 

“My girlfriend loves you, can you say hi to her on video?” 

“Can I have an autograph?” 

“Look, I’m happy to give you all whatever you want,” you said, voice friendly but still curt. “But I need a little room to breathe, OK? I’m not in a rush, we’ve got time, it’s…” 

Someone from the outside edge of the crowd shoved forward, sending the press of people toward you, Joel tall enough that he could see how they tripped and jostled, sending you stumbling into the person at your back. You had to fight for the space to stand up again, the man you’d fallen into’s hand running up your side to your chest, cupping the underside of your breast as you tried to find a way to separate from him. If it wasn’t for the look on his face, Joel might have given him the benefit of the doubt. But his lecherous smile gave him away, and the thinly veiled look of disgust on your face told him you knew exactly what this man was trying. 

Something that hadn’t existed much since Joel lost everything took over. It was rage, blind and violent and coursing through him sharp and heady. That rage didn’t give him a chance to really think, but then, it never had. Not when he was a kid and his dad was on some bender, not when he was some hotheaded teenager looking to pick a fight with a bully at school, not when he was at a bar and saw someone who could have killed his daughter. It was no different now as he practically dove into the crowd, forcing the group apart and not caring if people got pushed into the street or shoved to the ground.

“Move!” Joel yelled, not that it seemed to do much beyond warn people that he was coming for them. He reached you in a matter of seconds, towering over the man who’d decided to take advantage of your vulnerable position to grope you. The man - more of a kid, likely some student at UT who didn’t know his ass from hole in the ground - gaped up at him, his eyes wide and his hand still on your breast. 

Joel took your arm and pulled you, roughly, away from his grip, tucking you behind him before refocusing on the kid in front of him. 

“You think that shit’s funny?” Joel asked, his hand curling into a fist. “Touchin’ a woman without permission?” 

“I was just…” he looked afraid and something inside Joel flared with pride at that. Look at what he could do, he thought, it looked like he was capable of something after all. 

“Know what you were just,” Joel cut him off, mockingly, before grabbing him by his shirt and slamming him back into a marble pillar. The kids head smacked against it with sickening crack. “Do that shit again and I’ll bust your jaw.” 

Joel released him and the kid slumped to the ground before he turned to find you, looking down at the kid with your mouth slightly open. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, throwing his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him, ducking your head down low to ruin the picture for anyone who might be trying to take one. “Let’s go.” 

He looked around, the crowd thinner now but all watching him. 

“Move!” He roared again. This time, they listened, parting like the Red Sea as he ushered you quickly away, back into the hotel. He looked to the door man, trying not to glare at him too hard. “Those assholes don’t come inside, we clear?” 

“Yes sir,” the man said quickly.

Joel looked to you next. 

“Where’s your car?” 

“Valet,” you said, your forehead in your hand. “I didn’t get a chance to even grab it yet, someone must have tipped off some fucking gossip blog that I was here…” 

“Got the ticket?” Joel asked. You sighed and fished it out of your pocket and handed it over before Joel took it to the front desk and told them to have your car brought out back. He also got directions to the loading dock before going back to find you, in the same spot on the plush lobby couch, fingers laced together, elbows braced on your knees. 

“C’mon,” Joel said, making you jump before looking up at him. “They’re bringing your car around back, we’ll get you out of here without those fuckers knowin’.” 

You looked back down at the ground before giving a stiff nod. 

“Thanks.” You got up and took a deep breath, raising your chin, an almost serene look on your face before looking to him. “Lead the way.” 

He did as you asked, watching like a hawk for anyone who might be stupid enough to try to talk to you. But no one seemed to pay you any mind, even as the two of you cut through the dining room - closed between lunch and dinner service - and into the kitchen, where dozens of cooks were working to get set for the evening. They just ducked around the pair of you, sometimes giving Joel a dirty look for getting in their way, and then you were at the loading dock. 

“Here,” Joel said, jumping down from the edge of it to the alley still damp from rain from the night before. He held his hands out to you. “I’ll help you down.” 

“Thanks, but I’d rather do it myself,” you said. You were more cautious about it than Joel but you jumped down and landed lightly beside him, brushing your hands free of the dirt from the dock before crossing your arms tightly over your chest. Your jaw was tight, the only sign on your calm, uncommonly beautiful face that something might be wrong. Joel crossed his arms, too. 

“You OK?” He asked after a moment. 

You looked at him for a second, your brows raised ever so slightly. 

“Fine,” you said after a moment before staring straight ahead again. 

“You sure?” He asked. He wasn’t sure why he was pressing. He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care.

“Yes,” you said and then you laughed once, sharply. “I mean, no, I’m not but what the fuck am I going to do about it? It’s part of the job, isn’t it?” 

Joel ground his teeth. 

“Shouldn’t be.” 

“Regardless,” you shrugged, glancing at him again. “Thank you for your help. You didn’t have to do that and… Well, I appreciate it.” 

“Sure,” he said as your car came around the corner. You dropped your arms before turning to face him. 

“Looks like it’s you and me starting tomorrow,” you said. “I’m sure your boss will give you all the details but I don’t think I caught your name.” 

“Joel,” he said after a moment. “Miller.”

You smiled, a small, almost hesitant one, the slightest upturn of your lips. 

“Joel Miller,” you repeated back to him. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m…” 

“Don’t need to tell me your name,” he said. “Pretty sure everyone on Earth knows your name.” 

You laughed again in that same, humorless way as your car stopped beside you. 

“Yeah,” you said. “I suppose they do. See you tomorrow, Joel.” 

“See you tomorrow, ma’am.” 

He watched you pull cash out of your pocket and smile more broadly at valet who was damn near gawking at you. You discreetly handed him the money as you shook his hand and Joel stayed there in the alley until he couldn’t see your car any more. 

“Holy shit,” the valet said and Joel looked down at him. He had to be about 18 years old, still wet behind the ears. Probably had fucking posters of you up in his room that he jerked off to before he went to bed. He held up the cash. “She gave me 100 bucks!” 

Joel looked down at him, making sure to draw himself to his full height. 

“You gonna tell anyone we got her out this way?” He asked. The kid swallowed hard and shook his head. “Good.” 

Joel tried not to grind his teeth as he went back inside to find his brother. He wished it wasn’t too late to back out of this. You, he thought, were going to be far more than he’d bargained for. He just hoped he was ready for it.

***

“I’m not wearing this.” 

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“Seriously dude?” You asked, incredulous. “Can’t you wait like… two days before picking a fight?” 

“Have you seen this fucking thing?” Ellie’s eyebrows disappeared into her bangs as she held up the hem of the blue plaid skirt that, you had to admit, looked sickeningly unnatural on your 14-year-old niece. “You could put a whole circus up this thing! And how am I supposed to kick someone’s ass in a fucking skirt?” 

“First of all, language,” you said. She rolled her eyes. You ignored her. “Second of all, you shouldn’t be kicking anybody’s ass. Why are you starting your day thinking about ass kicking? You haven’t even met these kids yet, I highly doubt you’ll need to kick someone’s ass your first day.” 

“I’d like to be able to kick someone’s ass if I need to,” she said, incredulous. “Come on. You know this is insane.” 

You sighed as the doorbell rang and you checked your watch. 7 a.m. on the nose. Well, at least the man was prompt. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “Run upstairs, put on something else…” 

Ellie took off as Esmo, your household assistant, appeared next to you, Joel by her side. 

“Morning,” he said, voice gruff. You looked him over quickly, a side arm at his belt on a pair of jeans that fit him entirely too well. You doubted they were tailored, either, they just fit him like that, the bastard. Just your luck that you’d get stuck with a bodyguard who was unnaturally good looking but also an asshole. “Thought we could get started with…”

“Sorry, that won’t work, things are a bit off the rails this morning,” you said to him quickly, not giving him a chance to respond before turning to Esmo.

“Do you still have the name of the uniform store?” You asked her. “If you do, can you see if they’re open? I think we’re going to need to stop for pants…” 

“Yes ma’am,” she said, quickly pulling out her phone. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t think to get pants, the requirements were very clear…” 

“It’s not your fault,” you said quickly. Esmo had only been working for you for a few weeks and it felt like the two of you were still getting used to each other. She insisted on calling you ma’am. You insisted on doing too much for yourself. It was a delicate balance. “She’s just…” 

“OK,” Ellie came thundering down the stairs in the same sweater with a button down shirt and tie but jeans instead of the skirt. “Ready!” 

“Store opened at seven,” Esmo said, pocketing her phone. “I can take her and…” 

“I want to do it,” you cut her off, catching a glimpse of Joel’s shocked expression out of the corner of your eye as you looked back to your niece. “Alright trouble maker, ready to go?” 

“Fuck yeah.” 

“Girl,” you said. “Language, please!” 

She made a face but made her way to the front door, anyway, her thumbs looped through the straps of her book bag and you turned to Joel, still surprised at just how large he was, even after being against him the day before. 

“Assuming you’re along for the ride on this,” you said, jerking your head for the door. “But we gotta book it, with an extra stop we’re already not going to be early for her first day.” 

He still had a look of almost shock on his face but he followed behind you as you grabbed your keys and wristlet from the bowl by the door, Ellie bouncing impatiently from foot to foot. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were excited,” you teased as you made you way to the Porsche SUV you’d gotten specifically to haul Ellie around. “Almost like you want to go to school instead of hanging out with me all day.” 

“Spending time with old people does get… well, old,” she smirked, heading for the passenger seat but you stopped her. 

“Absolutely not, you’re in back,” you said, jerking a thumb toward Joel - who still hadn’t spoken. “This man has a good foot on you, we’re not making him sit back there.” 

“Ugh, fine,” she huffed but obeyed, throwing her book bag against the opposite door before clambering in as Joel went for the driver’s seat, holding out his hand for the keys. You gave him a look but he just raised his brow, his arm still extended expectantly. 

“Please,” you scoffed. “I’ll let you follow me around like some guard dog but I’m keeping some last vestige of my autonomy. I’m driving.” 

He narrowed his eyes. 

“No.” 

“And why not?” You asked. “Because you have control issues?”

“Do you know evasive driving tactics?” He asked. “How to watch for pursuers and safely out run them?” 

“No, but I did my own stunt driving for the Fast Track franchise,” you said wryly. “Think I’ll be fine. Now move, you’re making us late.” 

He ground his teeth. 

“We’re talkin’ about this,” he muttered before stalking off to the passenger side of the car. 

“Yeah I bet we are,” you said under your breath as you got in the car and programmed the GPS for the uniform store. 

“So,” Ellie said in a teasing tone as she leaned between the front seats as you started off. “Who are you?”

“Put on your seatbelt,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes but sat back and obeyed.

“This is Joel,” you answered for him. “He’s going to be around quite a bit.” 

“Is he like another assistant or some shit?” She asked. 

“Language,” you said and you caught a glimpse of her rolling her eyes in your rearview mirror. “And no, not an assistant.” 

“Ohhhh,” she smirked. “So he’s like a boyfriend then, got it…” 

Joel rolled his eyes. 

“I’m a bodyguard,” he said. “I’ll be protecting your…” 

“Bodyguard?” Ellie interrupted and leaned forward again, frowning. “Why do you need a bodyguard? You didn’t have one of those in LA, what the fuck?” 

“I have a bodyguard because you can’t go five minutes without saying fuck,” you said wryly. “My life is under constant threat because of…” 

“Please,” Ellie rolled her eyes. “You have a worse mouth than I do. But seriously, why do you need a bodyguard? Is something going on?” 

You saw Joel moving to talk but you spoke before he had a chance to. 

“This is just a different place than LA,” you said quickly. “People here aren’t used to people like me just showing up in grocery stores and stuff. It can get out of hand quick so the studio wanted me to have Joel around. It’s just a precaution.” 

She seemed skeptical but was satisfied enough by the bullshit explanation you’d just given her that she sat back, pulling a Savage Starlight comic book from her book bag and you smiled a little. A lot might have changed in the last few months but at least Ellie was still Ellie. 

You made it to the uniform store and told the woman inside - who was seemingly trying not to gape at you but was failing miserably - what you were looking for. She grabbed a few pairs of uniform pants in different sizes before leading Ellie to the fitting rooms and you hung back, waiting for her to change with Joel by your side. He stood facing you, eyes constantly sweeping the store as though this strip mall just outside Austin were a war zone. 

“No one told me you had a kid,” he said eventually. 

You smiled, sadly. 

“Yeah, well,” you said. “I have a kid. That’s a pretty new development, though.” 

That made him pause, his eyebrows drawing together as he looked to you. 

“I adopted her,” you said. “A few months ago. Her mom was a single parent and like a sister to me. When she got cancer, the first thing she asked me was to take Ellie if… I told her that she was nuts, that she’d be around forever and she wouldn’t need me to do anything for Ellie besides take her to Europe for a cool aunt vacation when she turned 18 but… well, now I have a kid.” 

“I…” His voice trailed off. “Shit. I’m sorry.”  

You shrugged. 

“It is what it is, I guess,” you said. “She’s why I’m here. Things in LA… I’ve always been in her life. I was the second person to ever hold her. But I’ve always kept the paparazzi far away from her, I’ve made sure she has privacy and that she was as sheltered from that part of my life as she could be. I want to settle into this with some version of normal, one that isn’t possible when I’m in LA. And you, Joel, are throwing quite a wrench into that.” 

“Oh this is so much better,” Ellie threw the door to the changing room open with a flourish, in a pair of blue pants that perfectly matched the blue of the sweater. “Not as good as jeans but better than that stupid freaking skirt.” 

“Alright,” you said. “We’ll take five of those and then we have to get you to school because there’s no point in loading you up on uniforms just to have you miss your first day, let’s go.” 

You weren’t as early as you wanted to be - you’d been hoping to have a chance to meet Ellie’s teachers before the day started but that plan was shot - but at least kids were still arriving. You grabbed a baseball cap from your glove box, Joel stiffening as you reached between his legs to open it and you resisted the urge to smirk at that. As though you’d be trying to come onto him at all let alone with your niece in the car. 

Hat on so you were somewhat disguised, you walked with Ellie and Joel to the front of the stone building, one that had clearly taken inspiration from the ivy league schools the kids who went here were all but destined to attend. A gray haired woman in a charcoal pantsuit rushed out to greet you, an almost stern look on her face. 

“Welcome to Austin Preparatory Academy,” she extended her hand. “I’m Amanda Stark, headmistress here.” 

“Good to meet you,” you said, taking her hand, feeling Joel standing oddly close to your back. “This is Ellie, she’s looking forward to starting here today and…” 

“We’re looking forward to having her,” she smiled a little at Ellie before redirecting her attention to you. “But I’m afraid there’s been some… ah… miscommunication about the uniform. Girls are required to wear skirts. I’m sure we have…” 

“No miscommunication,” you smiled a little, steeling your spine. From the moment you’d caved to Ellie, you knew this was coming. But you’d been prepared to fight far bigger battles over this kid, this wasn’t going to be any different. “Ellie just prefers to wear pants. It wasn’t a problem at her last school, I’m sure it won’t be a problem here.” 

Ellie stuck her chin out, smirking a little and defiant as ever and you resisted the urge to elbow her. She could at least act like she wasn’t going to get her way. 

“But it is,” the headmistress said. “The uniform code here has been this way for decades and…” 

“And I’m sure you’re not suggesting that just because something has been done one way that it should continue to be done that way at the expense of students’ comfort and learning experience,” you finished for her, smiling tightly.

“We have expectations for our students,” she said, her jaw clenched. “Just like they will have one day to be successful in life, and…” 

“And you’re wearing pants,” you nodded to her suit. “And so am I. Of course, if you’re suggesting that neither of us is successful then…” 

“No, no of course not, that’s not…” 

“Wonderful!” You said brightly. “I’m glad that’s settled. I’m sure Ellie won’t cause any disruption wearing the uniform pants and now I won’t need to spend my day contacting every major news network here in Austin and asking them to come here and chat with me about your archaic gender rules and expectations. Sound good?” 

You watched her grind her teeth for a moment. 

“Of course,” she said after a moment of silence hanging in the air. “But we are close to the start of the school day and…” 

“Yes, I don’t want to be a distraction,” you smiled before turning to Ellie, tucking a hair that had already broken free of her ponytail behind her ear. “Alright kid, behave yourself, OK?” 

“Yes Sissy,” she rolled her eyes. Your heart still tightened a little when she called you that. She sounded so much like her mother, Anna. You loved that Ellie called you the same thing her mother had but still, it stung.

“I’ll be back to pick you up,” you said, putting your hands on her shoulders. “Have a good first day, OK?” 

“Oh I will,” she said and you watched her head into the building with the headmistress at her side until you couldn’t see her anymore. 

“OK, she’s dropped,” Joel said, his voice tight. “Let’s move, this place isn’t secured.” 

“Well that sure seems like a gap in security, doesn’t it?” You said, brows raised. 

“One I would have fixed if anyone had bothered to tell me you had a damn kid,” he practically growled. 

“Probably a bad idea for your boss to not have insisted on bringing me into the conversation then, wasn’t it?” 

He looked at you, his face hard. 

“Keys.” He held out his hand.

You laughed once. 

“Keys?” You said. “Really? Just ‘keys,’” you grunted it like he did, “that’s it?”

“Your kid is inside,” he said, hand still out. “Don’t have her to use an excuse now so, keys.” 

You looked at him for a moment, the firm set of his jaw, the flecks of gray just starting in at his temples. He was a good looking man, tall and broad with a rugged look to him. He’d make a good cowboy in a western, you thought, or maybe a hardened detective. But protecting someone like you seemed out of place for him. Beneath him a little, almost like he was a sell out.

“No,” you said simply, ducking around him and heading for the car. 

He followed closely behind you, even his footfalls gruff and angry. You sped up a little but he stepped in front of you, anyway, his oddly large body blocking your door. He opened his mouth - probably to try to order you around again - but you cut him off before he had the chance. 

“I’m not letting you drive,” you said. “It doesn’t matter what you do or what you say. If you want to drive, you’re going to have to pick me up and move me so, if you want to get out of here quickly and without causing a scene, you’ll get in the passenger seat and we can go.” 

For half a moment, you thought he might actually throw you over his shoulder. Instead, he just grunted and stalked around to the other side of the car, ripping the door open roughly. You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. All this pretense over some stupid letters from some over zealous fan. 

You got in the car and dropped the keys in Joel’s lap. He frowned, picking them up. 

“You want to have the keys so bad? Fine.” You pushed the button and the car roared to life. “I’ve got them right where I want them.” 

“You gotta come to terms with how this shit is going to work,” he said sharply. “You can’t just do whatever the hell it is you feel like. I get that you’re some spoiled fuckin’ actress who only ever does exactly what she wants whenever she wants but I got news for you, I don’t give a shit how many movies you’ve been in or awards you’ve won. I care about keeping your ass alive and to do that, you gotta listen to me. I ain’t one of those fuckin’ ass kissers you spend all your time with so we can do this the hard way or the easy way but either way, it’s gonna be my fuckin’ way. Understood?” 

You watched him for a moment, your tongue between your teeth to keep from snapping at him. It was something you were used to, something you’d been doing since you were a girl, always shutting up while the people who were more powerful than you - people you’d made fucking rich - made every decision for you. 

That was one thing on set and in your career and even for posed fucking paparazzi shots but not in your real life. 

“I need coffee,” you said, putting the car in drive. “Coffee?” 

“I’m sure you got people who can do that for you,” he said, his jaw clenched. 

“Yes, but where’s the fun in that?” You smirked before nodding down to his wrist. “Oh, also? Your watch is broken.” 

You pressed the gas harder than you should have, the car jumping sharply forward, wondering just how far you could push your new shadow before he backed out.

Next Chapter

A/N: OK I'm already in love with writing how these two push each other's buttons. Annoying Joel Miller is my passion, I can't wait to drive this man absolutely insane over the arc of this fic.

Thank you so much for being patient as I wrapped up Yearling and went on vacation! I'm hoping to update this once a week going forward so you won't need to wait quite so long between chapters from here on out. I hope you enjoyed getting to know these two a little better!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler

[thebucketpail]

A little blurb based on this thought that I had

When You Accidentally Kill a Clown pt. 1

Pt. 2 Ao3

This is not ideal. Danny thought deftly as he stared in shock at the absolutely massive problem he had just created for himself. He blinked slowly, trying to bring his brain back to speed. Definitely not Ideal.

Not even one week in Gotham, that was all it took to make such a big mess, thank you very much Fenton Luck. Danny had been accepted into Gotham U, having qualified for practically a full ride scholarship, and started next week. He had been in town to get settled for about three days when he was walking back to his apartment from a nearby Batburger.

Unfortunately a certain clown mistook him for a Wayne and well… yeah, he needed help with this.

“Hey Danny what’s up?” Sam’s voice rang as the call finally connected.

“Sam I think I have a problem,”

“What? Your roommate’s too Hot?΅ she joked

“No- no it's not my roommate-” he squeaked out. Shit how would he explain this? Logically Sam would be perfectly normal about it, probably even ecstatic, considering he did just-

“I killed the Joker” Danny blurted plowing past the sputtering noises coming from the other end of the line, “I didn’t mean to, i was just walking back to my apartment and he jumped out of an alley and tried to kidnap me, and you know I hate clowns and he caught me off guard, and well humans are a lot more squishy than ghosts and I think I used a bit too much force, but yeah.” he paused for a breath, “I killed the Joker, At least I think it's him. Ancients, Sam the bats are gonna kill me for this”

The tinny laughter he got in reply did nothing to calm Danny’s fraying nerves.

“Sam don’t laugh what am I meant to do?’’ He hissed

It took a few more moments for Sam to collect herself before she responded. “I’m sorry Danny, that's just so you of you to manage killing the Joker your first week in Gotham. Holdup, I'm gonna get Tuck real quick.”

As the sound of shuffling and footsteps filled the receiver, Danny tried calming down. Breathing deeply he walked over to examine the body. Yep, he thought, definitely the Joker, that pasty face and greasy green hair were hard to mistake, even for a non-Gothamite. Danny wrinkled his nose at the acrid stench rising from the smoking crater in the clown’s gut. You can never be too sure though, so Danny reached over to check for a pulse. Nothing.

The distant bickering died down as Tucker’s voice rang from Danny’s phone.

“Duuue, did you really?”

Danny took a shaky breath, raising the device back to his face, “Y-Yeah, he’s dead,” God please don’t let him come back to haunt me. ”Tuck what do I do?”

“Honestly man, I think you should just leave him, someone will find him eventually,” Tuck replied, the nonchalance oozing through his voice.

“I don’t know, I feel like we should tell someone or something-”

“Holy Shit!” Danny froze at the new voice coming from behind him. “Is that really him?” Red Hood asked incredulously. Ancients that's THE RED HOOD. Danny is so double dead.

“Tuck, I think someone found out,” he whispered into the mic, not taking his eyes off the imposing Figure that was the literal RED HOOD.

“It’s probably fine,” but Danny cut him off with a strangled yelp as Red Hood turned to face him Muscles tensing, shifting from shock to Ancients Danny hoped that rage wasn’t directed at him. That hope slowly dwindled as the vigilante stalked toward him, hand drifting toward the holster at his hip. Danny gulped.

“Did you do this?!” Hood seethed, and Yup Danny was going to die again today. What should he say? ‘Yes mr red hood sir I killed the Joker please don’t kill me’ no, no he should not say that. So he settled to let out a strangled squeak and a small nod.

Danny couldn’t breath as Hood crouched to assess the body. I didn’t breathe when Hood stared him down. No Danny didn’t even breathe when a distorted laugh rang through the air, or when Tucker and Sam anxiously screamed at Danny to respond.

“I Can’t believe the Fucker’s finally dead,” Hood breathed, kicking the dead clown for good measure. “What’s your Name Kid?”

Finally Danny let a relieved sigh escape his lips, he Probably wouldn’t die again tonight.

“Um, Danny?” he said tentatively, his voice rising toward the end making it sound more like a question. Hood just laughed more.

“Well Danny, do you like burgers? I've got to thank you somehow.” Dany was in shock. What. the actual. Hell. slowly he nodded because what else was he supposed to do when RED freaking HOOD offered him food for killing a literal terrorist on accident. “Good, I have to make a few quick calls but don’t go anywhere.” and he walked a few paces away, leaving Danny in Shock and confusion.

Slowly he raised the forgotten phone to his ear. “Uuuuh Guys…” he waited a moment for the yelling to die down before continuing, yeah, this might be interesting.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings: oral sex (male receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), cowgirl position, sex over a motorcycle, creampie, brief angst, fluff

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: Part Eighteen of Ink & Needle

You and Simon enjoy your time alone in Scotland. A week after returning, Simon receives a cryptic text from Johnny.

Chapter Seventeen // Chapter Nineteen

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

Dreamless.

How long has it been? How long since Simon can recall a night where his dreams were not dark figments?

Years, maybe.

But that is his first thought upon waking. His sleep is a blank, endless nothing. A far cry from the violence Simon often has to sit with in his head. He blinks slowly, the edges of his vision still laced with a sleepiness that clings to him like honey. In his chest is a calmness that is foreign to him.

It is unknown. And it is strange.

The fire in the hearth is out, leaving behind the faintest scent of burnt wood. From the window next to the bed, morning light filters in through the flimsy curtain. It’s not enough to brighten the room but it does dig into Simon’s senses, drawing him further away from rest.

Simon blinks again. Yawns. Turns his head.

His chin brushes against hair, and you stir in his arms, tucking closer against him. Your hand rests on his chest, and your head uses his shoulder as a pillow. Every breath you take is slow and deep.

Reaching out, Simon brushes your hair out of your face. The small touch makes your nose twitch but you do not stir. His arm that rests against your back rises, and Simon places his hand against your bare hip.

There is no reason to wake you even though his dick is aching something fierce. The fucker can wait until you’re awake and ready for him. There are so many positions Simon wants to put you in, and the bed is just the start. There’s the couch, the dining table, the shower—fuck. Simon will even take you on the floor.

It’s three years of smothered desire all coming up at once.

Simon stares at the ceiling. He breathes in and exhales slowly, attempting to think of nothing with the hope that he might drift off again. But try as he might, there are deeper things lurking in the recesses of his mind. That shadow of a man—the familiar shape that Simon spent years stalking—still sits unsteady. Trying to shut it out is impossible. It keeps creeping back.

And it hardly scratches the surface.

British Intelligence might come knocking, and Price went out of his fucking way not once but twice just to talk to Simon about Kit Walsh’s reemergence. Simon shouldn’t worry about any of it. He’s not in the field anymore. He has his shop now. He’s retired.

Sighing, Simon closes his eyes, breathing deep again in an attempt to silent those anxieties from slipping in where they aren’t wanted. Repeating the process, Simon falls back into calm. He thinks of you during his meditation, and that does it, shifting him into a safer space.

Your hand on his chest twitches, fingers curling slightly before relaxing. It pulls Simon back to the cottage, his eyelids opening, the ceiling greeting him in his return. He reaches for your hand, clasping it in his own. Turning your wrist, he gazes on your palm, admiring the lines. Even here you are beautiful.

Simon brings your palm to his lips. The kiss is gentle. A whisper. It’s not much of anything, but you make a noise anyway. Shifting in his arms, you start to awaken, yawning widely before your eyelids blink slowly.

He turns his head, and his gaze falls on your smile.

“Morning,” you murmur.

Simon brings your hand back to his chest but he does not let go. “Morning, love.”

You snuggle against his side, face turned into his ribs. You place a couple of kisses there, and Simon resists the urge to laugh. Apparently, he’s fucking ticklish there.

“Sleep okay?” you ask, resting your chin on his pectoral.

“I did. You?”

You hum in agreement, eyelids closing as Simon’s thumb strokes over the back of your hand. “What’s the plan for today?”

Simon grins. “Thought we talked about this last night?”

“That’s right. How could I forget,” you reply, eyelids still shut, warding off wakefulness. “Your plan is to fuck me senseless.”

“You’re not senseless,” muses Simon.

“No. I am not.”

Simon slides up your arm and grasps your bicep, drawing you on top of him. You giggle, and playfully slap at him. Simon wraps his arms around your back and traps you there.

“Kiss me,” he says.

You’re still smiling, still a bit giggly when you quickly peck him on the mouth.

“More,” he coos.

“Simon.”

“More,” he demands.

Simon needs you like tree roots need the earth. You ground him somehow, and though he does not entirely understand, it’s the only thing bringing him peace.

Your smile shifts from a playful tease to one of sultry softness. Leaning forward, you place both hands firmly on Simon’s chest. Closing the distance is agony. Simon wants your mouth on his now, but you’re fine with taking your time. With teasing.

When your lips finally touch his, it is gentle. Not a peck or a brush of the lips, but a lovely little kiss that is full of warmth and sends Simon’s heart hammering. His arms ease from around your back and slide downward to grasp your ass before settling on your hips.

You push up so that you’re over him, and then the kisses come like a waterfall. The two of you push and pull, drawing close until one of you needs air. It is a dance. A tangle. Simon’s hands are everywhere. He cannot settle.

He is desperate. Hungry.

Simon is so focused on your mouth that he doesn’t notice your hand until your fingers wrap around him. You squeeze lightly, the tips of your fingernails scratching against the base.

Simon groans against your mouth. Breaking the kiss, he grabs your throat, halting any forward movement on your end.

“Don’t like it when I touch you?” you tease.

“I like it,” he rasps, thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“Then let me touch you,” you sigh, eyelids a bit heavy, gaze focused on his mouth.

Simon’s need for control is like breathing to him. From his military career to how he runs his shop, Simon is deliberate with his choices. But this is not the battlefield. You are not a customer.

You are so much more.

You are everything.

And fuck it—this trip is about the two of you. Simon can relax. He can hand you control for a minute.

Slowly, Simon releases your throat and crosses his arms behind his head.

“Touch me,” he says, settling into the bed.

Simon might appear calm on the outside but his stomach is a knot. Tension sits tight in his abdomen. Anticipation is like a hot knife scorching his skin.

Your hand around his cock strokes up, and then you descend, leaving a trail of soft kisses behind. You’re gentle with him, and it only reminds Simon of how soft he is with you.

It is surprising. Breath-stealing.

You squeeze his muscled thigh, trace the v of his pelvis of your tongue, and lazily pump his cock like you have all the time in the world. Simon’s fingers itch. He wants to touch you back and tangle his fingers in your hair.

Further you descend, and then your tongue is on him. Just the tip across the head. Over the slit. Swiping up the precum that blooms there. The muscles in Simon’s stomach clench and release. You do it again, and they spasm.

Simon swallows down the groan forming in his throat.

If you’re going to tease him like this, Simon won’t be able to control himself. He’ll slip, and you’ll end up on your back with your legs spread.

You settle between his legs, one hand wrapped around the base and the other resting on the top of his thigh. You pump him a few times before leaning in to kiss the tip. A spasm blooms in Simon’s back, everything tightening with the anticipation.

A pearly bead of precum blooms in the slit, followed by another. You eagerly lick it up with the tip of your tongue, and then swirl around the head before licking his entire length from base to tip.

Simon hisses, hands clenching into fists. Fuck, he wants to touch you. He also wants to draw you back up his body and kiss you until you’re breathless.

And you’re teasing him, working between soft, open-mouthed kisses and slow licks of your tongue. Simon is trying hard not to fidget and squirm, but it’s difficult, especially with his arms crossed behind his head.

When you finally take him into your mouth, Simon’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. You hold him there, the saliva collecting, some of it even passes from your lips. Simon inhales, and you swallow him down, your lips touching your hand.

Simon is fucking gone. Done. He planned on finishing inside of your perfect fucking pussy every time during this trip but he might blow right here and now if you keep this up.

Hollowing your cheeks, you slide back up, and then repeat the process, bringing in your hand to pump him in time with your upward passes.

Simon can hardly focus. You are messy. Eager. Enthusiastic. He groans loudly, nearly choking on the end of it when you completely throat him. Every instinct is telling him to tangle his fingers in your hair, to seize control and make you squirm.

You suck hard, and Simon’s hips jerk without warning.

No. He’s still going to finish in your pussy. Fuck it.

Uncrossing his arms, Simon reaches out and forces your mouth from his cock. It falls from your lips with a wet pop. There is saliva on your lips, and a lusty haze over your eyes.

You’ve touched him, and now Simon wants his control back.

“Staddle me.” Simon almost doesn’t recognize how raspy his voice is. He sounds like a rabid animal. “Fuck yourself on my cock until you come.”

Your answering whimper is sweet, and the way your crawl up his body even sweeter.

With palms flat against his chest, you push back into a seated position. You reach down between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his cock, flexing your hips upward. With just the slightest shift of your hips, the head of Simon’s cock presses to your pussy.

This time Simon touches. His hands dart out to grab hold of your hips. You’re sinking down on him. Parting. Opening. Welcoming him inside. You’re tight and wet and fucking perfect as more of him disappears.

“Fuck,” Simons groans loudly as you push down on his chest to flex your hips up and back down on him.

You lift, roll, go back down. Again. Again. And again, until you’ve taken every fucking inch of him. You’re doing exactly as instructed, fucking yourself on his cock. Watching you is just as wanton.

Simon could get used to this. You in his bed, and greeting the day with you on top of him.

One hand slides up to your waist and then shifts to your stomach, traveling up between your breasts. Simon wraps his hand around your throat, and you instinctually bend into the touch.

“Say my name,” growls Simon, his fingers digging into your flesh. “Say it.”

Your lips part with a shaky breath. “Simon.”

His cock is glossy, disappearing and reappearing with every bounce and roll of your hips. Simon’s gaze locks on to the spot, of your pussy taking him entirely. Fuck, you’re absolute gorgeous.

“Again, love. Say my name again.”

Simon finds your clit, rubbing circles there. Your pussy clenches around him, squeezing so hard that Simon starts silently listing things on 141 Ink’s nightly checklist to keep himself from finishing.

Your head falls back, exposing your neck. “Simon,” you moan.

You shudder, body clenching. Simon watches it all, absorbing all the little details from how your chest heaves and your thighs quiver.

His resolve shatters. Breaks.

Simon sits up and wraps his arms around your waist, rolling you onto your back. He keeps himself inside, and once you’re flat, he starts to thrust with abandon, seeking his own end.

It comes fast. And Simon smothers his groan by claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss. Your arms drape over the back of his neck, and your thighs tighten around his hips. He pumps shallowly, savoring the feel of your cum-filled pussy.

You’re his. Fucking his.

Simon’s hips still, and the kisses slow.

“That’s one way to start the morning,” you murmur against his mouth.

Simon grins and kisses you again. “Could be every morning.”

“Promise,” you reply, nipping at his bottom lip.

Simon groans and draws back, playfully thrusting into you even as his cock softens. You burst out laughing, one hand covering his face as Simon makes smooching noises.

“You’re a menace, Simon,” you giggle, trying to wiggle away from him.

Scooping you up in his arms, Simon brings the two of you to a seated position. “Let’s get you showered and fed.”

You arch an eyebrow, grasping the sides of his face. “Are you joining me?”

Simon does join you, and even in the shower he cannot keep his hands off your body. You are an addiction. A deep craving. A never-ending sweet tooth that cannot be satisfied. The shower is large enough to fit both of you, and Simon takes every advantage, filling the steamy room with your moans.

At breakfast, Simon places a black helmet on the table.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Yours.”

“Mine?”

Simon nods. “You said you wanted some fresh highland air.”

You pop your spoon into your mouth, and then remove it slowly. “You told me that you’d open a window.”

Simon did say that, but he was also lost in a haze, the lust in his bones animalistic in its need for you. Last night he needed to possess. That’s all.

“I did,” he agrees. “But I also want to show you something. Take the afternoon.”

Your gaze shifts from Simon to the helmet and then back to him. “I should change.”

“You should.”

At the main house, Simon uncovers the sport bike. It’s Johnny’s, the one he purchased before joining the military. It’s old. Dirty. But it’ll do the job. Simon doesn’t want to take the SUV for this. It might be the middle of November, but the weather is decent, if a bit overcast.

You stand off to the side, clutching the helmet in front of you. Even from where Simon examines the bike, he can see how eager you are. You’re nearly on your toes, bouncing with excitement.

It pleases Simon to know he’s about to make you happy in a different way. Sex is nice, but your smile upon seeing the sport bike twists his heart. He wants you to smile like that all time, not just when he has his cock inside you.

Simon kicks the stand up and wheels it out into the open, bringing the stand back down once the bike meets gravel.

“You’ve ever been on one before?”

You shake your head. “No. But I’ve always wanted to.”

A new memory then. Good.

Simon pats the seat. “Need to talk safety.”

You nod and step up to Simon, staring down at the bike.

Simon points with the tip of his shoe. “These are your footpegs.” He catches it, and then pulls it out on one side before reaching over and doing the same for the other. “You’ll rest your feet here when you’re on the back.”

He then points to the exhaust. “Careful your heels don’t touch this. It will melt your fucking shoes.”

Again, you nod, but you don’t interrupt. Simon can’t gauge whether or not you’re picking it all up.

“You’ll sit here.” He pats the passenger seat. “I’ll get on. And then you will.”

Simon steps away from the sport bike and glances down at you. Your gaze lingers on the bike before it shifts to him. “Hold on to me at all times. Around the waist is best.” He points to the gas tank. “Place your hands against that when we’re slowing down or coming to a stop if you think you need it.”

“Will I fall off if I don’t?”

The question startles him. The very idea of you falling off the bike while he’s driving makes a small part of his brain reconsider even taking this short trip in the first place.

“Not necessarily. Just make sure you’re moving with me.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“If we’re going around a curve, lean into it like I do. Don’t try to remain upright or lean too far. Might throw us off balance.”

“That’s it?”

Simon shrugs. “It’s the basics.”

You straighten your shoulders, determination on your face. “I can handle it.”

Simon cups your cheek and steps into your space. Leaning forward, he places a quick kiss on your forehead.

“You’ll do fine,” he says, pulling away. “Let’s get that helmet on.”

Simon watches as you struggle to put it on. You make a weird face and then it’s sliding into place. The straps dangle and you stand there with arms out like you’re ready to go.

“Good?” you ask, voice a bit muffled.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon, reaching for the straps.

With one hand, he flips up the visor, revealing your eyes. Simon secures the snaps into place and then he tugs on them, causing you to stumble into his arms.

“Simon!” you gasp, grabbing onto his forearms to keep yourself from smacking into his chest.

“Can’t even put a helmet on properly,” he tuts. “What am I going to do with you?”

You groan like you’re overly annoyed with him and Simon grins, squeezing your waist before smacking your ass. You swipe out at him but completely miss. With a grin, Simon saunters backward and retrieves his own helmet.

Usually, Simon wears a balaclava underneath, but without one, all he has is a covering for his mouth and nose. He secures it in place before putting on his own helmet.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Ready!” you exclaim, hands clasped in front of you.

Reaching out, Simon snags your arm and draws you in. He lightly taps the front of his helmet against yours. Your answering giggle and the crinkling in the corner of your eyes pleases him. Simon wants to bottle up your happiness and keep it forever.

He taps the top of your helmet before heading for the bike. Simon kicks up the stand and tosses his leg over the side of the bike. Reaching out, Simon offers you his left hand. You take it and put one foot on the footpeg, pushing yourself up and onto the seat.

Your hands slide over his waist and come to a rest on his stomach. Simon answers by reaching back and squeezing your thigh.

The bike flares to life, the engine roaring before mellowing out. Simon brings his feet up, and then the two of you are off, leaving gravel for paved road. You’re perfection the whole way, leaning with him during turns, and keeping your arms around him.

Driving is calming for Simon. It doesn’t matter if he’s behind the wheel of a car or on a bike. It’s all soothing to him. Ever since his injury and retirement, Simon’s excursions on the back of his sport bike have dwindled. He does own one, but he hasn’t brought the thing out in months.

This is almost cathartic. Completely natural.

As Simon approaches their destination, he turns off onto a gravel path that gives way to dirt. There are no trees this way, and there are no cars. It’s likely illegal to be driving over unpaved road like this, but Simon doesn’t give a fuck about the risk. What he cares about is giving you a view, and making new memories with the woman he cares about most.

Ascending a ridge, Simon comes to a stop, turning the bike and shutting it off.

To the left is the open sea.

There is no one around. No cars or noise. Just the view. And fresh highland air.

Simon twists a bit and offers you his arm Your dismount isn’t graceful but you don’t stumble. Instead, you’re hastily pulling on the straps in your eagerness to remove the helmet. When you have it off, Simon is just getting off the bike.

Your smile is so wide and fierce. He’s never seen you like this. There is a sense of adventure he didn’t realize was there this whole time. Simon removes his helmet and face covering. Holding his helmet in one hand, he walks up behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist to hold you close.

You sink against him, your hand covering his. “Thank you, Simon.”

He can hardly hear you over the crashing waves below, but he does, and his answer is a soft kiss to the top of your head.

The two of you stand there, gazing out at the ocean. Neither of you speaks, and Simon doesn’t mind. It’s peaceful simply existing in your presence. Simon doesn’t need to think about anything. He can hold you close to him, and that’s enough.

You twist in his arm and glance up at him. Your eyes are soft and full of an emotion that Simon first registers as love. Yet that can’t be right. You haven’t said that word to him, but neither as he.

Affection, yes. But love? Not yet.

Not yet.

Simon’s gaze drops to those luscious lips and he cannot resist. He meets them with his own, and you greet him eagerly. It is a slow dance of self-control. Simon wants to consume as much as he wants to savor. But he’s not the one seeking more. You’re ravenous, deepening each kiss until Simon swears he can taste the salt of the sea on his tongue.

Drawing back is torture, but he manages. “What are you doing, love?”

Your lips part. There is an answer forming there, but you aren’t saying anything. Simon wants to coax it from, for you to speak your mind, to say whatever it is you’re struggling to communicate.

But he also can’t force. He can’t take what you do not freely give.

If words cannot be spoken, Simon can give you something else.

“Come here,” he says, turning you around. “Give me your helmet.”

You offer it to him and he takes it. Simon strides over to the bike and hangs a helmet on each of the handlebars. He gestures to you, one hand extended. You come to him immediately, and Simon draws you close, wrapping his arms around your waist.

These kisses are not slow. They are deep. Consuming. Simon’s dick is hardening in his pants with each one. His hands roam over your body, grabbing at whatever they can. You groan into his open mouth, and Simon knows exactly what he wants.

He pulls back and grasps your chin. “Can I fuck you?”

Your eyes widen. “Out here?”

“There’s no one around,” he says, stealing another kiss. “And I want you.”

You grin sheepishly, shying away from him slightly. “What did you have in mind?”

Simon has plenty of ideas, but there’s only one he really wants to try. “Do I have your permission?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

With his hands on your hips, Simon guides you over to the sport bike. Sliding inward, Simon goes for the front of your jeans. The button first. Then the zipper. Slipping his hands underneath the band, he shoves your jeans and underwear down to your thighs, revealing your ass to the cool air.

“Bend over the bike.”

“Over the bike?”

“Over the bike,” repeats Simon.

You place both hands on the seat. Glancing over your shoulder, Simon sees the hesitation.

“We can stop,” he says, because he can. This never has to go further unless you want it to.

“That’s not it,” you reply softly.

Simon walks up behind you, brushing some of your hair behind your ear. “Think we’ll get caught?”

You shake your head.

“I won’t let you fall.”

“I know. I trust you, Simon.”

Simon grabs your neck and pulls you in, claiming your mouth. Your lips part and Simon slips his tongue inside.

“Bend over that fucking bike, love. I need to be inside you.”

The heat in your cheeks stirs Simon’s groin to attention. You obediently bend over, presenting your gorgeous ass to him. With your jeans around your thighs, you cannot spread wide. It’ll be a tight fucking fit, but Simon doesn’t care.

What he’d like to do is lick your clit until you’re dripping, but this will have to do.

Simon is quick with the front of his pants. The urge to be inside you burns in his bones, and when his cock is free, Simon feels like he can suddenly breathe. He rubs the head against your pussy, and he’s greeted with your slickness.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs. You’re ready for him, and he’s hardly touched you.

Simon finds what he’s after, and starts to sink in.

You gasp aloud, the sound of it cut off by a crashing wave. Simon grasps your hips, sinking in further until he’s seated entirely inside.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, composing himself.

The fit is tight, and you’re completely grasping him as if you don’t want him to retreat or move at all. Simon needs to get his shit together fast. He’s been inside of you for only a few seconds and he’s ready to blow.

You have one hand on the gas tank and the other on the footpeg. You’re too far forward to glance back at him. Simon would like to see your face, but this position is fucking sexy. You’re at his mercy, presented to him like an indulgent treat.

With his hands on your waist, Simon rolls his hips, slowly working his cock in and out of your pussy. It’s a slow drag, and Simon feels every single part of you. It’s heaven. Paradise.

Every stroke draws forth a moan from you. Even with the waves crashing against the cliff, Simon can hear each sound you make. Each one drifts up and curl around his head, penetrating his senses.

This is fucking perfect to him.

Your pussy clenches, and Simon’s hips stutter, wobbling the bike.

Fuck.

If Simon is too rough, he might send the two of you toppling over. He needs to be fucking careful. Sure, he wants to fuck you, but this is mostly about you, and making you feel good.

Digging deep, Simon drags up a morsal of control. Finding a better grip on you, he sets a steady, rolling pace.

Simon keeps rhythm until you groan and your pussy clenches hard around him. He’s not far behind, staying in to the hilt as he fills your pussy for the fourth time today.

Every exhalation brings steam, and Simon suddenly realizes how cold its become. Slowly, he slips from your body, cock softening as he stuffs himself back inside his pants.

He helps you unbend, returning you to an upright position. You turn around with a dazed but pleased look on your face. Simon eases your jeans over your ass, closing the zipper and securing the button for you as you fix your hair.

“Want to stick around for a bit?” asks Simon.

“Could we go for a ride instead?”

“Sure, love. Whatever you want.”

After the ride, you and Simon rarely leave the cottage. Simon wants you in every position and on every surface. He got exactly that and so much more. Simon forgets about everything and spends each moment with you present and happy.

Which makes the return that much harder.

It’s a slow tearing of flesh with nothing to staunch the pain. Simon drags his feet returning to London. You’re a dead brick the whole drive, snoozing softly in the passenger seat. Simon doesn’t disturb you. In fact, he drives slower, reaching out to you on occasion just to reassure himself that you’re real and close.

When Simon pulls into Amelia’s drive, he almost backs right out and takes you home with him. Simon sits in the driver seat and stares as your sleeping form.

Reality isn’t always nice. It isn’t always fun.

These last five days have been some of the best of Simon’s life. He doesn’t want to return to anything. He only wants you, and the rest of the world can just fuck off for a while.

He hates what he does next, but he does it.

Simon unloads the car, and carries your bag to the front door. He doesn’t have to knock. Amelia is there to greet him.

“She’s asleep in the car,” says Simon automatically.

Amelia shrugs. “Room is upstairs and to the left.”

Simon silently ascends. The door is open and the light is on. He knocks softly and pushes it open. Evie reclines on the bed with a book in hand. Bravo is on the very edge, facing the door. His head perks up at Simon’s entrance.

His tail smack smack smack’s against the comforter.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, dropping the bag just inside the door. “Come on, Bravo.”

At the car, Simon opens the passenger door. He stares at you a moment before gently shaking you awake. You twist toward him, rubbing at your eyes. When you notice it’s Simon, you smile, and it hurts him somewhere deep.

“We’re here,” he says, almost raspy.

“Already?” you yawn.

He clears his throat. “Afraid so.”

You slip out of the car and Bravo comes forward, pressing his nose into your head. Simon grabs your other hand and pulls you close. “Let me walk you to the door.”

“I need my bag.”

“Already took it upstairs.”

You squeeze his hand and go up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”

Simon steps back and opens the rear passenger door. “Inside, Bravo.”

The German Shepard obediently hops in. Simon shuts the door, still holding your hand, and walks you to the front door. He doesn’t want to let go, but it’s cold out, and you need rest.

“I had fun,” you say.

“Just fun?” teases Simon.

You shake your head. “I liked getting away for a bit.” You reach up and rest your hand against Simon’s cheek. “And being with you.”

Simon turns into the touch and presses his lips to your palm. “When can I see you again?”

Your face falls, and Simon’s heart drops into his stomach. “I don’t know. Can I call you tomorrow?”

“Of course, love.”

You do call him the next day, and Simon can hear the quiet anxiety in your voice. The two of you were gone for almost a week, and anything could have happened during that time. While Simon isn’t particularly happy that he cannot see you, he understands. He also has his own shit to take care of.

Because he rearranged his schedule to take you away for a few days, Simon rebooked appointments almost on top of each other to make it happen. That isn’t ideal either, but he did it for you, and that makes it worth it for him.

It’s an entire week without you, and the days of November are starting to creep towards the cold of December. He hasn’t even asked you about coming with him back to Johnny’s family farm for Christmas. It’ll be expected that he goes, and he’s already blocked off his schedule, but he needs to convince you to come.

After the last client leaves for the evening, Simon closes up shop. It’s routine at this point, and he’s upstairs pouring himself a whiskey in a matter of minutes. Bravo pads over to his bed, turning three times before digging at it and then flopping down with a huff.

“Hard day?” asks Simon and Bravo grumbles at him.

Simon snorts into his whiskey glass. He shoots it back and then reaches for the bottle.

A chime goes off in the kitchen. Simon freezes.

He knows that sound. It’s not his personal phone or one of the many appliances. It’s one that he never wants to hear. Ever.

Simon turns in his chair, staring into the dark kitchen. He waits, thinking that he might not have heard the sound after all.

The chime comes again and Simon shoots up out of his chair. Simon flips on the kitchen light and strides toward the phone. He always keeps it on. Always keeps it plugged in.

Simon had it during his time in the military, and Price told him to keep it in case they ever needed him. It’s encrypted. And its sole purpose is for secure communication.

It hasn’t gone off since his retirement.

Simon snatches up the phone, removing it from its charger. He’s not sure what he’ll find.

Taking a deep breath, Simon logs on, and a message stares back at him.

It’s not Price. Or Gaz. Or even Laswell.

It’s fucking Johnny.

It’s Walsh, Lt.

Of course it fucking is.

Expect me Friday.

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[nekovmancer]

Broken porcelain

pairing: Ramattra x f!reader  prompt: sexual tension when tending to someone's wound from this list warnings: semi-nsfw, mentions of blood, injuries, semi-nudity, swearing, reader being a bit masochist etc etc word count: 2272 a/n: backstreet's back, alright! and finally. 😎 I’ve been a bitch with a big B for Ramattra over the past couple months, and of course I had to write a piece on that robot guy. He gives me… feels I can’t explain. So, for all my fellow robot fuckers, hope you enjoy reading this as much as I’ve enjoyed writing! Feedback is always appreciated and please please please send an ask, a chat, anything so we can talk about this big guy and more fanfiction prompts. 😭 also on ao3!

Who would ever say to be a human amongst killing machines would, impressively, be a dreadly task? Or deadly, you would remark to yourself after a long walk of dragging your wounded body through the corridors from the training field to Ramattra’s personal workshop. At least, those new assassin omnics would perform their duties impeccably, you could tell from the way they cut through your skin without a single issue.

The wound was still covered under the thin layer of the tank top you have on, the white fabric damp of crimson blood denouncing something went terribly wrong, not to mention the pained expression contorting your face. 

As soon as he eyes your state, if Ramattra could bring a worried expression to the surface of his faceplate, he would, a mirror to the torment running through his systems. He was an engineer, not a human healer, but you needed him to act more as such in the present moment if you’re both willing for you to stay alive, which you indeed were. 

Growing impatient, not to mention the pain reaching under your skin, you adjust yourself slowly on top of his workbench, holding your side to prevent any further damage. Your fingers get moist with blood, and that has your lips twitching. “Can you fix me or not?” 

“That depends on your meaning of fixing,” he states, a stoic demeanor on the outside despite feeling quite the opposite inside. Feeling. Something he didn’t think to be inclined to, at least not when those diverged from the violence he was shaped to perform as a being… and yet, here they are, as foreign to him as the surgical aspects of flesh and bone. “I can’t weld you, obviously. At least, not as a first resource,” his slight humor brings a faint smirk to your lips, slowly shaking your head in a quiet response. In a lighter tone, Ramattra proceeds, and now it’s definitely a command. “I would like to have a closer look.”

Quietness follows, not as fast as the warmth spreading from your neck to the tip of your ears. To say you hadn’t considered you’d need to remove your shirt was unnecessary, in front of him of all people, ‘cause you’d rather overcome your own fear of blood if a second thought had you aware of the chances before. But as the old saying remarked: if you are in hell already, just go and sit on the goddamn devil’s lap.

Proceeding a thick swallow, you do as you’re told, diverting your eyes to a corner to avoid examining the cut yourself, or to avert them from Ramattra’s, anything and everything were an excuse in such a situation. It hurt just enough to be something you knew you couldn't handle alone, and considering how sharp that assassin’s knives were… fuck’s sake, what a weak fool you were.

On the other hand, at the sight of your almost bare torso, Ramattra felt inexplicably tense. The wound itself was not too deep to reach anything vital, but would need a patch up indeed in order to heal properly. Yet, his sight wasn’t restrained to that minor part of your skin, and that’s when tension was found. Maybe the vocabulary wasn’t a perfect fit, ‘cause that jolt of electricity running through his circuits was something else, something as sublime as the curve of your hips, and the way you shallow breaths of anticipation had your body quivering, despite an enormous strength to keep it still. He could hardly find beauty in human beings, and let’s not even mention himself, but that was a whole different scenario… warm, with a hint of degradation he couldn’t ignore, and something that could only be named as akin to desire. 

The silence was killing you now, almost making you forget the very pain which brought you there in the first place. “Will we be helding any funerals?” you risk, in the same light humor he used with you before. At least, if you didn’t consider the shaking tone in each syllable you’d pronounced. You thought Ramattra couldn’t  never understand your concerns fully, even if he invested all his force to: if the worst happened, he could be reconstructed, you were there for it after all. But as a human, it’s not like you have a respawn chance anytime. That’s why, aside the anxiety turning your stomach into a knot, you needed him to act. 

“You speak as if it's more severe than it is in fact,” he muses, tilting his head as the scanners on his optics do the rest of the work, searching for the right proceeding in a shared data file, where he was hoping to get anything from an omnic model whose initial propose, contrasting his, was to heal, not to kill. “No funerals, you have my word. The pain may be harsh, but the wound itself is of little harm in the bigger picture. You’re safe,” the addition of the last sentence has you sighing in relief, and a pinch of pain reaches you once more, but it’s bearable. Ramattra made you feel protected, or better, cared for. The warm feeling is enough to soothe your anxiety, dissipating the chill air in the workshop for a little while before rushing up to your cheeks as you’re reminded you’re still half naked in front of him. 

“Lay,” he commands, and your breath gets caught in your throat in the act. Only if your mouth were open, your heart would surely jump out if it during one of its chaotic heartbeats, contrasting the steady tone on Ramattra’s voicebox, echoing those words without a single trace of malice. But when they hit you, they sounded profane, leaving a delicate trace of forbidden to the tip of your tongue. 

You curse your mind as you lay down, a shiver erupting from the contact of warm skin to the cold metal of his workbench’s surface. Fuck, he’s your commander, superior office or whatever goes between you both, your boss to be short. Thing is he saw a purpose for you and spared your life long ago, and that purpose goddamn sure didn’t imply any… deeper contact than the occasional intellectual help you provided, with efficient (and smaller) hands and a cunning mind. After all, no Ravager was made to indulge in such a thing as intimacy, the very same thought cursing through Ramattra’s systems right now. He wasn’t built for delicacy, a single gentle touch for his standards would be brutal enough to leave you bruised for days, and how he would lament to see such perfect skin ruined by his own hands… unbearable to even think of it without feeling a strange sensation housing between his metallic limbs, pushing further inside in search of a bloody beating heart among the cold hardware. 

It wasn’t the first time he felt unsure in his existence, but that was a whole new thing. To think one like him was able to possess a spirit tender enough to be mesmerized by such a fragile thing as you touched him not physically, but deeper than it could ever be… how thrilling it was, but insufficient to make him search for its source on his internal data to completely erase it. No, never. He was actually holding into it with every fiber of his soul, curious to see which path it would lead him through. A bit embarrassing, at first impression, like the sight of you would burn his optics until they melt.

After all these years working along, was it there all the time? Within him, within you? He would search for it later, revisiting each time you shared each other's company in his memory, to see where a quiet admiration turned into this. 

After gathering the resources to fix you, ensuring everything was sterilized, he turned to sight over your form once more. Ramattra could sense the rapid heartbeat against your chest controlling your breath motions, the rising and falling of your chest following along, where he caught a peek of your nipples drawing a small circle under the fabric of your top, the last barrier between him and your fully exposed torso. Thankfully, unlike any human, his faceplate didn't betray any of his thoughts. They’re guarded within his systems, safe in his memory and imprinted there forever. Nothing could ever make him forget of you, nor time, nor enemies, nor… fuck, the injury. 

“It would feel better if you were asleep,” he commences, carefully. You’re already scared for it seems, and it’s not on his wishes to make it worse. “Instead, I will ask you to bite on this,” the discarded cloth of your tank top is brought to your lips, and your heart could have stopped right there. Instead, avoiding the disbelief, you silently obey. “Try not to move. I shall be slow.”

A nod follows, and you gather your best to not whine, or flinch, or sob too much when his hands begin to work, stitching the wound close. Whatever sounds leaving your mouth are muffled, and the pain is great. But erotic. And, fuck, you should be loosing your mind by this point. How could your brain process such agony in a pleasurable way? You’d be blaming the omnic in charge of patching you up, for sure. It was him, after all, all about him. 

Ramattra was enormous, and the effort he put in each precise movement didn’t go unnoticed. He could have discarded you, blamed you for your mistakes, assigned anyone else to deal with this bullshit, but there he was: the infamous Null Sector leader, treating you as a precious porcelain tea-cup, once broken, now being patched in threads of gold, despite the gold being metaphorical. It was a form of art, wasn’t it? You’ve read of it somewhere, once. If so, right now, you’re his masterpiece.

To say he’s being delicate is a statement. Ramattra is afraid he could shatter you again, worse than they did with you before. The responsible for it would be severely corrected, later of course. The pads on his fingertips could never be soft as your skin feels under them, and an eagerness to venture further brings a shiver of electricity through his spine. Should he ever be thinking of it in your state? In fact, was it reasonable to have you consuming his memory like this, injured or not? What could be a groan echoes from his voicebox, and within a few long minutes, it was done. 

Your jaw clenches to the minimum effort of raising your torso, sitting on his workbench once more as a small discomfort to the newly sewn cut emerges. Covered in bandages, you can’t see his work, but there’s no blood and the pain is moderate, so you trust with your eyes closed it’s perfectly fine. Your shirt is sitting by your side, bloodied and wet from your own saliva, but you don’t mention reaching for it. 

Blinking, your eyes search for him, meeting the stoic faceplate turned to you. Silence lingers as you both stare at each other, considering every single thought that coursed through your minds during the late couple of hours. Was it genuine? Absolutely. Would you voice them? No, surely not. Tension is still there, so palpable you could touch it, and shattering it would come with a price. 

A small blush color your cheeks red, and you finally manage to break eye contact with a hint of timidity. Too much to ask of you for a little time of strong, contrasting emotions, still tickling under your skin as the adrenaline begins to sparse. Clearing your throat, you’re the first to speak. “I apologize,” it begins as simple as it, almost ending the sentence there as your eyes don’t dare to move from your lap and you choose carefully what to say, and what to keep to yourself. Ramattra may have performed a solid progress towards emotions, but you feared he would fail to comprehend the turmoil in yours. “It wasn’t strict of your concern, nor a matter you should care for as you did, and I-”

“I had to,” he cut you off, sternly. Now that you’re safe, his worries tend to other subjects, still resonating over you. Was he too obvious, despite his best efforts? Couldn’t be, and yet he wished fervently for you to point it out, verbalizing what he was too afraid to: he wanted to keep you close, and safe, more than he ever did. “Whatever happens to you is my business, especially if it's a menace to your well being,” Ramattra takes a step closer, his fingers aching to reach for your face, and soothe that sorry expression out of it. Instead, he keeps them to his sides, clenching them a fist. “So don’t apologize for it. It wasn’t your fault, in the first place, and yet I’ll ask you to be careful and not wander over the training field whenever a new IA is being tested.”

A short nod follows a faint smile. His words were gentle, not explicitly voicing what he meant in between the lines, but you knew it nonetheless. Ramattra cared for you, more than you could have thought, and enough to satisfy your heart. “I don’t even know how to begin thanking you.”

“Dressing will do,” a chuckle reverberated in his metallic rib cage, and if his words alone wouldn’t catch you yet, it would be enough to make your face red as a cherry for, somehow, you were able to sense a trace of malice in Ramattra. “Rest now, human. I shall meet you when the day is done.”

[charmandabear]

Ascendn't

Summary

I got mad when the game wouldn't let me hug him after the Cazador fight. So I fixed it. Plus a bit more steaminess in the graveyard scene. (Also, yes, I'm insufferable about this title.)

Pairing: Astarion x GN!Tav Rating: M Word Count: 4.5k Tags/Warnings: post-Cazador fight, Act 3 spoilers, blood kink, biting, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, soft dom Astarion, enthusiastic consent

It's been a good 10 years since I've written fanfiction and probably about 20 since I've published any online. This boy got me down BAD. I made an AO3 account for this fucker. (Which you can find here.)

“I can do this, but I need your help.”

You’ve never heard him plead like this. He’s usually so cool and confident. He doesn’t need anyone if he can help it. But this is different. Standing over Cazador, dagger in hand, fear and desperation in his eyes.

“I’ll be free - truly, completely free. Isn’t that what you want?”

He knows how to make your heart melt and break all at the same time. Gods, yes, of course that’s what you want, more than anything in the world. For him to be free to live the life that he never got to have, the life that Cazador stole away from him. He was so young when he got turned. And if he doesn’t take this chance, then as soon as you manage to get these damned tadpoles out of your head he’ll be relegated to the shadows once again. You can’t do that to him.

But this isn’t it. This won’t give him the freedom he so desperately craves, no, deserves. It’s just another form of chains. You take a shaky breath and prepare yourself for his disapproving glare.

“I know you think this will set you free, but it won’t. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador.”

Astarion’s face goes slack, the recognition of the cycle of abuse suddenly clear. His eyes on you soften as he murmurs, “You– you’re right. I can be better than him.” He turns a steely gaze back to Cazador.

“But I’m not above enjoying this.”

With a ferocity that you haven’t yet seen in Astarion, he yanks Cazador’s head back and starts viciously stabbing into his neck. Two hundred years of pent up fury and revenge release in a matter of moments. At a certain point, he’s not even stabbing the man, but rather the idea of Cazador and everything he represents.

Eventually he slows and drops Cazador’s limp body to the ground. The dagger falls with a clatter, and Astarion takes a step back. His eyes finally come back into focus and he realizes that it’s over. Really, truly, over. He’s finally free.

His face is awash with an overwhelm of emotions that you can’t identify. He’s panting, first from the physical exertion and then the sobs that wrack his body. He lets out a howling cry filled with pain and suffering and relief and anguish and he falls to his knees, shoulders shaking. Up until this point, you and the rest of your party have been frozen to the spot as you watched Astarion claim his revenge. But something in you breaks free and you rush to his side. Where you need to be. Where you belong.

You grab him tight in your arms and curl into his neck, your own tears mixing with the blood and grime on his bare shoulder. You think with an almost sardonic humor how often your positions have been reversed. Whereas when he leaned into your neck it was often with hunger, or lust, or even just a flirty playfulness, now all you could bring is a shared pain and comfort. You plant a tender kiss just below his ear and he looks at you with tearful eyes, an unidentifiable question present. You wrap your hand around the base of his neck, fingers raking through bloodstained silver curls. Pressing your foreheads together, you sync up your breaths with his, trying to slow them back to an even rhythm. Gods, you love this man so much.

You finally dare to break the silence, whispering, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” He lets out a weary chuckle and nods. You take one more look into those wet crimson eyes, bloodshot and tired, and smear some of Cazador’s blood left on his cheek in an attempt to wipe away his tears. He takes your hand and kisses your fingertips gently. You suddenly become aware that the other six spawn have been released from their soul-draining chains and are approaching, just as tired and sweaty as the rest of you. The two of you slowly get up to your feet, each helping the other in the process.

“Is… is it over? Is he…?” The woman you vaguely recall meeting in the flophouse in Wyrm’s Crossing, Dalyria, cautiously peers at Cazador’s body. Astarion lets out one final sigh, his breathing finally returning to normal.

“Yes. He’s gone.” He sounds like he can hardly believe it himself. As though saying the words aloud might somehow break a spell and make them untrue.

“What does that mean for us?” Petras, you think, comes up behind Dal. You do remember meeting him, feeling like he was like a knockoff version of Astarion. Trying all the same moves with half of the charm. You feel bad, now, about that judgemental assessment. He looks like such a lost little boy.

“It means you have a choice,” he says with exasperation. Sibling bonds, even when forged in fire, never die. “You can hide here, living in the shadows, like parasites.” His voice is filled with venom. “Or you can be more than what he made us to be. You can choose differently, of course. But the consequences are on your head.”

“What does it mean for them?” Dal asks, and Astarion falters slightly. 

“Ah. Now that is a question…” You can tell he had been trying not to think about the seven thousand vampire spawn locked up in the dungeons. He was trying to get Sebastian out of his mind since their conversation. You don’t blame him, honestly. Astarion may have been forced to do Cazador’s bidding, but that doesn’t make the fallout from that any less reprehensible. Worse even that he was good at it.

Astarion had taken a step away from you to talk to his siblings, and you can see him beginning to spiral. You close the distance again and lay a hand on his shoulder. You can feel him start under your touch.

“Let’s release them,” you offer quietly. “They deserve the same chance you got.” You have no idea who Astarion would be right now if he hadn’t gotten kidnapped by the Illithid. If he hadn’t been on this journey, seen everything he had seen. Met you. Honestly, you don’t know who you’d even be if you hadn’t met him either. The thought alone makes you run cold.

“You’re right,” he breathes barely above a whisper. “The poor wretches in the cells are innocent. They shouldn’t have to suffer just because I-” his voice catches in his throat and you see him shake off a dark thought, “lured them here.” He reaches down to pick up Cazador’s staff - Woe, you think it’s called - with a hand still stained reddish black with the vampire’s blood. He looks at it for a moment, considering it carefully, and everything this staff had ever meant. Then he slams it on the ground, red waves of energy emanating from it, using its power to unlock every single one of the cells in the dungeon. 

“They’ll need someone to lead them. Take the tunnels into the Underdark. Find somewhere… well, not safe, but less perilous.” Petras eyes light up with fear.

“What? No, we can’t-” he begins desperately, but Astarion cuts him off with a hand.

“Just try to keep them out of trouble.” The exasperated tone is back. How often had he needed to manage Petras’ emotions as much as his own? You vaguely wonder if Petras looked to Astarion as a role model. The other six spawn walk off slowly, exhausted but clearly relieved to be starting anew.

You turn to Astarion, who has just finished redonning his armor that Cazador had stripped him of. His gaze is glassy; you’ve seen this look before, sometimes even when you’re in bed together. He might as well be a million miles away. You gently touch his arm to bring him back to you. He jumps slightly, then a wan smile touches his lips, but not his eyes.

“That’s it. He’s gone. After all these years – these centuries – it’s really over.” He shuffles his feet, antsy and tired at the same time. You hesitate a moment, unsure of the best way to respond, but you finally settle on, “I’m proud of you. You did the right thing.” His smile isn’t free of bitterness.

“I’m glad you think so, because I’m not so sure.” His eyes flick up back to you, but that glassy look has returned. “I just feel numb. What I’ve lost, what I’ve gained – it’s all so much. And gods, all those spawn, free in the Underdark. I need some time, I think. Just to let it all sink in.” You reach out to touch his face comfortingly. Your heart sinks as he gently pushes your hand away, but it settles when he doesn’t let go of it.

“Let’s just go. This place reeks of death and I want to feel alive again.” He gives your fingers a small squeeze and then walks off ahead of your party, making his way down the long corridor into Cazador’s dungeon. Well, not Cazador’s anymore. You briefly wonder what’s going to happen to this place.

At the end of the hallway, you see the Gur standing there, too late to be even remotely useful. You struggle to keep a scowl off your face. You hate how they treated Astarion in your last encounter. You could be sympathetic of their pain, of course; they’ve lost so much to Astarion’s actions. But the fact that they offered no sympathy for him back, the fact that they could barely acknowledge that he was a victim himself? Absolutely despicable. 

Ulma stands at the head of the group, and her scowl matches yours. “You killed one vampire, but released seven thousand of his spawn? Have you lost all sense?”

“They were innocents. To kill them would have been an even greater crime.” Astarion couldn’t possibly sound more tired. You don’t blame him, these are the last people he wants to defend himself against right now.

“Some of those innocents are your fucking kids,” you grumble under your breath, hopefully not enough for Ulma to hear, but just enough for Astarion’s benefit. It’s clear that she couldn’t when she retorts, “And our children? What of their fate?”

“Cazador turned everyone we brought him into spawn. I can only assume your children are somewhere in those wretched cells. You’ll find them in the Underdark, although you may not like what you find.” The grief is plain in Ulma’s face, as well as the rest of the Gur. You feel a little more sympathy for them, but still no warmth.

“This is…” Ulma searches for the right word to capture the enormity of the situation, “difficult news.” She probably could’ve done better. “We will need to decide what this means.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Thank you for what you have done – slaying Cazador was a great justice. As for the rest… well, time will tell.” Astarion nods curtly, and you’re relieved to be able to push past them and leave.

You and your party finally trudge back to Elfsong Tavern to rest. The rest of your companions are eager to gossip about the day’s events, everyone having something to say. You shield Astarion from their nosiness and distract them while he bathes in the tub in the corner, washing away more than just the physical dirt. 

Later that evening as everyone else is beginning to tuck into bed, Astarion comes to you, finally ready to talk again. You can smell his signature fragrance, an earthy citrus with an undertone of spice, and it’s positively intoxicating. You’ve grown to really love that smell, and even the slightest whiff makes your head spin. For the first time maybe ever since you met, his eyes look… soft. Almost warm, even.

“I should probably start getting used to the shadows, again,” he muses with a light smile. “Who knows how long I have left in the sun?” Your heart drops. This had been your greatest fear, that he would feel resentful of the fact that you convinced him not to go through with the ritual, thereby committing him to an indefinite lifetime in the darkness. You know how much he’s grown to love the feeling of the sun on his skin. Not to mention how it makes his skin look, soft and kissable.

“Don’t say that,” you plead with him. “We could still find a way to control the tadpole.” He shakes his head, his freshly washed curls bouncing slightly.

“Maybe, but even if I could control it, it’s a dangerous game. I’d spend every day waiting for something to go wrong. For the tadpole to find a new trick, reassert itself, make me a slave again.” His eyes grow lighter, discovering the truth of what he’s saying as he says it. “Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom.” You reach out and give his arm a reassuring squeeze, relishing the feel of his cool, toned arm beneath the warm linen. Even after all this time, being this close to him makes you a little lightheaded. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks and neck, almost as though it’s aching to be drunk. 

“I’ll be with you either way,” you breathe softly. You can’t help but glance at his lips. “I hope you know that.”

“I think I do.” He sounds genuine, a bit of a rarity for him. Lest anyone believes Astarion to have a sincere bone in his body, he adds, “Assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.” You playfully shove his shoulder for teasing you. He laughs and gently pulls you in by your lower back and you feel the heat rising again. Your breath catches as his eyes rake over your body and face. He lingers on your lips for a moment before darting back up to your eyes.

“There’s… something I’d like to show you, if that’s alright? Something out in the city.” He cocks his head and looks at you with an almost impossible combination of bashfulness and lust. Being this close to him and breathing in his heady scent makes you dizzy. You manage to recover just enough to quip, “If you want to sneak off for a cuddle, you can just ask.” He lets you go and you feel a significant drop in your internal temperature.

“I’ll try to restrain myself if you do,” he says with a cheeky smile. He takes you gently by the hand and leads you out the Elfsong Tavern.

The graveyard is quiet, almost serene. Astarion walks forward towards a tombstone covered in ivy and, with something bordering on reverence, brushes the vines away to reveal the text engraved in the crumbling stone. 

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR

He wipes the dirt off his hands and steps back next to you to get a better view of the stone. You stand together in silence for a moment, as if in prayer.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there.” His gaze is overtaken by that glassy look, the one you recognize to be him reliving his trauma. “I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his.” He sneers at the memory. Then he pauses, considering, “Until today.” 

He comes back to himself with a shake of his head, and his eyes return to this plane. He adds, as much to himself as to you, “Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.”

“And what do you want?” Your mouth is dry as you ask the question. You can hope for the answer, but you wouldn’t dare presume. He might need to figure that out on his own, and if that’s the case, you will respect that. 

He turns to face you, his red eyes full of more warmth than you’ve ever seen. Your heart leaps into your throat as he smiles and says, “You… I want you. 

“You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared.” As he’s speaking your heart starts beating loudly, blood pumping through your arteries at an almost vulgar rate. You know he can tell, and he chuckles softly. Cupping his hand below your ear and gently stroking your cheek with his thumb, he adds teasingly, “You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do.” He pulls you even closer and rests his forehead against yours. You could never get tired of this. As much as you love those moments filled with heat and lust, there’s something so tender about these intimate gestures that aren’t about sex. 

“I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.” You grasp at the back of his shirt, looking for purchase as you fall so much more deeply for him. Your voice is barely above a whisper as you breathe, “You won’t. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.”

You two stand there for what feels like both an eternity and a fraction of a second before he pulls away and looks at the grave again.

“Well. I should probably fix this.” He pulls a dagger from his belt with practiced fingers and kneels beside the stone, carving something into it. You kneel beside him and see that it now reads

Astarion Ancunin 1229 DR - 1268 DR 1492 DR -

His new life. For the first time in two hundred years, he can call it his own. You find yourself at a loss of what to do, or what to add, so you self-consciously pick up a nearby wildflower and gently place it at the base of his gravestone. He glances at you sideways and smirks, “Cute.” You both sit back on your heels to admire his work. He heaves a great sigh, letting go of centuries of tension and fear.

“I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough. It’s time to start living again.” He turns to you and takes your hands. “With everything life has to offer.” His voice has taken on that gravelly tone that sends a shiver up your spine. You don’t want to pressure him, of course, but your desire for his touch is getting harder to ignore. These gentle grazes, lovely though they’ve been, have set your skin aflame.

“Meaning…?”

His eyes glint mischievously and that familiar flirty lilt comes back to his voice. “If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded.” Your body leans toward him instinctively, breath heavy in your chest. The words are out of your mouth before your brain catches up, “Sounds good to me.” He gets close to your face and you can feel his breath on your lips before he pulls away suddenly. He’s teasing you, and you know that he’s relishing in the satisfaction of it.

“You know,” he says with a feigned innocence, as though he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, “I didn’t care for you when we first met.” The sudden shift in tone knocks you back to reality, and you can’t help but laugh. He impishly glances up at you through his lashes.

“But I do now. Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance.” He takes your hand, cheekiness gone, and looks you squarely in the eye with a rare earnestness. “I love you. I love this. And I want it all.” You will never tire of hearing those words. He reaches behind your ear and tenderly pulls you closer to him, finally giving your lips the reprieve they’ve been so desperate for. It’s a soft kiss, gentle, yet it still makes you burn up inside. 

He pulls away far too soon, and you gaze back at him with starry eyes. His features is soft and smiley, but in an instant he raises on his knees so he’s towering over you and he takes on that stern expression that makes your temperature rise. He shoves you back onto your elbows before bending down to crawl up your torso hungrily. He kisses you again, this time with more intensity. He pins you down with the weight of his chest and then traps you further by nudging your leg up with his knee, eliciting a small gasp of surprise from you. You couldn’t escape even if you wanted to. And you most certainly don’t want to.

His body presses against yours and you curl your leg around him, pulling him tighter. An almost imperceptible grunt escapes his lips and you smile through your kiss. You can feel his smile in return and you lace your fingers into his silvery hair. He deepens the kiss, rolling his hips harder against you and your mouth opens involuntarily. He takes advantage of this momentary lapse and makes his way toward your neck, marking the trail with kisses. You seize up and your fingers tighten in his hair, encouraging him silently. But he needs more than that, and you know exactly how he’ll respond.

“Use your words,” he hums between kisses. You squirm beneath him, trying to sound even remotely dignified.

“You can,” you manage to gasp out as you try to suppress the moans that his lips are tearing from your throat. He flicks his tongue right over his usual puncture wounds and then gently trails it up the shell of your ear. You shiver with the intensity of it all.

“I can… what? I can’t know unless you tell me.” How the fuck does his voice stay this even? You can bearly even think straight, let alone string full sentences together. And yet he remains calm, nigh indifferent to the effect he’s having on you. But as cool as he is on the surface, you know how much he wants it. You both love the teasing, each night a challenge to see who can outlast the other. 

“You can bite me,” you breathe and he nips at your ear ever so lightly, causing you to choke out the last few words, “if you want.”

“If I want? But what do you want?” He emphasizes the pronouns in a singsongy tone, and even hearing “I” and “you” in the same sentence does it for you. He’s still grinding against you all while assaulting your neck with filthy kisses. You try to remember what words are.

“I want you,” you gasp, trying to keep your words legible, “to bite me.” You suck in sharply through your teeth as he hitches your leg up a little higher. He grabs both of your wrists in one hand and pins them above your head.

“Are you sure?” his tone is still infuriatingly innocent. He knows how much you want this, and you know what he wants in return. You’re not quite ready to give it to him yet. But gods how you wish he would break first tonight. Odds aren’t looking great as his free hand slips behind your lower back causing you to arch it off the ground slightly.

“Yes,” you groan in agony as his lips continues their heinous walk up and down your neck and collarbone. “Please, Astarion. I want you to.” He nips you again at the same time that he presses his thigh right at the apex between your legs. He tightens his grip on your wrists and whispers sharply in your ear.

“Beg for it.”

That’s it. You’ve lost. You cry out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure. The words come tumbling out of you, unbidden and unburdened.

“Please, Astarion, bite me. Please please please. Bite me. I want to feel your fangs pierce my skin. I want to know the feeling of my blood inside you. Gods, please, I can’t take it any longer and if you don’t bite me soon I think I might-”

Thank the realms that he cuts you off in that moment, acquiescing to your begging, because you have no idea how you planned to finish that sentence. The sharp moment of pleasure as he sinks in, followed by the loveliness of feeling your blood flow into his mouth. It makes you feel slightly lightheaded, and the high it gives you is better than any you might hope to achieve on Elendren pipeweed. The gentle feeling of his tongue lapping at your neck contrasts beautifully with the sharp tension of him sucking the blood out of you. You can feel him starting to get lost in your neck, his grip on your wrists loosening. You use this moment of vulnerability in Astarion to get him back by arching your back even more to move your hips against his. You hear the sudden intake of breath through his nose and you smile to yourself smugly. He knows what you did and isn’t about to take it lying down, metaphorically speaking. 

Once he’s had his fill he draws away from your neck, lips stained red with your blood. He sits up again, one knee between your legs as he looks down on you. He tsks quietly as he shakes his head, drawling, “So naughty. What am I to do with you?” You prop yourself up on your elbows and return his gaze wickedly, your blood tickling your neck as it drips down toward your shoulder. He swipes at the drop with a long pale finger and lasciviously sucks your blood off his fingertip. Your smug grin is back, knowing how weak he is for you. 

His face drops into that stern expression again, but this time a devilish smile plays on his lips. He puts his hand on your chest gently, then takes a hard turn as he grabs you by the throat. Not enough to be painful, nor enough to constrict your breathing, but just enough for him to have control. He studies your face for a moment, admiring its beauty, before he yanks you upward commanding you to look him in the eye. He leans in for a forceful kiss as he keeps his hand tight beneath your jaw. You start to lose yourself in the kiss, melting into him, and he takes the opportunity to sharply push you away, his pointer lingering on your chin to show that he’s still in control of where you look. He lets you go and leans back confidently, enjoying how you’ve become extremely pliable in his hands.

He stands to loom over you for a second more, then reaches for your hand to pull you up. You’re completely under his power and couldn’t be more than happy to give him whatever he wants. You take his hand and he pulls it behind his back, pressing your chest into his. 

“You’d better be good for me,” he murmurs against your lips, once again denying the kiss you ache for. “We wouldn’t want to punish any bad behavior, now would we?” He caresses your face momentarily and then turns with your hand still in his and pulls you toward… somewhere. Honestly, you couldn’t care where. You love him, and you love this, and you’ll go wherever he leads. 

[tac-the-unseen]

How the slashers show affection

Minor editing for formatting and writing for additional characters. (That's something you won't see in my original AO3 book!)

Michael Myers:

Quality time

He shows up. If Michael really likes you he will show up for you. Got a place you want to go? He's there. Did you work really hard on something and want show him? OK. Just maybe dont expect a huge reaction out of him.

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher:

Acts of service and physical touch!

Billy will go out of his way to try and help you do something. That or he'll just do it for you. Stu is a teddy bear. Always touching you or Billy.

Study date look a little like you and Billy doing the work and stu snuggled up to both of you.

Thomas Hewitt:

Acts of service

Thomas while busy will always find a way to help you. Something on a shelf you can't reach? Grabs it and hands it to you.

Bubba Sawyer:

Physical touch

Cuddle bug! Bubba is always down to cuddle. After all the chores are done of course. His brothers don't like slackers

Bo Sinclair:

Gift Giving

Will buy and or steal things off of victim's to give to you. ASK WHERE HE GOT THE CLOTHES FROM!! If he stutters either don't wear it or wash it a couple times.

Vincent Sinclair:

Gift Giving

He will draw/paint you and give it to you! He's very shy about no matter how long you've been together. Give him some praise and you might get some more.

Lester Sinclair:

Words of affirmation

Praise!!! He loves to give and get! Expect compliments all the time. You made dinner? " This is really really Good!" ( if you give some praise back he will be a big ol blushing mess )

Billy Lenz:

Physical touch

Did you expect anything else? Billy Lives to have his hands on you. If you don't find a hand on your ass, tits, or thighs, something is very wrong.

Brahms Heelshire:

Physical touch

Mother Fucker practically glued to your hip. Anytime you sit he's on your lap. Laying down? Already snuggled up. (Pro tip: you can get out of chores via cuddle compensation!)

Hannibal Lecter:

Acts of service

Don't want to do dishes? OK he'll do them! Don't want to get out of bed? He'll bring you your meals. Hannibal will do anything ( within reason) for you!

Will Graham:

Quality time

Will love spending time with you. More than anything in the world. You could just be sitting down, saying nothing, and he'd still appreciate it. Even if he can't vocalize it or put it into physical action, making time out of his schedule just to sit next to you is how he lets you know, he loves you.

The Lost boys:

David- Words of affirmation

David is a sweet talker through and through. If you seek verbal validation, He's your guy. He let you know when you're doing a good job, or if you look particularly nice this evening. He has no problem purring at you if he knows you like it.

Dwayne- Acts of service

Dwayne loves nothing more than helping you reach that tall shelf, or finding a book you'll like. And with that motorcycle, he has no problem being your personal chauffeur. He'll even read to you if you ask. Whatever you need, he's quick to dote on you.

Paul- Physical touch

No surprise here. Paul loves to grab and hold onto you at all hours. You can bet anytime you're standing still he's right behind you hugging you while rocking side to side. Sitting down? He's already pulled out the blanket to cuddle you.

Marko- Quality time

Marko might seem like a party, jump around kind of guy, but he actually sits pretty still when he's working on something. Whether it's a painting, sewing, or doodling he's almost like a statue (minus his hands of course). So when you're craving some kind of affection from him he'll let you lean on him while he's working, making light conversation. He cherishes these little moments with you.

Thanks for reading! <3

[sozila]

convalescence. (sukuna x reader)

synopsis: convalescence noun. time spent recovering from an illness or medical treatment; recuperation. ryomen s. itadori was a disease that infected every part of your life, and you didn’t notice until it was too late.

pairing: best friend's older brother!ryomen s. itadori x pre-med uni student!fem reader.

warnings: explicit content eventually, mdni. mentions of sexual assault.

masterlist | previous | next

you are on: incubation. (part three)

a/n:

i'm so sorry this took literally forever to release! i was writing parts of the nanami fic and this chapter simultaneously, and then got really busy in between :( as an apology, wc for this chapter is 7.3k!! biggest shoutout to @beeh-ive, my one and only beta reader <3 ilysm and you are my iv, my lifeline. mwahs. anyways i hope you enjoy!!

ao3 link here.

incubation. (part three)

sukuna kept the hello kitty band-aids you gave him in his wallet. 

he had no intention of using them, though he kept telling himself they were there if he needed some in an emergency. if that was the case, they wouldn’t be sitting in the photo pocket where he could see anytime he opened his wallet. 

what he forgot was that anyone else could also see them in his wallet, in all their flashy pink glory. that brings him here; when he begrudgingly pulls it out to pay for gojo’s food and he hears the brat start ooh-ing at the sight of them.

“aww ‘kuna, when were you gonna tell me you got a girl?”

he prods around sukuna hoping to sneak a glance at any other evidence. albeit sukuna didn’t hold anything else of yours, he sure as hell didn’t need fucking gojo knowing anything. before he could continue with his trifling, the cafeteria attendant hands sukuna his card back and he shuts the wallet with a quick slap, thrusting the tray into the over-curious man.

“shut the fuck up and eat your damn food. moocher,” he grumbles under his breath as he walks far ahead of gojo, who was skipping behind him like a satisfied child. satoru knew that the band-aids could just be a fluke, but he knew better than to overlook such a detail if it gave headway to bothering his grumpy friend. you think satoru gojo would miss the detail of seeing you on his motorcycle that night? no one was allowed to ride with sukuna minus his family. all he knew now was that he kept an eye peeled for you, the girl that sukuna threw punches for a couple nights ago. 

geto’s eyes flick up from his phone when the two reach the table he and shoko were already sat at and nods in greeting. “got my fries, bossman?” sukuna slides a container of fries to shoko and she puts her palms together in thanks towards him, already digging in. 

geto turns to the older itadori, brows knitted. “i didn’t want to grill you at the house, but todo found out about the mahito shit.” sukuna rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest, sinking more into the chair. “you saw what the fucker did. you think i was gonna let my little bro’s friend get felt up by a frat brother?” geto sighs and puts his phone on the table. “i let you get some in because he touched her. but it’s not a good look when other frats saw an upperclassman beat up his younger out of the blue. todo says he’ll let it slide because of the circumstances, but next time, he’s gonna call an advisory meeting.” 

sukuna was irritated beyond belief. so sukuna was on thin ice, and mahito was facing nothing because he got his shit rocked? he scoffed. this was the exact reason he couldn’t be on the executive board for the organization. “whatever, man. i would’ve done the same even if it wasn’t a brother.” geto nods solemnly. “as a person and your friend, i don’t see anything wrong, trust. but as the vice, i have to tell you this so you’re aware. rules are shitty, i know that the most,” 

geto seemed genuinely apologetic so sukuna lightened up a tad. as the year had progressed, he could tell geto was getting fed up with dealing with social events and conflict resolution at the fraternity house. sukuna was surprised that todo was also slipping in his spirits, considering how proudly he boasted and enacted his duties as fraternity president. there’s no way he was able to make the decision to warn sukuna without feeling bad. todo was big on making the “respect women” rhetoric heavily enforced amongst them– so sukuna boiled it down to the answer that the panhellenic caught drift of the fight and made a push on todo. it checked out. the main board always did drown out scandals and washed blood from the hands of their brothers, unfortunately. therefore, sukuna was grateful this was his last year in the wretched organization as an active. he was only here because his grandpa was an alum anyways. 

“yeah, i don’t give a fuck about that consequence bullshit, geto. mojito got his ass kicked for touching up a girl, the end.” shoko pipes up, not looking up from her food.

satoru bursts into a cackle, his drink spitting out a little. “shoko, his name’s mahito!” 

she gives him a grimace of disgust. “the fuck? mahito, mojito.. bitches need to get better names, i swear to god.”

“...and then megumi told him to eat a dick, can you believe it? i think the guy was too embarrassed to say anything after that–” 

yuuji was raving about something that happened in his design class that you thought was just so yuuji of him to find hilarious. you laugh at his recreation of the scene, only to stop with the sight you caught from across the pavilion.

it was a familiar 6 foot 5 inches of black leather and faded jeans. your cheeks heat at the memory of your last exchange from the past weekend. his hands brushing yours, your eyes watching the drop of his eyelashes, your lips inches from his enough so you could feel his warm breath– you had to shake the thought away. it was inappropriate to assume that anything was even going to happen. you notice sukuna wasn’t alone. he was walking with the same brown haired girl from the party. the pretty one in the little black dress, you remember. she was in deep conversation as they walked, and sukuna seemed awfully in tandem with her. 

what, why did you even care? it wasn’t like you harbored any interest in the older itadori anyways. he was bad news all around, too brash for your liking. did you forget how every person you knew thought he was an asshole, save for his brother? he’s only ever insulted you! you bet he took you home out of necessity, you would imagine he’d get a scolding from yuuji if he found out sukuna could have helped you and didn’t. he was nothing more than your best friend’s emotionally-constipated older brother. 

but.. you didn’t let your brain register that your heart sank at scenarios in your head between him and that cooler girl. she was definitely more fitting to sukuna’s type, you were sure. her style was more mature, and aesthetically matched his. she wore demonias and you had a collection of mary janes. she probably didn’t even own any pink glitter ribbons, like the ones you liked to wear. 

“aww, you always do this! are you even paying attention to me?” you snap out of the gloomy bubble you were ruminating in. you were too focused on a man that didn’t even appear in the same social circles as you, how pathetic! you had bigger things to worry about, too. your shiny new internship was waiting for you. yuuji gave you a whiny tug and leaned his head on your shoulder, enlisting a chuckle and shove from you. he truly had the face of a puppy. “okay, okay! you have my full presence now, you big baby.” yuuji beams at you with a goofy grin. he continues on, animatedly, distracting you from the revelations you’d made. what you didn’t catch was that he followed your line of vision when your mood dropped, and was well aware it had something to do with his brother..? he had every intention of finding out why. 

the both of you enter the lecture auditorium and you tap into your rhythm again, forgetting your gloom. physics was easy for you to lose your brain into as the subject was satisfying once you got the hang of it. on the other hand, yuuji found it unnecessarily confusing and ended up needing your help from time to time. after the three hour lecture, your professor informed the class that you were to work on a project that weighed a quarter of your grade for the course. it was allowed to have a partner, but you could work individually if you wished. while you preferred doing such high-risk assignments by yourself, you couldn’t say no to the same puppy face that mouthed pleads to you. when you pack your things and go down to write your choice on the professor’s clipboard, you add “yuuji itadori” next to your name. “did i ever tell you i love you more than nobara and megs? you should know that,” he loops an arm around your neck and ruffles your hair, tousling the hairdo you had it in. you chortle. “you owe me like, thirty coffees.” “heard loud and clear, cap’n!” you decide that it would be best to start working right away and yuuji tells you they should work at his place so he could shower you with snacks and things (look at him, already living up to his deal). obviously there was no way in hell you’re passing that up, and you get to hang out with your lovely best friend for another couple hours. a total win-win.

10:00 P.M.

whoever said this was a good idea was a big fat liar. you were on the fifth reiteration of the same problem you were trying to explain to yuuji and he looked like his brain was going to spontaneously combust from the words you were throwing at him. “wait, what do you mean hooke’s law applies here?! i’m so loooost!” he threw his hands up in defeat and slumps on the coffee table, face mushed into the glass.

“we need to take a break or i might die…”

you sigh and shut your laptop. “me too. i think i forgot what i said as soon as i told you.”

you pick up an unopened bag of doritos and toss it to yuuji’s head. “nothing like red 40 to clear your sadness, though,” he moans in agreement and reaches for the bag, his head still stationary to the table. you dig in the tray of snacks for a packet for yourself when you hear the front door unlock.

in comes the same leather jacket and faded jeans, along with a bunch of grocery bags in each hand. they looked extremely heavy altogether, but he seemed to carry them with no real effort. he sets them on the kitchen island and peers at the two of you in the living room. sukuna’s face shifts slightly when his eyes land on you. you turn your head away with a jolt.

“got your shit, yuu,” he calls.

the younger itadori lifts his head finally to look for his brother, throwing him a thumbs-up.

you pretend to be immensely busy with your search for chips when you felt him walk by, and out of the corner of your eye you could see him glance at you as he goes up the stairs.

of course he would stop by when you were trying to forget about his existence. but again, why did you care?

yuuji peeks at both of your reactions and frowns. he didn’t like this one bit. at best, sukuna was just being his usual rude self to you. at worst, something was happening between his best friend and his older brother… eughhh. the thought made him writhe a little. he knew that nothing good would come out of it for either of you. growing up with a brother like sukuna.. he knew how he could get. 

“i hate you so much! you’re pushing dad away!” sukuna throws the first thing he sees at the woman in front of him. her eyes are dim with guilt. “ryomen, you know it’s not like that..” her words fall in nothingness, and she falters. what could she say? her red fingernails fumble with the button on her suitcase. “you’re throwing us away! you’re leaving me and yuuji for that ugly stupid man!” he screams in anger, but tears are flowing heavily over his bruised face. yuuji watched as his brother berated their mother, helpless. he wanted to tell him to stop, that this was too much.. he shut his eyes tightly and imagined the day before, when they were going out for ice cream instead. the giggles they had, his mother wiping his chubby chin with her sleeve, the game of hide and seek he and his brother shared at the neighborhood park. “yuuji, my messy boy,” his mother cooed, eyes crinkling with a smile. her blouse billowed with the summer wind. heavy footsteps broke the evocation, and from the crack of the door he saw another figure. no! he clamped his tiny hands over his ears until they went white, knees to his nose. the smell of his mother’s perfume in the dark closet helped him go back– to tune out the muffled sounds of fighting. the voices of his mother, his grandpa, and that man ebbed away. slowly, he drifted, his mind crystal blue.. the only thought left was the taste of chocolate and his mother’s soft caress; a silent requiem.

yeah, fuck that. and fuck him for trying to mess around with your head.

yuuji throws a dorito at you. you make a sound of annoyance and throw one of your own in retaliation. he giggles. “wanna go get banana milk?” you stretch your arms above your head with a yawn, cracking your fingers. “yeah, we could use some fresh air.” he hops up immediately and goes to put on his shoes. “hey, ryo, we’re going to the convenience store for milk, be back soon!” he yells from below the stairs. you hear him give a grunt of acknowledgement from above and you both make your way to take your minds off things. it wasn’t just physics that lay heavy on your hearts.

as soon as sukuna’s saw yuuji’s text that he would be studying with “a friend”, he was already speeding through his last repair at the shop. choso, his cousin-slash-coworker, nearly yells at him with the speed he was screwing the bolts back in on the vehicle. no matter. he’d done this same shit a million times over, it was like clockwork. he changed out of the oily uniform and got on his bike before he could get a proper scolding. he shoots a reply.

“bringing groceries. be there in 20.”

he tucks his phone away before yuuji could deny him. and just like that, he was lumbering to the elevator of yuuji’s complex with a giant load of bags in each hand. it was insanely efficient, if he said so himself( sukuna was conveniently leaving out the part where he switched out his bike and borrowed satoru’s camaro to make the aforementioned grocery trip, but he digresses). 

he entered the apartment with a little difficulty, but it was worth it when he saw the mary janes sitting neatly on the shoe rack.

when he sets the bags on the counter, he looks to the living room to see you looking at him with that gorgeous face of yours. something about your complexion was so naturally saccharine, like you radiated sunlight.

he raises his hand to give a small wave but falters midway seeing your expression flip, snapping away from his gaze with your face flushed with an emotion he couldn’t decipher.

sukuna was mildly confused. weren’t you on new terms since that night? not even a bit?

“got your shit, yuu,” the kid throws a thumbs up.

as he takes off his jacket, he finds himself glancing repeatedly at your now-nervous form. he couldn’t help feel a little irritated. sukuna was seemingly the only one exempt from your natural state, for whatever reason(sukuna’s aloofness to the fact 1. you both met officially only two weeks ago and 2. the amount of times he’s argued with you, was borderline insane). 

you were wearing a different set of ribbons today, a pale lavender in hue. he wondered how many more were in your collection. the outfit you wore was simple but flattering, albeit he couldn’t see it properly.

a chuckle rumbles his throat when his focus shifts to see your face was almost entirely inside the tray of chips, doing anything to avoid small-talk he assumed.

his brother was slumped on the other side of the table as well, and he just shakes his head. it always was hard to tutor yuuji, the little brat was just so hyper. he says a silent prayer for you and walks up the stairs without another word.

he’d talk to you tonight eventually, he would make sure of that.

the street was mostly empty and dark, save for the streetlights marking your path back. the trip was fairly short but you and yuuji were walking at a leisurely pace, sipping on the tiny drinks. yuuji hesitates to ask you about sukuna, so he settles for talking about the party. 

“so how’d you like the party? i was totally shitfaced, so i never got to ask you,” he joyfully perked up. you sigh and look at him with a small accusatory smile. “yeah, you totally left me in the dust, whore. the party was okay, i guess. i did meet this cool guy,” you began. 

yuuji ooh’s and bumps your shoulder with his. “well, don’t just say that and stop! tell me more,” he eggs you on in a lilty tone. “actually, he said he knew you. his name was suguru,” yuuji snaps and shakes a finger in the air. “yeah i do! he’s super chill, one of sukuna’s frat brothers. he’s the vp for the fraternity!” your eyebrows lift in surprise a little. “oh wow. i didn’t know he was the vp,” you murmured, taking the information in thoughtfully. so suguru was more than just affiliated, he was practically running the show. and he was close with sukuna, which was kind of unfortunate. so much for having an interest in someone decent. “yup! he doesn’t seem the type, but he does a good job. or so i’ve been told by gojo and ryo,” he laughs, taking another sip. 

“sooo… anything i missed at the party?” you were hoping he wouldn’t ask, but you assumed it would’ve come up eventually. you nod and sigh, looking up at the dark sky. yuuji slows down to a stop, brows cinched together. “something bad happened?” his voice drops to a lower, more serious tone. 

“when you guys left, i ended up bumping into this really sleazy guy.. i guess he was trying to flirt with me?” you began. 

yuuji looked visibly enraged, his eyes twitching. “go on.” 

“he didn’t end up doing anything crazy because megumi came, but he did.. grope me.” you mumbled. 

this was so stupid, you genuinely wanted to forget it even happened. you hadn’t put a ton of thought on the event until you recounted it, and it left a pit in your stomach. 

yuuji crushed the milk carton in his hand and started walking faster. “i’m calling suguru and figuring out who the fuck that was, there is NO WAY–” 

your eyes widen as his usually innocent and sunshine personality switches to an aggressive demeanor. you catch up to him and stop him from starting a second round of fighting. man, maybe yuuji was related to sukuna– the way both of them reacted instantly was too alike. 

“wait! oh my god, hold on!” your hands push into his chest and he looks at you incredulously. “he got beat up at the party! he got what he deserved,” yuuji looked properly confused. 

“megumi never told me he beat up someone, what?” 

“it wasn’t megumi, yuu! it was sukuna.” 

his face dropped the confusion and something unreadable replaced it. “...oh, i see. he saw that shit happen to you then?” 

your face blanched. you didn’t think about that. did sukuna just watch you get assaulted? you wracked your brain to figure out the chronological order of events, but the adrenaline in the memory made everything a blur. “i.. i don’t know, maybe!”

yuuji’s face hardened.  “and he did nothing to stop it?” 

you had to defend sukuna, he literally beat up the slimeball for you. there was definitely something you were missing, but you didn’t know what. your voice was wavering. “megumi stopped it, so it’s fine, yuu! can we drop it now? please?” 

yuuji notices that this was getting hard for you to talk about, and his anger for his brother was getting displaced onto you. he softens, shoulders untensing. “I’m sorry, [name]. that was shitty of me to grill you.” he looks away, a guilty look falling on him. you wrap your arms around his torso and squeeze lightly. “it’s okay, yuu. i know you’re just worried for me. i really appreciate it.” he squeezes you back tighter. “i feel horrible that i was trashed and did nothing to help you. that’s so not what a best friend should do,” he says into your hair. you sigh, cheek pressed on his chest. “seriously, i don’t blame you. i just.. don’t know how to feel about it yet, so be patient with me.” he squeezes you tighter. “i’m gonna be here for you always, babe. nobara, megs, all of us okay? if you ever need to talk about it don’t hesitate. i love you so much,” your heart swells with warmth. you knew how much your friends cared for you, you never had a doubt about it. “you’re gonna make a bitch cry, yuuji, seriously,” you fake punch him in the stomach and he doubles over groaning, playing along. “now, i’m going to teach you that physics problem and you’re going to understand it,” you pull away from his chest to shake a strict finger at him, lips quirking in a smile. he gives you a firm salute and starts bounding to the apartments. “sir yes sir!” 

when you entered the flat again, you make a beeline towards the bathroom upstairs. you hadn’t noticed your eyes got teary enough to smudge your makeup during your heart to heart with yuuji. he was bent over with laughter when he showed your raccoon face to you in his phone’s front camera, earning him a smack. 

you’re looking down at your own phone as you walk up the stairs to take a better look, when you’re met with a wall you didn’t notice before. or wait.. a firm surface? sukuna has an arm propped on the wall before the bathroom, and he was looking straight down at you. 

your face goes red immediately, and you can’t back up because you’d end up tumbling down the stairs. a weird checkmate. “so what’s with you avoiding– why are your eyes like that?” his eyebrows go from serious to confused. you frown up at him and start wiping at them. “is it really that bad? god…” a rough hand holds your chin and pushes your head up, the other rubbing under your eye gently with his thumb. 

“you cryin’, sweetheart?”

his voice rumbled in a whisper, breath on fanning on your lips. your heart was pounding so hard in your ears you barely heard him. you were so close you could see his stubble, the scar on his upper lip, even the intricacy of his neck tattoo. 

“no, i wasn’t, well– actually i was, but not for the reason you think-”

 your eyes drift to the bathroom door as you ramble until the hand that was holding your chin is now wrapped around the small of your back, just shy of your ass. 

you shut up. 

he smirks.

“alright, you just look like a panda then. now, are you gonna tell me why you're avoiding me?”

 your face pulls into a mild glower. “i’m not avoiding you, what?” 

“yeah, you are. didn’t say hi to me.” your hands press on his chest to ease from the proximity. you notice he’s wearing a wife pleaser like the first day you met him. what was your mind going to? your eyes flick back up quickly and narrow at him. 

“we’re not even friends, why would i say hi to you?” 

his head leans closer to yours, noses almost touching. "didn't yuuji tell you to get along with me?"

 you glare. "he never said that, asshole." 

sukuna gave you a vexed look. did you expect him to remember the words verbatim? "okay, he said some bullshit about warming up to each other! god, you're so difficult." 

"me? difficult?” a scoff leaves your lips. all you could think was that the audacity of this man was unbelievable. “you are literally cornering me to talk to me!" you gesture to the position you were both in, but he didn’t seem to budge.

sukuna huffs, almost petulantly. you try to push him away, but the grip of his hand on your back wasn’t letting you go. he didn’t get the answer he needed from you, and he wasn’t going to let you leave without it. between the party and now, something had happened for you to act so differently. you were so soft and open with him that night, but now? it was back to square one. 

“...you’re still in the way! seriously sukuna, what do you want from me?” you were exasperated at this point. his insistence would be endearing, if he wasn’t such a major fuckwad. honestly, out of every girl he could have bothered, he had to choose you? where was that other girl he was so stuck to anyway? why couldn’t he have just called her instead of holding you hostage and bombarding you with questions about your attitude? your irritation was growing, and his lack of response only proved to increase your frustration. why was he just looking at you?

sukuna was wracking his brain to form a coherent thought after you dropped that bomb on him. what did he want from you? this was unlike him to chase after a girl, and to almost harass her over a simple ‘hi’? he was obsessed over what? fucking hello kitty band-aids. he’s barely keeping his hands off of you with the way you were staring at him, assessing his every feature. your cheeks were puffed and rosy, your eyes still blotchy with mascara but god, you looked so perfect standing before him. he wanted to kiss you. he wanted to kiss you so bad. he wanted to kiss you that night when you told him his eyes were sanguine red. what the fuck did that even mean? he had to look that shit up and lo and behold, it was the perfect shade match. you were so fucking smart it pissed him off. he enjoyed riling you up by telling you otherwise. he wanted to yank those lavender ribbons out of your hair and never give them back. it was so perverse; the way he was holding you wasn’t enough for him. you smelled like honey and sandalwood, he couldn’t get that out of his head ever since you rode behind him on his motorcycle. he wanted his bed to smell like you. he longed to wake up there and it would be the first thing to hit his senses. this was testing his restraint in ways he didn’t know existed. he knew he couldn’t cross that line, this was mental to even consider doing! what was doing him in so badly?? even he didn’t know what had gotten into him. all he knew was that he felt a little more than just irked you were taking precautions to avoid interaction, especially when he was dying internally to merely hold your gaze.

 “y’know, i really need to go to the bathroom, so if you have nothing to say to me, i’m leaving. stick to teasing other girls.” a pregnant pause. his face fell at your last sentence, it definitely held some edge on your tone. sukuna shifted, a hand going up to your cheek. you scrunch your brows in flushed inquisition. he looks to the side before bringing his eyes back to you. they appeared poignant, almost wistful. you weren’t able to discern why, though. his voice was more delicate this time.

“..did you feel–”

“you okay babe?” yuuji’s voice from below snaps both of you out of your heated exchange. sukuna’s hands drop from you like they never belonged there to begin with. you take the opportunity to finally go to the bathroom, accidentally shouldering sukuna as you push past him. yuuji’s worried expression immediately becomes one of annoyance as he watches his brother come down instead, sourness cast on his rough face. “are you kidding me? what was that about?” yuuji had his arms crossed, jaw ticking. sukuna halts and turns to face him. “mind your fuckin’ business, brat.” yuuji bites back an insult, opting to check up on you instead. he knew he couldn’t start something with sukuna when you were home as well. 

yuuji knocks on the door of the bathroom. “did sukuna say anything to you?” you were in the middle of splashing water to cool your flaming cheeks. “no, it’s fine! don’t even worry,” you call back loudly, drying your face in a manner that was definitely too rough on the skin. 

your mind was racing with images of sukuna, his lips, the feel of him holding you, his cologne stuck in your nose– coming to do physics at the apartment was supposed to be a distraction from what was going on between you two. how come when you threw yourself more into your work, this idiot would weasel his way back to you! 

you look at yourself in the mirror and you cringe at the sight. yikes. the combination of no makeup and your blotchiness was not the best. as you go to pick up your phone from the counter, you see the time flash. 2:35AM. you were an hour past the time you wanted to leave, you had an 8am that next day. technically, it was already the next day.. you wince. sighing and opening the door, and there was yuuji. “i know i said we need to finish the problems, but i’m really tired yuu,” you admit with a nervous laugh. “i have anatomy and physiology at 8 tomorrow, and i can totally explain it to you at lunch! right?” this had got to be the lamest excuse. coming from you, the person who never avoided doing work, it was suspicious to say the least. the morning class was buyable, but procrastination was not in your vocabulary. yuuji suffered firsthand from you about it. he raises a brow. “aaalright, no worries. don’t have to tell me twice.” he laughs back weakly. this was becoming extremely awkward. both of you were acting off and the silence that followed did not help either of your cases. “okay! so i’m just gonna head home, get my things, yup!” your voice was weirdly pitchy and before yuuji could question it, you were already down the stairs in a blast. “wha– girl, let me at least pay for the uber!” he calls after you. 

you start collecting your computer and belongings into your tote bag, quickly moving. you almost trip over while putting on your shoes, slipping them on carelessly. you had matched with an uber surprisingly fast and it was already 4 minutes away. sukuna had rounded the corner from the kitchen upon hearing your commotion, yuuji on his tail. “whoa, you’re goin’ now? it’s too late at night, let me–” you throw a hand in sukuna’s face. “you’re not giving me a ride, i brought my car.” having another experience of prolonged close proximity with him in the same night was too much for you to handle. besides, this time you thankfully had a saving grace. barely. “at least let me walk you down, it’s dark as hell outside.” sukuna looked sincere in his concern, but yuuji was eyeing him indignantly. “you okay with that, babe?” yuuji gives you a face that says it was okay to say no, but you nod your head in reassurance. “yeah, it’s fine. i’ll see you tomorrow, yuu.” you blow him a small kiss with your two fingers like you usually did, and he mirrors it back. sukuna puts on the first pair of shoes he sees, already halfway out the door when you turn back around. he gestures to you to get a move on with his head, earning an eye roll from you. 

you walk out and he closes the door behind you, giving yuuji one last wave. the walk down to your car was wordless, and sukuna didn't look at you once. better than him looking at you fervently, you suppose. when you step into the driver’s seat and reach to close the door, he stops you. his tall figure crouches down to meet your level, now meeting your gawking stare. again? 

“you didn’t let me finish earlier.” 

your eyes dart to the console, fingers fidgeting. “okay, out with it then,” you mumbled. 

“i wanted to ask you if you felt the same shit i felt that night when you told me that stuff about my eyes.” 

his body language was firmly attentive to you, but his voice had a weird waver to it. he remembered what you said about his eyes? what did he mean, feel the same shit? the silver chain around his neck dangled between the both of you, glinting in the streetlight as it moved. you noticed he was breathing deeply. nervously? what the fuck. “what are you talking about?” he silently cursed and readjusted his footing, clearly uncomfortable with the fact he needed to spell it out. he wasn’t exactly in touch with his emotions. “you really are the most difficult fuckin’ girl i’ve ever met, fuckin’ hell. just tell me what you meant by it.” you peer at him from the side of your eyes, trying to search his face. you were pretty confused at what he was trying to get at overall, but you just answered his question. “nothing. your eyes are just sanguine red. i like that color.” his lips quirk up and he angles his head at you. “you like my eyes?” your face flames. “i said i liked the color! what is it with you and mishearing people?” you throw back. with a huff you turn the key to turn on the engine, which prompted him to move out of the way so you could shut the door, him laughing at your irritation. he knocks on the window and motions you to lower it. you oblige angrily. 

“you literally have 10 seconds or i swear to god i’m running over your toes.” you seethe. 

his stupidly handsome face was just egging you on. his hair was tousled, the wind breezing through it gently and he looked unfairly good. you shivered with the chill going up your neck. he licks his lips and you watch it shamelessly. he notes this. 

“just tellin’ you that you got lucky with your car today. whenever you think about getting an uber, don’t. you’re not getting in a car with any other man besides me.” 

your heart skips a beat. nope, that was just a palpitation. your heart does not skip for sukuna, you did not consent to it. before you can register it, he flicks your nose with a grin. you rapidly blink, enlisting more cackles out of him. you punch him in the arm before he’s running back to the apartments. “not fucking happening!” you yell after him, head sticking out of your window. you fume all the way home, your music turned up to drown out the pounding in your chest. 

when sukuna opens the door, he’s met with a really pissed off yuuji. “you need to leave [name] alone, ryomen.” sukuna knew this was coming given that he witnessed your altercation to a certain degree, but he was definitely overreacting. he’s kicking his shoes off and trudges to the couch, unbothered. 

“i’m not doing shit to her, yuu. it’s just teasing.” 

sukuna leans to grab the remote off the table when yuuji grabs it instead. “i’m fucking serious. stop fucking around with my friends.” 

sukuna looks up at him with a raised brow, jaw flexed. “i said, i’m not doing shit to her.” 

yuuji laughs bitterly and shakes his head. “i’m not four anymore, ryo. i can see what you’re doing and you need to quit now.” he jabs a finger on his brother’s chest, which garners him to stand up and face him, his height paralleling yuuji’s. sukuna was just as irritated now. looking down at yuuji, he takes a moment before he speaks so it doesn’t end up in curses. 

“you forget you’re speaking to your aniki, brat.” he grits through his teeth, fists balled up on either side of him, shoulders tense. 

yuuji’s eyes narrow. “she doesn’t need someone like you fucking her life up, ryomen. i don’t care if we’re brothers, if you toy with her and she ends up hurt, i’m killing you.” 

sukuna suddenly gives him a shove to the chest. “and you need to mind your fuckin’ business like i told you to!” 

yuuji’s face flashes with mild shock at sukuna getting physical, backing up with a stutter. “so what, you’re gonna fucking hit me now? what is wrong with you lately!” yuuji throws his hands up in the air and paces the room intensely. 

sukuna’s stony face falters, his arms relaxing. what was he doing?

 “you always do this shit! you talk about respecting women and you can’t seem to fucking treat one right! is it because of mom? how much longer are you going to hold on to that?!” 

sukuna begins to bound towards him to give him a real piece of his mind but yuuji throws the remote on the couch towards sukuna, cutting him off and gesturing aggressively. “but you know what? that’s not my shit to figure out. if you want to distract yourself from your baggage, that’s fine by me, but like i said, [name] deserves SO much more than someone like you.” he spat, chest heaving from his tirade. “i’m going to bed. you can see yourself out.” the younger itadori brother’s stomps fade into the apartment as the other is left speechless, thoughts muddy with guilt and a reopened wound.

the next day you had plans to meet with nobara at the university coffee shop, which made you mildly uneasy. with your permission, yuuji had told nobara about the party situation and her reaction was similar to his, and she had approached you at lunch to talk about it. it went rather smoothly so you didn’t feel so horrible about retelling your thoughts– nobara just understood.

what you hadn’t told her was the events of yesterday with sukuna, and those were definitely going to be coaxed out of you over coffee. she had a knack for making you empty your guts with her. it was her evil superpower, you say.  your shoes clack on the tile floor of the small joint that resided by your university as you made your way inside, head flitting to search for your redhead. it was a cozy spot, mostly run by employees that were also students at the university. the owners were an old couple that were alumni and had the place built on the courtyard spot they had first met at. the story was widely known by students and carried the spirit of the place, pictures of them and other former students littering the walls. you found it absolutely adorable as a hopeless romantic. you finally spot nobara waving at you by a window table and make your way towards her. “you look cute today, any special occasion?” you shrug, a small smile on your lips. “it’s 10 degrees warmer today, so i decided to celebrate.” “well i’m loving the skirt, don’t be surprised when i borrow it.” you giggle, sticking your tongue at her. “you mean steal, not borrow.” nobara pretends to weigh the two words with her hands. “steal, borrow, it’s all very subjective babe.” you set your bag down on the chair next to yours, a stray piece of hair falling in front of your face in the process. “hey, you.” your head spins to where you heard the deep voice and finds a tall black-haired man. “oh hi, suguru!”

nobara looks at you with a question mark on her face, eyes flicking to him and then you. you give her a little “stop it!” look with your eyes, hoping he didn’t see it. geto was awfully observant and a smooth talker to boot, so you were generally screwed much to your oblivion.

he leans a hand on the back of your chair and tucks the stray hair piece behind your ear. “you look pretty as per usual,” his grin was mind melting. your clothes suddenly felt too warm even though they were the most ventilating pieces you owned. you throw a hand in flattery at him, gushing. “oh stop, you’re too sweet!”

if nobara didn’t have questions before, she certainly did now. from the corner of your eye you could see her gaping at the scene unfolding before her.

you feel embarrassed with the display you had created and changed the subject quickly. “oh, this is nobara, by the way. you probably didn’t see her at the party but she was the one with the green haired girl.” suguru snaps and points at her. “you were the one fucking up the dance floor! i remember,” he sticks a hand out and nobara shakes it firmly, a too-sugary smile plastered on her lips. you could tell she was assessing the guy to his very bones.

“that’s me! and the girl with me was my girlfriend maki.” suguru nods in recollection. “well it’s nice to officially meet you, outside of the frat stuff! it can be a lot sometimes," he glances back at you and frowns apologetically. “which is technically why i came over to talk. i really wanted to say sorry for what went down. the pres, todo, is handling mahito’s consequences so i hope that reassures you,” he looks at you with a face of worry and concern.

“i’m glad not all frats are shitty,” nobara tells him vaguely, code for “thanks for doing your fucking job for once”. he chuckles nervously and nods in thanks. “well, i’ll leave you guys to your coffee now. sorry again,” he pats your head and beams, vanishing out the door with a jingle of the bell overhead. instantly, nobara slammed questions down back to back in hushed screams. “what the fuck was that?! and he tucked your hair? what is this, bridgerton? you didn’t freaking tell me about meeting a GUY at the party, you bitch!” you begged her to quiet down as people started paying attention to the wild hand movements she was doing. nobara, oh my god please! it’s been literally two days!” “yeah, two days of girl code betrayal! i needed to know this shit like yesterday!” she squealed at you and shook your shoulders. you wince at the bombardment and wave an imaginary flag of surrender.

“okay, okay fine! at least let me order my coffee?” she abruptly stops for a moment and notices that you in fact had nothing in front of you. “oh em gee i didn’t even peep that, my bad.” she holds her hands together in a “please forgive me” position. you both immediately burst into giggles. “buy me a cookie?” “you got it.”

you walk up the register and ask for your favorite drink and nobara’s cookie. the girl that took your order was really nice to you for some reason, but you weren’t complaining. she was giggling a lot when she rang you up, which was odd but.. okay.

“your boyfriend is so sweet, by the way. i wish mine tried half as much,”

ohhhh. she must’ve seen you and suguru talking. you let out a small laugh and brush it off. “oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” you say. her brows furrow in confusion. “the pink haired guy with tattoos? he literally told me to give this to his girl in green ribbons!”

you notice there’s a pain au chocolat on the bill that you didn’t put down. pink hair.. there’s really just two choices in that description. you flip around to see if yuuji or sukuna were around, and from the outside of the cafe in the courtyard, you see sukuna leaned on the bricks, smoking. he gives you a small wave, cigarette in hand. you roll your eyes in disgust and ignore him. insistent asshole and a nicotine addict, great.

you turn back to the girl and give her a nervous smile, awkwardly accepting the free pastry. you didn’t tell nobara about the occurrence because you could handle only so much whiplash from shaking in one day. she just took it as another freebie from you and ate it happily.

you rub your temples and sigh. something tells you you’re going to have to be a lot firmer with sukuna going forward.

ahh! this was lowk a pain to format but i hope you loved it :) also, some people wanted to be in a taglist!! here they are:

@kawliflo @deepcloudspyhairdo just so i don't lose track, my taglist will tag you for any of my works! if you choose to opt out, please message/inbox :) also, i will cap it eventually! don't worry about this because i cross-post on ao3, and they also have a subscribe feature that can notify you when i post :)

peace luv bathtub!!!

© sozila 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other mediums or sites. cross-posted on ao3 and tumblr under same alias.

[astarion-approves]

astarion reacts to tav being betrayed by a loved one and tav getting injured during the betrayal?

Astarion x Gender Neutral Tav! - Fucking Randy Astarion first person POV - it's alright lol I can't even think of a summary for this...

Tags: More humor than angst, first person pov (Astarion), 500+ words, drabble, poor description of a fight, OOC Astarion

Summary: Honestly, I don't know what Tav saw in that human. A complete jackass, and one that would eventually get them killed.

Read here or on AO3

-------------------

The battle started just as any other. Tav ahead of us, usually sticking their nose where it didn’t belong, insulting strangers without a second thought, or even just punching someone at random for the hell of it. It was one of the things that made me approve of them so quickly. Their… ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude. I admired it. Loved it, really. 

Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one. 

His name was Randy. Yes, Randy, if you can believe it. A human male who was tall and lanky, but not in an unattractive way— again, unfortunately for me. Somehow he had managed to woo Tav before we’d even met. The barbarian was a complete savage, encouraging Tav to make admittedly stupid decisions, drinking past his limit, and taking advantage of Tav’s kindness without them even realizing it. 

It came as no surprise when Tav spit straight into the face of someone trying to intimidate our group. Hell, I laughed in response. Watching someone wipe spit from their face in shock is never not funny. Disgusting, obviously, but hilarious nevertheless.

Shadowheart clicked her tongue and readied her weapon, Gale doing much the same but with a heavy sigh, Randy (fucking Randy, really? Seriously? Randy? RANDY?!) revealed his sword and steadied it in his hands, and my lovely self exposed my dangers— each of us ready to destroy those who stood before us. 

Tav grinned at their lover, laughing as Randy lunged forward and buried his sword into the spit covered face of the one that stood before them. A dagger would have been a better choice, but who am I to judge? Right? I was only a fucking magistrate. 

Fucker. 

Soon other’s flooded into the area, the quick murder drawing their attention to our group. Tav and Randy worked their way through the group, the rest of us picking off the rangers that tried to hide. 

A quick fight, as it usually was with our group… 

But then… something happened. 

A shot of fire, heading directly towards Tav and Randy— Shadowheart wasn’t fast enough to shield them and the pair were vulnerable against it. I heard Tav scream as Randy grabbed their shoulders and pushed them in front of himself. I could only watch as the fire flew towards them and exploded against Tav’s chest. They fell to the ground, landing on their side, no longer breathing. 

Gale cast a spell in the direction of the killer, but I wasn’t paying attention, I was running to Tav. 

They laid on the ground, their eyes open and staring into nothing, mouth hanging open as if they were still screaming from the blow. I dropped to my knees beside them, cradling their head in my lap, my hands tapping on their cheeks, words flying from my mouth but I didn’t even know what I was saying. 

“Leave them,” Randy said. “We need to keep moving.” 

I flung my dagger into his skull. 

Shadowheart began casting spells, anything they could do to bring Tav back—

But they still laid there. 

Luckily, all we had to do was carry them back to camp and Withers was able to bring them back from the dead. 

Randy we left behind. Because fuck Randy. 

And now, tonight, I’ll be making my first move on Tav. They’re still a little hurt from the betrayal, weeks later. And… they also tell us stories of their nightmares and the cool chill of death that lingers and haunts them— 

But they blush when they look at me, and that’s good enough for me. 

[queercontrarian]

Eris calls in his bargain with Rhysand: he wants Nesta to join him in the Autumn Court to help him in his scheme to bring down his father.

happy eris week fuckers. this one goes out to @secret-third-thing for being so endlessly patient with me. also thank you to @fieldofdaisiies for being the best beta i could ask for. i love you, please enjoy ♡

@erisweekofficial

Read the whole chapter on AO3

The Bargain

For as long as she could remember, Nesta had had no illusions about life being fair. Her mother had rid her of that idea when she was just a stupid little girl, but despite how well she had been prepared for disappointment Rhysand’s announcement still felt like one giant cosmic joke.

Silence. Complete and utter silence was ringing in her ears as Nesta waited for the male to say something else. Anything else. She had to have misheard him. There had to be a misunderstanding, some sick joke or a cruel prank for how she had behaved in the past year. But she had been good recently, she had tried…

Cassian’s voice pulled her out of her stupor. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asked loudly, as if to challenge Rhys to say it again. He wasn’t the only one. No one in the room seemed to comprehend what their High Lord had just announced to them. Cassian was holding Nesta’s hand almost painfully tight, but she was grateful for the anchor, tethering her to the couch, to here and now. Her head was buzzing.

“Eris demands that Nesta join him in the Autumn Court,” Rhys repeated, “To support him in his scheme to bring down Beron. That is what he demands as his part of the bargain.”

“You can’t be serious.” The words broke out of her as she was thinking them and immediately all eyes snapped to her. The ringing in her ears persisted as she felt herself slowly turn to stone under the combined scrutiny of the room and she reverted into her own space. This could not be happening to her right now. She felt the fire thrum in her blood, icy power bubbling up in her, and did her best to fight it down.

“Well, so much for finding out where his loyalties lie. There's your answer I guess,” Amren quipped, leaning back in her armchair. Mor clicked her tongue at her friend and Amren threw up her hands in frustration. “I’m just saying.”

Mor’s face was nearly as pale as Feyre’s, who was clinging to the pillow in her lap like a shield. “I thought our support was to be given after Eris is already High Lord,” she said, “That you would help validate his claim to the throne or whatever he would need after takeover.” Lucien snorted and then quickly cleared his throat as the attention shifted to his corner of the room.

“Apologies, Morrigan, but why would he need help when he is already High Lord? If the magic chooses him, isn't that claim enough?” Amren hummed, choosing to inspect her nails while Mor tried to launch into an explanation.

“I’m just saying, it’s not–”

Azriel interrupted, finishing Mor’s sentence for her. “This isn't the kind of–” He paused, looking at Nesta for a short moment before looking away, “-support we promised.” Both Mor and Cassian nodded at that. Nesta stayed frozen in her seat.

“And besides, his bargain is with you, not Nesta,” Feyre threw in, still clawing at the pillow in her lap. Rhys nodded but his expression was pained.

"That is correct.” Nesta drew in another deep breath. “I am, however, the High Lord Nesta has sworn fealty to. She is part of the Court, and as High Lord I am the Court and the Court is me."

For a long moment no one said anything as they let the reality of the situation sink in, trying to process what Rhysand had laid out for them. Nesta closed her eyes and breathed out shakily before opening her eyes again. Cassian gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Reject it,” he said, his voice impossibly calm and steady, “This bargain is out of the question.” He squeezed her hand again, and Nesta wasn’t sure if it was meant to reassure her or him. Her hand felt so cold. She could feel her power’s pulse in her palm and quickly pulled her hand away from Cassian’s.

“The bargain was made long ago. And unfortunately Eris has already told me that any other solution to our deal will be unacceptable to him,” Rhys explained. “He will consider our bargain unfulfilled. This is the support he wants, the only support he’ll take." For the first time he met Nesta’s eyes and she almost believed the sorrow in them when he said “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

She didn't know what to do with that admission. Frankly, she didn't want to acknowledge that any of this was happening at all. Nesta didn't want to speak, she didn't even want to think. She tugged at a loose thread on her dress, wondering if the whole stitching would come undone if she kept pulling. Silver lights danced at the edge of her vision and she squeezed her eyes shut to snuff them out. It was too much, all of it. She had to be dreaming.

Cassian jumped to his feet, pacing a few steps through the room, his wings thrown out wide. She could almost see him tremble with anger. “Nesta is her own person. She can make her own choices, he can't force her to go," he growled, pointing his finger accusingly at his brother. Nesta shivered. Yes he could. He very well could, otherwise they wouldn’t be sitting here.

“He doesn’t have to. I do,” Rhysand replied, running his hand across his face. There was a deep tiredness in his voice that revealed to Nesta that they had already lost this battle.

“And because you are High Lord she has to follow,” Azriel concluded for him. Rhys nodded again and Mor scoffed, though her grasp on the back of the couch gave her true feelings away. It was fear, not anger, that had her fingers damn near piercing the expensive upholstery, the furniture groaning under her tight grip. She too already knew they would find no way out. There was no solution to this but what Eris had laid out for them.

Nesta saw the shield around Feyre light up before she noticed the silver flames licking at her own fingers, and she balled her hands into fists quickly trying to extinguish the fire but it was too late. Before she could even think of anything else Rhysand smothered her in a wave of darkness.

The fire did not go quietly, hissing and cracking so violently that Nesta herself tried to jump away from it, though with the couch at her back there was nowhere to go. Through the noise of the fire she heard several people call out to her but she could place neither where their voices were coming from nor who was reaching out. She closed her eyes, trying to calm down and center herself despite the fire around her, stoically following the mind stilling exercises Gwyn had taught her. Nesta let out another shaky breath and a sudden calm washed over her. She felt her heartbeat thunder in her ears, her blood rushing through her veins along with something else, something older, stronger, fiercer.

Finally, the prickling feeling left her fingers and the fire went out, taking the overwhelming darkness with it. A shocked silence had fallen over the room. Nobody dared to move. Still, Nesta kept her fists closed as if moving her hands even a little bit could rekindle the flames. She was shaking, and she was cold, she was so cold…

“I’m sorry,” she forced out, sounding much more cool and collected than she felt, “I don't know–” She grabbed a fistful of her own dress and felt pure relief when it didn’t catch on fire between her fingers. Gradually, she felt the air around her warm up again as the conversation picked up anew. When she opened her hands she found her fingernails had left tiny crescents pressed into her palm.

“Is there really no way out of it?” Elain asked, her soft voice shaking. “Could you not just… release Nesta from her oath? Then she wouldn’t have to go.” Mor shook her head but it was Lucien who answered. She heard him as if from far away.

“If it was before Eris had voiced his intent to take Nesta as support for the bargain that might have worked, but now that we know… you can’t cheat a bargain.”

Nesta tried to breathe evenly as she inspected the wounds in her palm closer. They weren't simple bruises; she had burned the shapes into her skin. Still, it didn't hurt and Nesta quickly hid her hands under the blanket before anyone else could notice what she had done to herself.

“But it could work. We could risk it, we could stall…” Feyre was nearly pleading, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. There were tears in her icy blue eyes, and Nesta was almost surprised to find she cared so much. Then again her sister cared about everyone, even her. Once more, Lucien was the one to squash her hopes.

“No, Feyre, you can’t risk it. Rhysand won't risk it. Broken bargains are certain to end in catastrophe, but a willfully ignored bargain is just as unpredictable. You remember how badly you were doing in the months after we left Under The Mountain-” Feyre winced but Lucien pressed on, “-and now with the pregnancy… there’s no margin of error for you, and Eris knows it. It's likely why he chose this moment to strike.” Nesta glanced at Rhysand for confirmation. The male had paled noticeably; once again, her sister's life was put on the scale.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Feyre asked, the hurt in her voice painfully obvious even as her mate reached out to her with his hand.

“I only found out yesterday. I'm so sorry, Feyre darling.” But Feyre pushed him away.

“Yesterday was almost twenty hours ago.”

“I know, I was trying… I was trying to find a way out of it, a way to evade the bargain, to-”

“Twenty hours, Rhys,” Feyre reminded him, her voice shaking.

Azriel muttered a curse under his breath, offering a very creative new idea on what Eris should bargain for next, and Nesta withdrew into herself as chaos erupted in the room, Cassian, Feyre and Rhysand all yelling at each other. There was nothing she could have done anyway as everyone else was dragged down the same path Eris had prepared for them.

We'll play later, Nesta Archeron. Had he known then? What had she done? What had he seen that had convinced him he needed her?

When she finally looked up her eyes found Lucien's almost immediately. The male had stayed across the room from her while the Inner Circle argued amongst each other, standing so still he was nearly blending into the wall. His scarred face bore a curious expression. A tad worried, maybe. For her? They barely knew each other. His metal eye whirred in its socket and he turned to the side, his hand reaching up to his face. Nesta could almost feel the high ‘plink’ noise reverberating through her skull as he tapped the eye once and then a second time when it would not stop moving. She quickly focused her attention elsewhere.

Amren seemed to have found a new target in Mor, who was still standing frozen behind the sofa, her dark wine-stained lips a stark contrast to her pale face.

“Well, don't stand there staring like a struck deer,” she mocked the female, throwing a piece of candy from the table in her direction, which Mor elegantly dodged, “it's not you who's going after all.” Mor opened her mouth as if to retort, her pretty face pulled into a mask of fury, while Amren grabbed some more candy to throw.

“Stop it, both of you,” Cassian interrupted sharply, placing himself between the two, “this isn’t helping anyone.”

“You can't tell me what to do,” Amren shot back, but she settled on her couch again, instead opening the paper wrapper of one of the chocolates and popping it into her mouth.

Feyre’s sudden groan of pain broke the petty arguments up right away. Her sister grabbed the back of her armchair hard, face twisted into a grimace. Her mate was at her side in a second.

“What is it?” he asked anxiously, trying to put a hand on her back to feel her pain. Feyre slapped his arm away.

“I am fine,” she said through gritted teeth. Everyone watched as they stared at each other, apparently engaged in another intense mind to mind communication until Feyre broke, turning her face away from her husband.

“Rhys, I said I am fine, I am fucking fine,” she snapped, walking a few steps backwards, out of his reach. Another wave of pain shook her and she pressed her hands into her lower back with a groan. When Lucien reached out to stabilize her, Rhysand growled. Immediately Feyre’s head whipped back to him, her eyes narrowed with anger.

“How deep do you want your grave to be?” she hissed at her husband, “Fucking keep it together.”

Silence fell over the room. The only sound was Feyre's heavy breathing, the crackling fire across the room and, of course, Amren’s candy wrappings. It lasted several seconds before Azriel finally spoke up.

“Perhaps you should discuss this amongst yourselves,” he suggested carefully, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Rest for a while. You're both burdened with far more than anyone should carry, just take this moment to talk it out.” Rhysand hesitated but Feyre nodded briskly.

“Let’s,” she said coolly, gathering herself for a moment before heading for the door without looking back. Rhys followed her much more cautiously.

Nesta tuned out the hushed discussion between the remaining members of Rhysand's inner circle pondering possible solutions that weren’t directly playing into Eris’s hands, looking for loopholes or, in Azriel’s case, the merits of murdering Eris before the bargain could be fulfilled. Nesta wasn't sure of what to do. She didn’t want to participate in the fruitless discussions and she didn’t want to leave alone. She wouldn’t even know where to go - she couldn’t make it back to the House of Wind on her own. So she waited.

Eventually Elain came to sit by her side, leaning her head against her shoulder like she used to when they were kids. Her sister's dress rustled as she tried to get comfortable. It sounded louder still to Nesta's numb brain. Elain smelled like cinnamon and apples and Nesta suddenly, ridiculously, felt sad that none of them would be able to properly enjoy whatever delicacy her sister had baked for their dinner.

“Are you alright?” Elain asked quietly, in that soft, almost sad tone she adopted as of late whenever she spoke with Nesta. Nesta barked out a laugh.

“Obviously not.” Her tone was biting but her sister only nodded.

“Figures,” she mumbled. Nesta only stared back at her incredulously. Then she scoffed.

“Some seer you are. Such perspicacity, what astute observations you enlighten us with,” Nesta muttered. But when Elain looked up and met her eyes she couldn’t help herself. They both burst into laughter, quickly hiding their giggles behind their hands to not startle the others. They might think Feyre's sisters had lost their minds at last, cackling like two crows on a branch at the misfortune of some poor fool down below. And maybe they had, only the poor fool was Nesta’s role to play and misfortune was what the Mother had woven into her life from the day she had spun the first thread of her fate.

All three of them, Mother, Seer and Lady Death herself already knew that there was no changing this path, no matter what the others might tell themselves.

Nesta was going to Autumn.

◇

Read the whole chapter on AO3

[starrierknight]

𝟎𝟎𝟕. 𝐠𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ 'Cause I'm all that you want, boy / All that you can have, boy / Got me spread like a buffet / Bon a—, bon appétit, baby — Katy Perry, Bon Appétit

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 7.2k

pairing— rough!dom!gn!reader x needy!sub!gojo

cws/tags— flatmates to fuckers, foodplay (melted chocolate), masochist satoru, finger sucking/face fucking, oral fixation, biting & gagging, petnames (“sweet thing” & “sugar”), spit kink, semi-clothed sex, reader is AFAB & wears a skirt + panties but isn’t gendered, oral (reader receiving), unprotected p in v

You stood in the dimly lit apartment's kitchen, a soft glow emanating from the pendant lights overhead, casting a warm ambience over the space. Positioned in front of the sleek, marble-topped island, you rested your hands on your hips, frustration evident in your furrowed brow.

In the midst of this culinary battlefield, three small bowls sat before you, each containing once-promising chocolate that had succumbed to the unpredictable art of tempering. The rich aroma still lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle notes of vanilla from earlier attempts. The chocolate, normally a delight, now seemed to mock your culinary ambitions.

As you peered down at the bowls a sense of disappointment washed over you, knowing that the dream of presenting homemade Halloween chocolates had met an untimely demise. A heavy sigh escaped your lips, a mixture of frustration and resignation, as you brought your hand up to rub the tense muscles at the back of your neck. The dream of crafting perfect, glossy chocolates for the spooky season had slipped through your fingers. 

Satoru, your affable and easygoing flatmate, stepped into the room, the soft fabric of his customary loungewear draped loosely over his athletic frame. The dim lighting of the apartment accentuated the subdued tones of his grey sweatpants and the way the black compression t-shirt clung to his physique, emphasising the sinewy contours of his muscled form. Each movement he made seemed to embody a sort of graceful confidence, a testament to his inherent athleticism.

However, as he crossed the threshold into the kitchen, an air of concern etched itself onto his handsome features. His normally unwavering composure faltered upon encountering your sour expression, directed toward the trio of pitiable bowls harbouring the remnants of your chocolaty struggle.

The scent, thick and enveloping, wafted through the room, a bittersweet reminder of the culinary clash that had taken place. He chose to remain still, absorbing the atmosphere and discerning the unspoken frustration that hung in the air.

You managed an awkward smile, a mixture of sheepishness and embarrassment colouring your expression.

"A failed experiment," you clarified, attempting to lighten the mood. "Any chance you have a sweet tooth?"

Satoru hesitated for a brief moment, contemplating the question. His curiosity got the better of him as he stepped closer to the kitchen island to inspect the unfortunate outcome of your chocolate endeavour. Extending a hand, he scooped a bit of the still-warm milk chocolate with his finger, eyeing it thoughtfully.

After a few contemplative moments, he turned to you with a playful yet polite inquiry, "D'you mind?"

You shrugged, your gaze shifting back to the three bowls with a resigned acceptance.

"Have at it. I can't have all of this by myself," you conceded, gesturing toward the bowls.

Finding a sense of shared amusement in the situation, you followed suit and dipped your own finger into the bowl containing the melted dark chocolate. Bringing it to your lips, you sampled the richness of the chocolate, the bittersweet taste momentarily distracting you from the earlier disappointment. 

Satoru's eyes, a vivid shade of blue that often held a sense of calm and composure, suddenly lit up with a spark of excitement—He had been granted permission to indulge in a long-awaited craving. Without hesitation, he dipped his fingers into the velvety pool of melted dark chocolate, his movements deliberate yet filled with a childlike enthusiasm.

As he brought his chocolate-coated fingers to his lips, his tongue skillfully sweeping away the decadent layer, the rosy hue of his lips contrasted beautifully with the rich darkness of the chocolate. 

He froze.

His sapphire eyes widened, locking onto the sight of you licking your own finger clean of the dark chocolate. A curious realisation washed over his expression, and a flicker of something deeper, something like a revelation, danced in his gaze.

Seizing the last remnants of the dark chocolate, you adeptly licked your finger clean, sampling the taste before moving on to the bowl of melted white chocolate. With a dip of your finger, you retrieved a dollop and raised it to your lips, tasting the creamy sweetness.

A hum escaped you, followed by a subtle wrinkling of your nose. "I'm not a big fan of white chocolate. Too sweet," you remarked, your taste buds delivering their verdict.

Satoru, still fixated on observing this simple act, the way you interacted with the chocolate, nodded in acknowledgement at your assessment. His face carried an intense curiosity, as if a peculiar notion was taking shape within his mind. However, he chose to keep it unspoken, opting to silently study you.

You shifted your position, perching on the kitchen island near the array of chocolate-filled bowls, anticipating that this impromptu chocolate-tasting session might extend for a while.

"D'you like white chocolate?" you inquired.

Satoru paused his indulgence for a moment, his lips still adorned with a delicate coat of chocolate. He nodded in response to your question, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, though his unwavering gaze remained locked onto you. With a casual ease, he delved into the white chocolate, his eyes staying fixed on you as he licked his finger clean.

"Y'know, since I moved in, I've noticed that you have a bit of a sweet tooth," you remarked, beginning to ramble. "I'm not surprised you like white chocolate. I mean, it has so little cocoa in it... Can it even be called chocolate, d'you think?"

Satoru's attention remained steadfastly fixed on you, his expression pensive as if pondering your words. His gentle smile conveyed an understanding, and his fingers absentmindedly weaved through his fluffy white hair while he took in your observations.

In a moment of quiet contemplation, he finally broke the silence, his voice soft but purposeful in its delivery. "Do you... Do that a lot?"

You looked at him, the question catching you slightly off guard. "Do what?" you inquired, a hint of amusement in your tone, as you dipped your finger into the inviting bowl of melted milk chocolate this time.

"Licking your fingers," he clarified, his voice carrying a subtle playfulness accompanied by a knowing smile. "Licking your fingers clean."

Your laughter danced through the air. "Sure, when there's melted chocolate involved... You'd be crazy not to, y'know?" 

Satoru continued to gaze at you with a gentle, almost dreamy smile, as if captivated by the act of you enjoying the chocolate. His demeanour carried a sense of reverence, akin to admiring a work of art. However, suddenly snapping out of this trance-like reverie, a subtle blush adorned his cheeks as he averted his gaze.

He cleared his throat and hummed, the sound breaking the quietness that had settled between you two. "Is that a habit of yours?"

You tilted your head to the side, considering his question as you had the remnants of chocolate, culminating in a soft 'pop' as you removed your finger from your mouth.

"If I had enough melted chocolate, then I could make it one," you mused.

Satoru's interest visibly piqued, and with a deliberate movement, he drew closer, inching towards you. His gaze remained fixed on you, observing with a gentle intensity as you continued to enjoy the chocolate. As he reached your side, he leaned with self-conscious nonchalance against the kitchen island.

Caught in the allure of the moment, Satoru's gaze remained fixed on your lips, captivated by the simple act of you licking your finger. The gentle rise of heat within him went unnoticed, overshadowed by his complete and unwavering focus on you, and the delicate sound of that 'pop’.

With a deep breath, drawn slow and deliberate, he collected his thoughts, grappling with a desire to express something that lay just beyond the surface. His voice, almost a whisper, emerged from within, barely audible but charged with unspoken sentiment. "Your tongue."

"Hm?"

Satoru nodded towards your lips, his words carrying a delicate weight, almost as if he were posing a question. 

"Your tongue," he whispered again, this time as if gently seeking understanding, his hand tentatively lifting toward your face, but hesitated mid-motion.

Your bemused expression remained intact as you pushed the bowl of white chocolate towards Satoru, ignoring the subtle undercurrents of the moment. "Yeah, I have one. Eat up, I can't finish all this by myself.”

Satoru's gaze shifted from the yearning in his eyes to one of unadulterated delight, like a child left unattended in a sweet shop. 

"Thanks," he said. With the same childlike enthusiasm, he dipped his finger into the white chocolate and licked it clean, relishing the creamy sweetness.

With a subtle shift, he moved the bowl closer to your side. His finger then dipped into the dark chocolate bowl, and he held it out to you, looking up with a gentle, inviting expression. Your smile remained genuine as you dipped your finger into the dark chocolate, indulging in its rich taste. As you licked your finger clean, indulging in the chocolatey delight, you noticed Satoru's presence, his gaze focused on the act with a kind of intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His deep hum of pleasure only added to the charged atmosphere, making you acutely aware of his fixation on your lips, your tongue, the movement of every gesture.

For Satoru, this innocent act held a captivating allure, his eyes ensnared by the graceful motion of your tongue, the way your finger was slowly inserted into your mouth, coated by a mix of saliva and chocolate. The heat within him surged, the internal struggle to maintain composure becoming more challenging with each passing moment. 

You dipped the corner of your thumb into the white chocolate bowl and confirmed your earlier assessment with a wrinkled nose.

"Nope. Still far too sweet," you murmured in good-natured complaint, aiming an accusatory glare at the offending bowl.

Satoru's focus remained intense, the proximity between the two of you forgotten. He took a deep breath, attempting to steady the rising tide of emotions that threatened to betray his composure. In a soft, barely audible whisper, he let out his unspoken admiration, a phrase that held a tenderness akin to an awe-filled sigh. 

"So pretty," he breathed, his lips forming a gentle, almost childlike smile.

"Did you say something?" you asked, momentarily distracted by your thoughts.

Satoru tore his gaze away from you and mumbled an apologetic, "Nothing."

He sought solace in the act of dipping his finger into the milk chocolate. The taste of chocolate melted on his taste buds, prompting a soft sigh of satisfaction as he closed his eyes. After a brief hesitation, he whispered, "Can I have more?"

His attention still captured by the subtle movements of your lips, he wrestled with the longing to taste your smile. The internal flames of desire roared, the struggle to maintain restraint growing more intense, and it was a miracle he hadn’t melted into a puddle of lust-sick goo.

"Sure, go ahead. I've got too much, and I don't wanna waste it," you replied casually, "I was gonna make some chocolates for Halloween, but I messed up tempering the chocolate, so they wouldn't come out right."

Satoru's attention was entranced, his senses consumed by the choreography of your speech. The movement of your lips, the delicate dance of your tongue against your teeth, the mesmerising gestures of your fingers—every nuance held a captivating allure for him. His gaze lingered on your lips, caught in the magnetic pull of your eyes and the subtle curves of your mouth as you spoke. Each syllable seemed to ripple through the air, carrying a delicate beauty that intoxicated him. Oh, how he yearned to draw closer and drink you in, to taste you and to feel you.

You dipped two fingers into the bowl of dark chocolate, the rich, velvety substance clinging to your digits as you simultaneously lifted them to your lips and expertly licked them clean with the graceful sweep of your tongue.

You broke the silence that had enveloped the kitchen. "Are you more of a sweets person or a chocolate person?"

As Satoru reflected on your question, his mind wandered back to a distant memory, a recollection of a fateful evening many years ago. It was the night his parents had finally allowed him to venture outside the Gojo family estate to experience the joy of Trick-or-Treating for the first time. That night had left an indelible mark on him, igniting a lifelong love for sweets of all kinds, and the memory of that sugar rush had stayed with him throughout the years. Satoru had always been known for his adoration of sweets; The answer was sweets.

"Chocolate," he said softly, his gaze remaining fixated on your lips.

"Yeah, same here. Nothing beats chocolate, y'know?" 

Satoru's attention remained captivated by the mesmerising movements of your tongue and lips. He observed the way your lips puckered subtly as you cleaned some milk chocolate from your thumb, the simple act imbued with an unintentional allure. So engrossed was he in this subtle spectacle that he leaned closer to you, drawn in by the magnetic pull of you.

As Satoru leaned closer, your laughter, soft and delightful, broke through the air, the sound music to his ears.

"You have a little somethin'," you pointed out, your grin warm and inviting as you nodded towards him.

He felt a pleasant warmth surge through him as he absorbed your cute smile, the contours of it, and the way it seemed to brighten the room. Realising what you meant, he couldn't help but form a small line with his lips, a faint blush gracing his cheeks. Stepping back slightly, a hint of bashfulness crept into his demeanour, though his fascination with you lingered.

"Aren't you gonna clean it off, or is it a new look for you?" you teased with a chuckle, pointing to the corner of his mouth where a smudge of milk chocolate remained.

Satoru's face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and amusement as he quickly wiped the corner of his mouth clean.

"New look," he mumbled, trying to maintain a playful demeanour despite the warmth that had crept into his face.

Suppressing a laugh, you couldn't help but add: "You missed a spot."

His embarrassment grew as he hurriedly wiped his mouth again, and his response carried a slightly sharp tone. "There. Happy now?"

As his gaze met yours again, it travelled down your neck, fixating on the curve of your shoulder with an undeniable longing. 

A gasp of surprise escaped Satoru as you took matters into your own hands, or rather, your thumb. Feeling the soft pad of your thumb brushing against the corner of his lips, he momentarily lost himself in the sensation, the brief touch sending a shiver through his body. A soft, quiet moan that escaped him.

You efficiently cleaned the melted chocolate, and then with a playful flair, brought your thumb to your mouth, licking it clean. "There. Now you're all good."

Satoru was left slightly breathless, the warmth of the interaction lingering on his lips.

The air in the kitchen crackled with a newfound energy as you dipped your finger into the white chocolate, purposefully smearing a bit onto your lips, a playful innuendo that hung in the air. 

Satoru chuckled, his eyes fixated on the white chocolate smeared across your lips, the sight igniting a fiery heat within him. His gaze was intense, captivated by the way you licked your lips clean, a soft hum of awe escaping him.

He raised his own finger, dipping it into the white chocolate. Instead of smearing, he chose a different path, bringing his finger to his lips and licking the chocolate clean with deliberate precision. His eyes remained locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze reflecting the overwhelming desire to be closer to you, to taste your sweetness, to let his tongue be a messenger of longing. 

Satoru's anticipation was palpable as he watched you dip your thumb into the dark chocolate bowl. A smile gracing his lips as you cupped his jaw in your hand, the connection between you growing more profound with each passing moment. He closed his eyes, surrendering.

As the tip of your chocolate-coated thumb brushed against his mouth, a deep, shaky breath escaped him, his body trembling. With eyes still closed, he opened his mouth, inviting the sweet temptation within. Your thumb slipped between his lips, and his tongue curled around it, sending a jolt of pleasure through his body.

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the rising desire within him. He sucked on your thumb, a soft, low moan escaping his parted lips as he savoured the taste of the dark chocolate. His mouth remained wrapped around your thumb, your fingers caressing the back of his head, adding to the intoxicating sensations that enveloped him. His body quivered with a fervour, his tongue darting out to lick away the chocolate, creating a soft, wet sensation that sent waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

Satoru tilted his head, his tongue wrapping around your thumb with a gentle intensity. The sensations that coursed through you were titillating, the intimacy of the moment leaving you both breathless. He continued to suck, using his tongue to expertly remove the melted dark chocolate, the soft, wet sucking noise adding a seductive cadence to the air. As your thumb emerged clean, a rush of satisfaction swept over him.

You delicately slid your thumb out of his mouth, and in a hushed murmur, you inquired, "How'd it taste?"

Satoru's eyes remained fixed on your thumb, still moist from the encounter. A slight smile of satisfaction graced his lips as he studied the string of saliva between his lips and your thumb. He inhaled the lingering aroma. Swallowing, his voice emerged as a quiet rasp, carrying a raw honesty. "Like you."

"Good, then?"

"Good," he murmured as he swallowed again.

As Satoru gently pressed your thumb against his lips, letting it rest there, a gentle sigh escaped him. The touch was a buzz, the taste of chocolate mingled with the essence of you.

Your thumb brushed against his lower lip. The desire within him surged, and the restraint he held onto began to slip. His swirling blue eyes, intense and craving, remained locked onto yours. Unable to resist the allure, Satoru softly sucked on your thumb, the pleasure of the act unmistakable. A soft moan escaped him, his body trembling.

With your free hand, you dipped your fingers into the melted dark chocolate, smearing the rich, velvety substance against Satoru's pale cheek. The contrast between the dark chocolate and his fair skin was a strinking sight—though, rather than marring him, it only made him look all the more mouth-watering. Leaning closer, your tongue pressed to his cheek, tracing a deliberate stripe across the soft skin. The taste of him mingled with the bitter chocolate—a sensual fusion. 

He felt an earnest heat surge through him as your tongue left a searing mark on his cheek, his eyes closing once more. With a growing hunger, he pulled your thumb deeper into his mouth, savouring the taste. His arms wrapped around your waist, and he drew closer, standing between your legs as you sat on the kitchen island. 

He released small sounds of pleasure as you pushed your thumb deeper into his mouth, the taste and sensation overwhelming. The tightness of his embrace around your waist conveyed the intensity of his hunger, his starvation.

A moan escaped him, the pleasure and desire spiralling, but it was swiftly followed by a quiet, choked sound as the sensations grew more potent. His breath quickened, and as his eyes fluttered open, he sought to communicate his need for a moment to breathe. Despite this, he eagerly accepted your thumb once more, craving the taste and the connection it offered.

Sensing his state, you displayed a playful smirk against his cheek, acknowledging the effect you had on him. The soft kiss against his cheek and the withdrawal of your thumb granted him the ability to breathe properly, a relief he welcomed.

With Satoru standing so close, you nuzzled his neck, your words murmured against his skin. "You taste amazing."

"You taste perfect," he responded, laden with longing. The soft, hungry moans escaped him.

As he leaned his head forward, exposing his neck, the invitation was clear, and you gladly accepted. Your tongue swirled and pressed against his neck, your teeth grazing his skin, each touch and sensation eliciting pretty moans and pants from him. The proximity, the taste of you, and the closeness between you had his body trembling.

His fingers clutched at your waist, a silent plea for more, for the delicious torment to continue. The line between flatmate and something else was blurred, replaced by a yearning that begged for fulfilment.

The intensity of the moment reached its peak as Satoru's body betrayed him, his knees beginning to buckle against the kitchen island. His heart raced, his breath quickened, and soft sighs of pleasure escaped him, each exhalation laden with desire. The sensations coursing through him were overwhelming, and he surrendered to the pleasure that enveloped him.

Your touch, cradling his head and pressing him closer to your body, ignited a fire within him that burned away his self-restraint. His breaths came in short, sharp gulps, his eyes tightly closed as he continued to moan, the sounds a testament to the exquisite torment he was experiencing. His fingers, which had initially clung to your waist, transformed into a desperate grip—a plea for more, more, more. He yearned for you to devour him in the sweetest way possible.

The sensation of your teeth sinking into his neck sent a jolt through Satoru's body, his eyes snapping open as his breath hitched in response. The vibrations of your satisfied hum resonated down his spine straight to his loins, to that more primal hunger. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer, causing his breath to catch in his throat.

Cute whimpers escaped him as you continued to sink your teeth into his neck, the dark purplish bruises forming under the ravenous caress of your lips. The indulgent torment left him trembling with need and longing. As you soothed the bite marks with your tongue, sucking and kissing them, his body shivered with pleasure. 

"Are you trying to make me like a dessert...?" Satoru whispered in playful anticipation.

"I might eat you like one," you mused, laughter dancing through your words.

Satoru chuckled softly, his hand tenderly running along the back of your neck, the gentle strokes sending waves of pleasure through you.

"Please?" he hoarsely pleaded for a taste that would satiate more than just a physical hunger.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, revelling in the intoxicating closeness. Nuzzling against your neck, his face brushed against your skin with a gentle touch, a platter of kisses, licks, and nibbles that sent ripples of pleasure through you.

His fingers continued their tender exploration, stroking your hair and tracing a slow, deliberate path down your back. Each touch felt like a caress, mapping the curves and contours of your body, as if he were committing the sensation to memory, an artist tenderly tracing the lines of a masterpiece.

You played your part, dipping your fingers into the bowl of milk chocolate with a deliberate laziness, making a show of it, relishing in the decadent act. With a flourish, you sucked the melted chocolate off your fingers, the sound deliberate and loud, a performance that filled the air. Your moans of pleasure, meant for the chocolate but echoing sensually, added to the provocative display. All the while, Satoru was there, an edacious audience to the mesmerising act.

His soft whine of pleasure resonated with the sounds and sights before him. His eyes fluttered open, capturing the eniticing sight of you licking your lips, the taste and aroma of chocolate lingering in the air. His breath caught in his throat, and he let out soft, whining noises of his own, growing louder with each passing moment.

"Open," you whispered, and he obeyed without a moment's hesitation. His mouth slightly parted, pupils dilated with thirst, his gaze locked onto yours.

You leaned closer, the distance between your lips mere inches. The world seemed to hold its breath.

You allowed your milk chocolate-flavoured saliva to drip into his waiting mouth. It was a blend of your essence and the sweetness of chocolate, a taste that sent shivers down his spine. Satoru's grip on your skin tightened as he welcomed the sensation, his mouth opening wider to take in every precious drop. A loud, moan escaped him as he drank in your saliva, the taste of you leaving an indelible mark—trembling with the insatiable craving for you.

"Swallow," you commanded, and he obeyed, swallowing with a soft moan. The pleasure it elicited was evident, his grip on your neck tightening as he continued to make soft, whimpering noises, his gaze fixed on you with an unquenchable thirst.

You leaned in closer, "You like that, don't you?" you whispered, a smugness colouring your tone, gorging on the effect you had on him.

"I love it," Satoru murmured, his voice laced with desire and desperation. "I need more," he confessed, the yearning in his words palpable.

You laughed. "Hungry for more of me?"

"Starving.”

The intimate tension in the air was palpable, a force that left Satoru's features adorned with a flush of the most captivating shade of red. His blue eyes, half-lidded and filled with desire, were fixated on you, a thirst burning within them that yearned to devour you.

With a rapaciousness that knew no bounds, Satoru's hands grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. Soft, whimpering escaped him as your hips rolled against his, setting his senses ablaze. The press of your body against his was a sensation he craved, and his eyes pleaded with a famished longing, begging for more.

You smeared chocolate against his neck, the tactile sensation adding to the symphony of pleasure that enveloped the room. Satoru's body trembled as he ground against you, the sounds of his moans and whimpers filling the kitchen. He moaned louder as you bit down on his neck, the sensation shooting a wave of electrifying pleasure through him. His teeth ached in response, his mouth watering for you. 

"D'you wanna kiss me, sugar? You wanna taste me for real?" Your lips then found his earlobe, nibbling and licking, a promise of the sensations that could be.

Satoru, overcome with longing, nodded eagerly, a trickle of sweat tracing the line of his flushed face. His grip on your waist tightened, his body moving against yours with a growing urgency, fueled by an insatiable need to be closer, to taste the reality of this desire.

“Then beg,” you commanded.

Satoru's voice, hoarse and raw with desire, quivered as he responded, his moans merging with the symphony of the moment. He pressed his nose into your neck, your proximity overwhelming his senses. 

"Please… Please, I need to feel you. I need to taste you. I need you," he mumbled, his words a desperate plea for the intimacy he craved.

You didn't hold back, the smugness of your laughter giving way to a ravenous kiss. He trembled in your embrace, his mouth opening to welcome the invasion of your tongue. The taste of chocolate and the essence of you mingled, a heady combination that sent his senses into a whirlwind. His tongue writhed against yours, a desperate attempt to enjoy every bit of you. He was a man starved, and he groaned into the kiss.

"Please, I need more," he breathed into your mouth—a chant of desire.

His body quaked with the intensity of his yearning, grinding against you. Your fingernails dug into his neck, making him hiss through gritted teeth. He whimpered as he sucked on your tongue, every moan and every swallow consuming him, the taste of you imprinted on his senses, an imprint he never wanted to fade. He squirmed against your body, wanting more. 

As you pulled away, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips, you could feel the boiling energy in the room.

You wasted no time, plunging your hand into the bowl of melted white chocolate, your fingers finding their way into his greedy mouth. The accidental smear down his chin only added to the intensity, as his eyes closed in pure pleasure. His mouth welcomed your fingers, allowing them to slide in, savouring the taste of the chocolate that spilled down his throat. Each swallow was accompanied by a moan and a whine, the chocolate causing his body to shiver.

Satoru's own grip tightened, his fingers pressing against the back of your head as he sucked and licked, his tongue exploring for every last drop of the chocolate. The desire in his eyes was palpable, the hunger for both of you consuming every waking thought.

You pushed your fingers even deeper into his mouth, eliciting his gag reflex, and his eyes fluttered. "Aw, aren't you so cute?" you teased, your hips rolling in a tantalising rhythm that added to the mounting desire.

Satoru pressed his hips against yours with fervour, driven by the craving to taste every precious drop of the chocolate and your essence.

"I'll do anything to taste you," he whined.

You met his desire with a challenge, arching an eyebrow and pulling your fingers out of his mouth, the same hand covered in the glistening trail of spit that connected you moments ago. Gripping his jaw with determination, you presented him with the opportunity to fulfil his longing.

"Taste me, then."

Satoru's eyes widened with hunger as your spit hit his mouth, his anticipation palpable. Before he could react, you thrust your fingers into his mouth, pushing them down his throat. He gagged and moaned, the sensations both overwhelming and exhilarating. Your saliva mixed with the chocolate was a unique flavour, a taste he craved to savour. As he swallowed your saliva, he choked and whimpered loudly, the feeling of your fingers pressing deeper down his throat.

The wicked grin on your face mirrored the intensity of the moment, a dance of desire that showed no signs of slowing down. One of his own hands gripped your wrist, forcing your fingers to stay shoved down his throat. With determination, you pumped your fingers in and out of his mouth, pushing him to experience the full extent of his cravings.

"Taste all you can," you snickered.

Satoru responded with a loud, girlish whine of desire, his pretty eyes rolling back as he tried to gulp and swallow your spit. The mixture of pleasure, anticipation, and need had him in a trance, and he couldn't get enough. Drool spilt from his rosy lips down his chin, a visible testament to his craving for you. He wrapped an arm around your waist, his moans filling the kitchen as he devoured you. His body writhed against your fingers, the need to taste, to consume, to gorge, to ravage… He couldn’t think.

"Yeah, that's it. That's it, sweet thing. Good, keep going," you chuckled, urging him on.

He responded with a loud, lustful squeak of pleasure. His body pressed against yours with all his weight, the kitchen island providing support as he ground against you. Slick with a layer of your sweet saliva, his tongue was a tantalising instrument, pressing against your fingers with a desperate need. The sensation of his teeth and tongue exploring your fingers was trilling, and he gorged on every moment, wanting to taste all of you at once.

"Alright, that's enough," you said with a teasing click of your teeth.

As you tugged on his fluffy white hair and withdrew your fingers from his mouth, wiping them against his cheek, Satoru let out a loud whine of disappointment. He was left in a state of famine—wanting more, needing more, craving more—your very own Tantalus.

Moaning and looking at you with pleading eyes, saliva dripping down the corner of his mouth, his cheeks pink and lips parted, he whimpered your name softly. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure.

“But I… I want... I want more,” he whined breathily, desire consuming him.

You leaned in, your lips finding his jaw, and whispered enticingly in his ear, "But I'm impressed, sugar... I think you deserve more of me." 

You softly bit his earlobe, sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Your hands moved with purpose, sliding down to his waist and undoing his belt. The sound of it hitting the floor filled the kitchen, the noise accentuating the anticipation that hung heavily in the air. Satoru shivered with excitement, his eyes rolling back into his head as his fingers dug into your back.

"Please, please, please…”

With trembling hands, his fingers working eagerly to remove the fabric that stood between him and you. He slid his fingers under the hem of your skirt, the touch against the smooth, soft fabric of your underwear making him whine with longing. The lace against his fingertips was a sensation that drove him wild, his fingers writhing in response to the intoxicating touch.

As you leaned in and bit his neck, the pleasure intensified, his breath catching in his throat as he moaned. Every touch, every instruction was a step further into the Third Circle.

"Go on, take them off for me," you whispered, the urgency in your voice coaxing him to act. 

Satoru's obedience was instant. His trembling hands slid your panties down your legs, the quiet rustling noise filling the charged air. As the fabric was removed, his eyes were fixated on you, the hunger in his gaze undeniable. Lifting your leg to rest against his hip, he was granted a provocative view of your body. Desire burned brightly in his eyes as he took in the sight, captivated by the allure before him. 

Your playful smirk spurred you to make a spectacle, a teasing display that left nothing to the imagination. You opened your legs, presenting yourself like a meal on a silver platter being served to a starving man. Satoru's eyes were fixated on you, drinking in the sight of your form, eyes latched onto how your cunt was slick and needy with the arousal that had gathered from him gagging on your fingers. 

With a teasing confidence, your hands moved to undo the strings of Satoru's grey sweatpants, where you could very clearly see the aching hard-on he sported. His heaving breaths filled the air, as your hand pressed against his leg and your skirt was hoisted up further, exposing more of your tempting form.

As your fingers explored his skin, tracing the contours of his thigh, his body quivered with longing. Your hands moved freely up and down the meat of his thighs, gripping and squeezing his flesh.

"Like what you see, sweet thing?" 

Every fibre of his being yearned to taste you, to devour you whole until you could offer no more. His whines grew louder, his desperation palpable as your fingers danced along his thigh, your touch inching to his throbbing cock that dripped with precum and was flushed a pretty red.

“Love what I see.”

Lust hung in the dense air, hung between Satoru’s legs, between your thighs. He leaned in, his intent clear, and his tongue traced a path along your thigh. As his skilled fingers explored every curve, every contour of your being, his lips kissed and suckled on your inner thighs, leaving trails of desire in their wake. You could sense his hunger, a ravenous appetite for the taste of you.

Your lips curled into a coy, lustful smile as you lifted his chin with your fingers, meeting the depth of his hungry gaze. His face was a portrait of desire, the scorching flames of longing reflected in his eyes. 

"Please. I'm starving," he breathed out, his plea shivering with yearning.

"Starving, huh? I guess I shouldn't let you go hungry," you drawled. You dipped your fingers into the bowl of melted milk chocolate and smeared some across your inner thigh. "Are you a messy eater, sugar?"

"I… I’m…" he stammered with a bright blush.

Your fingers laced into his hair as you pulled his head closer, and he was lost in the intoxicating embrace of your thighs. His tongue danced and swirled, relishing the sweet taste of the milk chocolate and the essence of you.

"Eat your heart out," you purred, your nails grazing his scalp—a delicious torment.

The sensations coursing through your body were electrifying, and Satoru's pious ministrations between your thighs left you gasping and trembling with pleasure. His strong hands gripped your hips, urging you to press harder against his face as he explored every inch of dripping your cunt.

His mouth moved with rhythmic precision, his lips slick with your wetness and his saliva as he lavished you. Each deliberate nudge of his nose against your clit sent waves of pleasure cascading through your body, making you arch your back and moan in ecstasy. 

Satoru's half-lidded eyes, dark with hunger and desire, bore into yours, and his whimpers of praise only made your desire consume you more. He yearned to taste and devour every drop of your essence, relishing the thought of making it run down your thighs so he could eagerly lap it up—or even better, make it squirt straight into his mouth for his desperate taste buds.

Your moans grew louder and more urgent, your fingers digging into his hair as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure building within you. 

Satoru's tongue delved deeper, and the sensations intensified as he explored your most sensitive depths. Your gasps and moans filled the air as he continued to pleasure you. He maintained a steady rhythm, his movements deliberate and measured, aiming to drive you to the peak of ecstasy. With each thrust of his tongue and gentle exploration of your inner walls, your breath quickened and your body quivered with anticipation. He watched you hungrily, his eyes locked on yours, seeking the signs of your pleasure. 

Satoru's mouth found its way back to your clit, and his skilled tongue traced precise circles around the tender bundle of nerves. The wet, warm sensation sent ripples through you, each flicker of contact causing your body to tremble with delight. The vibrations from his moans spurred on your own ravenous hunger.

Your body responded involuntarily, hips arching towards him in a silent plea for more. He picked up the pace, increasing the intensity of his movements, fully immersing himself in the art of pleasuring you. Every motion of his tongue, every gasp and moan that escaped your lips, only made him devour and drink you in more.

Just before you could cum on his tongue, and much to Satoru’s dismay, you wrenched his head away.

As your lips crashed together in a desperate, passionate kiss, your bodies moulded against each other in a frenzied dance of desire. Satoru's surprised yelp transformed into a moan of pleasure, the taste of you on his tongue heightening his longing. You felt him slide inside you, the sensation making your breath hitch and a loud moan escape your lips. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, seeking the intimate closeness that only heightened the pleasure you both craved. With each thrust, every movement, your bodies consumed each other as fully as you could.

His moans merged with yours, a harmonious blend of pleasure and satisfaction that echoed in the room. The sounds of your passionate union filled the air, a sweet melody of ecstasy that enveloped you both. The world faded away, and in that moment, it was just the two of you, consumed by the intense connection and unyielding desire that drove you closer to the edge.

Satoru's desire and urgency radiated through every touch, every thrust, driving you both closer to the brink. Each movement of his body brought a symphony of pleasure, filling the kitchen with the sounds of your shared desire. Your cries of delight mingled with his, deepening with every thrust, as he pressed against you with increasing urgency born of the overwhelming desire that ravished you both. As Satoru's cock delved deeper inside you, the sensation of your wet pussy contracting and fluttering around him sent ripples of pleasure through his body, amplifying the intensity of his movements. 

He just couldn’t help himself.

In that moment of release, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the intensity of pleasure and the shared ecstasy that enveloped you both. Your bodies moved as one, driven by an insatiable hunger and aching desire for each other. Satoru's cries of bliss mingled with your own, a symphony of pleasure as he spilled into you, a torrent of warmth that further heightened your climax. Satoru's fervent thrusts reached a crescendo, his voice echoing through the room as he spilled his essence into your waiting warmth.

His release triggered a cascade of sensations, the intensity of which was almost overwhelming. His cries of ecstasy and the way he clung to you, his body trembling with the power of his climax, were etched into your memory. Thick spurts of cum filled you as he continued to pound into you.

Your body quaked and convulsed, the sensation of his cum filling you only amplifying the intensity of your own orgasm. The pleasure rippled through you, coursing through every nerve and fibre, leaving you gasping and shivering in the aftermath. It was a moment of pure abandon, where all that mattered was the pleasure you both had ignited within each other.

As the waves of ecstasy subsided, you found yourselves entwined, chests heaving, and breaths mingling in the air. The kitchen was filled with a heady mix of desire and still, although faintly, of chocolate.

The two of you slumped against the kitchen island, completely exhausted. The silence between you is thick. Neither of you says anything to each other and you can hear your panting breathing. You can feel Satoru’s chest rapidly rising and falling as he stayed pressed to you, and he reluctantly pulled out.

Satoru breathed shakily, but was still unable to speak coherently. His face was flushed and still recovering. He looked at you and you could see the glazed-over look of afterglow in his eyes. He looks like a panting mess of exhaustion, forcing out the next few words.

“I need you,” he whispered.

Satoru's lips found yours in a soft, wet kiss before you could respond. A passionate kiss, his mouth searching and seeking, taking in every taste, every curve and caress of your lips. Soft, gentle. Hungry and relentless. His hands moved into your hair, his fingertips pressing against the bare skin of your neck, tracing every curve. His lips pressed and retreated, press… Retreat… Press… There was an undeniable hunger to it—a hunger you now understood, and now shared.

“I need you, too.”

a/n: peep the five stars. peep the Tantalus reference. peep the Dante's Inferno reference. Happy Kinktober! :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

[simping-overload]

ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴏʟ' ᴛɪᴍᴍʏ Qᴜɪᴄᴋɪᴇ

a/n: I was possessed by the writing gods and was forced to write this at 3 am. I was so tired, but I literally could not put my phone down.

tags: quickies, public sex, library sex, anal, spit as lube, male/amab reader, no pronouns used.

characters: tim stoker and reader

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You were tired, hungry, and most importantly horny. Being teased all day with very scandalous pictures from Tim during his many coffee breaks while you slave away, sorting the archive.

You had your final straw when he sent you a picture of him holding his half-hard cock. You slammed your phone down so fast and hard(ha) it scared Martin. You apologized profusely to the man leaving the room, not bothering to bring your things.

You're quick to text Tim again, covering your phone so the cameras couldn't see anything. Not as if that would stop a certain someone anyway.

'get your ass to the library.'

';) knew you couldn't resist me'

With your speed walking nearly jogging pace, it took you no longer than 6 minutes to reach the library. Slipping into the area and to your usual corner.

You've done this a few times before, and there's no point in stopping since you've never been caught. The spot is thankfully not a well traveled section. Even the clerks choose to stay out of it unless they have to go in. It was a small area, tucked into the farthest corner of the vast library.

Tim is already there, sitting in one of the chairs. His shirt partially opened, showing off his cleavage. He smirks when he sees you, leaning back and spreading his legs, clearly inviting you to feast.

And feast you do.

You waste no time in diving down. You place a knee on the cushion in between his legs as you steal his lips for a sloppy kiss. You can still taste the faintest bit of coffee on them.

Your hands move up his thighs and under his shirt. His stomach flexes when your cold hands touch his warm skin.

Tim curls his arm around your neck, intangling a hand in your hair. He tugs, you hiss, allowing his bold tongue to slip in and feel the inside of your mouth.

You take your hands from under his shirt and move to unbutton it. You fumbled with the buttons a bit but managed to get it undone soon enough.

He whines when you part from the kiss, and you shush him. Kissing down his neck and to his chest, you latch onto one of his nipples, a tongue swirling around the bud.

Tim bites his lip to muffle his whines. Christ, he keeps forgetting how sensitive they are— and the fact you're so skilled at using your mouth doesn't help.

You pull off the nipple. A long thing of saliva follows you for a moment before you latch onto the other. With a little more bite into it, you managed to squeeze a low moan out of the man.

He already felt like he was getting close, but he couldn't cum not yet. Not until he had you inside of him.

He tugs at your hair, pulling you away to look at him. "Please, I need you." He begs, you comply.

With ease, you unbuckled his belt and undue his pants. He lifts himself up slightly, so you can help pull his pants down, fucker went commando.

His dick was long, slightly thick, and a slight curve to the left. His tip was a pretty pink that matched his nipples.

You began to unbuckle and unzip your pants, ignoring the inpatient grinds of the man before you. Pulling your pants and boxers down your cock springs free, hard against your stomach.

Tim drools at the sight.

You pause for a second, digging through your pants pocket for a condom.

When you pull it out, Tim frowns.

"W-Whats that for? I thought you were going to creampie me." He says, talking in a low volume just above a whisper. He's right. You were planning on that.

"Since you decided to go commando, I won't risk a stain appearing on your pants. Unless you brought a plug."

He sighs, he wouldn't mind it no... but he'd rather keep his poor excuse for a job. He nods, understanding.

You lean forward, mouth close to his ear and whisper, "Wait for me after work, I'll take you home n' give you a real one." Tim shivers.

Tearing the wrapper off, you roll the condom on until it's secure enough to saty still.

"Prep?" You ask, you know he likes having the ability to choose depending on his mood. His mood now is that he needs you, no matter how much it'll hurt.

He shakes his head.

You hold your hand out, "Spit." You ordered.

He complied, watching as you smeared it all over the condom. You straightened up slightly, grabbing a hold of Tim before turning him around. It'd be easier and more comfortable, for the both of you, to fuck him this way.

His hands were holding onto the top of the chair, knees now on the cushion. His ass down and flushed against your pelvis. You spit on his hole, and he clenches at the feeling.

He looks over his shoulder, grin wide on his lips as he wiggles his hips. His mouth opened to taunt before shutting close when he felt you press into him.

Tim lurched forward, his knuckles turning white from how strong his grip was. It hurts, burns, and holy hell, it feels so good.

You lean forward, resting your head against his shoulder and your hands resting over his as you bottom out.

No matter how many times you've fucked the man he will always surprise you with just how tight he is. The way his ass sucks you in like a vacuum, walls clenching around you, not wanting to let go.

You begin to move slowly. Wanting to have Tim adjust to the feeling before going faster. Tim let's himself be rocked to your movements, eyes shut to try and feel more of it.

You press kisses into the back of his neck, sucking in a hickey as you increase your pace. He turns his head to you, resting his temple against your forhead.

His eyes are filled to the brim with lust and yearning. Gods, he looks beautiful like this. Unbuttoned shirt, slightly messy hair, and lovely ass clenching around you.

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his lips as you had before. You brush against his prostate, causing him to moan loudly into your mouth.

You move your hands from his, one goes to his dick and the other to his chest. Twirling a nipple in between your pointer and thumb, you can hear your balls slapping against his rear.

Now, with your hand on his dick Tim was not going to last. You swirl your thumb around the tip, feeling the tip leak more precum.

You start to stroke his cock matching it to the rhythm of your thrusts. Tim whimpers, a shakey hand moving to tangle itself in your hair again. He was going over the edge and needed to feel grounded.

The chair squeaked under you, stressing under the power of your thrusts. Tim feels himself get lost in your mouth, barley leaving your addicting lips. The tight knot of arousal pools into his stomach, as it does yours. Parting from the kiss, you keep your forhead to his, eyes shut and enamored in the pleasure.

Your hips stutter and with a final thrusts you cum. With a few more strokes, Tim lets himself relase into your hand, uncaring if any spills out.

His chest is heavy as he breathes out, "That was...so hot." He mutters, with a knowing smile on his lips.

You grunt in agreement, pulling away with one more kiss before you carefully pull out of his ass. His hole instinctively clenches around the now empty space.

You bring the cum covered hand up to your mouth and lick until it's cleaned. Salty as expected, but not an overbearing kind.

You peel the condom off of your cock and tie it. Leaving it hidden on the ground to dispose of later. You look to Tim, who smiles back at you, giddy.

"How're you feeling?" You ask, rubbing soothing circles into his hip.

"Really good...sleepy now though." Tim did look tired, his eyes drooping ever so slightly as he sways.

"Let's get you dressed first, and I'll take you to the room in the Archives." You wipe any excess cum off of his dick before tugging his pants back up. Buckling and buttoning it. You do the same to yours.

He groans as you turn him back around to button his shirt, leaning the top two unbutton just like he prefers.

You grab the condom, hiding it in Tim's lap, using his hands as a cover for it.

Tim leans into your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as he falls, sleep to the white noise of your breathing, and the Institute.

[sadhours]

simmer down

billy hargrove x f!reader

masterlist • requests are open! • read on ao3

summary: being tommy hagan’s sister had it’s perks, but when the new kid from California catches your attention, it seems like more of a curse than a good thing

warnings: 18+ minors dni, Steve x Reader, underage drinking, partying, smut, p in v, angst, Billy is a mystery, Steve/Nancy, slow burn, forbidden romance

Being Tommy Hagan’s sister had its advantages. Your freshman year of high school, you had a guaranteed spot with the cool kids and an invite to every party. Tommy wasn’t protective by any means. You two were buddies, you and Carol were buddies and of course, you and Steve Harrington were buddies. Freshman year was a blur, until Nancy ripped Steve away from the group. Still, the three of you were determined to keep the good times rolling. Sure, you spent every single Saturday, Sunday and Monday hungover but it was worth it. You think.

Maybe you didn’t remember the parties very well but hell, you knew you’d had fun. Plus, you were lucky enough to lose your virginity to the King on your fifteenth birthday and even if he pretended you didn’t exist once he started dating Nancy, it was worth it. Okay, so you weren’t totally over Steve but you were coping just fine. Carol didn’t let you mope for long. There were too many parties to go to.

Then one day, Steve Harrington is pushed to the very back door of your mind. Perched on your brother’s car, sharing a cigarette with him and his girlfriend, a pretty blue Camaro whips through the parking lot and slides into the parking spot across from you. A small, angry redhead bolts out, slamming the door and zips up to the middle school on a skateboard. Every head in the parking lot is turned to the muscle car and the gorgeous, denim-clad, mulleted blonde motherfucker. He takes your breath away. Takes Tommy and Carol’s breath away. The guys dripping in cool. Not another person like him has stepped foot in this midwestern hell hole. The three of you can’t wait to sink your claws in him. He flicks his cigarette away, a small hint of a smirk curling his lips and your eyes follow the Marlboro as it tumbles to the ground. The fucking guy didn’t even smoke half of it. The nicotine fiend in you is tempted to snatch it up, but that’s like, super uncool.

You watch as Tina and her girls eyes linger on the stranger, practically salivating at the way his ass looks in his jeans. It must take at least ten minutes for the fucker to pull his pants up.

“Who the hell is that?” Carol wonders aloud for the group.

“One bitchin’ dude,” Tommy scoffs, an impressed tilt to his voice.

;;;

Tommy moves fast. You know this. He had an easy way about him, friendly even though he was the biggest asshole you knew. That blue Camaro is parked on the curb in front of your house. Your parents are outside, doing the yard work necessary to prepare for the cold front sweeping in. Your whole life was spent in Hawkins so you know nothing else but god, do you yearn for year long summers.

You were eager to listen to the new record you’d just bought. A quick wave to your parents and you’re opening the front door, flooded with the sound of Metallica’s The Four Horsemen. Tommy’s pulled out his only metal album to impress the new kid. The feeling in your gut isn’t new. You used to get the same excited feeling whenever Steve was over. However, this was different because Steve knew you. He watched you grow up. You’d known him since you were little. This new guy hasn’t played Barbie’s with you from the age eight to twelve.

You take a deep breath before heading towards Tommy’s room, leaning against the doorframe. Tommy’s head banging obnoxiously, Carol is checking her nails looking bored and the blonde boy is nodding his head along to the bass line. He’s got a cigarette pinched to between his fingers and as he’s bringing the filter to his lips, he sees you.

He takes a drag, smirks and says, “Hey.”

You’ve never loved your brothers ability to make friends more.

“Hi,” you try to say in the coolest way you can.

Tommy pauses his thrashing and motions to you, “Oh, Billy! This is my sister.”

“Nice to meet you, Tommy’s sister,” he drawls.

You tell him your name, awkwardly lingering in the doorway before Carol’s tugging you inside.

“Whatcha got in the bag?” Billy asks, fingers pressing to the brown paper.

You swallow, “Uh, just a record.”

“Which one?”

You pull out the cellophane wrapped vinyl, displaying the copy of Out of the Cellar by Ratt you’d just excitedly purchased with your allowance.

“Oh, fuck yeah! Atta girl,” he cheers as he snatches it out of your hand.

The praise causes a flutter downstairs. Five minutes into meeting this fucking guy and you’re already a puddle. The excitement at impressing him is unmatched.

Billy shimmies around you, places a strong hand on your hip as he passes to stop the Metallica record and replace it with your new one. You plop down on the floor next to Carol, eyes drawing back up to Billy as he turns the volume up, cigarette hanging between his lips. He bobs his head, his earring dangling against his wispy curls and you don’t like feeling this arousal while in the same room as your brother and his girlfriend.

“Did you see Steve with the princess today? Ugh, gag me with a spoon,” Carol nudges your knee while mimics gagging herself.

Billy snorts, “What’s the deal with that guy? People kept telling me I was gonna be the new King, whatever the fuck that means.”

Tommy chimes in, “He used to be the King. We were good buddies until he started sticking his dick in the priss.”

“Steve’s nice,” you shrug. Only Carol knows what happened between the two of you and you’d sworn her to secrecy, too embarrassed to let your brother know you’d fallen for his best friend. She gives you a pointed look before rolling her eyes.

“He used to be cool, now he’s nice,” Tommy deflects, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. He pulls a beer of the sixer and tosses it to you, which you fumble to catch.

You tap your nail on the tap, trying your best to rid the memories of Steve kissing you late at night from your head. You know if you glance over to Billy, they’ll dissipate but then you’ll be imagining kissing him and you don’t want that either.

“So where’d you move from?” you ask, not looking up from the beer.

Billy sits next to you with the thud, his knee knocking yours which absolutely does not shoot heat to between your legs. He lifts his can to you, indicating he’d like to cheers you. Sometimes Tommy’s friends did things like this with you and while he wasn’t protective of you, he made you promise that friends were out of the question. You could not hook up with any of them. Acquaintances were fine and while Billy was only that right now, you know Tommy wanted to be good buddies with him so you were awaiting the conversation. You were getting ahead of yourself. A cheers does not mean Billy’s attracted to you.

“California,” he replies as you clink aluminum cans. “Much better than this shithole.”

“You’re telling me,” Carol whines, “I fucking hate this place.”

Billy drops his cigarette in the empty beer can sitting in the middle of the floor, apparently the designated ashtray. He leans his head back to look at you, “What’s there to do here?”

You feel shy under his gaze, almost choking on your swig of beer once your eyes meet his. You clear your throat and swallow hard, “Uh, parties, mostly. Hang out in the woods. Go to convenience stores.”

“Ah. I expected more hick shit. Ya know, tipping cows, shooting guns, kissing cousins,” Billy chuckles, biting his lip as his eyes dart between your brother and his girlfriend.

“Carol knows about kissing cousins,” Tommy sneers, throwing his girlfriend under the bus.

“Do you have to tell everyone?” she hurls a rolled up sock at him. She turns to Billy, “He’s exaggerating. We’re not even blood related.”

Billy laughs, a cackle that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. You can’t help but giggle. You’d heard the story a million times. Carol was at a family reunion and didn’t even realize the guy was a distant cousin. However, shit, it’s a family reunion. Who’s trying to get their rocks off at a family reunion?

“You guys smoke grass?” Billy changes the subject and the three of you nod in unison. “Know where I can get some?”

“Eddie “The Freak” Munson,” Tommy tells him, “I think I have some, though. Hold you over in the meantime.” He gets up and sifts through his sock drawer, returning with a tied off ziploc bag to hand to Billy.

“And now,” Billy takes it and shoves it in his pocket, “We’re best buds.”

Tommy beams at the declaration. And with those words, Billy Hargrove has just become verboten. Damn it.

Tommy tells you as much when Billy leaves, rattling off about his dad being an asshole and he’s got to get home before he does.

“I saw those eyes,” Tommy raises a scolding finger at you, “Don’t even try it. He’s too cool.”

“Aw, Tommy,” Carol pouts, “Let her have some fun.”

“No,” you raise your hands defensively, “You didn’t see any eyes. I don’t even think he’s cute.”

Tommy scoffs, “Yeah, right. Even I think the guy is hot.”

Carol raises an eyebrow, “You going queer on me, big boy?”

“Me? Queer?” Tommy laughs, “Let me show you how untrue that is.”

“Okay, ew, I’m leaving,” you push yourself off the ground and run out of the room, closing the door behind you.

;;;

“Does Tina throw bitchin’ parties?” Billy asks you, taking a drag off his cigarette before passing it.

You take it and try to ignore the tingling feeling on your lips as you take a hit. You’re leaning against the trunk of his Camaro, Carol and Tommy are nearby but too busy making out to listen to the conversation.

“I guess?” you reply, “All the parties here kind of bleed together. They’re fun and all, just… the same thing.”

Billy looks over to your brother with his tongue down Carol’s throat, “They do that all the time, huh?”

“Yeah, you’ll get used to it,” you shrug.

“What about you?” he turns slightly towards you, “Why don’t you have a boyfriend?”

You can feel the way your cheeks redden, “I don’t know. No one’s really caught my attention, I guess.”

“Is he protective?”

You shake your head, “No, the opposite. Tommy doesn’t give a shit what I do. I just haven’t met anyone I like in that way.”

“Yeah,” Billy muses, “I know the feeling.”

That catches your attention. Every girl at Hawkin’s High is throwing themselves at him but not a single one special enough to tickle his fancy. You included.

“I’m young, anyways,” you deflect, “I have plenty of time to find the man of my dreams.”

“Oh, yeah?” Billy digs his canine into his lower lip, “What’s the motherfucker you’ve dreamed up like?”

You, you don’t say. “Oh, I don’t know!”

“You’ve thought about it. Is he nice, like King Steve?” Billy raises his eyebrows, “Is he a freak like Munson?”

No, he’s blonde with a mullet and pretty eyelashes.

“He hasn’t made himself known yet,” you urge, “Maybe he’s a millionaire, maybe he’s a rockstar.”

“You want Vince Neil?” he knocks he elbow into yours.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you shrug.

Billy cackles, “All you chicks are the same.”

You scoff, “Oh and guys aren’t? Like you’re not pining over Lita Ford.”

“Nah,” he laughs, “Not my thing.”

“What is your thing then?” you ask, eyes meeting briefly before you can’t handle the heat of them. Billy’s eyes are too pretty. The bluest you’ve ever seen.

“Someone real,” he says, sincerely and it tugs your heartstrings.

“Billy, the romantic,” you tease, shoving your hands in your pocket.

“Far from it, sweetheart,” he pats your shoulder before pushing himself off the bumper and heading into the building as the bell rings.

Sweetheart drips down your throat and curls around your heart.

;;;

It’s not much of a costume. It’s a short skirt, fishnets and a too tight top. You can say you’re Madonna but how many girls are going as Madonna. You just want to look hot. Want Billy to look at you like you’re more than Tommy’s little sister. Like you’re some video vixen and he just cannot keep his hands to himself. It’s a flourishing thought that you push deep down. Tommy can’t control you but you think of the conversation you’d hand the day before. Billy isn’t into you. He had the opportunity to say something and he didn’t. And one thing you’ve learned about boys your age is if they want it, they’ll make it known.

“Are you ready yet?” Carol’s asking as she peers into your bedroom. You scan her outfit up and down, you think maybe she’s channeling Madonna as well but you can’t pin exactly what she’s dressed as.

You wipe the corner of your mouth, fixing the smeared lipstick.

“Yeah, just about,” you mumble, reapplying your mascara.

“Billy’s meeting us there,” she sings, grinning wide at you in the mirror.

You roll your eyes, “Carol, he’s off limits and even if he wasn’t, I don’t like Billy like that.”

“Sure,” she purrs, slapping the doorframe, “Vamoose, pretty girl. I wanna get wasted.”

Tommy’s a bad driver. He was also drinking before he left so he’s even worse, by the time you get to the party you feel like you’ve already got the spins. You hold onto Carol’s wrist to ground yourself and Billy’s rushing up behind the two of you.

“Boo!” he shouts, pressing a hand to your lower back.

Carol shrieks but you’d seen him coming. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling the two of you two his chest. He reeks of whiskey and Marlboro Reds. Seems like Billy had a bit of pregaming himself.

“Hi, Billy,” the two of you sing in unison.

Tommy barrels around the car, running up from behind to jump onto Billy’s back which causes all of you to tumble to the ground. Carol screams, scolding Tommy about ruining her hair but you’re distracted by the laugh erupting from Billy, his lips so close to your ear you can feel his breath fanning against it. It makes you tingle all over and you desperately want to grab him and pull him closer, want to press your lips to his in a hungry kiss. Then it’s gone, he’s up from the ground with Tommy pulling him towards the keg and Carol’s reaching her hand down to you.

You stumble along with her and when you’re reaching the keg, Billy’s pumping it and filling cups for you and Carol.

“You’ve got to beat Steve’s record, Billy! Come on,” Tommy urges his friend, hands clasped tight around his shoulders.

You stand over by Carol and Tina, watching the way the brunette fucks Billy with her eyes. A pang of jealousy surges through your stomach but you chug from the red Solo cup to drown it out. You sway along with the Motley Crüe song, unable to stop your eyes from scanning the crowd for familiar chestnut hair and brown eyes. Carol must notice because she grabs your face and turns it to look at Billy. She wants you to get over Steve just as badly as you do. You notice Billy’s costume, you think he’s going for terminator but it’s laid back. An homage rather than a costume. His abs look nice, you imagine what they must feel like. Carol’s a good friend.

They lift Billy up, he bites around the tap and makes eye contact you for a brief second before beer is flooding into your mouth. He easily beats Steve’s record. Seems like he could’ve gone longer but the second he beats it, they’re pulling him down. He spits the foam out, beer dripping down his chin to his chest and it’s… a sight. They funnel inside but you stick by Carol.

“God, he’s so yummy,” Tina gushes, turning to you and Carol.

Carol agrees excitedly, winks at you and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Tina.

“What? Did you call dibs already?”

“God, no,” you say, a little too defensively. “I just have eyes and Carol wants to live vicariously through me. It’s not happening.”

“Well, I’m definitely not holding back,” Tina quips.

You imagine the two of you as cats, tails high and backs arched, ready to pounce.

“Go for it,” you shrug, holding your beer close to your chest.

You retreat first, heading inside in search of a better time. A spiked punch is in your future. It’s only slightly dampened when you see Nancy downing cup after cup in the kitchen, Steve upset and asking her to cool it. He doesn’t even notice your presence and that’s totally fine. You’re a fly on the wall like you usually are around him. Steve reaches for her cup again and they struggle for power until the force of their hands pulls the cup back and spills the sticky red punch all over her white sweater. Everyone reacts in shock and you have to still your mouth from the smile threatening against your lips as you quickly avert your attention.

When they flutter away, you copy Nancy. Downing as many cups as you can before you start to feel numb. Seeing Steve was a shock to your system. All prior feelings rush to the forefront of your brain and you want to find him, pull him into a empty bedroom and kiss him from head to toe. It’s a shame when you see him and Nancy lock themselves away in a bathroom. You linger, clutching your drink to your chest as you watch drunk teenagers dance the night away. Nancy doesn’t deserve Steve. He shouldn’t have to change to be with her. You liked Steve the way he was.

Steve opens the door and slams it behind him, he pushes passed out, shoulders colliding and when he turns to look at you, you notice tears in his eyes. The brunette is quick to swivel back around, stomping outside and you wonder what in the hell just happened in there. Half of you is tempted to follow him outside, offer comfort in whatever way you can but then you feel large, strong hands wrap around your waist. You tilt your head back to see Billy standing behind you with a drunk smile plastered on his face, his eyes are tinted red like he’s been smoking more than cigarettes.

He leans down, lips close to your ear so he can whisper, “Why are you hiding from us?”

“Hiding? I’m not hiding,” you argue, lifting your cup to explain further, “Where is everyone?”

“Backyard,” he smirks, releasing his grip and stumbling towards the sliding glass door.

He turns his head briefly to make sure you’re following him.

Tina’s backyard is trashed. You can’t imagine what the cleanup is going to be like tomorrow. As soon as you step out the door, Billy grabs your hips again and urges you to the left. You look down and see what looks like five smashed beer bottles, right outside the door. You mumble a thank you before wiggling out of his grip. The last thing you need is for Tommy to see it. The blonde guides you over to the group and you collapse down next to your brother and Carol.

“Steve and Nancy just got in a fight,” you tell them before bringing your cup to your lips.

Carol raises her eyebrows and leans closer, giving you a look you know all too well. You quickly shake your head, slouching your shoulders and trying to sink away from her gaze. Tommy lets out a cackle, leaning his body back with it.

“We heard, he threw punch on her?”

“Well, no, he didn’t throw it on her, it just spilled,” you explain, watching in your peripheral how Tina leans her body against Billy’s and whispers in his ear. Immediately, your stomach turns but you ignore it. There’s no way you could be jealous, you don’t even know the guy yet and you’re going to make sure you don’t stew on how attractive he is. You know how mad Tommy will be and besides, your brother isn’t exactly loyal to you. You imagine if you did make a move on Billy and he rejected you, Tommy wouldn’t stop hanging out with him. Or god forbid, he doesn’t reject you but instead breaks your heart and Tommy would still pick Billy’s side. You know this about your brother.

“But they went into the bathroom and I guess argued, because Steve came storming out and he looked like he was crying,” you continue, picking at a loose thread on your skirt.

Tommy snorts, “I knew they wouldn’t last long.”

Carol nods along with him, “She’s too prissy for Steve. I bet the argument was something stupid too.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, allowing yourself to turn slightly and just in time to catch Tina shoving her tongue down Billy’s throat. You’re quick to turn back to your brother and Carol.

“You guys wanna leave soon?” Carol asks, you know she’s trying to be casual but only asking to save you the displeasure of watching Billy and Tina make out for the rest of the night.

“Yeah, I’m pretty over it,” you admit, stretching your arms up.

Tommy scoffs, “You guys are so boring. It’s still early.”

It is, you don’t even feel drunk yet but you are bored and too many unpleasant feelings are swirling around you. If you get any more alcohol in you, you’re libel to throw yourself at Steve, or worse, Billy.

“This party kind of blows, though,” Carol argues and wraps her arms around Tommy, whispering something in his ear. Whatever she said has him grinning and jumping to his feet. You’d rather not know.

;;;

You’re sitting in study hall, trying to stay awake when a note lands on your desk. You turn and see Steve failing at trying to look innocent, he fake coughs in his hand while stretching his opposite arm up and then back down. His eyes meet yours briefly and he quickly looks away, a hint of smile on his lips. You unfold the note and see Steve’s messy handwriting scrawled lopsided on the top of the page.

Wanna listen to my Abba record?

You stare at it a little dumbfounded, because it was an inside joke between the two of you. It was his lame way of trying to get you alone at one of his parties. It was only the second time you guys had ever messed around and as your relationship continued, it became something Steve would say just to make you blush or laugh. Worse, though, it turned into a code for sneaking away to hook up. His fight with Nancy must’ve been more serious than you thought. This was Steve’s olive branch, and it was sleazy but it was also romantic, unfortunately.

You write back in neat, straight handwriting, Right here in study hall?

You carefully slide the paper onto his desk and turn back to your textbook. From the corner of your eye, you see Steve grinning wide as he reads what you’ve wrote before furiously writing and handing it back.

Is that a yes?

It’s a maybe. I don’t think Mr. Delfin would appreciate it.

Fair enough. The albums at my house anyway. After school then?

You chew on your bottom lip. It would be very easy to fall back into this but you have plans with your brother, Carol and Billy. However, the prospect of being alone with Steve seems way more appealing. And you can’t help yourself, you think about Steve more than you think about anything else. You absolutely miss touching him and you’ve been rather frustrated since he started going out with Nancy.

Meet me in the library after school.

;;;

You made some dumb excuse to Carol about having to work on a class project in the library. She bought it but tried to insist on you ditching it entirely to get to know Billy better. Which you knew Carol was aware you wouldn’t go for.

When Steve walks up to you, you’re standing at the window. He leans against the wall and looks at you quizzically.

“Whatcha doing?”

You watch as Tommy and Carol pile into his car and drive off, the blue Camaro following after them and you say to Steve, “Just making sure it’s… safe. Okay, let’s go.”

Steve let’s out a scoff, “Don’t want them to see you with me?”

You crane your head sideways as you look up at him, “I’m ditching them for you. They’d be mad.”

Steve nods his head, pursing his lips like he can taste your words. You keep your hands to yourself on the walk to his BMW, you’d learned to do as much when you guys were fooling around. Steve talks a lot on the drive to Loch Nora. None of it really makes much sense, or is important but you like listening to his voice. It’s adorable, he stutters every so often and rambles on, losing his thought and then rushing into a completely new thought. The reason you like it so much is you’ve seen Steve hit on girls throughout the years and weirdly enough, this is how he does it so you feel special when it’s directed at you.

His house is empty, it usually is but what always shocked you was how clean it was. A teenage boy lived there alone for eight months of the year, you expected it to be messy but then again, you’re sure they have a cleaning lady coming often. Steve leads you up the stairs and to his bedroom. It smells clean, like laundry detergent and his cologne. Your stomach is doing flips at the familiarity of it all, you’ve been in this exact position many times before and you’re anticipating his next moves. As you sit on his bed, Steve wraps his hand around your hip and lays you on your back. You shyly smile up at him, the weight of his body makes you tingle all over and his big, brown eyes look into yours. There hasn’t been a night in months that you haven’t pictured this exact moment happening, ushering you to sleep and hopefully dream of Steve.

He pushes tucks your hair behind your ear as he cracks a smile, teeth bright and white while his cheeks flush just a smidge. You want to tell him how much you’ve missed him but him and Nancy have only been broken up a couple of days, you know what this is. That’s your downfall, though, you’ll bend over backwards to have Steve. When his lips caress yours, a small moan rises up your throat involuntarily. It’s a soft, sweet kiss and he gently holds your cheek as he does it. Your fingers snake into the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer so you can deepen the kiss. Steve takes things slow, he always did and you’ve always been bursting at the seams, eager for more. You drag your tongue against his lower lip, begging for entrance and he allows you easily. Your body lights up, feels like you’re on fire when he grinds just barely on top of you. His thigh between your legs presses against your center and it makes your head feel heavy, falling apart beneath him. Steve’s like a drug and you’ve been sober for far too long. Your desperation makes you feel antsy, you want things to progress much faster than they are but Steve is stubborn, he sets the pace. He’s different than any other man you’ve been with, he’ll kiss you until your jaw hurts and you’re trembling. That seems to be his intent now because when you try to pull away from it, he grabs your jaw and kisses you harder. You whimper against his lips, wriggling your hips to demonstrate how badly you need him.

Steve pulls back and smiles down at you, stroking his thumb along the apple of your cheek, “You’re so beautiful.”

You flush, grinning from ear to ear as you avert your eyes, unable to hold eye contact. With a giggle you tell him, “So are you.”

He lets out a small, breathless laugh, “Thank you.”

Steve places kisses along your jaw and down your neck, he licks against your skin but he’s always been careful not to leave any marks. Back when you two were fooling around regularly, you weren’t so careful with him and you’d litter his neck and chest with love bites. Steve could always explain them away much easier than you could.

He continues kissing against your collarbone as he starts unbuttoning your shirt. You inhale sharply, goosebumps rising all over your skin when his fingers brush against your now exposed stomach. Steve’s lips descend once he gets your blouse completely undone, brushing them against the curve of your breast. This is the area he doesn’t hold back, sucking and biting gently at the tender skin until it’s raw and sore. You know you’ll have a bruise there by the end of the night but you don’t mind. It’ll be proof this isn’t a dream. In sync, you prop up on your elbows as Steve leans back and reaches around to unclasp your bra. You dispose of the blouse and bra before reaching for the hem of Steve’s polo and pull it over his head. You smooth your hands over his head before he leans down and licks at your perked nipple, his Bambi eyes looking up at you curiously. You whine, arching into the touch as your eyes flutter shut. For a moment, you picture blonde curls and blue eyes but quickly push the thought away as shame begins spreading through your stomach. You try not to think about it too much, not willing to admit even to yourself that you want Billy in that way.

“Steve,” you pant out, for good measure.

He sucks your nipple between his lips as he hand moves to squeeze and knead at your other breast. Another moan falls out of your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut and knit your fingers into his hair. He grazes his fingertips across your neglected nipple and laps against the other. It’s intoxicating, you focus on his soft his hair feels between your fingers. Your thighs tingle as heat surges through your stomach and straight to your core. It’s quiet in the house, in the room, the only sound is Steve’s mouth on your and your paired labored breathing.

When he moves back up to crash his lips into yours and press his body close, you feel his cock hard in his jeans against your navel. He grunts softly against your lips moving both his hands to grip your jaw as he licks into your mouth eagerly. This is unlike Steve, he usually doesn’t express desperation until he’s already inside of you. It gets your hopes up, like maybe he’s been missing you just as badly as you’ve been missing him. And maybe that’s wishful thinking but in this moment, you’ll take it. You grab onto his waist and writhe up against him, letting him know you’re just as needy.

Steve pulls back from the sloppy kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips as his hands lower and he’s making quick work getting your jeans and panties down to your ankles. They hang awkwardly there, your tennis shoes are still on but you're really liking the frenzy of it all. Steve props himself on his knees and does the same with his jeans and briefs, pushing them down to his knees as his long cock springs out and slaps against his stomach. God, you’ve missed the sight of it, your mouth waters as you breathe heavy. Memories of the way it felt in your mouth flood your mind, causing your hips to jerk up in arousal and Steve smiles down at you, clearing taking the movement as a compliment. He circles his hand around himself, pumping a few times before dragging his head through your folds.

“Steve…” you moan out slowly, another surge of wetness flowing out of you.

“Yeah?” he breathes out, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes look glassy. It’s such a pretty view, you wiggle against him.

“Need you,” you admit, shyly.

He licks against his bottom lip before rubbing his tip against your fluttering hole, “You been with anyone else since me?”

You shake your head, knowing the reason behind his question, “I’m clean.”

Steve nods, his hair bouncing with the movement before he sinks his cock inside of you. You gasp out, grabbing onto his bedspread while you melt at the sensation. It’s been way too long. You’re tight, haven’t had anything stretch you out since the last time you had Steve like this. He grunts softly, eyes squeezing shut as he slowly sheathes himself completely inside you.

“Oh,” you moan out, feeling him fill you out in the most delicious way. You force your eyes to stay open, wanting to watch the way Steve’s face contorts in pleasure as he stills his movements. He grazes his fingers up your sides as he lowers himself, his chest flush against yours while his lips find yours again. The kiss is languid, matching the stroke of him between your legs. It’s sensual which is typical from Steve but a stark contrast to the short foreplay. It takes your breath away, regardless. He pulls back an inch, panting against your lips as he rolls his hips deeper, running his hand down to hold onto your hip.

You try to spread your legs further, but the clothing around your ankles makes it difficult. Your hands scratch down his back and you arch your back, moving your hips to chase your high. Steve grunts out and then bites his bottom lip hard, moving his hips faster and more wildly than before. It’s exactly what you need as the pressure building inside you is pulled taut, you’re so close you can almost see it.

“Fuck me, Steve,” you whine out and he makes a pretty, needy sound that has you reeling. It was the type of sound that was the reason you’d always loved going down on Steve.

He rocks his hips into you harder and faster, pulling out little breathy moans from you as you cling onto his back.

“You like that?” he pants out, his hair bouncing with every thrust and you nod up at him, eyebrows furrowing as your orgasm looms closer and closer.

You press your palm against his cheek and he kisses you deeply, smoothing his hands up and down your sides as he moves against you. The kiss pushes you over the edge, a sharp cry flooding out of you as you climax around him, your walls fluttering around his dick and Steve starts making the familiar sounds, desperate and whiny little noises. He pulls out of you quickly, spilling his load over your stomach with a strangled groan. You hum happily, eyes dancing across his gorgeous face. He stuffs himself back in his pants and walks over to his hamper, grabbing a shirt and walking back over to wipe his mess from your navel. He pants as he does it and when he moves away again to dispose of the shirt, you pull your clothes back on.

“You want me to just drop you at home or back at school?” he asks, his eyes everyone but on you.

“Home is fine,” you say, trying to hide the way your heart is splitting yet again from Steve Harrington.

The car ride there is awkward and when you’re a block away, you notice Tommy and Billy’s cars parked on the street.

“Just drop me here,” you say softly and Steve pulls over. As you get out, he leans over and grabs your wrist. You kneel down and lean back in the car. He kisses you gently and then smiles awkwardly at you.

“I’ll see you later,” you say before shutting the door and slinging your backpack over your shoulder.

You walk up to the front door, noticing as Steve makes a u-turn and heads back in the direction of Loch Nora. Tears are threatening to break free but you will them back down, stepping inside the house and waving at Tommy, Billy and Carol as they’re lounged on the couch, watching music videos. You close yourself in the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror, smoothing your hair down and fixing your makeup. Once you feel you’ve calmed down enough, you make your way back out to the living room and very nicely ask Billy if you could bum a smoke.

“I’ll join ya,” he says, standing from the couch.

Tommy moves to follow but Carol grabs his wrist and pulls him back down, leaning close to whisper something and he looks like he’s about to protest until she starts kissing his neck. You make a face and lead Billy out the back door. You sit down on the plastic furniture and graciously accept the cigarette he hands over. Billy pulls out his zippo and lights it for you. Seeing him, unfortunately, eases the way your heart aches. Deep down, you know Billy would do the same thing Steve just did to you but you try not to focus on that. You feel ridiculous that you thought things might be different this time. It’s obvious that you’ve always been an easy lay to Steve and it hurts that you’re still that.

“How was the library?” he asks as he lights his own cigarette.

You shrug, “Really exciting at first, until it sucked.”

“So what’s his name?” Billy asks, smirking up at you as he exhales the thick smoke.

You blush, dropping your head before replying, “That obvious, is it?”

Billy lets out a big, belly laugh. It’s a nice sound, you want to make him laugh over and over.

“I can always tell when a woman’s had an orgasm,” he quips, sliding his tongue out almost obscenely along his lower lip. It’s insane how quickly he’s making you feel better, no matter how blunt he is.

“Yeah, well, his name isn’t important because the whole thing,” you gesture your hands in big circles, “wasn’t important to him.”

Billy inhales sharply, gritting his teeth, “Well… speaking from experience… ‘cause I am one so.. yeah, all guys want the same thing.”

You curl your lips down in a frown as you chew over his words, deciding you’re not much better than Steve because you went along with it for the same reasons. You wanted to fuck him and shit, you got that.

“Sometimes,” you giggle softly, bringing the cigarette up to your lips, “Girls are after the same thing.”

The blonde laughs again and you wanna breathe it in, wanna taste his laughs and his lips and his whole body. He’s different than Steve, physically rougher around the edges which makes him that much more interesting. Exotic maybe. His hair doesn’t look nearly as soft as Steve’s, not nearly as cared for. You’d seen the Farrah Fawcett spray in Steve’s bathroom and you can guarantee Billy doesn’t use the same thing.

“I’ve seen my fair share of that,” he agrees, “but I think a big difference is once guys have it once, they don’t want it again but girls do.”

“Or they want it again when it’s easy,” you point out, reaching over to snatch the beer from his hand and taking a big gulp from it.

“Beware of those assholes,” he says, raising his eyebrows and looking at you seriously.

You groan softly, “I was trying to stay away from him.”

“Who is it?” Billy asks, curiously. “I won’t tell.”

“But you so will,” you gush, bringing your hand to your face, “It’s premium gossip.”

“You think I’m that type?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow up.

You turn to him, “This is juicy. It’s be hard not to tell people.”

“What? Harrington?”

Willing your face to remain still, “No.”

Billy scoffs, “King Steve. No way. That is something.”

“It’s not Steve,” you seethe, though you know your face is giving it away.

He chuckles softly and grabs the beer back, “Your secret is safe with me but uh… you could do better.”

Billy gets up from the chair, tossing his cigarette before walking back inside.