#apologies if someone has done this before

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

Fallout leaves you scrambling for who really has your back and who doesn't. The Empire reaches the western sect and lays down the law. You're given one hell of an apology. 

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

"Tch, that many times that fast isn't possible." Clearly you've never had lesbian sex. NSFW

[Part one] [Ao3] [24] [Chapter Index]

25 * Alliances [15.3k]

        Behind Mohawk's boots, the stars passed by. Unknowing, uncaring of your plight, spasming on the floor, drooling at the mouth. You tried to imagine there was something out in the universe that would save you. Something righteous that wouldn't let this happen. But no God comes bashing trough the window, you were left to fend for yourself like you had in prison, under Machine Head, in the desert. It was never-ending.

        You didn't see him as you were facing the window, but Gray was at the top of the stairs, fists clenched. You didn't hear him, were too scared to move and set off another spasm fit. But he heard everything, wanted to step in when he heard you scream, saw you drop to your knees. Heard your heart hammering in terror- but that was it, you were still alive- weren't you? He knew Mohawk would take some sort of disciplinary action. Viltrumites were not a forgiving people. If Gray's version of you had acted like that, a higher up would have killed her before he even got a say. The fact you were alive after that clear disrespect was paramount to Mohawk's care for you. Still, he hadn't told Gray about this... collar, he'd called it. Supposed it could corral you, but did he really have to go to such barbaric measures? Gray would have started by taking away more simple pleasures and amenities like his mother had done when he disobeyed as a child. You were a human from an Earth unclaimed by the Empire, you didn't know what you were up against.

        Mohawk didn't look at Gray. The man was an afterthought that Mohawk knew wouldn't step in. Gray was already proving to be a good lap dog, you could learn a thing or two from him.

       Mohawk spoke, "Oh, don't pout." You weren't pouting, you were in acute shock. "You knew I'd have to curb your bullshit eventually. This is really your fault for acting out." Now that you were subdued, hurting, his voice took a smooth, balmy tone. "I still care about you. I wish things didn't have to be this way." Only your eyes moved, rolling in their sockets towards his voice, set reddened on him like a sick dog. Your mouth moved but no sounds come out, throat pulsing with pain. "Don't look at me like that, I mean it. I'll take it off once you learn to behave, but until then." Mohawk knelt down and got a better look at your face, pressed to the floor and stupid. He reached toward your neck, sleeve dragging in your pool of spit, and tugged on the metal heart in the collar's middle. "I've gotta keep a better handle on you is all. Doesn't mean I love you any less."

        Kregg's voice buzzed in his ear.

        "I have to go. Duty calls, you know?" The only response he got was the malice twinkling in your teary eyes. He patted your cheek. "I won't take you along. You can go wherever you like, except you know, the stuff I've restricted because it's too dangerous for a human. Just be back in bed by one o'clock. If you're not well..." Another tug at the collar, but there's no humor in his voice like there normally was. "It's got a tracker, I'll find ya." 

        You couldn't roll out of the way as he leaned forward to place a kiss on your tear-slicked cheek. Mohawk paused as he pulled away. "Shit, right we don't have clocks you could read." Kregg said something else in his ear. Ever since he got back, it was all work, no play. "I'll just have someone get you if I'm busy."

        He rose to his feet and finally caught Gray's eye. "I told you to leave, didn't I?"

        Behind Gray's back, his hands were fists. "You did, sir. But.." His eyes flickered to you, just as much a weakness to him as you were to Mohawk.

        "Well-" At that moment, Markus burst into the room. He heard the scream from nearby and rushed over to find this- you twitching on the ground. He went to grab for you but Mohawk blocked him with his legs. "She's fine. Just a little disciplinary action."

        Markus thought you'd get a talking to. Thought maybe the Emperor would be more like himself, fuck you and not let you cum as punishment but this was certainly not that. "She doesn't look fine."

        Markus looked around Mohawk. Saw you shivering and crying. Saw the collar locked around your neck and was transported back in time. You'd been a collared submissive in his dimension, nothing as flashy as what Mohawk had you in, but it was the symbolism that mattered. You'd wanted it, asked for it even when he was hesitant. He came around to it, loved pulling you around but with consensual preamble. This was beyond that. You hadn't wanted this. You resisted. You were scared, he could hear your heart's stuttering beats. He was reminded of your face right before he snapped your neck. 

        "Might be touchy for a few minutes but my sensors say she's completely fine." Mohawk replied. You still hadn't turned to look at them, he could barely make out your face in the glass. 

        He wanted to rip the Emperor's head from his flared collared shoulder. But he couldn't. There was too much at stake, your safety for one. All Markus could do was feel a deep mourning in his chest. He'd find a way to dig you out of the grave you dug yourself. He'd pull you out kicking and screaming if he had to, as long as he could get that horrible thing off you. 

        He had to at least try saying, "Are you sure about that? She doesn't respond well to-"

        "Who's the Emperor?" 

        Markus shut his mouth. Mohawk smirked, "Good. Now, I want you both with me, there's something we have to attend to down in medical." Where Markus had just been. 

        "We're taking her there?" Gray asked, voice hopeful.

        "No. She needs time alone to think." Mohawk said.

        "Then I'm not going." Markus said.

        "Neither am I."

        Mohawk's eyes narrowed on them. "An' here I was thinking you two were shapin' up to be real ass lickers. Look at you, standin' up to me. Should kill you for that." He didn't sound it, but Mohawk was mildly impressed. Everyone in the empire bent a knee to his will, but not these other versions of him despite being so thoroughly outnumbered and outclassed.

        "You know you can't." Markus said, stepping closer to you. "Do what you need to do but I'm not-"

        "Go." Talking burned like bile coming up a raw throat. They all turned to you. Still in the same spot on the ground. 

        Markus's brow pinched, "I'm not leaving you."

        If he wanted his stupid plan to work, he had to. If you ever wanted to free again, he had to. You didn't think about that in the moment though, you could only think about the humiliation of them seeing you like this. Scorned them for not being faster, for not stopping this before it happened. Angry at everyone and everything. "Just go." 

        "Mm. Look at you agreeing with me already." Mohawk went for the stairs. "Should'a done this sooner."

        The duo was hesitant behind Mohawk, throwing concerned glances over their shoulders but if they wanted to rise the ranks, get enough intel to navigate this place and bide time until Angstrom was usable? They had to go, so they did. 

        Again, you were alone. 

        Scared, angry, and hurting. Knowing the only way to thrive was to act the same way you had under Machine Head. Never reacting to his jabs, doing whatever he said. You had made it work sometimes content with things, but this was worse. Not only because of the mixed feelings involved but the fact that you had gotten a taste of freedom with Machine Head's death. In the desert there was danger, but you heeled to no master. It was nice not holding your tongue, being happy, yourself- while it lasted. You should've known it would end like this.

        Except this wasn't the end. You weren't dead. After some time you peeled your spit-stuck cheek off the floor and sat up. The first place you went was the kitchenette, looking for scissors. There was a tiny pair, good for cutting ends off plastic wrapping. It didn't make a dent in the flexible material wrapped around your neck.

        You left the observation deck entirely. The whole place tainted. This whole ship tainted because wherever you went, Mohawk would know where to catch you. You meandered aimlessly, looking for a place to curl up to hide and cry. There was Mohawk's room but there way no way you'd go there voluntarily. There was the lab, but you couldn't get in without Mohawk, weren't even supposed to be in there without supervision. Maybe Mark's cell if you could find it. Wouldn't it be so satisfying for him to see you like this? He'd say you deserved it, should've seen it coming. The thought makes you want to hurt him but you can't anymore, you'd been thoroughly declawed.

        You wandered aimlessly. Ended up a few levels higher than where you'd been. When you saw him down the long hall wearing grays and having that face, it didn't register that he doesn't have a mohawk. You turned, head down, and looked for a door to disappear in but go corpse still when he calls out, "Oh shit, hey (Y/n)!"

        You were coming up with things to say, biting, but not enough to warrant another round when he swings around your front. So clearly not Mohawk you almost sighed with relief. 

        Seb took one look at you and said, "Whoa, you look like shit."

        You scowled, "Don't act stupid. You knew this was coming." Your voice came out raspy. You immediately regretted it, thinking he could have a remote control too. You flinched, expecting a shock. 

        Seb blinked. "What?" He was too busy checking you out to notice the collar until you lifted your chin. "Whoa? Is that new? Emperor dude get it for you, huh? Kinda cute." He reached out to tug on it teasingly, "Didn't think you for someone who'd be into-" but paused when you flinched away.

        "Don't play dumb." Except you didn't think he was, you're fishing for answers. Wondering if Markus's horrified face had been genuine, if Seb's was, if Gray's hesitation had been knowing.

        "Look dude, I'm plenty dumb but I can't be dumb if I dunno what we're talkin' 'bout." 

        You pulled on the collar as you told him what it was. By the end of it, you were about to keel over crying but you held it in, barely. 

        "Uh oh..." Seb scratched the back of his neck just for something to do with his hands, "No. No, I didn't know about that. Do you uh, want some help?" You silently nodded, lips sucked in trying not to cry. Seb reached out but didn't touch before he asked, "This isn't gonna kill you right?"

        "I don't think so." Your laugh was humorless. "The last time it shocked me so hard I almost pissed myself." You had to try. Mohawk said only he could take it off, maybe it extended to the variants. "Do it."

        "Please don't piss yourself." His hands came to either side of the collar, gently curling under the material. You braced for impact that didn't come- not until he started to pull.

        Your body was melting everywhere, all at once. The tears came loose, your knees turned to jelly. Seb caught you before you fall, kneeling down and letting you go limp against him. He stopped as soon as he felt a tickle in his fingers that was much, much worse for you.

        "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit." He believed you but thought you were exaggerating. Rex always had. Mohawk really was crazy.

        Across the ship, Mohawk felt a vibration in his wrist cuff,  lifting his arm to look at it. 1 shock administered. Followed by a pull up of the nearest camera, snug into the corner of a hall. He saw your heaving back, Seb holding you upright on the ground. He knew at least one of them would be sympathetic to your plight, try and help when they shouldn't. Not that he'd told Seb not to but come on, man, bro code.

        Gray peaked over his arm but didn't catch a glimpse, looking away when Mohawk glared. Markus got a peak while he was distracted. At least you were alive enough to cry. He could tell by the shake of your back.

        You were conscious but couldn't get your legs back under you. Everytime you tried, something would twitch or go too loose or tight and you'd fall. Seb kept you upright, head hooked over his shoulder.

        "Dude, stop, you gotta lie down." He floated slow, scared he'd somehow give you shaken baby syndrome moving too fast. The journey wasn't far. In the end, you realized he was a few flights and a hall away from Mohawk's room. 

        You were in a haze. Uncontrollably dripping tears onto Seb's shoulder until he laid you down onto his mattress. You looked up at an empty white ceiling and didn't look away for some time. 

        Seb hovered over you, constantly scared you'd die or seize out. He'd been with Rex through plenty of bad trips and a few overdoses. Sometimes he thought Rex wasn't going to make it, that he was going to be totally alone in the world because nobody got him, not like Rex did. But he always found a way to pull through. Rex survived Dad's suggestion of killing  him for being a 'bad influence', survived the takeover of Earth because he cooperated. Rex didn't survive the rebellion, Eve got revenge for what Rex had helped Seb do to those Guardians losers. He'd been so alone for so long, just coasting by while Dad or other Viltrumites bossed him around. Then he met you and Oliver, but guessed he wasn't allowed to have nice things because Oliver was dead and you were just a human stuck in an impossible situation. He couldn't lose another friend. 

        Somehow he played it cool. Casual when your neck stopped randomly tensing and your hand stopped curling into a fist. "So uh, why would he do that?"

        Your eyes moved to him. Stood by the open hole in the wall that was his dresser, hung with four duplicates of the same outfit he was wearing. The room was jail-cell tiny and just as unfurnished. A bed and a dresser and probably a bathroom hidden in the walls. The sheet you were laid on was blue. You wanted to get up, get away from the color like it'd done this to you but you knew it was a bad idea. 

        "He made me a dog." You said.

        Seb cringed and turned away. You thought he was feeling the sting of second hand embarrassment at your crying, he hadn't handled it well before. In reality, Seb was digging out a hidden bottle from his closet. "Uh. One'a those alien guys showed me where they kept some'a the meds. Think he thought I was the Emperor at first or soemthin' cuz he let me take this whole thing." He presented a white bottle, stamped with Viltrum's logo. Alien language labeling its contents in tiny text. "All I know is, I drank a whole bottle and I got pretty drunk the first night back. So for a human I wouldn't take more than a cup full but..." He held it out to you, "Want some?" He wasn't good with comforting words, but he was good to get drunk with.

        You took the bottle and shimmied up onto your elbows. Seb sat himself at the foot of the bed, watching as you poured the milky liquid into a bottle cap and threw it back. It burned going down, hit your stomach like a bomb, you had to keep yourself from puking it back up.

        Mohawk watched your vitals on his wrist screen when he should have been paying attention to the Martian bio-engineer. Your heart rate and blood pressure were a given to monitor but he'd also had an atmospheric breathalyzer installed and somewhere near you, something fatally alcoholic had been introduced to the environment. He lowered his wrist, knowing you'd be fine. The old you had kept a bottle of that same toxic poison hidden for emergencies awhile ago. Almost drank yourself to death before he found it and got rid of the thing. Killed a decent number of medical wing staff to get the point across to never give you random drugs. Hopefully, you didn't develop a taste for it. Synthetic Eskewnian blood was hard to synthesize and too useful to run out of.

        You leaned over the bed, holding your head as light-headedness washed over you faster than with codeine. Seb took the bottle and drank deeply. He lowered it, sheer white liquid rolling down his chin.

        "Man, that tastes like ass." You didn't respond. He glanced at you, face grave. So he took a breath, and as though he was the head of a bomb squad, asked quietly and carefully, "Do you wanna talk about what happened?"

        "No." You snapped. "Literally anything else. Please."

        Seb had stories, stupid ones but he drew blank after blank. The Empire had infected his mind. Made him remember what he'd rather forget. It came out, hot and bitter like puke, "You know, I was part of the Empire in my universe too." You gave him a withering look. "What? It's not about your..." Calling Mohawk your boyfriend right now felt mean, "That dickhead." He corrected. You looked away and he took it as a go-ahead. "All this shit's crazy new to me too. Like, I knew they'd be uptight and all but geez man these uniforms? Go right up your ass if you're not careful." He waited for you to laugh, you didn't. "I mostly stayed on Earth as a like, enforcer for the rebellion you know? I didn't care about it though, it was all my Dad's idea. I just kinda coasted by, did enough stuff they wouldn't be mad at me." Even if he had gone above and beyond, Dad would still have found a way to be disappointed. Just the nature of their relationship.

        You were swaying slightly in your seat now. "Soooo, what's coasting on Viltrum, committing only partial genocides?" You recalled what Omni Man said on TV. What the media openly speculated he had planned.

        Seb sighed and leaned forward on his knees, "Yeah, but like, I stalled a lot. Not cuz I'm a pussy or whatever but cuz these guy's are always on your ass to work. It's like can a guy please take a month to find a rebel planet but mostly smoke Saturn's seventy-fourth moon gas station weed?"

        "When I said I didn't wanna talk about it I meant all of this shit. Even that stupid planet." You slurred.

        "Ah, shit my bad."

        "No," you waved him off, changing your mind on a dime, your brain a soup from both the alcohol and repeated shocks, "It's fine. I should know more about this stupid shit anyway, cuz guess whose gonna be forced to be empress one day!?" You looked around, faux searching before pointing at your chest, "Me!" 

        "Jesus. That's gotta be heavy. And you can't say no if he's got you in a shock collar like a freakin' dog." Seb kicked out his feet. "Man, Oliver would hate it here. He was smarter than me, he'd probably have figured out how to piss off by now. Wouldn't wanna be around all these scary ass old heads with sticks rammed up their asses."

       "You're smart." You said only because you were drunk, "You can figure stuff out."

        "You can too." Seb said, "You're in a better position than I am to do shit. I just get told to guard empty hallways and write down the temperatures. You got way more opportunities to like, spy."

        "Oh." Seb said stupidly. "Just don't get caught then?"

        "Plan's already blown before it started dude." You pulled at the collar, your terror of messing with it delayed from the alcohol, but a shock didn't come. You go on, "This thing's got a tracker. Probably knows I'm drunk. He knows everything I'm doing all the time, dude."

        Seb went pale. "Shit. Uhm." He scooted closer, lowered his head to be in line with your neck. "You know I'm just jokin' right bro? Lil bit'a drunk thoughts from a dumbass. I love this place actually, way better than my last apartment. Good beds, no roaches." He had no idea if there was a microphone and camera or not, but he was taking zero chances.

        You laughed at him. "You're a shitty liar."  A flash of your earlier encounter with Mohawk made you cringe. You couldn't believe you let him finger you like that. Then the meeting, maybe you did want to talk about it, "Can you believe that shit at the meeting?"

        Seb rolled back onto his palms, "Pretty crazy dude. I thought that old lady's head was gonna explode." He paused to take a drink. Continuing when his lips weren't wrapped around the bottle rim. "Soon as you left, she was like 'lets murder (Y/n)' and everyone was like 'uhhhhh no you decrepit, weirdly sexy old lady, stop.'"

        You decided to ignore most of what he'd said. The fear that should have come with that knowledge was dulled in your inebriation. "Is she the oldest bitch here?"

        "Uhhh, she looks old so that's a bad sign for how far she is up the empire's ass. Lucan, the bald guy, he's like three thousand and looks thirty so she's like... seven, eight thousand? I dunno."

        You blinked, not even really comprehending what that meant. Omni man had implied they lived a long time, but eight thousand years? Your head dipped as you looked down at him, "How fucking long do you guys even live?"

        "Uhhhh." Seb rubbed at his temples that now throbbed with subtle drunkenness. "Think Dad told me one time uhhh... Man, I think I was like fifteen and really high so lets say... Forever? But hey, Viltumites are always going to war and killing eachother, so they still die a lot."

        You groaned and pulled at your face. "God. All this alien bullshit makes my head hurt."

        He laughed and patted your thigh as he said, "That's just cuz you're drunk off mystery juice."

        True. "Ok yeah, but you know what I don't get then? If he's going to live forever and I'm here," your arms felt light and floaty as you held them overhead, "wearing this," you pointed down to your neck, "when I'll live max eighty years. Why couldn't he be obsessed over some immortal bitch instead of me?"

        "I mean, our medicines probably will hella extend your life but like. He loved you before he knew about most of the alien shit, so there's that. Also, no offense, you can't fight back like a Viltrumite could." The longer Seb talked the more he realized, "This is so fucked up, dude." You sat up, head bobbing. "Whoa bro, don't move so fast."

        "I'm just..." You wanted to get up walk around, try and forget. Your legs still feel weak and you could barely sit upright. You ended up flopping to the side, head falling limply on his shoulder. "This sucks."

        Seb went tense but didn't push you off. It was nice having someone who actually wanted him around. "Should you be doin' that? He's probably watchin' us right now."

        "He doesn't care what happens to me." You slurred and when he was still stiff under you, you added, "I'm not gonna fuck you by the way."

        "Didn't say that."

        "Sorry I just-" You ached all over, head light and stupid. "-Feel like everyone wants something from me all the time."

        "Look bro, you're hot and all but I'm not gonna fuck around when you're all sad n' shit." He wrapped his arm around your shoulder, "Boner killer and like... I think you just like need a buddy right now, ya'know?" He knew, because he needed one too. He'd prefer if the companionship came with some sex but that could be later, when things weren't so messed up. 

        You leaned harder into him, cheek squishing on his shoulder. "Thanks."

        ***

        "So you can do it?" The Emperor asked.

        He'd kept a running tab of who did what in the desert. Phantom worked with GDA tech, had it all over his suit. If anyone could turn that awful ringer into an implant, it'd be Phantom.

        "It'd take time to fix it. Then convert it from Earth tech to Viltrum tech." Phantom was sat back in the same room you'd found him in. The alien doctor finishing up the last of the calibrations after his own limbs had sent thousands of volts into his muscles. Mohawk stood framed in the door, his two newest sentries stood on their side of him, forcing their faces blank. 

        Phantom had run into the debilitating frequency before. After his Dad was imprisoned, Phantom was summoned to Atlantis to atone for his father's slaying of King Aquarus. The GDA thought they wanted him to marry the queen but he was actually tried by combat. He fought a monster that screeched so loud his eardrums burst and rendered him nearly useless. Mohawk nodded along to the story, because he had received the same summoning, but just killed everyone living in Atlantis. Killed the monster so fast he didn't get a chance to hear it. The first time he heard it was fighting the Reanimen in your reality. 

        Before Angstrom came to Grayson, Cecil had been threatening to put a chip in his head, to control him. After everything Dad did he'd gotten rougher with criminals, killed them when he hadn't before. Cecil thought he was just lashing out, that he'd heal but on the inside Phantom had rotted entirely. There was no sweet hero left in him, only a mourning, murderous thing that wanted you back by any means necessary.

        The Empire didn't have the tech to replicate the hyper-specific frequency just yet, but something needed to be done about Scars and Lensless. Thula and Lucan were strong, fast, and wise beyond their years but they were needed on the battle front when they get closer to the rebel planets. They couldn't be babysitting those assholes the whole time. The solution, a chip implanted in their brain that screeched at them anytime they got out of line, just like Grayson had been threatened with. 

        "Our scientists can help speed that along." Mohawk's words weren't generous. He needed as many eyes as possible on Phantom to keep him honest. He knew the little freak was a planner, if he worked alone he'd try to put something in the code. And of course, the Emperor was always right, he was already thinking of ways to use this opportunity to his advantage. 

        "Thank you." Phantom said robotically. "For that and," his mechanical limbs moved, not as smoothly as he'd like, but it was better than before, "these. I know that must've been costly on your part." He was thankful but he still had concerns, "But..." Mohawk's lips thinned, Phantom knew he should show submission, especially after he swore loyalty not two minutes ago but he had to ask, "Why keep them alive in the first place? I know you need soldiers but can't we find people from other planets who would fight for us? Those two are an unnecessary risk."

        Markus and Gray agreed though they didn't show it.

        Mohawk surprised Phantom by saying, "Look, I don't want them around either but we need all the Viltrumites we can get. They're already causing problems." On the way here, a servant came running to Mohawk, frantic about the murdered pilot in the cockpit. Viltrum ships didn't technically need to be steered, for the most part it was self sufficient, powered by algorithms they'd been improving for centuries, the pilot was there in case those systems broke down- which they never did. Pilot was a position for idiots, that was why an alien with half a brain was stationed as one.

        Scars had killed the thing before poking and prodding around the cockpit. Hunting for secrets, a way to take full control of the ship. Thula had let him, knowing the pilot was useless and the tech was near infallible. It was a blatant show of disrespect for Mohawk's belongings and she had sent him a message that was ignored as he was busy with you, before sending a servant to intercept him.

        Then there was Lensless who was always trying to get Lucan to fight him. Lunging at him whenever and wherever he could. The two ended up bashing through a few walls that the servants were still trying to repair. Mind you, this is all before meal time. They needed to be put on a tighter leash. 

        "I can't dispose of them yet, it'd be easier for everyone if they could do stuff without taking up my lead officers' days." Mohawk said.

        There was an added bonus of letting them roam the ship without babysitters. If you ran into them alone, they'd nip at your heels, chase you around like a bunch of rabid school boys. Without the assumed protection of Thula and Lucan to stop them, you'd be so scared you'd run right back into Mohawk's arms, his protection. You'd come to see there were scarier and worse versions of him to hate. You'd come to forgive him to know you were wrong. 

       Phantom could almost see this thought on Mohawk's face, because he'd have done the same thing. In fact, if he played his cards right, you'd run into his arms instead. "Understood. Show me the lab and I'll get right to work."

        ***

        For awhile, you sat drunk, leaning on Seb. Wetting the collar of his uniform so close to what his supersuit had been but in gray with Viltrum's logo on the chest. Even though you'd taken a third of a shot, your head still swam a half hour later. You should-

        Something in Seb's uniform vibrated. He lifted his forearm. A rectangle in the fabric glowed to life, displaying blue text. Mealtime available until 37:30. "Do you wanna go get lunch?"

        "You read my mind."

        "Actually this little fuckass iPod read your mind." 

        "That is not an iPod."

        "Tomato tah-mato."

        Seb led you down the halls and downstairs. Explaining the whole way while you both stumbled over your feet. Soldiers had strict time schedules they had to adhere to. You caught Seb between tasks. He was supposed to take a whole hour to check oil reserves that the ship did for itself anyway. He half-assed the job and went to take a nap when he ran into you.  

        If he missed his time slot, the door to the mess hall simply wouldn't open for him. It was now or wait thirty hours till his next designated meal time. He'd survive, he'd gone a lot longer without eating in the desert, but he preferred to eat. They helped him almost forget the smoked and dried taste of his own flesh.

        Oh, that was another fun fact you'd somehow missed in your misery, the whole ship ran on Viltrum time where days weren't twenty-four hours but fifty. When Mohawk said be back by one, he meant tomorrow morning. Twenty-something hours from now, while he worked all the way through that time like it was nothing. Jesus. 

        The door opened just fine, even with you in tow. Unlike other rooms, the furniture was out without the probing of a floor button. A handful of thick tables waited all with a single chair pulled up. Surfaces metal and shining under harsh white light. There was no kitchen staff milling about or window to order food from. Seb trotted to the closest table and borrowed a chair from an adjoining table. 

         He flopped down on the chair, tall high-back and white, and patted the one next to him. You slid into it, asking, "Do Viltrumites like... Photosynthesize or?"

        Seb snorted as he touched a finger to the table. A screen flashed. Ah. Of course, another hidden screen. It was a menu, showing off today's options from the kitchen without photos and all the descriptions were vague. Meat dish with fiber. Gluten, that's it, just the description gluten.

        "Whadd'ya want?" Seb asked. "This one's my favorite." He tapped on hydrating meat dish adding it to his order. You stared at the screen, too drunk for this. "I know it's a lil weird at first, but everything I've had here isn't actually bad, better than those bugs." 

          After what Mohawk did, you weren't very hungry but you knew you should eat, couldn't remember the last time you had. It'd also help with how drunk you were, keep the buzz but not the stumbling. So you pointed to the thing that seems the most normal within your tastes. Seb added it to the order and sent it to the kitchen, no payment required. Viltrum erased all need for currency exchange. They did things for each other to keep the empire running without the corrupting force of money. If only Argall could see his empire was a corrupting force to the rest of the universe.

        Seb told you the kitchen was under your feet, you remembered vaguely Mohawk telling you it took up a whole level. When they were ready the dishes would be sent up through the thick table support which was actually a chute. You killed time trying to joke but everything fell flat. You still couldn't believe the collar was there, though the longer you wore it, the less you felt the weight.

        The door slid open, bringing a familiar huffy voice with it.

        "Okay, okay- I'm going inside." You saw a Mark step inside, one-eyed and skirtless, followed closely by Lucan. Lensless dragged his heels, uncaring that Lucan was pushing him into the mess hall. "Look, we made it, will you fight me now?"

        "No sir." Lucan sounded exasperated, adding flatly, "Perhaps once you've eaten."

        "You said that last time." Lensless countered.

        "Eat." Lucan said.

        "What if I don't?" Lensless spun on him, grinning and cracking his knuckles, "You gonna try n' make me? Gonna fight me?" 

        "No." 

        "Uggggggghhh. Everyone here is soooo lame." His head rolled on his shoulders. His working eye became a disc when he spotted you, slumped over a table with Seb who looked just as surprised to see him. "Oh! (Y/n)! Thank God I was getting so bored with this loser." He floated over and pulled up a chair that he slammed down next to yours. 

        Seb leaned down just to be fully visible past your frame. "Uh, she's already sittin' with me dude." Was the best defense he had.

        Seb hadn't seen Lensless or Scars anywhere besides the meetings. He liked to keep it that way, with how things ended in the desert. Everytime he thought about Scars he got so angry the blood rushed in his ears and he couldn't feel his fingers, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was weak. Needed to use all the free time his slacking gained him to get stronger. Avenge Oliver. Protect you.

        "Do you know how friends work? Did you know you can have multiple at a time? Crazy, right?" Lensless scooted his chair so close it scraped against your own. His shoulder brushed yours as he tapped at the order screen and snagged himself a protein dish (living). He turned over his shoulder, "Hey Lulu, what do you w- Why are you sitting over there?" He pouted at the man, sat three tables back. Relieved to have two seconds without the man glued onto his boot. 

        "Watching you." Lucan replied dryly. If he was being honest, Lucan was happy for the partial break in Lensless's constant steam of violence-seeking attention. Lucan was stronger, better than the boy, but any retaliation or reaction only riled the boy up more. He could only passively deal with this annoyance for so long. 

        Lensless huffed but made no more arguments as he sent his order through.

        "Sour puss." His attention snapped back to you, "That meeting was crazy, right? You've missed the last few. Where have you been?" He sounded like a long-term gal pal. Even shuffling closer like you wanted him there. You held your tongue, it wasn't like you could make him move away.

        You didn't reply. Seb voiced your discomfort, saying, "She doesn't wanna talk to you, bro."

        "Aww! You're letting me do the talking for both of us! You're so considerate (Y/n)." Lensless half hugged you, pulling you hard to his side by your waist, nuzzling his face into your neck. The way you went stiff at the contact was expected, but the feeling something that wasn't skin against his face was not.

        He pulled back a bit, ignoring your clear discomfort.

        "Hey," he unwound his arm from your side and reached for the collar, "What's this?"

        The way you jerked back and slapped his hand told him it wasn't, "Nothing," like you said.

        "It's obviously a necklace." Seb added.

        "Yeah." You scooted away, bumping your chair into Seb's. "A necklace."

        Lensless took that moment of silence to properly observe you, he saw telltale burst blood vessels in your eyes, irritated by recent sobbing.

        "You sound nervous." Lensless said casually. "Don't lie to me." Yet there was an underlying threat in his tone. If Lucan didn't reign him in, you and Seb were on your own.

        "I'm not, I just don't like being around you." You lied. 

        Lensless leaned forward, scrutinizing you with a single, mischief gleaming eye. Two trays of food rose up in the center of the table and he shot out of your personal space. Reaching for the gray tray holding a fleshy head with eyes still rolling in its sockets. Brains purple and glistening, tiny useless arms trying and failing to get it off Lensless's dinner tray. You and Seb watched in mild horror as he pulled out one of the things' eyes and popped it into his mouth. Shuddering with satisfaction as he bit down and raw eye juice splashed over his tongue. 

        "Look, we match." He said when he swallowed. His food was screaming.

        "Oh man." Seb sounded sick. "I wish I wasn't so hungry." He pulled your shared tray closer. His food was some sort of alien appendage, luckily very dead and without any eyes. It was purple with suction cups doused in a sauce that smelled of hot honey. He got to eating right away, slurping disgustingly with no use of the provided utensils. You picked at your food, trying not to think about the collar pressing on your throat every time you swallowed or how Lensless's food was still alive but could no longer scream.

        Lensless yammered on about everything. His new schedule- full- his work- mega boring- how Scars was doing- always training or trying to lose Thula.

         "I thought we'd have the same meal block together but I guess they knew that'd be a bad idea." He said, stirring the alien's open brains with a fork. "Which is true but kinda boring for me, so I'm so glad I get to sit with you. But I wanna hear about that guy he killed today. I had to make a servant tell me, but I wanna hear it from the actual guy himself. You know, he's really cool if you get past the edgy thing. He's great, really, you should hang out with us sometime (Y/n)." 

        Seb wiped slippery grease from his lips with the back of his hand. "Nobody wants to be your bro, bro."

        "I wasn't talking to you." Lensless chirped. "You're weak and that's suuuper boring but you," his eyes landed on the collar, oh no, "you haven't used your powers on me yet to make me shut up or go away. I think this is longest you've ever let me talk. Why is that?"

        "I'm practicing ignoring you." You said.

        "Mmm. No, that's not your style. You're always veryyy," he rolled his wrist, thinking, "forward even when it's like, really stupid to be. Just kinda weird. Are you feeling okay?" He laid a palm across your forehead. 

        "I'm drunk so I'm great, thanks." You tilted your head back but his touch didn't leave. No matter how you moved, he kept a hand on you. "Get off."

        "Mmmm, nah. Not unless you make me."

        Seb reached around you, grabbing Lensless by the wrist. "She said stop." 

        Lensless didn't move but he smiled. "What? Are you gonna fight me? That'd be kinda fun."

        They both know Seb would lose. Lensless would have a grand ole time painting the room with his blood. Lucan wouldn't do shit about it until Seb was near death. Then and only then would he take him to the medbay because he was needed for the Empire. 

        Seb wasn't used to being the weaker person. He was literally Invincible. He killed heroes and villains alike. Aliens and humans. He wasn't weak but Lensless was just... better. He wasn't used to being nervous. He could take a beating, but a fight here meant you in the crossfire and he couldn't lose another friend. "You're not gonna fight me on the ship, dude. We'd break a bunch of shit."

        "He might." Lucan deadpanned between bites of some glutinous jelly.

        "I think I will." Lensless dropped his fork, letting the prongs slip into the congealed brains. He pulled his fist back, angling it to swing around your neck and knock Seb's already notched nose more to the right. "If you don't want me to hit him, you better stop me (Y/n)."

        With their arms caged around you like locked bull horns, with Seb's life suddenly in your hands, you were scared. 

        "I..."

        "I can handle it." Seb barked. "This time I'll fuckin' kill you, shithead." Despite his words, he didn't swing first. 

        "Oh yeah?" Lensless's grin grew impossibly wider. 

        It'd been a few (Earth) days since they last fought. There was no way Seb had gotten any stronger since then. He was going to get fucked up for you. The only person you wanted hurt right now was Mohawk. "Stop it."

        "Hm. I don't feel the urge to stop? Are you really using your powers?" 

        "Don't." Seb urged. 

        "I can't, asshole." Your confession made everything go still. In that moment, Lensless's food mercifully died. 

        Lensless pulled his arm easily out of Seb's grip. Reaching around your flailing hand, pulled at the collar, jerking you closer by the neck. "I thought that's what it was. Lemme see." He pressed his thumb to the collar's middle, gently flipping the inside toward him. Surly enough, a small metal disc was inlaid to the alien leather. "Shock collar, nice! I mean kinda sucks you can't use your powers on me. Honestly, I wish I had a shock collar and you didn't and you also had the controls but-"

        "Dude." Seb said warningly, "Let her go."

        "God, you are so annoying. Do you ever shut up?" Lensless muttered, running a thumb over the disc. Imagining you shocking him with twenty-million volts. What a dream.

        "Seb, it's fine." You said. You could deal with Mohawk shocking you to near-incontinence. You could deal with an overly persistent, one-eyed Mark. Seb knew it wasn't fine, felt the salt burn of a bruised ego that you were protecting him. He let it slide because he thought you needed a win.

        "So why's this on you anyways. It's sooooooo cute on you but like, doesn't he want to expand the empire? Your powers could literally help. What is he, stupid?" He let the collar go, snap back into place around your neck before he idly felt along the metal heart on its outside. 

        Lucan didn't say anything despite him insulting the Emperor.

        "Some people don't get boners when I tell them to break their own legs."

        "Stop it!" Lensless playfully smacked your arm, not wanting you to stop. "You're embarrassing me! But ugh, I can not believe he doesn't like you using your powers. What a loser. Oh man, Marky's gonna be so mad when I tell him."        

        "Who?" You asked.

        "Shit. Don't tell him I called him Marky it makes him really mad." At your furrowed brow, he said, "You called him Scars."

        All at once, your guts were liquid. Mohawk was bad enough on his own. If Scars caught wind of the collar, it'd be over.

        "If you tell him I'll kill you." You spat. 

        Lensless can hear the fearful skip of your heart, can't keep the smile off his face at your reaction. "Look at you trying to threaten me right now. You're precious. What are you gonna do to stop me, use your powers?" 

        "I'll tell the Emperor you did some creepy shit to me." You said.

        "He's super mad at you right now, isn't he? I bet he'd be happy something bad happened to you. Plus, he'd check the cameras and whatever monitors are in that thing." He was right and it hurt.

        You had no other choice, grimacing as you said it. "Fine. What do you want in exchange for you not telling him?"

        "Dude-" Seb started, that was a bad fucking idea.

        Lensless didn't have to think. He said, "Hold my hand." He held out his palm facing up, "Just till we finish eating."

        You blinked at him. "Are you serious?"

        Lensless did a fake little pout, "Pleaaaassseeee?"

        You did it. Threaded your fingers between his, which wrapped warmly around yours. Oddly moisturized and soft. He occasionally squeezed your hand for assurance whenever you were quiet too long. You couldn't believe how easy it was, holding his hand, slotted perfectly into yours. Just like Mark's had.

        Lucan eyed your joined hands. Thinking it was pathetic, how weak he seemed to your forced affection. Surely the Emperor wasn't the same?

        Lensless continued chattering on and as promised, when mealtime was over (Lucan told him his time was up), he reluctantly let you go. You stacked the trays and watched as the center of the table descended, taking the dishes down to the kitchen.

        "By the way, next time you see me, I expect a kiss on the cheek when you say hello." Lensless said.

        "What? No. I already did what you asked." You hissed.

        "Sweetie, you were a gangster, you should know how extortion works." He clapped you affectionately on the back. "Oh and, I prommy I won't tell Marky, but if he sees that?" Lensless hissed through his teeth, "Yeaaaah, that's gonna go so bad."

        He left with Lucan, going down the hall with a happy wave and advised you to, "Wear a turtle neck or something!" 

        "God," Seb watched him go with a sneer, "I hate that guy."

        ***

        You ended up shadowing Seb for the next few hours. Following behind him like a ghost. Standing outside the room of whatever task he was set to do if the door decided to slam in your face. Mohawk had already set limits on where you could and couldn't go. Though the ship was massive, you felt the walls pressing in.

        You wanted to stay away from the room. From Mohawk. But time kept marching forward and your legs were getting tired. You found your way back to the room alone before one. He'd be pleased, much to your distaste but you weren't back early for him. 

        Mohawk found you in the closet, wearing her old clothes, asleep on the stool. You were still, peaceful, with the bodysuit you'd borrowed from him thrown on the floor. The clothes you were wearing were wrinkled and frumpy, dug from the depths of her wardrobe. He hadn't seen that hoodie and sweatpants combo in years, only worn on lazy days when you wouldn't leave the house back on Earth. You'd stolen it away, a little piece of Earth you wouldn't let him corrupt.

        He took you back to the bed. Preferring you'd wear the pajamas but knowing if he woke you up, you wouldn't be so pliant in his arms. He took solace in how you snuggled up to your pillow, contentedly humming. Again, seeing it as proof you wanted this deep down. 

        Mohawk knew you were hurt, emotionally, physically. But after the day of work all he wanted to do was hold you. So he did, after changing into his pajamas. He wasn't sorry, not at all. The collar was deeply sexual to him and he didn't intend to take it off. In the moment, he was soft and vulnerable. Hoping one day you'd come to understand why he had to collar you. Hoping one day you'd accept that you liked it.

        When you woke up, you were alone, but you could smell his cologne in the air. Found a black hair on his pillow. You left the room and a pattern was set. You found Seb if you could, wandered the ship if you couldn't. Avoided the others, only wore loose high necks. Felt time and boredom chipping away at you in this smooth empty ship, devoid of human touch. All hard edges and shiny walls. 

        You ate very little. You'd gone far longer in the desert, grown almost used to the hunger pangs. You slept twice a day by Viltrum standards. Every morning and night when you were in the room there was a tray waiting by the bed full of Earth foods Mohawk knew you'd like. You brought most of it to Seb, who'd complained about his eating time table. 

        You never slept in the bed if you could help it. Always falling asleep in the closet only to occasionally wake up on the bed. Mohawk was busy nearly all the time, quietly bent over his desk mulling over reports or on a video call with a distant alien ruler, cementing their loyalty to the empire. 

        Today was another day, except it wasn't. Your few hours of sleep were actually during the middle of Viltrum's day. Again, you fell asleep on the stool and Mohawk, again, brought you to the bed. You woke up, saw him at the desk and decided you didn't want to pretend to sleep. You ignored the tray of food and Mohawk sat at his desk and headed for the door.

        "Wait." It was the first thing he'd said to you in days. Whenever he was in the room, you pretended to be asleep. He knew you weren't but he still gave you space, as long as you didn't disrespect him. The collar had certainly worked in making you more respectful, but he couldn't quite count your silence as a victory.

        You went rigid at once. Suddenly angry and afraid, you shouldn't have gotten brave. Should've stayed in bed. 

        "We're gonna be stopping the ship in a few minutes." He said, not looking up from his papers. "Dunno how much you remember of that meeting, but we're almost where we need to be." You didn't respond. Not trusting yourself to not say something rude, you knew he'd shock you if you did. "I want you to stay in here while it's happening. My room is the safest place on the ship in case anything happens. Which I doubt will. The planets we're going to won't stand a chance." He turned to you then, offput by your silence. Only when he sees you does he realize, "I'm not gonna hurt you for talkin' you know?"

        "Are you sure?" It was a jab despite your best efforts. 

        He smiled, missing your voice even if it came with barbs. "I don't mind you being snarky, babe." He considered getting up, he wanted to touch you. This part of his plan was mostly for you, for her. You wouldn't fully understand, but he didn't want you to, not yet. "There's going to be ships from the Coalition there. I'm going to destroy them myself. Then the planets they asked for help? I'm going to kill every last worthless being on them, because they took you from me with their pathetic ideology. I won't let them do the same to you."

        You still had no idea what the Coalition was, why she had worked with them or what had even happened that led to him finding out. It felt like he wanted reassurance, to know if you were grateful or angry or something else. You were indifferent.

        "I don't care that you're killing people. I don't know why you're so fixated on me betraying you, I don't think it'd even work, there's no point." You bet she'd say something different, that she'd cry to hear his plans. The other you was brave for going against him, knew more about space politics than you ever would. She had the bandwidth to care, when all the care for other people's lives had been sucked out of you so young. You were nothing compared to her, a shell, a shadow, but here you were, Mohawk's pet all the same. Projecting that image of her onto you when you didn't even know where Viltrum was. 

        Mohawk was quiet for a moment, he made a mental note to see if there were any human safe depression medications on the planets that were set to be culled. "You've only been sleeping a few hours. You should get some more rest." Was his nice way of saying you weren't leaving the room till he deemed it safe. 

        You looked to the door, wondered if he'd shock you for disobeying. He definitely would. The thought makes all the fight leak out of you. You crawled back into bed, knowing he'd drag you back if you went to the bench. You didn't mind the comfort Martian silk brought.

        When he left to take his revenge, you were asleep. On your temple, he plants a kiss.

        ***

        The warship was stationed at the solar system's edge. Nowhere near as close as Kregg would've liked, but Mohawk wouldn't risk the ship being blasted- even if their artillery would only maybe scratch the ship's shell. He wouldn't have you fearing for your life.

        He, the council, and the Marks left the ship. System defenses set high if anything foreign got too close. The plan was one person per planet, hit hard, fast. Leave nobody alive, and when it was done, record a message featuring the heads of multiple planetary leaders. An official universe-wide announcement that the Empire was back and not to be trifled with. 

        Of course, the Coalition had ships monitoring the planets. The nosy assholes had numbers on their side. All a bunch of useless bleeding hearts from hundreds of planets with some sob story. Boohoo, the Empire killed my whole family! What a bunch of idiots. Being spared was a gift. A gift Mohawk and his men would take back.

        The Coalition ships stood no chance. All it took was a body shooting through their hulls like a bullet to make them implode. Then they scattered from planet to planet, wearing the stark Viltrum grays and whites that meant death to anyone who saw it. 

        It was carnage. The council worked through their planets methodically. Ensuring through hours they leveled every city and tore the heads off every man, woman, and child they saw.

        The Marks were messier. Gray was the closest to the council members. He ended lives quickly, leveled buildings by the square mile, going section by section, the way Conquest had taught him. Lensless who had worked with the empire and done this sort of thing many times, let people go on purpose just to hunt them down later. He rejoiced in being free from his babysitter like Scars also had for the mission. Killed lovers in front of lovers. He was the fastest but he made sure they all died slowly. 

         Phantom tried to kill fast but he was still unused to his new limbs. He heard purple-skinned people cry for mercy in a language he didn't understand and killed them anyways, unable to make himself care. He used the haze of strikes and arcs of blood as a meditation of sorts. He hadn't been in control in so long. It cleared his mind, gave him some time to plan his next move.

        Seb had killed so called rebels before, wasn't afraid of doing so, but on this scale he felt like a huge dick. He didn't have strict instructions like he usually did in his home dimension, he just had to kill all of them. But it was them or him so he did it, not happily, but as mercifully as he could.

        Mohawk and Scars had something in common. They both went hard on the aliens they found, left no room for mercy or running. Just a death that was long enough to feel some fear, then it was over. Letting out steam at their respective situations, thinking about you, always thinking about you.

        Markus being one of the physically largest of the Marks, was given the planet with the most advanced defenses, the planet most of the Coalition members were said to be staying on. Kregg wanted to test his mettle, see if he was strong as he looked. He was. The planet's population had dropped to zero in under four hours. It wasn't an easy job, he had to fight downright disgusting, and he definitely should've taken his time like the others, but he had to be the first one back to the ship.

        And he was. Flying so fast the layer of blood coating his body dried and burned off of him. He didn't bother to change, to lift the ozone stench of alien blood off his person. He went right to Mohawk's room where he knew you'd be. 

     The door slid open, DNA sensors thinking he was the Emperor, revealing you asleep in Mohawk's bed. The light from the hall slid across you in the dimmed room. You stirred, groaning and dreading talking to Mohawk. You knew any kind of violence riled him up, were dreading whatever he had planned. You sat up, rubbed your eyes to the sound of bootsteps coming closer. The door slid shut. It was Markus's silhouette you found outlined faintly in the light of a distant sun.

        He didn't wait for you to get out of bed to tell you what'd happened. Hundreds of thousands dead at his hands. The solar system would be completely dead in a few hours. You just blinked up at him, you knew you should cry for the loss of life. Should weep at the empire's cruelty but you just felt numb, glad it wasn't Mohawk. You didn't care who was dead or how, it felt a little hypocritical to start caring about murder now after all the times you'd done it. 

        You wondered how much the other you would hurt for these people. You could never be a good enough person to care. 

        All you could say was, "That fast?" Because sometimes it took you a long time to kill even one person if they were stupid and stubborn enough. A whole planet of people was gone like that.

        "I haven't had any free time to see you, so I made some." He replied, arms unfolding from the Viltrum solider standard behind his back, he'd adapted in only a few days.

        Your laugh was humorless. You could've gone to see him if you wanted to. You'd been getting a better sense of the ship's layout. A decent sense of Mohawk's schedule. If you asked a servant, they would've pulled the right strings, but you hadn't. In truth you hadn't wanted to see him for all his talk of playing along to stay safe then letting the collaring happen.

        He knew you were angry. Were receding into yourself.

        Especially when you said, "All I've got is free time." Just to rub it in his nose that you could've seen him but chose not to.

        Though he'd planned this meeting he was still nervous. Always thrown a little off-kilter by your mean streak, she had never talked to him like this. Would have already been draped over his shoulders after coming back from a mission, never asking what he had done, only how he was. 

        "I'm sure if you asked for a schedule they'd make one for you." He said stiffer than he wanted. He hadn't wanted the conversation to be about work, but he didn't want to play the rude implication of your statement. He sat on the corner of the bed to be more casual even though he didn't feel it. 

        You retreated from the bed as soon as he sat down, meandering over to the desk. Looking out the window at the line of planets that got more distant the closer they got to the sun. One of them had chunks floating off it, the planet's glowing core exposed and cooling rapidly in the ice of space. You wondered who was tearing that world apart. Why they'd go so far. It was Mohawk after finding out the head Coalition officer overseeing this solar system was from that planet. So he tore it apart more savagely than he had planned to. Just helping the guy out in the afterlife, sending his whole family and planet down to hell with him.

        "I don't want to do anything for the empire." You looked down to the organized stacks of paper. One pile was stamped with the empire's sigil, the other didn't, unread. All of it was too complicated for you to understand. "Plus It'd just be follow the Emperor around and give him head every five hours."

        "I see your concern." Markus couldn't find an argument he'd win, because you were right. Mark wasn't very subtle, had pushed you further than he meant to, "I hope you've been taking care of yourself. It's no easy task keeping Mark from crowding you."

        You turned, leaning your ass on the desk, partly sitting. "And how are you doing that?"

        "Gray and I have advised him to give you some space and have offered an ear when he walks to talk." Markus had meal times in the same block as the Emperor most of the time. Had nodded along to whatever he said. Offering advice where needed but never crossing the line.

        "He's not just busy, you know, being the Emperor?" He understood your skepticism, he hadn't been there for you. He should have come sooner, stood up to Mark more than he had.

        "He is, but he wants to keep you at his side at all times. But I know that's not who you need around you." Markus said.

        You weren't surprised. Again he was insisting he knew what was best. It annoyed you. "Oh? And who do I need?"

        "Somebody who wouldn't hurt you." 

        He said it so genuinely you had to break eye contact.

        "You won't hurt me?" Your voice was a mix between caution and disbelief. Markus only caught the glint of hope because he knew you so long.

        "Never." He planned to never hurt this version of you, had been painfully honest with you from the start. When she had found out who he really was he had no choice but to snap her neck. That would never happen with you, he wouldn't lose control like that, would be honest about what he was from the beginning. 

        When you glanced up you could see it in his eyes, he was thinking about her. You felt no pity for the corpses floating in space, but you felt a shred for her, someone who'd lost her life the way you'd lost your autonomy, "I don't know what you want from me, Markus. I'm not the same person. I can't give you what she gave you, I can't give any of you what the dead me gave you."

        Markus wanted to touch your cheek but he doesn't want you to get squirrely and move away. He stayed in place on the bed, hands folded on his knee. "The important things are still there, I love you the same." He let the words sink in a moment before adding, "I want to do what I can to make this place better for you." He means it fully and it helped you'd been married since you were eighteen. Even if you were different, he knew all the right things to say. 

        You felt a flutter of butterflies at the statement and sucked your lips in to any expression off your face. You tried to bite at him but it came out softer than you had wanted, "You care so much about me but you let another guy electrocute me." 

        "I didn't know about the collar (Y/n), he didn't tell any of us. I came as soon as I heard you yell, I was terrified for you."

        "You didn't do shit." You had told him to leave you alone, had insisted it. You don't think it would have helped if he had stayed, but you were still mad. Still felt powerless and lied to despite his insistence. 

        "I know." He took the attitude on the chin, "That's why I'm here now, to try and make up for it." 

        "How are you going to do that? Gonna take me on a fuckin' date? Gonna pick flowers from some dead alien's garden to give to me?" 

        He would if he could. Thought of the flower thing actually but thought it tactless. You didn't need a big gesture right now. You needed someone steady and loving. Someone who cared unlike Mark. Mark 'cared' but was clearly a selfish partner, couldn't admit when he was wrong. Not fit for you. You needed delicate handling while Mark was rough, always shoving the blame for his own actions onto you as he complained when Markus and Gray were shadowing him. As they so often did now.

        "I don't trust you. I don't trust anybody on this ship but Seb because he's the only one not licking Mark's ass." You said. It stung to call Mohawk, Mark. Stung because of the two other people you truly associated with the name, but everyone was calling him that now. Everytime you heard it from Seb or the muttering servants, you thought of someone else.

        "I don't care about him at all." Markus said, but it wasn't harsh. "I'm only doing this so one day I can protect you. He has to trust me to listen. I want you to be safe and happy, and I can't do that if he hates me." He wished you knew how much he meant it. Mark ran a good empire, a great one really, but he was obnoxious when he didn't have to be. Loud. Flashy. Markus still couldn't believe they were the same person, that he had to suck up like he had to his Father, just to protect you. It was humiliating, but it had to be done. 

        You couldn't believe it took you so long to realize, you had just woken up but the thought made a trill of fear squeeze your stomach. He came to the Emperor's bedroom. He was less than a few feet away, casually sitting on his bed. There were implications in the action, an underlying loyalty that wasn't to Mark or his Empire. You looked at him now and saw what he had been trying to tell you the whole time. When you fought back, you were only shut down harder than before, you weren't the only one who had to put their head down to survive. The good little Viltrumite soldier was a show, probably one he had put on for years before coming here, the real Markus was the one sitting in front of you. Uncaring of the rules when no one was around, only willing to play along to a point, and that point was you not trusting him. The trill of fear for him morphed into something yearning within you, this was seditious. An act of rebellion that would get you both in trouble. You could both get something out of this, a revenge of your own. 

        "The last time I needed you in the desert, you wimped out." You said slowly, still staring at him. You watched his brows furrow at the implication, watched the mole under his mouth move as he frowned slightly. Markus was left reeling, unbelieving you were actually coming onto him at a time like this. "You gonna pussy out this time if I ask you to prove it? Prove you don't care about him." You went on, doubled down. Markus remembered the desert sun, you practically begging for him, him leaving to let you cool down, only to come back to the sound of you fucking Seb.

        Markus crossed the room in a single fluid motion. Leaned back on the desk, he towered over you, his boots kissing your socked feet. "If you want proof that I love you, that I would always choose you, I can give that to you."

        But he stayed back, not quite touching you yet. He hadn't come with devious intentions. He'd come to be a friend, a chivalrous husband, not a full-blown rebel. Yet here he was, unable to resist your pull. 

        He knew he shouldn't. You were still vulnerable. Throat bruised from Mark's initial grab and collaring. You hadn't slept with him since then, he would've heard Mohawk bragging about it. You weren't endeared to him but Markus could easily get back in your good graces.

        His hesitation melted when you brought a hand tentatively to his chest, tracing down his body with light fingers. The way his body reacted to the barely there touch was a reminder he hadn't had you since the desert. And before that, in months, since before your death at his own hands. It'd been a long time. You were still unstable, hurt, but you were looking up at him like you needed this to be okay. He just wanted you to be okay, that's why he came for a second chance in the first place. He'd dreamed of your body beneath his night after night until he went near mad in his own dimension, in your shared home, shared bed. Here you were, offering yourself to him to fix it, to stabilize the both of you. 

        He couldn't resist. Closed the distance with a hand gently cupping your cheek. The kiss was closed-lipped, slow. He was all softness and caressing, careful touches to your waist where as you were unmoving, the hand on his curled in on itself. Like you were still unsure, trying to discern from his kiss if he was telling the truth. He wanted to prove it and started by hitching you up onto desk by the bottoms of your thighs. 

        That made you move, kicked something into the right gear because the hand on his chest moved up to his neck, touching the skin where his suit ended. Steadying yourself with the contact. It was a nothing gesture to you, but everything to him. Now that you were here, wanting, under him, it was hard to control himself. But he knew you needed to be properly unwrapped like the gift you were. He settled for darting his tongue along your lower lip. Waiting for entry that was granted after a moment's hesitation.

        In the desert, he'd tasted like stale spit and the jerky you hated so much. Here, he tasted like the peppermint mouthwashing tablets when his tongue lathed over yours. It wasn't long until your breath started to hitch and your body stared to grow warm. He knew just how to twist his tongue, knew how much you liked the press of his hand into your back so your bodies were flush. Your thighs splitting around his hips.

        You were caged into a Mark, but this time of your own free will. Your defenses melted alarmingly fast. You needed this and he knew it. His caress over your frumpy clothes broke you down, You had asked for this but it was still a shock when he touched you over the sweats. Pressed his fingers into the cloth, rubbing up and down your slowly heating entrance. You gasped and shuddered as he expected, remembering how he first had you in those caves so many months ago. Back then he ran out of time, was worried the others would find you both and punish you for something he had done. Now he knew he had time.

        Time to tease. Time to pull your hoodie up your body and let it fall to the ground. To again hold your breasts in his hands, massage your peaked nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You felt just like her but you shuddered more violently, unused to the touch in the way she was. You dug your heels into his back and tried to immediately start grinding on his rising dick like a rabbit.

        "Slow down." He said, pulling away from the kiss to see your face. He found your eyes glassy with need. 

        "Speed up." You retorted.

        Instead of replying, he bent down and captured a nipple between his lips. Looking up at you under raised brows as he sucked, tongue working over the sensitive skin. You moaned, tried to hold the eye contact but it was too embarrassing and it felt too good not to roll your eyes back. He hummed contently, going from one breast to another. Sucking, watching you, rubbing your twitching pussy through your sweats. 

        It wasn't enough, didn't fully convey his devotion. He hiked your hips up and pulled down your pants. Leaving you fully exposed, splayed open on the Emperor's desk. So ethereal in the distant space light. Glistening for him so soon after he started, just like he knew you would be. 

        "You're beautiful." He rasped, capturing you again in a kiss. Fingerpad going to your clit. Circling, pressing with the perfect amount of pressure to make your hips jump. You moaned openly into his mouth. Pressed your bare chest to him, wrapping your arms around his back trying to pull him ever closer. It was all he'd wanted for so long.

        One finger pleasuring your clit became two. You were bucking into his hand now, struggling to keep the kiss going with how well he was working you. But you did for the closeness, the human contact you'd been missing, surrounded by all these people, you'd never felt so alone. Markus took the opportunity to slide down to your entrance, easily pushing in two fingers. Listened to that song of, "oh fuck," that fell from your lips.

        He pumped into you unhurried, thumb rolling over your clit. You hips brought you down fast onto him, you were trying to chase a quick release. Markus allowed it this time, zeroed in on your g-spot until you came. Hard and squeezing. He didn't stop as the roll of muscles slowed, he kept you moaning, kept your head in the clouds. 

        He took your nipple into his mouth as he added a third finger, a tight fit but you groaned and quickly adjusted. Pumping with his whole arm, filling you thick then pulling out to the fingertips. Over and over. He switched between breasts, coming up for air to kiss you methodically where your kisses had gone sloppy already. He knew you were close when you tensed around him, so he sped up for only a moment, but it was just enough to make you squeal and cum. Again he sees the orgasm through, but doesn't stop the roll of his fingers. Your hips snapped into him desperately, but he didn't pick up the pace, had already conceded to your impatient nature.

        "Easy." He just smiled, kissing your forehead and lowering to his knees. 

        After months of waiting, he was finally eye level with the only thing he'd ever pray to. Markus kissed down a wellworn path, bouncing from thigh to thigh, took your supple skin between his lips and sucked. Enjoyed the hitched breaths he pulled out of you. Finally, he was close enough to your apex to smell the sweat, the want that made you so silken and pretty. He looked up, legs hooked over his shoulders, fingers idly filling your cunt. You looked down at him, hunched over, heaving, starting to shine with sweat. He couldn't help it as he said, "You're perfect."

       Down he went, going right for the kill that made your heels kick into his back. He drooled as he lapped at your clit, tasting that flavor he knew so well. It was a shame that the taste faded as more of his spit coated your cunt but the bane was evened out by the boon of you cumming on his face. He didn't slow, tongue far from tired as your hips rocked against his face. He moaned, caught your eye as his tongue went from flat to lethal sharp. Watched as your face went from wanting to cumming again.

        Your hand shot down, twisted into his salt-pepper hair and pulled. It didn't hurt, but it make his cock jump in the tightness of his suit made him moan again into you. A stream of swears fell past your lips, your body was hot and heaving, the pleasure coming in waves, each more intense than the last, leaving you breathless. You were starting to struggle to keep yourself upright, to not thrash and throw all the papers to the ground. You nearly fell back when his fingers left you all at once.

        Markus muttered to himself, "Need more." Before he dragged you forward by the back of your ass until you were practically sat on his collarbones. You didn't expect it, but his tongue shoved into your entrance was a welcome change. It was soft, didn't go very deep, but it wasn't about depth for Markus it was to taste more of you, to lap up your cum.

        One of his hands busied itself rubbing at your clit. The other pinched and rolled your nipple. You didn't think you'd cum but you did, squeezing around his tongue, giving him just want he wanted to the muffled praise, "Good, hahhh, so good for me," as his fingers replaced his tongue which again latched onto your clit. 

        You were trapped in hold, gasping, mind being wiped further with every subsequent orgasm. Eight, you think the count was. By then, you'd fallen back onto the desk. Arms thrashed when you weren't holding onto his head, knocking the papers to the floor. 

        Markus rose from between your legs, baptized from the nose down. You tasted yourself in his kiss as his fingers drilled into you. "Markus I- fuck!" You keened, back peeling sticky off the table as another orgasm was forced out of you.

        "Shhh, it's okay." He said against the incoherent babble pouring out of your slick lips. "I've got you."

        Your eyes, shiny with tears opened unfocused, "Markus- fuck me."

        He chuckled, dark eyes honeyed, "What do you think I've been doing?" You throbbed around his fingers, he’d slowed down to let you think a bit, but it was still too much. He knew it, didn't let up, continued to bully your cunt just waiting for you to beg.

        You pulled at his suit, "Take it off, please, I want you inside me.”

        He wasn't one to listen to begging when he steeled himself, but hearing you say please changed things. He pulled out of you, leaving you empty and throbbing. You were carried to the bed, laid down over the sheets, legs hanging over the sides. Looking down your body at him, you could see, "Fuck, you're so hard." 

        How could he not be when you were splayed and desperate for him? Gasping the longer he went without tearing his clothes off and plowing you into the mattress, "Please, Markus, please." He'd already been rock hard, but he felt himself throb every time you pleaded. 

        The suit was gone. Thrown into the same heap as your clothes. He threw himself over you, kissing you harder while the bottom of his bare cock slipped against your dripping folds. You whimpered under him, pulled at his back saying, "Come on, come on."

        "Be patient." He snipped against you, purposefully grinding his length over your clit. Taking great pleasure in your extended suffering without something to fill you up. "You can be patient, can't you?"

        "I can't." You made a good case, bucking against him, whining so sweet when you were never this pliant before. "Please."

        His cockhead barely pressed into you and your eyes rolled back with a gasp.

        "Look at me." He said, steadying your thrashing head with a hand. You leaned into the touch unconsciously, and it took you a moment to unscrew your gaze, to meet his. "Good," he pushed in an inch further, stopping when your eyes fluttered closed, "(Y/n)." There were those pretty eyes again. "I know it's hard but you have to look at me." 

        "W-" you shuddered as he slid in another inch, "Why?"

        "Because," he purred, "this is my favorite part."

        All at once, he was buried to the hilt. Holding you down as you thrashed. Cunt throbbing hard around his thick intrusion. He didn't wait, knew you were very ready for the onslaught. Hips clapping into yours, dragging his cock nearly all the way out then ramming it back in. It only took a handful of strokes for you to cum again. 

        Markus felt his cock twitch inside you but he pushed down the need to fill you. Months ago he wouldn't blink at the feeling, now that his dry spell was over he needed to bring his stamina back up to standard, cumming on only your ninth orgasm was unacceptable. 

        You were only spared the few seconds he needed to bring himself off the edge, then you were right back to being tortured. You tried to keep up, to thrust your hips back into him, but you'd already gone so limp from his earlier use. Markus ended up doing most of the work, not that he minded using you this way. Not that he knew you would either, in time you'd come to realize you liked being fucked like a toy. He'd let that realization simmer for another day.

        Number ten came with a scream. Your nails clawing at his back, your teeth on his shoulder. He kept his pace but was rutting inside you, barely pulling out when you felt so good around him. Eleven followed shortly after.

        It's after twelve you said, hardly coherent. "I can't- I can't anymore." You were fluttering around him, twitching, letting him guide you down onto his cock. Mind completely smashed.

        Markus wanted to be sweet so badly, to coo and slow down to reassure you, but it was hard not to be mean the way he knew you liked when you were this gone.

        "You can." He resolved to be soft but stern.

        "No." You shook your head, pussy clenching around him with thirteen just around the corner. "I c-can't. Please-"

        He didn't stop, didn't even slow down.

        "Don't you want me to cum?" He asked chidingly.

        The thought of him cumming inside you nearly made you sob. "Please- Please I want you to cum in me."

        Markus wasn't expecting that but grinned anyway. "Yeah?"

        "Please," you untangled your fist from the bed to hold his hips rocking into you, your nails digging in like you could make him stop or speed up, you didn't even know what you wanted anymore, "please, fuck, I need it."

         Again he almost does but he controls himself. Makes you go raw-throated with orgasms until all you were tight with them. Crying that you couldn't cum again but you always did. He always goaded you back to sanity by whispering, "Just one more," then after you came, he kept going. 

        You tried to protest, but your words meant nothing. You were back to begging every time you were close which, as time went on, is always seconds after the last orgasm. 

        When you're well past fifteen, he lets the mental blocks float away. Said to you, "One more for me? Just one?"

        You can't even nod but a whine comes from your throat that sounds like another, "C-caaan't."

        "Do it for me, baby." Markus bore down on you, finally letting himself circle the drain. Listening keenly for the telltale hitch of your breath as you were about to cum. You did with a final shudder. Markus lunged to kiss you as his cock throbbed, and he filled you with hot release. He was frozen there, hips stuttering as his orgasm left him almost dizzy. Going soft in the mix of your juices. He wanted to stay there forever, and for a long time he does.

        When he finally rolled you over to lay on his chest, sweaty and stupid with dopamine, his cock slipped out and your combined cum leaked onto his thighs as he rubbed your back telling you how good you'd been. You just breathed wetly into the crook of his neck.

        The first thing you said when you were coherent enough to speak was, "I don't think... I don't think I've ever came that many times."

        "Really?" He was surprised to hear it. You had dated him hadn't you? What was that other Mark doing? 

        "Yeah. That was like, a lot."

        "Mmm, it's about average. Maybe a little under if we take a break." He said. 

        "I can't tell if you're joking, my brain's not working."

        "I'm not." Markus ran his fingers down the curve of your back, smiling when you arched into him. Still sensitive and wanting even after he'd pushed you so far. "We'll get you there eventually."

        "You're trying to kill me." But at least he was an ally. Well and truly proved his love and loyalty. You can't think of anyone who'd be stupid enough to fuck the Emperor's girlfriend in his bed. 

        As much as he wanted to stay with you, Markus had to leave, not before cleaning up the room and showering with you, where he made you come undone again. Filled you once more and let it all seep down the drain.

         He left with a lingering goodbye kiss and a promise to make things better. You found it hard not to believe him. When the door shut, you finally picked something off of the food tray and ate.

        There was a long debriefing when everyone returned. Most of them were clean of blood from how fast they flew except for Lensless who went slow to stay gory. Markus was praised highly by Kregg for his efforts, a rare smile accompanying it. Mohawk clapped him on the shoulder, grinning with all his teeth when he promoted Markus and Gray both to official Emperor's guard. When they finished celebrating he thought he'd return to a wanting you who masturbated in his time away, at least according to the vitals monitoring you. Mohawk didn't like the observation staff watching him all the time so he hadn't had cameras installed in his room. None of them tipped him off to anything strange, so he didn't check the cameras to the hall for a Markus-shaped blur. Didn't think to sync the timetable of his entry and exit with your spiked vitals. 

[monkebearness]

Our Story, Like a Romance Novel [Chapter 2: Speed Love]

Chapter 0, Chapter 1

Tags: angst, fluff, slice of life, coming-of-age

Word count: 5k

a/n: there's gonna be a scene that may or may not be uncomfortable for some readers, but the angst tag is already there. but yeah, I gotta keep the story moving, so I hope you like it.

Having connected through SNS for a while, Nien and Junghoon hit it off to say the least. Getting to know each other through texting, even though they have already been hanging out in the same club four to five times a week, sometimes a little more, within the last three to four months since he was invited into the Mad Money Club.

Within that spam to lf time, Junghoon would often find the woman somewhere near his or her department building, if not at the club’s hangout room. At first, he expected this, considering their meetings mere chance encounters… But every time Nien catches his eyes, his heart keeps thumping louder, especially as their proximities close.

A wallflower since his early adolescence, never has he felt a sensation this fluttering and intrusive. His mind would spiral all over the place, and not even his sense of reason can try and make any excuse towards his inquisitive yearning to stay with her the chance he gets.

“Hey, Junghoon-ssi…” she walks to him in her backpack. “You done with your classes?”

Sometimes, those flutters make him nervous. Another time, they elevate his patience, interest, and determination with someone. In those moments, he turns into someone he’s usually not—yet he simply couldn't care less. Not even the lovey-dovey teases of Yubin, Dahyun, and Sohyun bothered him. In fact, they somewhat encouraged the butterflies flourishing in his stomach to push himself and do something—anything, to get himself out of his comfort zone, if it meant prolonging his moment with Nien.

The only problem is, he can’t come up with anything when he’s in front of her. “Yeah?”

“You’re not sure?” The left corner of her lips slightly raise in amusement.

There are perhaps millions, if not more ways to describe how he was feeling whenever he’s around Nien. Yet that’s also what often hindered him from expressing himself.

“I mean—yeah!” He clears his throat. “It just finished, actually… But, how about you?”

“We were done about three hours ago,” she informs him in a somewhat aloof tone.

“Wait…” He wiggles his head in confusion. “Don’t tell me, you waited there—”

“What do you think?”

One thing was for sure, mainly because of how his heart keeps on racing around her.

“Mianhaeyo!” Junghoon exclaims as he rapidly bows to her out of guilt.

“Oh, no, no, no! Please, Junghoon… I’m just kidding.”

“Oh… Well, I might as well apologize for keeping a lady waiting here for a long time.”

He likes this woman very much, and he’s not letting this new opportunity slide.

“Yah…” she folds her lips, even as they curve upwards, turning her eyes away from him. “I’m just here to fetch you before the girls meet, you know?”

“So you didn’t just wait here, under the sun, for how-long…”

“What if I was? Is that a problem with you?”

He interlocks his fingers. “It’s the opposite of that… You know, I wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with you. Outside the club hangouts and all that.”

 “Oh…” Her eyes slowly grew as her smile slowly showed her crystal white teeth.

“That is,” he quickly backtracks. “If you’re not uncomfortable with it, then we can—”

“Of course, of course, not!” she almost panicked. “I’m comfortable with it, Junghoon.”

Unbeknownst to him, their encounters would end up leading them to have a small date. A meeting at the cafe and like most encounters, there’s a waiting game for one’s arrival.

Not knowing anything about flirting and talking to women he’d liked, Junghoon rushed to his friends for advice right after Sohyun gave him Nien’s number. Of course he would come to ignite brighter sparks with her by simply being himself, a certain trait that Nien herself had found to be quite enticing, even fascinating, the longer they got to know each other. But unbeknownst to him, their texts and hangouts on campus. This date came to a fruition just happened to be brought by Nien on a whim and of course, it freaked him out from his side of the screen, but instead of making his panics obvious, he expressed his glee. Nien tends to be playful most of the time. It's a part of her charm that entices Junghoon. However, when she's serious about something, she will commit to it.

[Nien: I guess we’re both set for Saturday!]

{Junghoon: We are.} {I can’t wait, Nien!}

[Nien: Neither can I, Junghoon-ah (⸝⸝> ᴗ•⸝⸝)]

He didn’t want to mess it up, especially since she’s the one who made the move to meet. Once more, he knows nothing about dating, until now. Hence, from a newer hairstyle and perfume to fancier clothing, he asked his buddies about their recommendations. Even if such a request was a burden that he owed them, he reiterated to them and to himself, “I know it’s too much to ask, but I can’t mess this up. Not for her.”

“Don’t you dare explain yourself or apologize for anything,” Yeonghwan welcomes him with open arms, placing his arm on his shoulder. “We got you on this bud!”

“Yeah, dude,” Kotone shakes his other shoulder with excitement. “We’ll make sure you’ll have the night of our life with Nien-sunbaenim!”

“Oh, he will!” Honggi insinuates her remark with a grin, patting his palms on his back. “You’ve grown up, man!”

“What do you mean?” Junghoon turns his head in confusion.

“Don’t mind him,” Myungsoo chuckles at his innocence. “But, you’ll understand what he means eventually.”

The whole day was spent on their trip to the mall. Junghoon’s earnings from Mad Money Club were more than enough to buy himself a new set of clothes suggested by his friends. Surprisingly enough, this was one of the few special moments he had spent on something and anything outside his priorities.

He learned the mannerisms, he bought the items he never even knew he needed. Now it’s time for the meetup he’s been preparing for in the last few days. It’s a Saturday afternoon when they finally meet at a restaurant. Nothing too pretentious. A cozy place where a few young couples like them are also dining in due to either their locality or Insta popularity.

He rushes to Nien’s table while trying to keep his calm. “Sorry if I was late.”

She smiles at his presence. “You’re right on time. Don’t sweat about it.”

He notices her attire. Wow, is all he can think about meeting her in person, outside campus. She herself must’ve also prepared for this. Of course she would, since she suggested going on a date with him. “You look really lovely tonight, Nien-ssi.”

“Just tonight?” her tone sounds intimidating, though he knew her enough. She’s teasing.

He almost panics. “I mean, you did, too… You’re always beautiful.” Just until he saves it.

Letting out a giggle, Nien looks down and curls up her hair to the side of her right ear.  She’s still taken aback at his remark, even though she has heard similar things before.

“Yah… You look great too, Junghoon-ssi,” she tells him. “I thought you’d wear some suit and tie, but that’d be too much for this occasion. Even in that, you look pretty fancy.”

“I guess this occasion is just special enough for me, so I even thought I overdressed.”

Her eyes grow for a second, as is her smile. “It is? Does it mean this is your first date?”

An itch strikes the right side of Junghoon’s hair, prompting him to scratch it on sight. His reaction made Nien chuckle. Despite his feeling of embarrassment, she keeps her eyes leveled to him with adoration.

“Cute,” she whispers under her breath, before facing him. “I’m not judging you. I’m just… Curious.”

“Well,” he musters up, slowly straightening his back. “It is. Is that a turn-off for you?”

“No,” she smiles. “It’s kind of the opposite.” Her eyes and smile always gets him. That remark from her alone makes him feel things up his mind, in his heart, and down his–

Don’t mess this up. Don’t mess this up! Junghoon warns himself in his mind while he faces her from his seat.

But it’s a first date, which means that mess-ups are not out of the realm of possibility. It could be an awkward interaction that goes to hell, or someone bumping into a waiter as it trickles down a domino effect that breaks every plate and glass they were serving. For these two, a worse situation would strike their moment like lightning on a summer day.

Yet thirty minutes have passed since they met. Is he really gonna have the night of his life, just like what his friends had teased him? He doesn’t know how the night will end, but with how it’s been going well, Junghoon is already feeling like it, to say the least.

Nien finds herself more allured as the man in front of her takes a bite and describes each of the steaming appetizers that just arrived, as if she’s listening to a gourmet who’s been enhancing her dining experience. Down their table, each snicker and giggle from Nien triggers a few tantalizing movements from her feet as they give his ankle light footsies, one that almost made him choke on his water the first time he felt her movements.

Surprisingly, it was thanks to his conscious mind, Junghoon’s years of locking eyes at the television, watching dramas, has reminded him of some things either to follow or ignore. A couple exchanges of jokes and compliments were the start, but receiving a handful of light, playful touches.

He senses this is something else. Something more.

Then Junghoon receives a call, and the words that follow has him paralyzed for seconds.

His sudden expression concerns her. “Junghoon-ah, what’s the matter? Who was it?”

“I–I’m sorry, Nien-ssi,” his voice trembling, just his face submitting to unimaginable fear at what he just learned. She reaches her hand to him as her daydreams drain out, his words snapping her to this unexpected reality. “Something came up. I’m so sorry.”

Junghoon gets up from his seat and leaves the cafe. Outside, he runs and runs with no care and shame about the bystanders looking at him strange or worried. Seconds have passed and he is nowhere to be seen on the street. Nien stares outside, devastated that the man she likes has now left her without any reason, although not a single reason will ever undo the damage that’s been done.

She accepts the truth unfolding in front of her. The night is already over.

Having taken a taxi and spending more of his earnings from the club, he finally makes it to the hospital after ten minutes of an anxiety-filled ride throughout Seoul. Despite his shortness of breath, he rushes straight to the receptionist and asks her about the room of a woman in her mid-eighties, named Kim Byeolyi.

As soon as she answers, he takes a few turns across the corridor until he reaches the emergency room, as fright and relief fight over his lungs—letting out “Halmeoni!”

= = =

Monday morning. Students return to class. Piles and piles of papers were returned as results were announced, alongside new ones. Yet guilt remains anchored on his mind and heart.

Junghoon did his best avoiding the Mad Money Club for a couple of days since then. He imagines how they’ll react if they see him after that night. And he wouldn’t blame them if they feel that way towards him. Or if they end up kicking him out of the club later on. For now, he had to pay more attention to his only family, despite his pitiful regret for leaving the woman he's more than willing to spend the night with.

As the clock strikes twelve noon, he could only confide in the people who he has known the longest, meeting them on the empty stands next to the campus’ football field.

“How are you holding up, man?” Yeonghwan looks at him with sympathy.

“Oh, you know… I messed it up,” Junghoon sighs. “But halmeoni is stable again.”

“We’re glad that halmeoni is doing better,” Kotone can only pat him on the back.

“Besides, I’m sure Nien will understand, man,” Myungsoo considers. “Does she know about what happened?”

“Did you tell any of them?” Honggi chimes in, emanating with worry, instead of the usual curiosity or intrigue he always brings to their hangouts. Realizing that all of his closest friends have shown and voiced their concern towards him. “I mean your club.”

“I, uhh…” Junghoon clears his throat. “I didn’t tell them…”

Outside his closest friends, no one else knew. Not even the person he trusts the most. Yet, he kept receiving texts from them. Message notifications would keep popping up, and he can longer ignore the club. Not after realizing that they became his friends too.

[Yubin: Junghoon-oppa!] [Where the hell are you?]

[Dahyun: Junghoon… We’re worried about you.] [You must have a reason why you left, but you gotta tell us about it.]

[Seoyeon: Why aren’t you answering our messages, Junghoon-ah?][What happened?]

[Sohyun: Answer your phone, Junghoon.] [Please.] [Talk to me about it.]

[Nien: Whatever happened that night…] [I just hope you’re doing okay, Junghoon-ah.] [The club wants to know if you’re okay.] [I want to know if you’re okay.]

“I'm feeling much better, Junghoon-ie,” his grandmother assures him from the couch as she lets out a cackle at the variety show on the television, later that afternoon.

He walks to her, handing her a tablet with one hand, and a glass of island on the other. “I know, but you're gonna need to drink your medicine regularly, okay halmeoni?”

“Of course, honey, I know your worries won’t go away—” she looks up, swallowing down the tablet, before taking the glass from him. “—if I don't take them.”

“Halmeoni,” he sighs. Despite knowing her intentions to lift his spirits, she can feel her grandson’s hand clenching with concern. “That’ll be for the whole month… Please.”

She chuckles lightheartedly, softly rubbing his back. “Arasseo, arasseo… I’ll drink the next one after we eat. I remember what the doctor prescribed me, too, you know?”

He sighs heavily, showing her a smile of relief. “Yeah…”

The next morning arrived… When he finally listened to his grandmother's words, also remembering what she told him a few days earlier. Despite what happened, he knows that he's always been stronger than he thinks.

He enters the club’s room. Room 238. Just as he always remembers it. The atmosphere is not the same as when he usually enters. As much as it pains him, he looks at everyone as they stare at him in silence. Most of them look at him with disquiet and concern, even though he feels he doesn’t deserve such a gaze. At least, one of the girls is staring at him the way he believes he should be treated. Xinyu must be killing him over and over again in her mind. I deserve it. After I left her best friend alone. I deserve worse. At least my halmeoni is doing better. At least my friends understand. That’s what matters more right now. Whatever happens now… That’s their reaction.

“Should I not be here today?” He breaks the silence, keeping his tense breath slow. “I can just stay out—”

“No, no…” Dahyun comes closer, emanating with concern. “Come in, Junghoon-ah.”

“We’re glad you’re okay, oppa,” comforts Yubin, rubbing his arm as he walks by.

But as he looks around, Nien is nowhere to be found among the club members. Junghoon immediately worries for her, still guilt-ridden. “Where is—”

“Don’t go anywhere near Nien-ah,” Xinyu pierces his soul with her stare of death.

Junghoon silently bows to her with regret, but her glare towards him remains merciless.

Beside her, Sohyun slowly holds Xinyu’s hands a little tighter with eyes that plead to her. “Xinyu-yah, please don’t be harsh on him.”

“Why not?” She tilts her head at her girlfriend, before looking back at him. “He doesn’t even need to be here! Not after what you did to Nien!”

“I know, sunbae…” Junghoon keeps his composure. “But I need to know where she is.”

“Not until you tell us first, Junghoon,” Sohyun pleads to him with a somber tone. Letting go of Xinyu’s hand, she takes a few steps forward. “Or at least… tell me what happened.”

Junghoon takes a deep breath, enough to push himself to explain everything to her.

After several minutes, Junghoon would find Nien at the gardens, as Sohyun briefed him. He takes a seat next to each other at a bench in the midst of the afternoon spring breeze. Not as anything more than friends who want to clear the air about what happened that night. But for both of them, that’s all that matters for now.

“I’m so sorry for standing you up like that,” he looks at her. “You don’t deserve it.”

“No. Kotone-hoobae actually told me what happened on my way here… Junghoon-ssi, I just wished you told me sooner.” She looks at Junghoon with eyes of solace and reaches his shoulder softly, pulling him in an embrace, hoping to comfort him through the only way she can in this situation. “It must’ve been hard for you, finding it out so suddenly.”

“Yeah, I should’ve,” Junghoon mutters, still feeling remorseful for his actions that day. “I’m really sorry, Nien-sunbaenim.”

They slowly break the hug. “Does anyone else in the club know about what happened?”

He nods. “I first told Sohyun-noona… The others know it was a family emergency.”

“How is she now?” Her hands still lie on top of his. “Your grandmother…”

“She’s feeling better now, but the doctor advised her to drink her medicine, so I’m gonna have to work overtime in my late shifts to earn enough to buy her those meds.”

“Don’t worry about the money too much. We can help you out with that, arasseo? Take care of her by staying close with her… I’m just glad that your halmeoni’s doing okay.”

“I feared I would mess things up. I did everything I could, but it just happened when I got the call from the neighbors and—”

“Junghoon-ah,” she stops him with a calm demeanor. “You didn't mess everything up. Your grandmother's well-being matters more. It should... You made the right call, okay? Like I said, focus on taking care of her right now. We got your back.”

“Thank you, sunbae,” he can feel his heart beating slower, as his breathing feels easier.

Nien can’t help but let out a snicker. “You gotta stop calling me that, Junghoon-ah.”

“Why not? It’s a fact that you are my sunbae, and you’re a year older than me.”

“And..? It’s been months since you joined the club. At least stop calling me sunbae.”

“Yeah, I’m a part of Mad Money, but as your ‘part-time assistant.’ Other sunbaes and students would think it’s weird that I just started calling you too casually.”

“Who cares about what others think? You gotta drop the honorifics with me. It’s the least you can do… If you truly want to stay friends with me… Unless you don’t?” She darts her eyes at him. They still get him every time, even if she’s messing around with him, even if she’s simply lifting his spirits.

“I do want to stay friends!” He raises his hands, following an instinct. One that aims not to disappoint her. “I’ll try my best not to call you that, noona—”

“Ah, ah!” she interrupts him, pointing her index finger at him like it’s a blade. “Not that one either. You may have convinced unnie and Soda-yah for you to call them that, but not me. I’m not gonna let that slide. The whole ‘noona’ thing doesn’t vibe with me.”

Junghoon laughs. Her reasoning seems well-thought-out. “So, Nien-ssi then? I mean, that’s what I called you last time and you didn’t seem to mind it.”

“Fine!” Nien finally settles with his proposal. “I’m guessing you’re not that comfortable with me just yet… And by the way, you better let me treat you to lunch. Between friends, of course. I can’t let that dinner be the end of us hanging out.”

“Well, if that makes things better for us…” He offers his hand, signaling a handshake. “I’d love to have a ‘friendly lunch’ with you some time, Nien-ssi.”

“Kol!” The woman stands up with a burst of optimism, reciprocating Junghoon’s offer without hesitation. “And by ‘some time,’ you better mean like soon, all right? The way you described those dishes on the restaurant’s menu was mouth-watering!”

“Maybe we can order them for real next time,” he suggests. Nien nods with anticipation.

Nien and Junghoon stopped treating their relationship as romantic, or anything close to that. But maybe that’s for the best, as they’d grow into something that would last longer. Nien would realize that she’s not too fond of being in a committed relationship just yet. And as for Junghoon… Time will tell. As they say, after all, there is always someone for everyone, even if they don’t hope or expect it to come to them. With their conciliation, Junghoon returns to Room 238 with Nien to face the rest of his clubmates once again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, yeoreobun,” he bows to the rest of the club members.

“God, oppa… You know you had us worried for days,” Yubin frets further. “We thought something happened because you weren’t answering our texts! Even our calls.”

Junghoon bows to them. “I’m sorry. It just happened and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s okay, Junghoon-ah,” Dahyun reassures him. “Now that you told us, we’re just glad that your grandma’s feeling better.”

“Well, it can’t be helped if you had a personal emergency. I hope she has a fast recovery,” Xinyu’s tone sounds more neutral, making Junghoon feel that the misunderstanding he had caused to Nien will not be easily forgiven by everyone. Even if Nien herself forgave him. “But you left Nien without saying why... I won’t forget that.” And he won’t, either.

“I did,” Junghoon remains hesitant to answer her. “And it won’t happen again, sunbae.”

“But Sohyun-ah trusted you enough to lend your services to us,” Xinyu sounds more logical than sympathetic to his response, yet a hint of hostility remains in her tone. Perhaps still grudgeful of his fault. “Just be transparent next time, Junghoon.”

“Unnie…” Seoyeon steps up, sensing Xinyu’s passive aggression. “I trust Junghoon, too. So does Soda and Yubin-ah. I understand if you’re still not too trusting of him, but the fact is, Nien and him have already made up outside. Besides, their date last week isn’t some kind of assignment that he had to do for her.”

Xinyu feels like she’s backed into a corner. “I know that, Seoyeon-ie… I’m just saying—”

“I don’t want anyone harboring ill feelings for anyone in this room,” Seoyeon continues. “This isn't why we formed this club. We know that you have issues with trusting anyone else, but whether you like it or not, Junghoon is still a part of our club.”

“I don't hate him!” exclaims Xinyu. “I warned him so nothing like this happens again.”

“That’s enough,” Nien disrupts the feud between her sisters. “Seoyeon-ah’s right, and I can’t force you to like him. But we went out on a date because I wanted to, Xinyu-unnie. He happened to have an emergency concerning his grandma, so he left me to deal with it and he apologized for not telling me sooner.” A breath of relief leaves her body. “Unnie… Yeorobun… It’s alright now.”

Xinyu becomes swarmed with guilt, but she can’t say anything any further, otherwise the situation gets worse when it starts to be mended. She knows that she said enough. “I’m sorry Seoyeon-ah and Nien-ah…” she stammers. “And I’m sorry for my behavior just now, Junghoon-ssi.”

“It's okay, Xinyu-sunbae… I'm just thankful that I've told you girls the truth. Whatever you think of me after this, I don't mind it. I understand if you don't want me to still be around, but I'll come by and help out if you need me with anything.”

= = =

Later that afternoon, Junghoon would meet with his close friends at their usual campus hangout, a bench near the grass fields, during their dismissal. They continue to console their friend about the aftermath of his unfortunate incident and emergency last week.

“Did you finally tell Nien about your halmeoni's condition?” Yeonghwan asks him.

“I did, hyung,” Junghoon sighs in relief. “I told everyone else in the club, too. They understood, so the misunderstanding has been cleared up, to say the least.”

“Does that mean you’ll be having another date with Nien-sunbaenim?” Honggi wonders.

“Well, not exactly. We’ll have something better, though.”

“What is it?” Myungsoo cannot help but spew his questions. “You two going somewhere outside for another dinner? Maybe a stroll to the park?”

“Just friends going out for lunch,” he delivers nonchalantly.

“Friends for lunch?” Honggi’s confused at what he just heard. “What happened to the girl who you hit off with that night? I thought she was even flirting with you non-stop?”

“That’s kinda what I’m wondering too, man,” Yeonghwan chimes in. “Why didn’t you talk things out with her a little more? Maybe there’s a little more misunderstanding?”

Why didn’t he push it through? Took a little more initiative, ask her to spend more time with him, despite already making up, instead of chickening—

= = =

“I’m sorry I ruined your special night, dear,” mutters his grandmother, Kim Byeolyi. It had only been a few minutes since she woke up from the hospital bed.

“No, no… Why are you apologizing? Come on, it was nothing, halmeoni.”

She places her other hand on top of his. “It’s not just nothing for you, Junghoon-ie.”

“I’m just happy that you’re doing better, okay? Besides… We don’t have anyone else.”

“We still got our neighbors,” she reminds him with a cheerful tone, but he’s unmoved by his own coldness. Junghoon found out that her friends next door called the ambulance when she was hanging out at their market. The possibility of ‘if no one else was there,’ scares him more, but the warmth of his grandmother’s hands only makes him sigh.

He looks down on her wrinkly palms, both in despair and gratitude. Despair for what could’ve been, if no one got there in time. Gratitude that things haven’t gotten worse.

“Don’t beat yourself up… Now, go talk to that wonderful girl you just left and apologize to her, okay? Buy her a bouquet from the shop outside, if you have to… Maybe cook her what food she likes, if you want! Just don’t leave her hanging like before.”

As a couple of hours would pass, Junghoon had to wait with his own thoughts while the physicians took her through a few more tests. Despite his grandma’s sincere advice, he didn’t know how else to deal with such a nerve-racking situation. The schism of guilt and conscience raging within him. ‘My savings won't be enough to cover all costs.’ ‘Halmeoni needs more for next week.’ ‘Should I ask for a raise?’ ‘Just calm down.’ ‘You already owe them a lot.’ ‘Don’t make things worse.’ ‘You’re a coward.’

Junghoon’s heart beats in the same rhythm yet it rings in various ways, reeling him through various memories. Nien’s smile and company. His grandmother’s breathing and motherly care. The cheers and hollers of his close friends. The encouragement of the Mad Money Club in the past few months.

Yet, at the same time, his impulsive actions last night… Leaving Nien all alone. She may forgive him. She may definitely not. But that’s not what’s making his muscles twitch or his mind spiral into the pitless dimensions of analysis paralysis concerning the future. Priorities and responsibilities ramming through his daydreams and desires like they were glass.

Looking back at his grandmother, lying on the hospital bed, the young man’s heart aches at the sight of family, still keeping up her warm smile, despite her recent close encounter in the face of the abyss. He doesn’t even know if he can forget, nor forgive himself for it.

‘You gotta think this through,’ he tells himself. ‘This isn’t just about yourself, Junghoon.’

= = =

“I’m sure sunbae has a reason for changing her mind too,” Kotone considers, patting her friend’s shoulder. “I’m just glad that halmeoni is doing better... Take some time off from work if you want to, Junghoon-ah. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“Thanks…” was what Junghoon could only say, ignoring their more pragmatic advice, though taking them to heart. “And even though Xinyu-sunbae wasn’t as friendly when she heard my explanation, I get why she acted that way.”

“Zhou Xinyu?” Myungsoo realizes. He did share a few classes with her before, even worked in the same group. “Oh, that makes sense. She's not too friendly with anyone outside her friend groups. At least not so much that she'll be sticking around with ‘em.”

“Oh,” Junghoon feels less guilty, yet remains disappointed for some reason. “That's one thing I didn't know about her… She rarely hangs out in the room whenever I am there.”

“I can't blame her, though,” Yeonghwan agrees. “She's probably experienced it a lot since day one. All the catcallings, the selfless acts from guys, sometimes some girls, just so they could try getting their way in her pants… But when she met Sohyun, I guess she probably felt easier. More comfortable around her along with their pals… But she's actually a kind person, I'm sure she'll soften up on you the longer you stay with the club.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Junghoon nods. “I do know that Sohyun and Xinyu-sunbae feel like their truest selves the most whenever they're together. It's quite touching to see, to be honest.”

“I heard from Joonie-sunbae that those two are like wild animals in their dorms—”

Irritated, Kotone hits her left knuckle on Honggi’s shoulders, making him unleash a shriek of agony in seconds. Yeonghwan and Myungsoo cannot be more amused at his reaction.

“Knock it off, Honggi-yah!” she shakes her head while he backs off inches away from her. “Stop being a perv now. What’s wrong with you?”

Groaning in pain, Honggi rubs his shoulder with disdain. “I was just bringing up a rumor, which I’m expecting for Junghoon to confirm or debunk right now.”

“Umm, that’s not my business,” Junghoon chuckles. “And neither is it yours, man. But... They’re the best couple I know, that’s for sure... And I wish nothing but the best for them, you know?”

= = =

I've written this a while ago, but I added some scenes. Some slight spoilers for readers: what happens in the next one (nothing violent or anything though) may trigger some reactions, but since this is just an au fic. everything here is entirely fictional... It'll be an "angst fest," but there'll be sparks of fluff to balance it out. If you're still interested, hope you stay tuned. thanks for the read and have a good day!

[virginreprise]

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" ARE WE JUST DUST, ON THE FLOOR AGAIN? I THOUGHT WE WERE ON THE MEND " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: suicidal ideation, angst, smut, panic attacks, emotional whiplash, joel sucks but then sucks less, emotional constipation, slight emotional manipulation, there are many emotions, light fluff, joel miller has a big cock, joel gets physical and not in a good way but its only briefly mentioned, joel miller is an asshole, i think it woiuld be appropriate for a joel miller is his own warning tag right about now

WORD COUNT: 10k

CHAPTER ONE ✦ CHAPTER TWO

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER THREE—WESTBOUND

BROKEN GLASS, MISSING HANDS, THE ABSENCE OF A TICK AND THE LOSS OF TIME.

Always and forever, there would never be enough time. 

There was no time for apologies, for healing, stitches snapping open every time they were replaced—every time arms were raised above heads in protest of the loaded pistol pointed at an already cracked open skull. Blood trickled down foreheads, parting like the red sea as it reached noses and ran for glistening, wet eyes in a desperate bid to blind the man on his knees; hoping he wouldn’t have to watch the quick, callous silence that followed the bang and gunsmoke. 

All: harsh displeasure, laughs ringing in his ears like a taunt, cackling and screaming, “You couldn’t save her,” whilst he begged on his knees and gripped his head to will them away. 

It was crawling in, on all fours like a temptress in the night, slinking around corners, using his cries as the music of her soul and wrapping her arms around his neck. A gentle kiss to his lips, distracting him from the cool metal against his stomach, dragging upwards until the point reached his neck. Pressing in, drawing blood, smiling softly and then reaching inside his mouth and pulling his heart right from his open fucking chest. 

Joel saw you—every night. Felt you around his cock every goddamn night. When he lay face first into his pillows, half-drunk from the whiskey he’d given up pouring, preferring to suckle from the bottle whilst visions of you smiling up at him, the drip of slick from your pussy that stained the bed sheets, danced in his peripheral—begging him to burst through the door and hold you tight against him. To apologise for leaving you curled in on yourself and wondering what you had done wrong. 

Always: staring at the cracks on the watch’s surface, blonde hair in the edges of his eyeline, blood-stained blonde—red dripping from his hands as he shook. 

You were supposed to make it better. Taking care of you was supposed to make him feel better. But he’d cum on your stomach like a fucking pussy and was already halfway through the door before you could convince him that his hands weren’t dirty; that he wasn’t tainting anything by touching you. 

There had been a flash of red on your cheeks, the imprint of his palm branded against your skin and dripping onto your tongue—you lapping up the sickly sight like you wanted to consume every part of him. Eyes welled with tears when he’d pulled away; leaving you red and wondering. Those questions that were etched along your lips: What happened? Why did you leave me? Why did you leave her? Why do I feel like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and find you with a gun in your palm and your brains all over the fucking wall? 

How did you know him so well? How did you manage to convince him of everything and then cause him to go spiralling headfirst into his deepest hallucinations and feel regret coursing through his stomach on a tidal wave of penitence?

He did not sleep until the alcohol poisoned his mind and left him desperate for someone to fuck up, for someone to cross him so he could beat them bloody. Senseless violence: all he conceived in his fucked-up head that hadn’t been the same since her—the name spluttering and stuttering against his tongue. Unable to come out. 

Pathetically, he wanted Tommy. He’d been so close after he’d left you bleeding, hand on the receiver, fingers shaking as he pressed button after button. That piece of yellowed paper that housed his little brother's chicken scratch—the Wyoming area code blotched and smudged from the continual worrying of Joel’s calloused fingers. He had hovered over the last number, lip quivering as he realised he couldn’t do it. That even if he was a selfish bastard, unable to think before making his decisions, he couldn’t call after fifteen years and bother the one person who had at least tried. 

Tommy who had stuck by him for as long as he could bear, before the self-pity and wallowing was too much for anyone, even Jesus Christ himself, to tolerate. 

All-consuming, self-conscious, doubt. Doubt in his ability to continue onwards, doubt in his strength, in his slowly dwindling figure that shadowed the sobbing, thirty-two-year-old him that clung to her. Limp and lifeless in his arms, losing everything that he had fought for—everything that had given him purpose. 

He’d gone to sermons when he was younger, dressed in his Sunday best and holding onto his mother’s hand. They had told him of the telos—that fellowship and eternity with God was entirely central. Even then, he had denied it, looking over at his brother who yawned in the pews and kicked his feet in boredom; Joel knew that that kid was who he was supposed to live for. Mother and father who had given him his blood: he bled for them. His only child who he held in his arms, endeared by the crying and the clench of her little hands as she whined in protest: his sole reason. 

Never, had he felt more strength than when he was with his family. There was no other reality in which he could feel a greater allegiance. 

But the anchor had been pulled from the bottom of the sea, lifted out by the force of God, and left him hurtling towards the rage of a storm—pulled under and decomposing with the shipwreck. 

He’d crawled his way to a lost island, screaming their names before realising that they were on the other side of the earth. 

Alone. 

What a thing it was to live alone in a world that was unkind to the solitary. 

It had been years, goddamn years since Joel had had anything as meaningful as the merging of bodies that you two shared weeks before. That nervous flip in his stomach he got when he felt undeniable pressure to perform well; hope that his age hadn’t caught up with him yet. That post-orgasm haze that he’d taken a few minutes to recover from—something he’d usually be able to ignore after a night with some woman he’d found down at The Esquire after he couldn’t stand the bruising quiet any longer. It’s why he’d kissed you before he’d let you go, why he’d given you that final flash of comfort before stripping the mattress from under you and leaving you asleep on the floor—cold and shivering. 

Your face had almost killed him. In the dead of night, when that expression flickered behind his closed eyes, he began to think that you’d poisoned him. That something so heart wrenching and painful was not kind enough to kill him on the spot. It waited. It festered. Until it seeped into his blood and had the veins in his forearms protruding until they burst wide open and left him bleeding to death on the bathroom floor. 

He’d meant it, when he’d said that he’d be there for you. If you needed anything, he would be waiting. Joel had been searching, for a very long time, for someone to look after. He was restless when he had no family, when he had no one to protect and caress. His family was his oxygen, his purpose, his entire reason for existing. 

He did not have a family. Not anymore. 

His mama had died shortly after his dad, too heartbroken to carry on without the man she’d dedicated so much of her life to. Tommy had been gone for so long that Joel didn’t even know if he was alive or dead, married, divorced, kids or just that echo of his nephew crying over the phone during those last conversations. He’d conjured an image, a pretty picture of everything that his brother had gained and he had lost. They’d stripped so much from him: one by one. It started when he was thirteen and his grandpa had died—listening to his mom sobbing as she hung onto the words of the person on the other end of the phone. The brusque way his father had clapped him on the back when he’d broken the news, how Joel had comforted his little brother as he cried—telling him harshly to keep it down because he’d upset Mama and dad wouldn’t be happy with his blatant display of emotion. 

That cycle of loss continued years later. A wife that he had loved dearly: running away from the possibility of having to fulfil vows that they had uttered in the courthouse after their rushed marriage—too afraid of what people would say if they found out he’d knocked her up and ruined the poor girl's life. Holding a baby in his arms as he willed himself not to cry, those traditional male values he’d been instilled with since he was a child rushing around in his head. Unsure of what to do when she bawled, holding a bottle to her lips whilst balancing a phone between his ear and his shoulder; listening to Tommy babble about his latest hardships as if a girl rejecting his advances was the biggest loss man could acquire. 

He’d taken it for granted, he understood that now. He wished, ardently, almost furiously, for those days back. A tension headache forming behind his eyes as he finally got a two-year-old Sarah to sleep, whispering down the phone as he tried to remedy a job gone wrong, ready to yell at Tommy for fucking up until he looked at her sleeping, the hand stroking her hair that he wouldn’t remove in fear she’d wake up, and felt that complete sense of calm. The fulfilment that she provided him. 

She’d been taken too. 

That glowing in his chest, the smile he couldn’t push down when he looked at her, when she came racing home from school to tell him about the A she’d gotten in her math test, or when she reached those middle school days and he couldn’t stop the ache in his heart as he realised how quickly she’d grown up. 

All of it: over. 

Ruined by the harshness of life and the awful happenings that landmarked every one of the unfortunate events that spread the length of his timeline. 

It was childish to believe that someone was out to get him, he knew that. It didn’t stop the feeling, however as he gripped his kitchen counters and waited for the aches in his back to go away, the stabbing in his heart that occurred every time he brushed his fingers over that godforsaken thing on his wrist and thought of the blood on his hands and the blood all over her pretty hair. He’d cradled her with that hand, cradled you with it too. 

However, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it had been a bad idea, that you were bad. He could not. He wanted to make you nasty, make you evil so he could give himself a reason to feel such blind hatred towards you. 

You’d fucked with his head and he didn’t appreciate it. Left him aching and grasping for a reason to keep surviving. If you weren’t going to be it then nothing would. 

Perhaps, it was self-destructive. Maybe, he wanted to die—a morbid desire for it all to just end. It wasn’t as if anyone relied on him, like he was needed or wanted in the community. He’d jumped off that horse a long time ago, been trampled by heavy hoofs and left everyone lingering behind him. 

You gave him a strange sense of purpose. Someone that he was genuinely interested in talking to. 

All those people who called him their “friend,” he could not give two fucks about. Those who used him for their personal gain; he, in turn, used them. It was a game of survival in this life, not camaraderie. He had learnt that the harsh way. When they saw that he was getting too comfortable—too happy; it had to be stripped away. 

Acceptance of the melancholia came easy; a space to reconcile it was much more difficult to come across. 

There had been a flash with you, however. A sharp, blinding spark that transformed itself across the backs of his eyes and then left when he let go of you. That moment of euphoria and he was done. Completely fucked because no matter how much he wanted to, he would not get it back. 

He’d exiled you and sent you flying over the border—the opportunity in the foliage much more substantial than the tumbling wasteland Joel resided in. 

The weeks that preceded that fateful day were some of the most miserable of your life. 

The tension between the two trailers was thick, a stalemate ravaging no man's land every time you stepped onto the dewy grass in the midst of dawn and breathed in the sickly scent of tobacco. The lingering smell told you he had been there. Elbows resting on rotting wood and fingers playing with the end of a cigarette—filter dirtied and yellowed by the constant touching and breathing. 

The stubbed end that lay, still smoking. You had missed him by a second. 

You missed him. 

Missed seeing that grimace, the determined smoulder in his gaze when you walked by and smiled softly at him. You missed his annoyance when you’d come knocking and ask him for another favour—still expecting nothing in return. 

You missed his hands on your skin, lips on your neck, whispers in your ear as he wiped away the tears. 

For a while, there had been no notice of him at all—nothing to indicate that he was still alive. You’d thought, with a churning stomach, that maybe he’d gone and done it. All that time spent mulling had finally come to fruition. One Friday night, you had worried yourself so much that you’d stomped out of your trailer, one foot on the first step towards your misfortune, when the light had flickered on and you slinked away with a finality—a decision that you were not obliged to save him. 

Until one Saturday evening, sitting on the broken steps, gazing at the stars, he came calling. Sparkling and broken in the dim light, stumbling and groaning as he tripped over his own feet, not recognising your presence just a few steps away from him. The discordance of his movement had a flash of light burning along your skin, the chill of the night air gone, the hiss of the snakes in the tall grass, stopping in companionship—letting you ponder over the situation that had presented itself. 

“Joel?” you called from the lone step, watching his head flick upwards in confusion—attempting to stand straight, square his shoulders, and act tough when he realised that your eyes were on him. 

Your name came stumbled from his lips—an attempt to not seem as drunk as he was. It seemed he had wished the day away with cheap whiskey and warm beer. Perhaps, he just had a low tolerance that you had not anticipated from someone so intimidatingly large. 

“Are you okay?” you asked as he stepped onto the grass, purposefully avoiding your watchful gaze as he pushed his hand into his pocket and searched for his keys—jangling in the solitude and passivity of the night's reclusion. “Joel?” 

“M’fine,” he mumbled. If it wasn’t for your questions, you would’ve thought he was talking to the walls, eyes firmly forward, back turned to you as he tumbled up his steps. Reticent in the way he always was—unable to allow vulnerability to push him against a heart-shaped bed and present love on a bloodied plate.

“Are you drunk?” you pushed. 

“Why does it matter?” he slurred. 

With a sigh, you stood, crossing your arms across your chest to stop the cold from seeping in, and stepped towards him. He’d stopped at the top of the stairs, perched on the porch like a starved vulture hoping to morph the dry sand into fresh meat. He could smell you: the warmth of your flesh, the deepness of your blood. If he turned around, you were prepared to let him feast. 

“I’ve never seen you like this,” you observed, eyebrows furrowed in concern as you hesitantly advanced, pushing out a breath as you stood on the step below him. 

Joel twitched when you halted, his porch light blaring in the background, illuminating his featureless face—obscuring the wet of his eyes that he blinked at furiously. 

“I ain’t drunk,” he huffed and his rejection burned fresh through the jerk of his shoulder when you placed your hand atop it. Fist clenching by your side, hand scorched and blistering, you stepped back. 

“Okay,” you muttered sympathetically. “I’m sorry.” There was something brewing in that mind of his. The brilliant torment that ravaged the war fumbling and relentless in the depths of his being. If you had to, you would step into the middle of the battlefield, white flag raised, and settle an agreement between the rage and the tenderness. “If you wanna…” A pregnant pause permeated the space as you gazed at the expanse of his back—the dust on his shirt, the scratches on his neck. It clicked all of a sudden. “Are you hurt?” 

Eyes honed in on the red streaks along his broad neck, seeing a tendon twitch as he slowly began to turn. 

It was an unshakeable disappointment when he faced you, and stood on his porch throne—haloed by the yellow glow of the lights of angels. Crusted blood under his nose and a gash along the bridge. A bruise was forming on his cheekbone. Eyebrow split open. 

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you murmured, taking in the sight of his pillaged body. His skin: scorched earth. He looked defeated and sick. Man and violence: you could not comprehend. The willingness to destroy: an inescapable commonality between the species. 

Woman: born to serve and nurture. Matrimony and matriarchy. 

Just as you had been taught, sympathy soaked your throat, the urge to care building tall inside of you. 

You stepped forward with a swiftness he could not attempt to dodge in his state, and instinctively grabbed his wrist. 

“What’d you do?” 

His truculence was clear through the violence in his eyes as he gazed at your grasp—unintentionally tight and bruising. It disappeared when you softened, grip loosening, eyes dragging to the marks on his face. 

“Just a bar fight.” He shook his head dismissively, pulse pumping like the beat of a parade drum under the heat of your fingers. 

“What about?” you pried, part genuine concern and part curiosity as to how he’d found himself in this predicament—what God had allowed you to touch him again after so long without the desperation of his kisses. 

“Nothin’.” 

“Joel-” 

“It was nothin’.” He grabbed the hand clasped around his wrist, pulling it away, holding it in suspense and forcing you to gulp down a mouthful of sand. “Please,” he murmured. Sweeter this time. “I don’t want you worryin’ ‘bout me.” 

“But I do.” It was an easy statement to make, the words slipping from your throat and diving straight for his chest. A bullet hole on his shoulder and the acceptance of defeat as he let your arm drop to your side. 

Another shift in dynamic pulsated through the air like the aurora borealis; hopefulness in the colour. 

Joel offered you no response, just stood with his eyes locked on the turf and his lips twitching downwards in pensive passivity. 

A flourish of deep compassion warmed the stitchings of your flesh and pulled you into a role disparate from the ones you had held previously in the man's presence.  

“At least let me fix you up.” You began to turn, allowing him to follow if he wished. Up the steps, carefully ascending one, then the other, then pushing your door open and leaving it ajar. 

He followed moments afterwards. 

You both rode on a mare with glistening skin, demanding acceptance from the wild plains and the cackling hyenas. Both with only one journey to reach eudaimonia. The threshold lay just ahead of him, the jut of the doorframe that you had tripped over countless times, bordering the golden gates. Joel pushed them open, closing them behind him with a softness that had become familiar to you in these quiet moments of gratitude for his commiserations.

A light glow illuminated the kitchenette, lamplight streaming through the rest of the trailer and the TV that you had left on, muffled in the background. Your feet were bare against the carpet, shoes haphazardly lying near the front door where you’d kicked them off whilst Joel deliberated. You briefly diverted your course to switch the TV off, the late-night slop burning in your ears and then disappearing with a click and a thump as you threw the remote back down on the couch. 

The comforting roughness of the carpet disappeared when you stepped against the tile, the material cold on the soles and you hastily reached into the bottom corner cupboard to pull out your first aid kit. Hands trembled as you undid the clasps, a gentle vibration through your fingertips that almost caused you to drop the antiseptic wipes you acquired from the messy little box that you had filled when life only needed a band-aid to fix. 

He was hovering behind you. You could feel him. Eyes firmly on your back, watching you work. 

“Sit down,” you said simply and the scrape of the one wooden chair that sits lonesome under the kitchen table rattles in your ears like the call of bone whistles. 

There is a moment where you allow yourself a second to breathe, to regulate the undeniable draw you have to the man sitting drunk and waiting for you to fix him. As if you had the ability to fix Joel Miller. Every piece of him was stashed way out west down the Oregon trail, hidden in the Californian mountains, deep within a cavern—you were not brave enough to venture forward, only buying a slice of courage from an entity unknown as you turned around, antiseptic in hand and stepped towards him. 

There’s a simple carefulness in the way you settle yourself above him, breath held, eyes refusing to catch his as you hesitantly hold his face and begin to wipe away the filth from the nasty gash on his eyebrow. 

The silence was almost unbearable, his eyes fixated on your face as you wiped and tried not to show so much surprise at his compliance. He sat, letting you touch him, heal his bruises and staunch the blood flow with a soft touch and shaky exhales. With seemingly no irritation, nothing to indicate he would be disappointed if you were to question, you pressed. 

“What happened?” 

There was a pause, a held breath and a confession that shook you steady—hand pausing its movement and lips parting in poorly contained shock. 

“They were talkin’ bout you.” He sniffed, jaw set and eyes sad. “I couldn’t listen without sayin’ something.” 

After the initial, stomach-lurching waves of nausea and uncertainty, you held his jaw tighter, and began to wipe again—wound clean but so deep you couldn’t help but wipe and weep and hope that he wouldn’t confess another heart-skipping sin. 

Pathetically, you thanked him, hands shaking, breaths coming steady and controlled as you tried desperately to stop yourself from crying. Frustration: an undeniable churning. There were a million things you wished to say, spurt curses at his face as you pushed and pushed until he was just a ball of matter begging for mercy. To leave him as he left you—curled in on yourself, waiting for God to help you make sense of his departure. His rejection. But God had left long ago, his lingering presence unfelt in the doorways of a time long past, the bastard no longer the lone star on the Texas flag. 

When you felt his hand reach your wrist, pulling you away from his face, you began to tremble, lip quivering as you blinked away an onslaught of tears. 

“Baby-” 

“Don’t,” you begged softly, all fight gone as you basked in the burn of his fingers around you, hoping to see the scar when he finally peeled them off. “Please, Joel.” 

Those sad southern eyes looked at you with a despair unknown to you—a deep, lingering pit in the darkness that tugged on every fibre. That made you pity this man who had ripped you fully in two. 

“Okay,” he appeased. “Okay, honey, I’m sorry.” He began to rub the inside of your wrist with his thumb, waiting for the welling tears to fall, just so he could wipe them away and lick the salt of you off his skin. 

“You’re such an asshole,” you said when the tears finally fell, sniffing in a display so piteous and pathetic. 

And Joel had no reply—the silence was an agreement. 

He knew. Had known for a very long time. He could not blame it on her forever; he could not blame it on the loss. At a certain point, there had to be a common denominator and the only answer was him. 

“I just-” you scoffed, ripping your wrist from his hand, rubbing at the phantom bruise that wrapped purple and blue like tendrils of poison. “I just wanted to help you. I- I feel sorry for you, Joel-”

“I don’t need you to.” 

“But I do,” you interrupted, desperate to make him listen, to pull down the defences for once. “I can’t help the way I feel.” 

“I ain’t good for you-” 

“Would you please give yourself some credit? Stop being such a self-pitying asshole and maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable.” 

He stopped, stunned by your insistence, chewing on his next words before spitting them at your feet. 

“You ain’t got a clue.” 

You sensed the rage, the brewing red heat that bubbled in the pits of his pupils. The thunder clapped overhead and the rain began to pour as you looked in his pitying eyes. The windows to the soul: a dark soul that searched for something sacrosanct in a time where everything reigned unholy. It begged to take the body instead of the mind, let the crowd part and the shouting cease as he knelt before them with stigmata displayed—the crown of thorns digging, dripping. Blood-soaked. 

He waited for you in the haze of the desert and his soul flickered and died when you refused to bow. When you forced once more, the object of your essence, the need to heal something broken. 

“Let me have a clue then.” Your voice was quiet. The summer rain beat down on the windowpanes and he quieted with the muffled sound of running water. 

The silence stilled the tension and his eyes hung low as you pulled away from your spot between his legs to throw away the dirtied alcohol wipe. There was comfort in the rain as you fumbled around your first aid box and ripped another wipe open. No resistance came when you began to wipe his cut again, and you worked quietly, comfortably in the cataclysm of your growing companionship. 

When you finished, you dropped the evidence of your communion in the trash and, with your arms crossed over your chest, rested on the counter. 

Joel stayed at the table, just watching. 

It was you who broke the joining of your solitude. 

“I didn’t think it would rain here in summer.” 

Your eyes fell on the windows, the patterns that the rain made against the glass. It was soft on your ears and a welcome reprieve from the dry ground. You hoped the birds were enjoying the feel of the water on their feathers. 

“It happens sometimes,” he said gruffly. He looked exhausted, and you twitched with the itch to touch him. “It’s not regular, but it ain’t all dry down here.” 

“I like it,” you murmured, eyes fixed on his tired ones, and with a rush of adrenaline that spread to your shaking fingers, you advanced the short distance between you. He shuddered when your fingers reached his hair, a jerk movement that had him tensing with the unpredictability, but then, he relaxed. He softened as the shower ceased to a gentle thrum of rain. 

His head pressed against your stomach, the cut on his eyebrow brushing the fabric of your clothes—the wound irritated and raw as it began to bleed again. 

Dextrous fingers worked through his hair, throat dry as you struggled to whisper words of comfort in the face of such evil. He took the comfort better than you expected, softened quietly and let you stroke his scalp—let himself lean on you. 

“You’re so sweet,” he muttered as his hands slid to your waist, pulled you tighter to him as his heat seared into your skin. “Sweet thing.” 

You wanted to cry, but decided it was better to be brave for him, that you deserved so little comfort when he had spent so long desperate. So you swallowed away the ache and let his blood soak your shirt. You let him stay until he couldn’t bear the vulnerability anymore and cut through the atmosphere with his bruising force as he pulled you down onto his lap and brushed your hair from your face. 

“You got sad eyes, babydoll,” he muttered wistfully, and you were too caught up in his affections to be bothered that the change came from his discomfort at his blatant display of his conceived weakness. His thumb came to play at your lip, and you talked through the movement. 

“You’re bleeding again.” You reached for him, but he simply shook his head.

“Don’t you worry about me.” There was a sigh as he held your chin, eyes heavy, hands tight around your waist. “I’m a goddamn asshole and you’re…you’re sweet. I don’t know where you fuckin’ came from, but you scare me, honey.” 

You convinced yourself that he was still drunk, that the spew of affection was bred from the alcohol coursing his veins yet there was so much conviction in his stare, so much truth and power as he leant up to kiss you, so soft you barely felt it, that you couldn’t reconcile his actions with your doubts anymore. 

“I’m sorry—”

“Stop it.” 

He silenced everything with another kiss, flesh on flesh, the glorious union of your sweet pandemonium. You felt like you were on fire, embarrassed and confused at his insistence. You worried, beneath the pleasure of his mouth moving against you that this was another ploy. What was stopping him from leaving you again and then coming right back when he decided that there was something inherently wrong with you that repelled him? Everything he did was inherently wrong. The hypocrisy sickened you. 

“Joel,” you breathed as he began to kiss your neck. “Joel, stop it.” His tongue was rough as he flicked at your skin, his hands around your waist pulling tighter. “Joel.” 

Your insistence was lost on him, his eyes closed, his grip bruising as if this moment would determine every future interaction, like if he could not have this once he would never have it again. But your brain was churning, you were struggling with the fight between physicality and mentality and his hands felt cold as stone when you pushed at his chest and slid gracelessly off his lap to distance yourself from him. 

There was a guilty look on his face that signalled the softening of your disgusted countenance and you wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Sorry, I—” he began, but the words got lost somewhere in his throat and they got pushed back down with the acridity of all his lies and deceit. 

“You can’t just—” you struggled with your emotions, thrusting your hands in the air like the answer would form in your ears. “You can’t just kiss me and hope it makes everything better. It’s been three fucking weeks, I didn’t invite you in with the hopes that you’d fuck me.” 

The hum of the wind battered your ears alongside his silence, the whistle of tension as he tightened his fist, knuckles blistering white and then unclenching again as his eyes darkened and lips twitched. 

“No, you were just worried about me, ain’t that right?” Suddenly, he stood, hulking around the space as his rage materialised under all the careful depictions of the true nature of his soul. “Just wanted to make sure I was okay?” 

“Yes!” you exclaimed, entirely exasperated and let your chest heave as every unspoken word threatened to spill. “Jesus Christ, Joel, I thought you killed yourself the other day. You had me worried sick.” 

“Am I that pathetic to you?” 

“It’s not pathetic to feel—” 

“I don’t fuckin’ feel!” he shouted. All of a sudden, an outburst of anger and a shiver of fear as he closed in on you. “I don’t feel shit about this place, any of those people and especially not you. I had a family, and now that’s gone. I had a life and I ain’t bout’ to let some dumb little girl bury me in my own sadness because she can’t keep her goddamn nose out of that life.” 

Your breaths were coming fast and hard, your body immobile as you gripped tight at the kitchen counters. Your feet were cold. Your toes hurt with how numb they’d gone, and yet the sweat from your soles imprinted the linoleum like the brand of his kiss on your swollen lips. Pathetically, you felt scared. Pathetically, you did not say anything else, just let out a disgusting whimper as your throat closed and let the tears slide down your face. 

You were running before he could convince you to stay, running from your own trailer. In hindsight, it had been a stupid move, terribly juvenile, but he lorded your space as if it were his kingdom, and not even home felt safe anymore. So, you left. The rain beat deep and heavy against your body like the bass of concert speakers, bare feet numbing to nothing as you stomped across the grass. 

There were brief shouts of your name, lost to the wind as they were taken by the sky, and you trudged forward with words caught in your contracting chest and the promise of everything melting to nothing beneath the soil. You would walk to Oklahoma if it would get you away from him. 

“Goddamnit,” you heard, harsh and bitter, behind you. He was quicker, strides longer, anger larger. You were a fool to think he would let you go wandering. 

The hand around your wrist was warm, inviting against the cold wind, and you couldn’t afford the pleasure of such comfort, so you shunned it away, ripped the offending thing from your body and whipped around to face him. 

“Go away,” you said hoarsely. “Please, just leave me alone.” 

He reached for your wrist again, and you jerked away. Madness in his eyes, he reached again, this time for your exposed bicep, hairs standing on end from the chill of the rain, and tugged you close.  

“Makin’ me go out in the goddamn rain,” he muttered, as if dragging you back to where you’d ran from wasn’t offending. As if his insistence wasn’t shattering your soul as he pulled you along. 

With a pathetic whine, you began to sob brokenly, a sound he absorbed, mulled and let dictate his actions as he stumbled to a stop and loosened his grip on your upper arm. 

“Just let me go,” you pleaded between cries, breath hard to come by, head spinning as you clutched at your chest with your free hand and cursed your mind for forcing you into such a vulnerable position. The doctor had called them attacks, but no doctor could label the affliction of your soul. Your mother called them pathetic, and you were more than inclined to agree with her. 

“Jesus Christ.” Joel shook his head, a look of disgust plastered across his face as he let you go. “What is this? What are you doing?” 

“Just leave me alone,” you managed to get out between breaths, not forgetting your manners as you fumbled out a broken “please.” 

But he did not go. Your eyes blurred from the tears yet you could still see the outline of him, haloed by the light coming from Jimmy’s trailer that brightened as the bastard pulled open the curtain to see what the commotion was and whether by his own selfishness at being caught, or your delusional need to make it seem like he cared, he carted you away. “Babygirl” was on his lips again, and you could not help but fall into his chest and let him pull you back home. 

When you arrived back at the trailer, the grass was soggy under your feet. He set you down on his porch, mumbled “wait there,” and went over to close your door, which had been left ajar in your escape. Upon his return, there was conflict in his gait, a set furrow of his brow as he opened his door and pushed you inside. 

You still couldn’t breathe, could barely hear his words as he set you down on his recliner and left to get you a glass of water. You couldn’t gulp down the liquid when he handed it to you, too settled with the panic to care when the water dribbled out of your mouth and he took the glass from you with a sigh. 

“Stand up,” he commanded, his care concealed by his harshness and you heaved and shook as he guided you to a stand and you were shocked into submission when he wrapped his arms carefully around you, pulled you tight to his chest with your ear pressed against his heart and began to take consistent breaths. All in, and all out. One big breath, the feel of his chest expanding, then one big exhale, and his heart slowed beneath you. “Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe, babygirl.” 

It was hard not to listen to him. The desperation to be good was bigger than whatever disorder pervaded your sense and it was easier than it had ever been to sing away the discomfort and let him hold you. You breathed, then cried, and then apologised as if it was your place to say sorry for his misgivings. As if he were not the entire reason you had deteriorated into solemnity. 

He shushed you with a kiss to your head, arms coming round tighter as he had done when he’d sat you down against his lap only minutes previous, yet you did not feel this time that he would ignore you when you asked him to let go. You felt comfort in the knowledge that he was dangerous no longer, caged and chained, and when you removed your sticky, crusted cheek from his chest to gaze at him through misted eyes, you felt yourself soften and slip. 

You were leaning up to kiss him before you could decide your assumptions were wrong, and he fell down against your lips like the wind of a thousand summers. 

Neither of you spoke as he kissed you to the bedroom and there was no sound aside from the smacking of lips and the springs of the bed when he clambered over you. There was no time for you to contemplate the fact that you were in his bedroom, sprawled out against his bed as he suckled a mark against your neck. No time to think of the repercussions, the likelihood of him banishing you again once the night was over.

And yet, he was apologising into the junction of your neck, mumbled apologies that you couldn’t decide whether they were genuine or not. His fingers slid down your damp body, peeling the soaked clothes from your skin with a gentleness you couldn’t understand. It was whiplash. It was cruel. He was cruel and yet so sweet the moment the guilt overtook him and he couldn’t live in the stubbornness anymore. So, you just wrapped your legs around his waist and tugged him close, pulled his face back to your own and kissed him with the reverence of the summer breeze. 

Still, he worked diligently at your wet clothes, peeling the fabric from your chest and shushing your whine as he pulled away to get it over your head. You would’ve laughed at the sound it made against the floor if it wasn’t for how enraptured you were with him. You were hot, all over, fire in your loins when he tugged off your bra, ripped off his own shirt and pressed your bodies together. His skin against yours was paradisical, a plain so Godly you couldn’t even perceive it as sexual in your hazed mind. It was so dauntingly intimate, so separate from your last encounter that it felt like your soul was merging, entwining, all from the blessedness of his warmth atop yours. 

Everything else came off slower then, the kisses sloppier, shuddering in their rhythm as you lay naked. When he rolled onto his side, you went with him, leg cocked over his hip, and cunt knocking against the length of him with the movement of your lips against one another. But you were too tired to feel him fully, too locked in the escape from your mind, that you just wanted the kiss to last forever and his body against yours until the day you died. He made you feel so small, so delicate as his hands skated across your waist, over your hip, down then up again to brush his thumb on the underside of your breast.

You whined when he finally parted, a string of spit connecting you to him—snapping when he uttered slurred words. You could only assume his body was tingling as much as yours, that his brain was as addled and hazy. 

“Go to sleep, baby.” So soft through his lips, your heart twitching when he forced a smile. 

“But you—” you began to protest, eyes suggestively looking down at his cock which hung half-hard and heavy, jumping with every brush of your thigh. 

“Don’t worry ‘bout me,” he interrupted. “Don’t you ever worry about me. I ain’t worth it.” 

You were too desperate to please him to disagree, too wrapped up in how perfect the moment was to break it by talking back, so you nodded, eyes so heavy, body sinking against him. The world went dark when you slipped, but his inviting hands kept you grounded. Then, you felt his lips against your eyelids and you let your mind fall completely blank. For the first time since you had become aware of your own mortality, you felt safe as you drifted. In the arms of danger, you felt comfort. 

The two of you fell asleep naked, no promise of anything more, just the simplicity of the present. The predicaments would come when the sun rose, and you were content to let the night shelter you from the promises of dawn. You did not dream; you just kept the pleasure of unconsciousness, which stopped the maddening thoughts of the future and the constant skipping of your heart as his fingers dragged along your skin, and his soul twitched towards the hole in yours. 

You woke to mumbles, half-words that hummed against your hair. The sun was bleeding through the curtains, the light against the bedspread swimming along the shape of your calve that peeked from under the covers. Your skin felt dry, your mouth the same, and you could feel the mat in your hair from where the rain had dried the knots in place. Yet, he was there. He was still alive and breathing next to you, still as close as he was when you had fallen asleep prior, but this time, twitching and talking in his sleep with a tremor.

When you moved to touch him, his eyes shot open with the instinctiveness of a man used to the dangers of unconsciousness, and you retreated with the burn of the brown against your face. There was a stark silence, only broken by the bark of Jimmy’s dog, who tended to roam on his lonesome, then he pulled away from you to scrub a hand across his face and murmured a soft, “Mornin’.” 

“Morning,” you replied, feeling cold when he peeled himself away from you and leant up to sit on the edge of the bed. 

You hadn’t expected him to kiss you and hold you with the morning sun blessing your entwined bodies—you hadn’t expected him to stay at all. However, it didn’t lull the sting when the bed shifted with the loss of his weight and he groped for his sweatpants, thrown over the back of a chair in the corner and tugged them on. 

Yet, there was hopefulness in the dew and you gazed reverently at his figure as he reached into his drawers to grasp a flannel and turned to question you. 

“You want coffee?” he asked, jaw twitching at your eager nod. Then, he threw the flannel on the bed, the item landing softly beside you and he gestured to you with a gruffness that warmed your heart. “C’mon then.” 

There, he disappeared from the room, cracking his neck as he went, and his footsteps muffled along the carpet, pausing in the kitchen. 

You waited a fair few seconds before you pulled his shirt on, fully overwhelmed by the scent of him as you swung your legs over the side of the bed and trembled over to the doorframe. It seemed oddly domestic, strangely comfortable in the wake of such discomfort. But you retraced the footprints he had left behind and made the short walk to the kitchen, feeling awkwardly exposed without panties, despite the flannel covering you. 

Joel was busy making coffee, his back to you as he pulled two mugs from his cupboard, each mismatched and novel. Awkwardly, you swayed in your spot, arms crossed tight against your chest, mulling in the quiet as the ceramic clinked. 

“How do you take it?” he asked softly, mind occupied as he left the coffee to brew.

“Cream and two sugars,” you answered, and he scoffed amusedly. 

“Shoulda’ known you liked it sweet.” He turned then, arms mirroring yours, biceps bulging, and you thought of how those arms had cradled you just hours previous. You honed in on the bruise around his eye, the redness of his wound, but he was still beautiful, and it didn’t matter. There was no reason to give notice to his violence when that hostility had protected you. 

It was instinct, when you reached out to feel his strength again, feet moving of their own accord, trembling as you got closer and then sighing in contentment when he reached out too. He held you, tight as anything to his chest, your chin tickled by the hair there, and he leant down with something akin to adoration in his eyes before kissing you. 

His lips were plump and malleable underneath, no bruise to his touch, just the simplicity of the morning as his hands gripped your waist, trailed down after a harsh squeeze and pulled the fat of your ass into his palms. You yelped when he pushed you back to the counter, laughing against his lips as he lifted you onto the worktop and shoved his way between your legs. 

Amusement quickly gave way to carnal desperation, and every sensation pent up from the night before when you’d gone to sleep wet, came pummeling to the surface when he trailed his fingers across your thighs and kissed the space below your ear that had you keening. 

“J-Joel,” you fumbled out, hands gripping his shoulders and tugging him tight against you. He was teasing along the skin of your inner thigh with his fingers, suckling and nipping in a manner against your neck that would surely leave a mark and you jerked with a choked moan when he pressed his fingers against your clit. 

It was a slow glide towards your slit, calculated and clumsy all at once and he struggled to stifle his groan when he found the slick of you. 

“Jesus, baby,” he uttered, head falling into the crook of your neck. “Can I have you now?”

The question had you clamping around his hand, thighs joining together as he softly brushed your clit, breaths hurried against your skin as he pressed hard into the counter. Joel Miller was desperate, and it was blissful. Joel Miller wanted you with a desperation you finally felt mirrored your own and you were struggling to keep your rationale. 

So you nodded, pulled his face up to yours and breathed out a “fuck yes, please,” before he kissed you hard and began tugging on his sweatpants. You didn’t look when his cock sprang free, his appendage already disappearing between your legs as he tugged you closer to him and ran the tip up and down, up and down until he notched at your entrance and began to sink in. 

It stung with the stretch of a thousand cuts, breath catching in your throat, hands gripping against his shoulders, driving him closer to you so you could breathe in every breath he expelled. Your haste had been your downfall in those first few moments where he pushed in further, forgetting in your desperation how big he had been the first time—how much you ached afterwards. But the pain seemed welcome, your body responding in kind with a gush of nectar, the sharpness of you cutting through and salving the wounds of your insides. Then, it didn’t seem so bad, and you let your mind go blank as he pushed to the hilt and held himself there whilst he caught his breath. 

“Goddamn,” he muttered. “Been dreamin’ about this pussy.” 

The crudeness was back and you couldn’t help but smile against his mouth as he kissed you again. 

“Been dreamin’ about you…” He pulled away and you prepared yourself for the stretch again as he hugged you tight, arms wrapped around you, hands sliding along your bare back as he shoved his hands under your shirt and he pushed back in with a groan before monologuing again.

“Fuck, been dreamin’ about you every night. Can’t get you out of my head.” 

You just whined, worried that if you said too much, he’d realise what he was confessing and stop. 

Another thrust, a heavy breath you sucked up and let posion your lungs—grabbing hard onto his shoulders, feeling against the bare muscles of his back. You would never forget how smooth his skin felt under your fingers, that even as you passed over the hardness of his age, he still felt like silk. He still emanated a youth that polarised how old he really was; the amount of life he had lived thus far. 

Then, his movements came more consistently, his words less measured and fabricated. The truth came there on the counter in the midst of summer morning, where everyone else seemed to be resting—where your souls entwined under the coming sun. The air shifted, and the ground split, and you were dragged to hell with him whilst performing the carnal sin that belonged to heaven. 

“You’re so pretty,” he said, breathy and soft, uncharacteristically sweet as he forced your eyes to his, placed a hand on your cheek and supported your lolling head. “Look at me.” You tried with wet eyes as he continued to thrust, so deep inside you yet frustratingly not deep enough with the position he’d locked you in. You wanted to ride him there on the floor, wanted to feel him splitting you open. You would be happy to die with the feel of his cock inside you—would be happy to die with his words ringing unceremoniously in your ears. 

“There she is,” he uttered into the space between your lips, eyes locked with his, trying your best not to let them flutter closed. “My pretty girl. My girl…all mine, right?”

You didn’t answer immediately, trying to understand what his question meant, whether the betrayal would come after he did, or he’d keep the covenant you were about to make as his fingers found your clit again and he began to rub with intention. He watched with reverence in his eyes as yours closed and your back arched, thighs jerking as his slapped against yours. He was inside you, asking for you, implying in the most explicit way he knew how that he wanted you. Whether it were to be temporary or not, you couldn’t care, not when he was being so sweet, so soft as he fucked you on his kitchen counter and watched, waited, expectantly for your answer.

“All yours,” you breathed out before you could bother to mull the implications of your words, not bothering to read over the terms and conditions before signing along the dotted line. 

But he choked out a moan, head falling into his neck and fingers faltering against you as he thrust and pushed and gripped you as tight as he possibly could. Your thighs were trembling, your head lolling to the side as you floated with the sensation of his rocking. 

The revelation you came to there, a revelation that should’ve been obvious to you, yet you had unconsciously tried mightily to deny, was that you cared about him considerably. The attachment that you had to him created an environment you were unsure you could leave. It was your Eden, it was the bliss of the freedom of Adam and Eve, so many passages unexplored; forbidden fruit to eat. The only way you would leave would be if he banished you, and even then, you would dream of Eden and its prosperity whilst you shook, ashamed of your nakedness and sin. 

Joel’s hips stuttered, and he breathed heavily to ward off the oncoming feeling, desperate in his movement against your clit, to make you come before he did. 

As the heat began shining through the window, the sun rising in conjunction with the rise of the sensation in your stomach, you fought back the urge to rip into his skin—to hold him there against you, flesh under your fingernails, and not let him go until he was skeletal, limp and dead. 

In an entirely hypocritical acknowledgement, you realised how much you adored him. In a way that rendered you disgusting and simultaneously amused at your head, you realised how much you liked his harshness. He was mean, but didn’t you deserve such a firm hand? He was eager to build you up and then let you go, but wasn’t that push and pull exactly how you lived in your head—teetering between happy and sad. Uncomfortably, somewhere in the middle of those feelings. 

But you fought your urges, just let your hands tug at the ends of his hair, nails along his scalp and focused hard on the feeling brewing inside you, the one that twitched along every nerve and tingled tantalisingly in the hedonism of your mind. 

“Joel, “ you managed to choke out. “Joel, please.” You consistently felt like you were repeating yourself in these moments, not witty enough to reply to his dirty mouth, not brave enough to disagree with his accusations when he degraded you, and then seemed to love you when he gave you every piece of himself he had left. 

“Go on, baby,” he murmured, pressing his lips against your neck as his hips sped up, jaw clenching as he tried to ward off the same sensation currently brewing inside you. He let out a few measured breaths, licking against your collarbone to appease himself and muttering words into your neck that almost became unintelligible against the ringing in your ears. “My pretty baby,” he said. “I’m sorry…so sorry, angel-girl.” 

Tears streamed from your eyes against the pressure of his cock inside you, trying to steady your stuttering breathing as you held him painfully tight and focused hard on the feel of adrenaline coursing to your overworked heart. 

“Look at me, angel,” he requested softly, his forehead pressing against yours, palm resting against your cheek and thumb brushing away the tears. When your eyes met, you struggled to dispel the insurmountable feeling that was churning inside you. 

With his eyes on yours, you came, sweat pooling on your back, body jerking when he came too—warming in your stomach as he stuttered and settled. 

For a few solid minutes, you both breathed each other in, breaths mingling, tears sipping from his eyes too from the overexertion and your thighs tightened around him as if the cum coating you was a promise of seperation rather than union. 

Then, the spell was broken as his dick slipped from you and the evidence of his misgivings spilt. 

“Shit,” he muttered, a flash of panic in his eyes that seemed to fall away when he gazed at the white glint along your cunt. “Sorry.” 

You were too warm to care, too full of him to worry about the thing pouring from you—the way that it could implicate your life. So you just shook your head and pulled his face back to yours, kissed him hard and then let him go, breathless and sated. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you assured. “It’ll be fine.” 

With a set stare, a determination in his countenance that showed he trusted you, he nodded. Then, he pulled you off the counter, muttered a “Don’t get any of that shit on my carpets,” humour in his uncomfortability, and patted your ass as he sent you on your way to the bathroom.

You waddled, cursing the lack of care from him, but still smiling as you heard the clinking of mugs again—the scraping of metal spoons against the ceramic. He was still taking care of you, but ultimately allowing your independence. He had also not told you to leave. He had not left, and it was enough for you to consider skipping like an over-eager schoolgirl to the bathroom. 

Softly, you closed the door behind you, met with the bleeding sun through the frosted windows and slumped down onto the toilet—wiping diligently after you’d ripped a few squares from the roll. 

As you sat, pondering the situation you’d been presented with, you felt the lingering doubt rise again like bile in the throat. There were no guarantees. This was not a promise, his cum saturating the thin paper was nothing more than the working of a man unable to control himself. What if that was all this was? What if it was just the action of Joel’s lack of constraint? He was not a man who loved easily, who gave himself up so willingly, yet it seemed, as you flushed the remnants of him away, that the moment in the night, the moment in the kitchen, was exactly what you hadn’t expected it to be: a promise. 

It would be foolish, to think that it was some kind of declaration, that you’d be holding hands and getting married before the month was out—in truth, the longevity of the relationship seemed just as blurred as the possibility of what would greet you when you walked from the bathroom—but it was something. There was an essence in his domesticity, a skip in your chest when you washed your hands, detoured to the bedroom to pull your panties back on, and went down the hall to see him sipping on his coffee; your mug sat next to his. 

He did not smile when he saw you, didn’t open his arms like a loving partner, but you didn’t expect him to. Everything about Joel Miller was subtle—all implied, not blatant—and you were content with the meaning of your steaming cup next to his, the way that he placed his down to hand yours to you.

You took the coffee gratefully, fingers brushing, but without the tension that used to cloud such muted touches. The contact settled with the prospect of easement, and you followed him like a loyal dog when he gestured to the door and muttered a soft “C’mon.” 

On the way, he snatched up his pack of cigarettes, his zippo going with it, and held the door open for you like a perfect gentleman when you walked past. 

The wood of his porch was rough under your bare soles, and you honed in on the lonesome garden chair that symbolised so much more than a place to rest. You had stared at that chair for weeks when he had left you waiting, gazing out the window and wishing to sit stubbornly in the empty space and give the plastic purpose. 

So, you hesitated when he went to sit in his preferred seat, gazing at the scratched white and hypothesising in your head what it would mean when you followed his action.

Joel looked at you funny when you didn’t mirror his movements, a cigarette hanging unlit from his mouth—his coffee mug placed on the table that sat between the two objects. 

His questioning gaze moved you, and you were shuffling to the seat, shaking as you planted yourself down and forced to put your mug next to his on the table in fear you’d spill it. 

There was the click of a lighter, and he handed you the smoking stick silently, another click as he lit his own, and the scent of tobacco permeated the space alongside the scent of coffee and dew. 

“Gon’ be humid today,” he huffed out, shifting in his seat, legs spread wide, still shirtless, and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle. His head snapped towards you, a smirk curling at his lips. “What you laughin’ for?” 

You smiled wide, puffing carefully on the cigarette and expelling the smoke with a scoff. 

“We’re gonna talk about the weather? Really?” 

He returned your scoff and replicated the drag, tapping away the ash with his forefinger. 

“What else you wanna talk about?” 

In truth, you didn’t know, you didn’t have a goddamn clue where you would start a conversation with Joel. When you conversed with him, it ranged from mind-numbing small talk to the weightiest of confessions and equivocations. There had never been moments where you just sat and discussed whatever was on your mind, so you shrugged and looked him in the eye. 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “We don’t really talk, do we?” 

He left your eyes then, gazing at your trailer, at the window he used to peer through so often and stubbed his cigarette out on the chair, melting the plastic before throwing the end over the porch bannister. 

“No,” he said monosyllabically. “I guess we don’t.” 

Silence overcame you, then, and you settled with it—settled with the rising sun against your face and the pounding of your heart when he placed his hand, palm up, against the little table. The invitation was clear, his intentions solid, and you reached out your left hand to his, letting the cigarette burn away in the right. He squeezed the flesh when you touched, just a brief tightening of his grip before he entwined your fingers, and let them rest together. 

The weight of something unidentifiable settled on your shoulders when he did not pull away—when he let the coffee go cold in favour of feeling your touch. He did not remove himself when people started to wake, when the park bustled, and they all looked as they walked past. You just settled in silence, unmoving, unblinking, let the angels fly around your head like a crown of lilies and repeated his words, mumbled them quietly in your mind: “I’m sorry…so sorry, angel-girl.” 

There, they rang true. You gripped the apology like you gripped his hand and closed your eyes, safe with the inaudible promise of prosperity.

© virginreprise

A/N Well...I'm back with this after I said it was finished!! I did not expect to come back to it but the TLOU fandom at the moment has been a shambles and I was hoping that by revisiting the first fic I ever wrote for Joel, I would get my love for writing back again. And I guess it worked because I'm here and posting and the vision for this part was so clear in my head. I can't promise any more after this so I'm going to keep it as complete but with enough convincing I might be able to make something up.

[zvezdacito]

THIS IS SO REAL

The other housewardens/students are also not really trying to understand Malleus because to them there's nothing to understand. They don't know how different the fae are to humans, and most don't even fully know their history at the hands of humans, so to everyone Malleus is just trying to be above it all and difficult for no reason. But Malleus has already done a lot to try and adapt to humans and the day and only has a few complaints about what he cant wrap his head around

A lot of people take his apology to Lilia at the end of his dorm vignette "I wasn't trying hard enough to get along" as confirmation that twst is saying Malleus ACTUALLY is not truly trying and most/everything is his fault.

But if you noticed Malleus has a habit of saying "I'LL do better" instead has a of blaming others when put in an unfair situation. As with all twst characters with biased perceptions/who don't say what they mean. You can't just take what they say as face value to what the story is actually saying

↑ People also tend to do this with Ace after his bluntness and non-coddling saved heartslabyul and stopped riddle in Book 1... ppl took it working in /that/ specific instance to mean that this is the ONLY way to stop every overblotter and the OBers just gotta man up against years of conditioning Imao. The story also shows that Ace's bluntness is not fully noble and sometimes even makes the situation worse or makes a fool out of Ace (the Heartslabyul novel really fleshes out the nuance of this trait/how overblots are confronted)

On the topic of coddling... This also reminds me of this one user who would say Lilia is coddling Malleus and that's why he turned out so difficult? It's kinda funny because this is the POV the housewardens in-universe would have of their dynamic, but it's not actually the truth.

When Lilia gives Malleus acknowledgment and approval, it looks like coddling exactly because the overblotters don't know how naturally different Malleus as a fae (who has to not feel because of his power) is, and thus how much he's already adjusted from his natural way of doing things to live with them. He laughs off and doesn't really mind a lot of Malleus' antics because to he KNOWS this isolated fae doesn't really mean anything by it, so he's responding with the necessary consideration to MAKE Malleus learn and understand. He gives him the time, unlike the palace staff who just keep conceding and backing off from him because they see him as the power/authority before the child, and unlike the other housewardens who as mentioned just see him as a nuisance/threat who's like that just because he's arrogant or something

We also know that Lilia DOES reprimand Malleus and demand he change when he does something wrong, whether he's not listening to his tutors at the castle or the literal events of the dorm vignette, so doesn't just give endless excuses for Malleus just because he knows it's hard for him.

Twst is all about learning to coexist with other people's circumstances, ways of thinking and contradicting desires, without thinkin difference must mean they are the bad guy and you are the good guy. And sometimes that's hard because misunderstandings easily happen and we rarely have the full story about something or someone. It's just this theme in different fonts with each overblot so it's kinda ironic in a meta way that fans of other OBers/characters don't realize this for Malleus, the character who is the "final boss"/pinnacle of this central theme. But yeah he is my fave for these reasons, his position is nuanced and complex and says a lot about the overall story and fun to see all the layers of.

I feel a lot of the time we don’t consider the fae perspective. We mostly consider the human’s. Which, yes, of course because we are human.

But in a story like twst, where so many characters are relatable human or not, I think it’s a bit unfair to not consider their perspective.

The main one I’m thinking of right now is how we tend to criticize Malleus and his not being able to keep track of time.

We’ve been told that he has trouble keeping track of time, and in general, many of the fae do. To them, time moves different (not to mention how it can differ depending on species), but for Malleus it’s much more than that.

Malleus has been locked up in the castle for years. He got visits from Lilia and he looked foward to that. Beyond that? It was the same every single day. He was alone. Think about it. For us, we would get tired and bored of that. Time would move slowly. We would want to escape. But Malleus couldn’t. He was trapped there, making the most of it when he hid and when Lilia visits. To him, those moments of fun didn’t last long at all and the moments of melancholy lasted forever.

On a side note, we’ve seen how long it took Lilia to adapt to humans too, about 200+ years. (He’s still adapting now. He’s somewhat better at it now because of Silver and Sebek. Who are more day creatures and he had to adapt to that as well. Even though it’s still tough on him). So how can we expect the same from Malleus, when it took even Lilia this long to do it?

When Malleus grew older and he was able to escape, time moved quickly for him. He was able to spend time with Lilia and others. He had fun and freedom. To him, time sped up. Silver and Sebek age quickly. Malleus had trouble with how fast it was. Even in his dorm card he mentions how quickly they’ve grown.

But then, you also have to consider, Malleus is a fae, he’s abided by fae time for over a century and it was only recently (at least 17 years), that he tried to adapt to human time. From seeing a babe grow to now at NRC, where school is taught through human time. How can we expect him to suddenly adapt so quickly?

I wouldn’t be surprised that besides some of the fae, other beastman or merman might have more of a nocturnal clock too.

We expect him to adapt to humans but when has any of them helped him to adapt? When we ask things of others, don’t we usually try and meet half way?? Isn’t it selfish to always one-sidedly ask him to change?? And not help him achieve the change we are asking for?

It’s one thing for the rest of dia group to help him, and they try. But it’s another, when the humans don’t even try when Malleus is trying to get along with them and make a connection with them for peace between everyone. Even more so, he wants to get along and have friends too.

And then?? They get angry? At him?? For not adhering to their ways, but did they help him? Did you remind him? Or even send the invite at all? Or were you too scared and it’s easier to blame?

He’s known to arrive in advance hours before a meeting so he doesn’t miss it because he does care and he does want to attend. But where are the people to meet him half way? To remind him or even give him the proper or updated info?

It’s a two way street. We can’t always judge malleus because of his “bad” traits, when in reality, it’s a fae thing can we?

You can argue that it’s not others jobs to do that. And yeah you’re right, but then we have seen dorm leaders go out of their way to help others haven’t we? Riddle going after Idia is one example.

And if there is to be peace, then both humans and fae have to work together to understand the other.

I think it’s unfair to always expect Malleus to change without understanding his background and his childhood and how that changes his perception of time.

[falloutrebellion]

Say Yes to Heaven Part VI

Soulmark Fluff/Smut request from @hoohamaru 🫶🏼

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader

Summary: Your skills have secured you a job as a chef for Lady Tsunade's inauguration, providing you with a chance to finally leave your village and explore the world. Unfortunately, you unlock your clan's mysterious Soulmate Kekkei Genkai when you encounter a certain white-haired Jonin. In denial, you attempt to ignore it, only to drive him absolutely mad. How long can you resist before fate intervenes?

*Now edited with new cover image*

Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V.

CW: Adult Language & Adult Themes

Now on AO3!

I apologize for the delay. I broke my hand, so I have been typing with one hand, and it's taking me twice as long to get through these chapters. But here is the next one!

Kakashi spent the night. You didn’t mean for it to happen, but he was relentless—all hands, mouth, and hips. If you’re being honest, you couldn’t stop him if you wanted to. You’re just as addicted as he is, if not worse. 

Which is why you lie in bed in the early morning sun, your heart thumping so loud you swear he can hear it as he spoons you. His heartbeat was calm, a soothing, steady thud you can feel pressed against your back. 

And it reminds you how fucked you are. 

There is no denying it now— Kakashi has activated your Kekkei Genkai. All the unexplainable pieces fit together. How you can sense him, smell him, and now even hear his thoughts. It felt surreal, of all people in your clan, and I’m the one to unlock this stupid dojutsu. Just my god damned luck, you think to yourself with an internal groan. The gods must really hate you to trap you like this. Trapped to love this handsome, silver-haired Jonin. Which is not horrible, in theory, but what about your freedom to love? Freedom to pick and choose? And what if he didn’t actually like you, but was just controlled by the Un Mei No Hito? What then? He’s stuck with someone he doesn’t truly love, and you’re the manipulative one to do it to him. And besides, you’re in no rush for anything. There are too many eligible bachelors in this village to fall for the first one. Hell, you didn’t even get to fuck Genma yet… 

As if stirred by your thoughts, Kakashi’s arms tightened around your waist, holding you more possessively. You held your breath and didn’t move a muscle, as if you were afraid to wake him. His warmth enveloped you, traveling between your legs as his fingertips lightly dug into your skin.

Flashbacks from last night hit you like a wave, and your cheeks flush red, remembering the many dirty thoughts Kakashi had. Some of them he acted on, but others… well, let’s just say, he’d be 50 shades of red if he knew that could see into some of his thoughts.

That man is a freak. 

And you like him, a lot, actually. However, you currently can’t think of anything but him. He was in every corner of your mind, burying himself there and making it home. You knew it was the same for him, and that’s probably why he’s been coming after you like a dog in heat. You loved his pursuit, really, it was nice to be chased, and the dynamic you seemingly had over him was… useful. 

He is a man obsessed, and it felt great. 

But also terrifying. What happens now that your Kekkei Genkai has been activated? According to legend, after the first kiss, the two soulmates become forever entwined with each other, with fate always leading them back to one another. You two had done far more than kiss… so what does that mean? Is Kakashi under a spell, or is he truly falling for you– and are you falling for him? If not, will you really be stuck with him forever? Even if you leave–

“Are you holding your breath?”

You gasp and jump as Kakashi’s sudden, unexpected voice harshly pulls you from your inner line of questioning. His arms reflexively hold you in place, pulling you even closer to him, your rear flush against a familiar hardness. His thoughts went back to last night, the same ones you were just thinking of, and then another horrific question was raised in your mind. 

Can he hear your thoughts, too? 

You curse yourself internally, flooded with a massive mix of emotions as you feel a kiss planted on your shoulder. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you manage to squeak out. The heat from his body was seeping into yours, sending shocks throughout your nervous system. 

“Right,” he said matter-of-factly. 

Flustered, you roll over to face him, both of you fully naked and tangled in your sheets. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He had that shit eating grin planted in his face and you narrowed your eyes as you stared at his beautiful features. “Oh, nothing.” 

You scrunch your nose and roll back over dramatically, pulling the sheets with you. “Ugh, you’re insufferable.” 

“You didn’t think so last night,” he chimes back as he squeezes your hips. 

Flipping back over to glare at him, you get planted with a kiss on your lips before you get a word out. He takes advantage of your open mouth by claiming it for his own, and his powerful effect weakens your resolve immediately. His energy captivated you entirely, his very essence pulsing through your veins. It caused your body to tremble under his touch involuntarily, reminding you of the power of your Kekkei Genkai. Your reactions fed his, as if he were set on consuming you while gripping you wildly. The electricity is back, lapping at your skin and down to your core.

And your body craves the connection like a drug, because you feel high as he devours you. Moaning into his mouth, you can feel the corner of his lips pulling upward in a smirk. You pry your hand between your bodies to his chest, pulling away enough to catch your breath. 

“You’re an asshole,” you mutter before he flips you on your back, resting between your thighs. 

“So we’re back to that?” He jokes as he looks over your body, taking in every curve that the sunlight touches. 

“Mhm, and I am wrecked, by the way. So, thanks. Did you forget I stand all day for a living?” You complain with a dramatic pout, the soreness in your limbs becoming ever apparent as he pressed against you. 

“I don’t have it much better,” Kakashi retorts lightly as his fingers foxtrot over your skin. 

“True, I don’t envy you, but you’re in far better shape than I am. And let’s not forget— oh fuck!” Talk of work reminded you that you were to attend a meeting with the Hokage this morning, something about the Leaf hosting an event. So, in other words, an imperative meeting. 

Pushing Kakashi off, you immediately run to the dresser with shaky legs and pull out a fresh pair of clothes before throwing them on the sink as you fish through the linen closet for your favorite towel. 

“Uh, is everything alright?” You hear Kakashi question you with confusion as he lies on the bed. 

“I forgot I’m supposed to meet Lady Tsunade this morning, which I have 23 exact minutes until I need to be there. So,” you lean in the doorway of the bathroom to throw him a look as he raises a brow, “do with that information what you will.” You say shortly before turning on the shower. 

You hear him say something, but the water muffles it, so you ignore it and hastily brush your hair and teeth before jumping in. The steam was already forming on the mirror as Kakashi pulled the curtains open and climbed into your shower to join you, causing another mini jump scare. What’s up with this guy? How is he so Goddamn quiet? It wasn’t long before his hands caressed your wet body gently, moving your damp hair to the side as he joined you underneath the water. It was incredibly intimate, and Gods above, it felt so good; it made your heart jump through your chest as his lips trailed feather-light kisses down your neck. 

You gasp as he slides his hand over your hip and dips between your legs, runs his fingers over your center. Squeezing his fingers, he pinches your clit between them, chuckling darkly behind you as your hips buck. “You’re distracting,” you breathe out raggedly, grinding against his hand in a circular motion.

“You’re distracting,” he murmurs darkly against your neck before releasing you. 

You can’t help but sigh in disappointment at the loss of contact, immediately longing for his touch again. Great, that’s going to be annoying. You’ll have to work all day thinking about him and what he’s doing to your body, mind, and heart. What the fuck is going to happen now? 

 “17 minutes,” Kakashi reminded you from behind as you turned to wash the soap out of your hair, now facing him. 

“Ugh, I’m going to have wet hair.” You complained as you two watched each other, both of you casually washing yourselves as if this was an everyday occurrence. Why the hell does this just feel… normal? 

It has to be your Un Mei No Hito; Kakashi’s presence is triggering these thoughts and reactions. Its powers were affecting you both, and if you weren’t around, maybe the connection would weaken. Perhaps that was the key—distance. If he’s not around, your senses would dull, and then your brain could form normal thoughts again. Right?

Well, soon you will be able to answer that question. You’re going to have to avoid him for as long as you can to test your theory. Which, in reality, you were not looking forward to. 

The shower only lasted a few more minutes, but Kakashi’s hands wandered many more times, leaving you in a shaky, miserable state.

“I hate you,” you say as you throw him a look, tugging on your shirt and pants. 

“Whatever for?” His grin is back, and you get one last glimpse before he pulls his mask up and he’s back to his usual… clothed, self. 

Your eyes narrow as you attempt to towel dry your hair again. “You know exactly what, asshole.” Checking your outfit in the mirror, you continue. “Also, now that I know what your face looks like, that mask is going to drive me insane.”

“Ooh, I like the crazy ones.” He chuckles as you throw a glare at him. 

“You drive me crazy,” you mutter as you retreat to the bathroom for a quick sweep of makeup before getting set to leave. 

“Maybe that’s the goal,” he chides as he leans against the doorway, hands casually tucked into his pockets.

“I promise you don’t want to see my crazy,” you warn playfully, even though you fully mean it. With one final flick of mascara, you turn to leave and find yourself face-to-face with his broad frame.

“Is that a challenge?”

He’s looking down at you now, his tone shifting, the teasing lilt replaced by something deeper. Your lashes flutter, and you look away, suddenly feeling that flash of electricity again, threatening to stop your heart. You wanted to tell him then, explain that all this was just your Kekkei Genkai, that it wasn’t their actual feelings. It was just a trivial thing that caused them to want each other. Because why else would you feel like this? How can you both fluster each other so effortlessly? Why does being so close to him twist your insides like this? He deserves to know, so he can try to separate these feelings from reality. 

But you don’t. 

Instead, you turn back and smile at him, playing off your inner turmoil. “Guess you’ll just have to see.” You say in as playful a tone as you can muster before placing a hand on his chest to push him out of the way lightly. 

Kakashi chuckles, a light sound you find strangely comforting, as he follows you out after you slip on your shoes.

“Guess I’ll see you around,” you say awkwardly, locking the door while he towers over you, studying your face with that curious eye of his.

“Well, I certainly hope so.” His singular eye searches you, as if sensing some apprehension.

“Yeah,” your heart pangs as you look up at him through your lashes. “Have fun training your genin today; don’t let them work you too hard.” 

You’re trying not to tell yourself to run, to escape this, escape him. To escape this handsome, kind, strong man who seemingly adores you for no reason. And that’s the thing that breeds your doubt- the lack of reason. He doesn’t truly feel this way; it’s just you twisting his mind and feelings. A part of you aches to explain that these feelings could be mere manifestations of your dojutsu, not genuine affection. But how? 

You felt guilty, as if you were luring a fox to a trap. 

Yet, every fiber in your being yearned for him, even now, as he stood before you with a narrowed eye, assessing you as you rake through your mind. 

“They won’t work me as hard as you did, that’s for sure.”

His words send a rush of warmth to your cheeks, and you hurriedly look away. He gently pulls your chin up with two fingers, tilting your face toward him. As he lowers his mask just enough to expose his lips, he places a tender kiss on your mouth, and your heart feels like it's about to combust. It’s a simple gesture, yet it leaves you reeling. You wonder if he would still do that if he knew the truth, or if the kiss was just another thread weaving you together. 

“Have a good day at work, neighbor.” He smiles, a softness in his gaze that makes your heart sink and soar all at once, before he turns to leave, waving with that effortless charm.

As he walks out of view, your mind races. Days like today make you want to believe in the connection, to ignore the tug of doubt. Yet, the thought lingers—what if this is all a trick of your lineage? Would he truly want you if not for that bond?

You take in a deep breath, fighting back the wave of uncertainty. Caught between being convinced you’re destined for an illusory fate and the possibility of genuine affection, you can only hope that the truth of your feelings is more than just a consequence of fate’s design.

With a heavy sigh, you trek off in the opposite direction, walking as fast as you can without running. You were really cutting it close, and the Hokage had seemed pressed about speaking with you this morning. The streets were just starting to wake up, with the early morning chatter and scent of baked goods flooding around you as you finally laid eyes on the familiar red building ahead of you.

Your final descent into the building passed your arrival time threshold, much to your despair. As you speed walk up to Lady Tsunade’s office, the air shifts, heavy with the weight of an unexpected uneasiness. You step into the office two minutes late, and you’re ready to begin spilling apologies before realizing she was talking to a tall man with a faceplate and short-cropped brown hair, her head in her hands as he practically whispered. You stand there dumbly and too afraid to move, watching their tense exchange silently. Your mind wanders helplessly, and you can’t shake the tumultuous feelings you’ve been grappling with since you left Kakashi. You felt anxiety rising, pondering how much you trust yourself and your feelings—debating what is real and what’s not, as if you had some kind of factual basis. Just as your thoughts begin to spiral, you notice Tsunade's serious expression shadowed by her laced fingers.

“Understood. If there are any further sightings, notify me immediately. You’re dismissed,” Lady Tsunade commanded with a sigh and a small wave of her hand. 

The man simply nodded before turning to leave, his eyes meeting yours before giving you the same curt nod. 

“Sorry for the delay, you can come in,” the Hokage says with a sigh. 

Luckily, no one even noticed you were late, so you played it off with a small smile. “No worries at all, m’lady. You said you had some news you wanted to discuss?” 

“Yes,” she drops her hands, and her expression softens.

Shizune steps forward with a clipboard in her hands, a scowl displayed across her face. 

“Lady Tsunade has somehow forgotten to mention that we are hosting a summit this week for all the great Kages. We need you to cater the event. You did such a great job for her inauguration, we figured that you would be capable and up for the task.”

A knot tightens in your stomach. "Oh, you want me to cater the event?" Cooking for the Hokage was enough pressure. But all five Kages? And in a matter of a few days? That was a lot to think about when your mind was drowning itself with endless thoughts of Kakashi. “But—”

“Yes, I want you,” she interrupts gently yet firmly. “Your skills in the kitchen and attention to detail reflect our village's hospitality. We need to impress our allies and show we are strong and unified in the face of danger.”

You look at her and try to hide your shock. “I uh, would be more than honored. But that’s a massive task in such a short time. You’re giving me three days to prepare.” You say more in a way to confirm more than anything.

Tsunade’s expression shifts as if in guilt. “Yes, but we are sure you can manage. Their entourages will be limited, so it won’t be a massive event like you did before. Your focus for the summit will be quality over quantity, but I don’t think I have to tell you that.”

As you absorb her words, determination begins to seep into your veins. She was right, there is no one better suited for a culinary challenge like you, and the stress may help get your mind off a certain silver-haired shinobi. “I’ll do it. I’ll ensure the Leaf appears as strong as ever, in any way I can.” But even as you say it, you feel a tightening in your chest at the thought of Kakashi. No matter how much you avoid him, you know you can’t truly escape him. He would definitely be at the summit—no doubt about it. 

Your mind drifts back to your unresolved feelings for him. How will you face him, knowing the turmoil that lies inside you? You have been trying to convince yourself that the attraction was just a trick of fate due to your Kekkei Genkai, but a truth tugs at your heart. What if it were real? What if the bond you felt for him was genuine? 

With the minimal information about the Un Mei No Hito, you were practically stuck dealing with it through trial and error. Or simply, just figuring it the fuck out. It was a horrible feeling that made you feel lost and trapped in something you knew nothing about. Your mind ran wild, teetering between both sides of the spectrum— believing your feelings were true, and the dark side that it was all just a sick spell you unknowingly cast upon Kakashi. 

Part of you truly feels the need to distance yourself from him while you sort through these emotions—the need to find clarity in this chaos of mixed signals and connections.

When you think of Kakashi, clips of him flood your mind: The way his eyes spark with mischief, how his laughter sends flutters through your chest, those moments when his gazes linger a bit too long. Yet, as wonderful as those moments are, your doubts shadow them. You can’t let this confusion cloud your judgment or complicate your responsibilities- or your entire future. 

You nod mechanically, trying to push those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the urgency of the task at hand. “I’ll need a list of the leaders attending and their preferences. Menu planning will be crucial,” you say decisively.

Tsunade seems pleased with your determination, and as she begins to outline the details, you make a mental note to avoid Kakashi in the lead-up to the summit. You’ve just been handed the golden egg of distractions, giving you a solid three days to figure it out. 

As the two of you plan out the logistics, your mind darts between excitement and anxiety—the tension of upcoming discussions mixed with the quiet dread of potential encounters with Kakashi. Could you really ignore him? 

And if you do, how will he handle it? 

The prospect of evading him during the preparation feels daunting, but you are adamant about seeing this through, to find out if what you and Kakashi have is real. As you contemplate the endless tasks before you, from menu planning to ensuring that every detail meets Tsunade's high standards, your determination to focus on the summit grants solace.

After discussing the expected number of attendees, the menu options range from traditional Konoha favorites to more exotic dishes from the neighboring lands. “This is crucial,” Tsunade says. “We want to impress the other leaders and show subtle strength. You won’t be doing this alone; our most elite Shinobis will be attending to show our skilled forces. And if you need any assistance, it will be available to you. I have the utmost faith in you.”

The excitement of planning fuels your resolve. You write down the titles of dishes, opinions about appetizers, and desserts flowing between you and Tsunade. Each scribbled note reveals a burgeoning sense of purpose, giving you a way to channel your energy into something productive while you mentally navigate your feelings for Kakashi. As the meeting wraps up, you exit the office, your heart still dancing between the fraught emotions of longing and duty. Stepping out to the streets, the refreshing breeze blows through your hair, drying the sweat that beaded at the back of your neck. Though the task was daunting, it provided you with a much-needed distraction to act on your experiment. With each step you take, your heart falters, unprepared for the grueling task of avoiding Kakashi Hatake.

The angst shall commence! But won't last too long 🤔

Tag List * @phantomvlood @hoohamaru

[roses-and-sakura]

Hear me out AU:

In Twisted Wonderland, Magestones are eroginous zones to their user.

Like I think I’ve seen a fancomic about it before or I was just Delulu- BUT IT WAS ON MY MIND RN AND I NEED TO LET IT OUT

So pls listen:

Magestones are used to channel their magic, blot, and can be connected to a mage’s soul, become hyper-sensitive focal points of both magical energy and emotional feedback.

Because of their connection to the user’s life force, physical or magical contact with a Magestone can create reactions ranging from intense sensory stimulation to emotional vulnerability—almost like an magical erogenous zone.

The Magestone would glow in pulses depending on the user’s heightened emotion.

After acquiring a Magestone, it can grow alongside the user, as if it has become so used to their owner's magic that its technically linked to them and attuned to their physical and mental well-being. (That or since magestones form as a result of crystals absorbing magic from the earth and air, maybe it also absorbs the users magic just a little bit when it channels their magic and absorbs their blot.)

But if you don’t use your magestone frequently, or use different kinds of magestones frequently (like you use A only a little bit before getting B since its a different color or smth(idk what I’m doing, just know what I mean ig)), there won’t be that kind of connection.

Prolonged stimulation—through magical probing, enchantment, or any sort of touch—can cause involuntary responses such as increased heart rate, shivering, flushed skin, or even a loss of composure.

Some advanced mages are trained to keep their composure when their Magestone is tampered with. Inexperienced or emotionally unstable mages may not have that control.

…It can be seen as a little rude if you touch someone’s magestone/s unless in certain circumstances like where a certain coach had to take them for his students’ training camp.

Some people can intuitively sense another’s Magestone “pulse”, or in the MC/Yuu’s case, maybe the dripping sounds when they’re close to blot.

Reactions from Dorm Leaders + Jamil

• Riddle Rosehearts: He’ll either be composed but upset or get completely flustered if anyone touches his Magestone. He considers it rude and inappropriate, and may behead you. His magic might even flare if you don’t apologize quickly.

• Leona Kingscholar: He’ll growl if you so much as glance at his Magestone for too long. But if someone he likes touches it? He smirks and dares them to try again- idk maybe he’d also pin you down too. (Aldvekshenbd- I’m rolling on the floor at the thought)

• Azul Ashengrotto: Hides any reaction behind a composed front, maybe jolt ever so slightly—but his magestone pulses visibly if stimulated. He might retreat to his office under the pretense of “urgent paperwork,” but really, he’s trying to calm the pulse in his Magestone.

• Kalim Al-Asim: He may eather get uncomfortable and start squirming away with an excuse or BLUSHES SO HARD he practically combusts.

“W-Whoa! That tickled! I mean—wait, was that supposed to feel that good?! Aha—oh no—JAMIL HELP?!”

Kalim doesn’t fully understand what you’ve just done to him, but his Magestone starts glowing like a beacon. He gets flustered and Jamil would appear immediately to drag him away, glaring at you like you just committed high treason.

• Jamil Viper: At first, Jamil stiffens. Not from surprise—he always anticipates others’ movements—but from how much it affects him. You might think he’s unaffected until he gets upset and berates or or gets angry enough to use his UM for you to never bother him with useless things again.

• Vil Schoenheit: Vil doesn’t react visibly—he controls his body well. But his Magestone glows soft violet, betraying how rattled he really is. If someone touches it, they’d better mean it unless they want to be verbally criticized by him. I think Rook would deal with those who just want to see a reaction out of him honestly-

• Idia Shroud: Honestly don’t think it would happen since his stone is in that Skull Catalyst thing-yes I’m referencing Genshin weapons. But if you did manage to touch it, the Magestone would react too much. Like it sparks, his hair may turn pink, and he retreats into his dorm. Later, he might say something in a flustered murmur like, “T-t-that’s off-limits unless you want to… ugh, nevermind.”

• Malleus Draconia: Touching his Magestone is like invoking a some Fae custom/tradition. Like touching the Magestone is an ancient sign of intimacy, maybe like proposing a soul bond (or Marriage lololol). He does not take it lightly.

If you’re a stranger? You may have just cursed yourself.

If you’re close to him?

“If you’re ready to bear the consequences… then do it again.”

[absolutelyb4tty]

Secrets and Surprises || Spencer Reid PART II

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader Category: Smut 18+ Summary: Reader and Spencer go to a kink party sending the tension between them to the boiling point. (Part 2) Word Count: 8.2k

Where to read part 1

CW: Spencer Reid/ fem!bau!reader, mutual pining, self doubt, idiots in love, plot and porn, slutty thoughts, reader wears a dress and heels, unprotected p in v (please wear protection), “forced” proximity, kink/bdsm, one bed trope, dry humping, masochism, soft dom Spencer (I’m not sorry, I am merely a sub), discussion of kink dynamics, descriptions of kink scenes, biting, nipple play, praise, impact play, little bit of size kink, Spencer absolutely has a thing for having his hair pulled, Cunnilingus, ooc Spencer A/N: so nervous about this one tbh. I tried to write this for part one but got to 3.5K words and decided to make a part two lol still with season 6 Spence of course. This is entirely self indulgent and I’m not sorry, I know someone out there will match my freak.

Not proof read, sorry

It had been a few weeks since the burlesque show and things between you and Spencer hadn’t been bad but they also hadn’t been normal. At times he seemed more comfortable around you, he was able to touch you without apologizing like he used to, but at other times he couldn’t hold eye contact and seemed to avoid you. You worried that because of all the things said and done the last time you hung out that he wasn’t comfortable with you anymore. 

One night, as the team was heading home, you cornered him near his car. 

“Hey, what’s been going on with you,” you questioned. 

“Oh. Uh nothing,” Spencer's eyes dart away from you. His tense posture told you what you needed to know. 

“Something’s up and you’re making me nervous,” you reply sharply.

“I’m sorry I just didn’t know how to address what happened the last time we hung out,” he slouches and presses his arms over his chest nervously.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to Spence, I know some things were said that we didn’t mean.” Spencer looks almost disappointed for a second before blinking the expression off his face.

“Yeah you’re right,” he says softly, “you never did tell me about that secret event though.” 

Your face pales slightly, “uh what?” 

Spencer laughs, “is it that big of a secret? Now I’m intrigued.”

“No,” you laugh, “it’s just a part of myself I don’t share at work or anything. It kind of clashes with what we do.” Spencer’s eyes twinkle with curiosity, waiting for you to go on.

“Sometimes…my friends and I,” you speak slowly, stalling, hoping he’d cut you off and tell you to forget he asked, “we uh we go to kink parties.” 

Spencer blinks down at you. He tilts his head slightly, “is that it?” 

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion at him, “uh yeah? Is that not concerning to you?” 

“Uh not really, I mean I don’t go to those or anything but I know they exist and I know that with how many of us are on the team at least one of us is likely involved in that scene,” he says matter of factly, “in recent years studies have shown that 56% of people experience BDSM related fantasies.”

You laugh now, “good way to rationalize it Spence. Well yeah that’s the party that’s this weekend. You absolutely don’t have to come if you don’t want to but my friends did invite you.” 

His gaze grew intense, “are you inviting me?”

A soft blush creeps onto your face, “I’m certainly not against you going…so yes. I’m inviting you Spencer.” 

Spencer smiles wide, “then I’ll be there! I’m interested to see what you’ve been hiding from everyone.” 

He had no idea what he was in for.

You smile back at him, trying to will yourself to not blush more. 

That weekend Spencer met you at your place. The party was in a town about two and a half hours away so you planned to road trip together and get a hotel room and then come back the next morning.

You loaded your things into the car as Spencer tried to help.

“You’ve got a lot of things,” he says innocently.

“I have a lot planned,” you chuckle to yourself.

Spencer inspects a couple of unusually shaped, wrapped items that aren’t in your two bags. Once on the road you give Spencer a run down of how these events work in between showing each other music you like. 

“So one of the friends that you met does impact with me, I bottom for that so that’s the plan for tonight. If that makes you uncomfortable you can absolutely hide out in the social area and I won’t be upset,” you explain as you drive. 

Spencer was blushing slightly and staring ahead with wide eyes, “so impact is like…”

“Spanking, hitting, etcetera,” you say casually, “does that make you uncomfortable?”

Spencer felt quite the opposite as he pictures you bent over with your friend smacking your ass. His cock jumps at the thought, “no that sounds interesting actually.” 

As the drive went on you explained dungeon rules and how certain things in the community work.

The drive went quickly and once you were checked into your hotel you decided to check out the room, drop off your belongings, and then prep for the event.

You swing the door to the hotel room open and drag your items in only to be greeted with one bed. You look over your shoulder at Spencer then back to the bed. 

“Okay I swear I reserved a two bed room,” you say, throwing your hands up dramatically.

It wasn’t an issue to share a space, you often roomed together on cases, but sharing a bed was different. You march to the lobby to figure out the mixup while Spencer waits in the room with your things. The clerk at the counter helps you discover the problem. Something had gone wrong during the booking process and you had been downgraded to one king size bed instead of two queens. It was normally an easy fix but the hotel was full so you’d both just have to cope with the shared space. You explained this to Spencer when you got back to the room. He looked away, seemingly contemplating something, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

After a moment he looks up at you with a smile, “I’m sure we can make it work.” 

With that you smile back and begin settling in.

Once you’d unpacked everything you ordered food to recover from your drive. You lounged on the bed and aimlessly flipped through channels from the bed.

“You know the food won’t be here for twenty minutes, we could nap,” you stretch out and yawn.

“You could take a nap, I’m not particularly tired,” Spencer chuckles.

“Works for me,” you laugh before curling up on the bed next to him. 

You awoke to find yourself wrapped around Spencer. One leg and arm was propped up on his torso and leg and your head was resting on his arm while he played with your hair delicately. You shifted a little to look up at him, slightly embarrassed that you ended up here while you slept but reassured by him playing with your hair, surely he wouldn’t do that if he hated you touching him.

“Good morning sunshine,” Spencer chuckles down at you.

“Sorry,” you murmur groggily, “I totally invaded your space.”

“It’s okay,” he says, softly smoothing your hair, “clearly I did too.” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” you giggle.

“The foods here if you want any,” he shifts to move his arm out from under you.

You slightly swat at him, “and you didn’t wake me?” 

“Hey! I think the guy knocking is what woke you up so I didn’t exactly have time,” he laughs, swatting you back.

You enjoy your Chinese food and some cheesy rom com on cable together while you wait for the time to get ready.

7 o clock rolls around and you drag yourself out of the bed, stretching onto your tiptoes and reaching your arms above your head. 

Spencer watches you pad across the room to the bathroom. He decides to get changed too, swapping into a black button up and matching trousers before sitting back down in bed to wait for you. The bed is still warm from your presence and the sheets smell faintly of your perfume and it’s all he can think about. Spencer spreads out and buries his face in the pillow for a moment. He daydreams about what tonight would be like, what you would wear, you dancing like you had at the burlesque show, his hands all over you. The bathroom door clicks open, snapping Spencer out of it. 

“Are you ready,” you call from the bathroom.

“Yep,” Spencer responds, smiling in anticipation. 

You step around the corner, hands thrust out at your sides to present your look to Spencer. Your hair is pulled back in a messy high ponytail, highlighting your facial structure. You’re wearing a leather mini skirt, sheer tights, big black high heeled boots, and a metallic handkerchief top. Your arms are decorated in silver bracelets and you wear boot chains on your ankles to match. Your eyes are smeared with dark eyeshadow and eyeliner in an intentional seeming way with delicately layered glitter on top. Your lips are covered in a sheer black lip gloss to match. You are a vision. Spencer stares with his jaw slack.

“Wow,” he whispers.

“Is that a good wow or a bad one,” you giggle.

“I’m going to be so underdressed,” Spencer laughs. You break out in a wide smile and hold up one finger, signaling him to wait.

“I actually thought of that,” you say, spinning around towards your bag. You pull out a tie made of a matching metal mesh to your top and pad back over to him.

“Oh wow, you got this for me,” he looks up at you, his eyebrows pulled together like this was the most touching thing anyone had done for him. He reaches out and grabs it, running it between his hands to feel the interesting texture and movement of the chainmail piece. 

“Let me help you put it on,” you smile softly before climbing onto the bed behind him. You kneel behind him, your chest pressed against the back of his head as you reach your hands out over his shoulders. Spencer hands you each side of the chain and you start to clasp it behind his head. Spencer was distracted by you being so close and how much he wanted to turn around and give you something else to do while you’re on your knees. 

“Is that too tight,” you whisper, your breath hot on the nape of his neck. Spencer nearly chokes being ripped out of his fantasizing by that. 

“No, that's good,” he whispers back.

Your hands linger on his back for a moment before you scoot and slide back off the bed.

“Okay! Are we ready,” you ask peppily.

“Yep,” Spencer says with a wide smile. He tries to bury the thoughts he’s having about you but then you bend over to grab a bag off the floor and he nearly tackles you. He spies just a peek of the underwear you’re wearing under your tights, black and lacy with little hints of metallic thread sneaking through to match your top. He wonders why you’d match your top and underwear since no one would see those but shook the thought from his head as you stood back up. You throw on a long jacket you’d brought to cover your outfit and then throw the bag over your shoulder. 

Pulling up to the venue you go over the rules with Spencer one last time, he nods and repeats them after every one. You giggle slightly.

“What,” he asks, smiling at your laugh.

“It’s just cute how you’re so invested in the rules,” you laugh.

“Well yeah I want to make a good impression,” he smiles.

You pat his knee, “you’ll be fine.” 

Walking in you are met with a perfectly normal hallway with a table at the end. A woman in a pink sparkly gown sits at the table with a cash box. You show her your tickets and she waves you in. Opening the door you’re greeted with quite the sight. People walking around in gowns and lingerie and kink gear and some of them in nothing at all. Spencer is overcome with awkwardness, not knowing where to look, so he grabs your hand and interlocks your fingers.

“Are you okay,” you lean over and whisper.

“Just grounding myself,” he nods.

That makes your heart soar that holding your hand grounds him. You try to not do a little jig from pure happiness. 

You wander around the venue showing Spencer the different areas and introducing him to folks. You both used fake names on account of your highly sensitive jobs, but luckily you knew that tons of the other patrons were using fake names as well.

You meet up with your friends and introduce Spencer to one of them again.

Spencer interrupts you, “I already met her.”

“I know, but that was as my friend, now I’m introducing her as my Top,” you laugh.

“Oh,” he thinks on it for a second, “oh!”

Your friend reaches out and shakes his hand, “I’m the one that gets to smack your little girlfriend around,” she says with a big grin.

You swat at her, “oh my god, shut up!”

You and Spencer mill around the dungeon space watching different scenes. Self suspension, needles, electro, and more. As you walk around you explain what’s happening to Spencer and he eventually loosens the grip on your hand. Once you’d watched some scenes that particularly interested Spencer, and were shocked by how interested he was in rope and suspension,  you went to the social area. You got some snacks from the food table and took a seat off to the side away from the strangers in the room.

“How are you doing,” you check in on him.

“I’m doing really well actually. This is very interesting and I’m having a good time,” he smiles softly.

“Good, maybe you can go to more of these with me in the future,” you laugh lightly. You watch Spencer’s eyes as he gets distracted by something across the room. Your gaze lands on a couple sitting off to the side with a group of, presumably, their friends. The man is dressed in a sharp suit with a leather harness under his suit jacket and colored glasses, he looks almost vampiric. The woman is kneeling between the man’s thighs in lacy purple lingerie, only covered by a tiny pleated black mini skirt. She has a collar on and the man holds the leash attached in his left hand while his right strokes her cheek. They look at each other with such adoration that it feels like you’re interrupting something just by being in the room. The woman rubs her cheek on the man’s hand as he speaks softly to her. You couldn’t hear him over the music and general noise in the background but whatever he said made the woman smile. 

“They’re cute,” Spencer says quietly to you without looking away from the couple. 

“They usually come to these. I think they have such a cute dynamic,” you reply, glancing at Spencer.

“Do you have a dynamic,” Spencer asks, finally looking at you.

“Oh no,” you laugh, “I don’t even date nowadays so I haven’t even started that process.” 

“Do you want something like that,” he gestures with his head at the couple.

“Oh yeah, that’s goals right there,” you laugh, “but I’m fine on my own too.” 

Spencer nods and then looks away to watch the couple again, seemingly lost in thought.

Your friend wanders into the social room, looking from side to side, she perks up when she lays eyes on you.

“Are you ready,” she juts her thumb behind her towards the dungeon space.

You turn to look at Spencer and when he nods you turn back to your friend, “let’s do it!” 

The three of you walk up to a spanking bench your friends are waiting in front of. 

You turn to Spencer, “are you sure you want to see this?” 

“Yep, I’m excited to see whatcha got,” he smiles and nods. 

“Okay,” you say sing-songy, “but if you get uncomfortable you can just wait for me in the social room.” Spencer nods and gives you two thumbs up.

You approach the bench and take a deep breath. Spencer watches as you unzip your skirt, eyes widening as he realizes what you are doing. This was why your top and underwear matched. He didn’t know you planned to disrobe, he obviously noticed other people wearing little or even nothing around him but figured you wouldn’t be joining them, not that he was complaining. Your skirt slid down over the globes of your ass and Spencer had to force his jaw to stay closed. There you stood, tights and underwear and nothing else between him and your pussy, a situation he’d wanted to be in for so long. You climb onto the bench and lay your chest down to get into position, arching your back slightly and getting comfortable. Spencer’s jaw tenses and his cock twitches in his trousers. Your top stands next to you and starts rubbing her hand over your raised ass. She leans down and whispers something to you that Spencer can’t hear but you nod your head in response. Then she rears her hand back and lands the first smack. Spencer jumps slightly and tries to peer at your face to see your reaction. After a second of pause you wiggle your butt and shout, “is that all you got,” with a laugh.

“Oh is that how it’s going to be,” your top laughs back at you. She begins smacking with more force and frequency. Spencer finds himself blushing and nervous but unable to look away. His body reacting differently than he had expected and he didn’t know what to do about it. One of your other friends hands your top a small coffin shaped paddle and your top immediately smacks you with such force that Spencer worries for a second before he hears you. You let out a loud moan at the impact and arch your back more. 

“Is that enough warm up,” your top chuckles.

“Yessss,” you hiss back. 

After that it was a bit of a blur for Spencer. The hits kept coming and with every one you let out a moan, a squeak, a squeal, or a gasp. In response the bulge in his pants grew. The top swapped between implements and Spencer named them to keep himself grounded. Paddles, floggers, evil sticks, and more. Spencer saw the redness spread across your cheeks, little specks of purple appearing in spots that had been hit over and over. Setting down her tool, your top slips her fingers under the waistband of your tights before delicately pulling them down your thighs. Spencer’s pants somehow felt even tighter suddenly.

“Y’know,” she says lightly, “I would normally just tear these but then I’d have to buy you new ones.”

You laugh, sounding out of breath.

Spencer was now staring at your ass, and thinking about your pussy, barely covered by that lacy piece of fabric he saw earlier. He felt like he would burst out of his pants if he saw any more.

Your top pokes a small purple spot, “does this hurt,” she asks in mock concern.

“Yess,” you whine out pathetically, accenting it with a wiggle of your rear.

That was it for Spencer. 

He reaches down and adjusts himself, his cock jumping at the tiny amount of friction he got, before leaning over to a friend standing next to him, “I’m going to step outside for some air.” 

The friend nods and smiles, assuming this was too much for him.

Spencer steps outside into the cold air and lets it fill his lungs. 

“You need to get a hold of yourself,” he hisses out, staring down at the noticeable bulge in his pants. 

Once your scene had ended your top slid your tights back up. You inhale sharply as they make contact with your developing bruises. Your top walks you over to the aftercare section of the facility after helping you back into your skirt. Once comfortable you notice Spencer was nowhere to be found. You drink your water and let your top play with your hair for a bit before getting up to find him. 

Eventually you track him down outside. The cold felt like another smack to your mostly undressed frame. 

Spencer turns to face you and waves meekly, “hey. I just needed some air.” 

A pang of guilt hits you.

“I’m sorry Spence, are you okay,” your eyebrows knit together in worry as you wrap your arms around you for warmth. Without hesitating Spencer pulls off his jacket and places it on your shoulders.

“No, I’m totally okay, I actually left for a different reason. You didn’t do anything wrong,” his voice was dripping with sincerity but his face and body language seemed worried.

“What’s up then,” you ask, preparing for some worst case that you couldn’t even come up with.

Spencer pauses, glancing away from you before opening his mouth to speak again.

“I just don’t want to mess everything up,” he whispers.

“You won’t,” you reach a hand out and give his arm a reassuring rub.

Spencer looks to the side and then to the sky in exasperation before his gaze finally lands on his shoes.

“I liked it too much,” he says so quietly you almost don’t pick it up, “more accurately I like you too much and it was clouding my judgment and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I really enjoyed it, more than I think I should have, I just don’t think you’d want me looking at you that way.” 

You tilt your head to the side, “what way?” 

Spencer’s eyes go wide, still staring at his shoes, and he gestures down to his crotch. His face was burning red and he seemed overwhelmingly flustered.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time. I’ve been burying it inside me so it wouldn’t be a burden on our friendship and I guess seeing you like that was too much. My body reacted before my mind could and so I excused myself. I think you’re beautiful and I love being around you but I know we’re just friends and I respect that. I just like you so much and I don’t want to lose what we have because I can’t be rational when you’re bent over like that making those noises.” 

Spencer tried to continue rambling but you grab his other arm to interrupt him.

He glances up at you anxiously before straightening up to look you in the eye better.

You speak quietly, in shock from his confession, “I like you too.” 

Spencer’s jaw tenses and he glances down at your lips before finding your eyes again. Without hesitation you both lean in and suddenly his lips are on yours. Warm and soft and gentle at first. After a second he pulls his head back slightly. Still staring at your lips he whispers, “I’m sorry I should have asked.”

“It’s okay Spence, just kiss me.”

His arms find your waist and pull you into a kiss that felt like he needed you to breathe. Your fingers tangle in his hair and pull his face down into yours, pressing your lips together harder. Spencer was a greedy kisser. It felt like he needed every ounce of you and he needed it now. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip and you let him in without a second thought. Your tongues dance against each other and you can feel one of his hands sliding up to the back of your head. Before you realize what was happening he’s walked you back enough that he’s now pressing you against the nearest wall. The kiss deepens and you swear you could keep doing this forever, there was no need to breathe when Spencer Reid was kissing you, he was all you needed. He lightly nips at your bottom lip causing you to let out a choked gasp. Spencer’s chest rumbles as he groans in response. With your bodies so close together you get a physical representation of the feelings Spencer mentioned having earlier pressed against you. You grind your hips forward against him and he moans into your mouth.

The door to the building swings open interrupting you. 

You must look ridiculous. Spencer cornering you against the wall, his hair a mess and your dark lipstick all over his mouth and glitter from your face smeared on his. Not to mention that you had both frozen staring at them like you’d just been caught doing the most scandalous thing ever. The couple that walked out wave goodnight and head to their cars. Spencer moves his hand from behind your head and places it on your waist opposite the other hand while you both gasp for air. 

You lock eyes, both full of lust and pupils blown wide.

“Wow,” Spencer murmurs.

“Yeah,” you breathe back, “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“You’re a bad influence on me,” Spencer laughs. 

“I’m the bad influence,” you gasp in mock shock, throwing your right hand over your chest, “I mean I did bring you here and tell you to kiss me I guess.” You point at him accusingly, “but you kissed me first!” 

“I think we kissed each other,” Spencer chuckles, hands sliding around your back to pull you close again.

“Touché doctor,” you giggle before reaching up to kiss him again.

You hands find his face and you kiss him hungrily.

“Should we go back to the hotel,” you ask, backing up slightly and gazing into his eyes.

“Oh no, we shouldn’t just leave your friends wondering where we went and I doubt you had much time for aftercare before you came to find me.”

“How do you know what that is,” you giggle.

“Maybe I have my own secrets,” Spencer whispers, pressing a light kiss to your lips.

You wipe your makeup off Spencer’s face as best you can and go back inside to finish up with your friends and say goodnight. The whole time you cuddled with your top and chatted, Spencer was watching you hungrily. You tried to not squirm under his gaze but it was hard. When it was time to leave you hug your friends goodbye and pile back into your car.

The tension in the car weighed on you, you didn’t know what the future held and you weren’t positive where you stood after what happened. You were stuck in your thoughts until you opened the door to the hotel room and stepped in.

As soon as you both cleared the doorway Spencer was on you. His lips slam into yours, hungry and desperate. He grabs the back of your head as he eases you against the wall, kicking the door shut with his left foot. You wrap your arms around his neck so he can reach you better. The height difference wasn’t too much but it was certainly noticeable when you were kissing. He tucks his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, arching your back away from the wall so your chest is pressed against him. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth and you let out a small moan. His hands slide down your back to rest on your ass. His tongue slips into your mouth as he begins kneading your ass. You squeak at the pain from your bruises that Spencer has completely forgotten about.

“I’m sorry,” he pants.

You look him in the eyes with such intensity it draws him back a bit.

“Do it again,” you smirk at him.

Something in him snaps awake at that and he grabs your ass hard. You keen and try to lean your head away from him but he catches you with his lips and kisses you even harder.

You bury your hands in his hair and pull slightly making him whine against your lips. You wrap one of your legs around his so you can grind yourself against him. 

He slides his hands to the top of your thighs and speaks so lowly it sounds more like a growl, “jump.” 

You listen immediately and he lifts you up onto his hips. You wrap both legs around him and are immediately pressed harder against the wall as he kisses along your jaw. He starts rutting up against you as he kisses and nips down your neck. You moan at the friction and grind down on him to meet his thrusts. A deep groan rumbles out of his throat as he attacks yours. He presses and drags his tongue up the side of your neck before biting down. You let out something like a gasp mixed with a squeal and he chuckles against your neck. 

You tap his shoulder desperately, “bed, bed, bed.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, still rutting against you with his face pressed against your clavicle, “I couldn’t wait.” 

You bite back a moan at that, thinking it would be embarrassing to let him know how much him wanting you turns you on.

Spencer carries you to the bed, kicking his shoes off on the way, and gently lays you down with him on top of you. He sits up and starts to unclasp his tie so you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch his hands work.

Spencer starts unbuttoning his shirt as you watch.

“Do you like watching,” he asks with a chuckle. His question ends your trance and you reach down to unzip your boots.

“You have really nice hands,” you say bashfully. Once your boots are off, you scoot to a sitting position and take over unbuttoning his shirt. You pull it down, off his shoulders, and throw it to the floor. You reach to undo his belt but Spencer grabs your hand, stopping you.

“Your turn,” he says with a glint of mischief in his eyes. He reaches behind you to unclasp the chains keeping your top on, pressing your face into his warm chest. Your top slips off from the weight of the metal and Spencer backs up to look at you. You rest your hands at the hem of his pants while he takes in the view.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, hands just ghosting over your form.

“It’s a little late to get nervous about touching me,” you giggle.

Spencer laughs, “true, I suppose.” 

With that he grabs your breasts and pushes you back down to the bed. Spencer squeezes and toys with your tits as he kisses you, hard and desperate. He starts to grind against you again. You try to remember to breathe as he begins pinching and lightly pulling at your nipples. You let out small noises against Spencer’s mouth only fueling his movements. Spencer kisses down your jaw to your neck, leaving little bites and licks as he makes his way to your sternum. He sits up and you groan at the loss of contact. Spencer hikes your skirt up to your waist before you pipe up, “let’s just take it off.” Spencer nods and moves his hands off so you can move. You spin and sit up on your knees so he has access to the zipper on the back. Spencer unzips it slowly, an idea spinning in his mind. He gently pushes you face down into the bed to take the skirt down your legs. As he pulls the skirt off your feet and chucks it to join your shirts on the floor you slip your thumbs under the waistband of your tights. Spencer leans down to your ear, his body covering yours as he does so, and whispers, “I’ll buy you new ones.”

Before you can react Spencer tears a small hole in the crotch of your tights. He then takes both hands and rips them completely open, exposing your lacy underwear and bare thighs. 

“Oh my god Spencer,” you squeal and giggle.

Spencer then flips you back onto your back.

“What? I said I’d buy you new ones,” he feigns innocence as he finally cups your pussy. You gasp and flush slightly.

“God you’re so wet for me,” Spencer groans.

“Just for you,” you sigh.

Spencer slides your underwear down and off your legs, tearing through the tights further. Now face to face with your bare cunt, Spencer’s cock throbs in his slacks. Spencer’s hands glide under your thighs, lifting your legs onto his shoulders as he ducks down to kiss your pubic bone. Spencer hovers inches from you. Your breath shutters as you feel his breath against your wetness.

“Spencer, you don’t have to,” you breathe out, nervous he was hesitating because of how long he sat there without doing anything.

Without a word Spencer abruptly licks a wide stripe up your folds, “I don’t have to, but I’m going to.” 

You let a moan slip past your lips, “oh god.” 

Spencer laps at your core, drawing moan after moan out of you. Your hands find his hair and tangle amongst the strands, tugging slightly. Spencer whines quietly so you do it again and you’re rewarded with a whimper emitted from the back of his throat.

Spencer removes his left hand from your leg, letting it drop to the side. He moves to focus on licking and sucking on your clit. You feel him drag his fingers down through your folds to gather your arousal before slowly easing a finger into you. You gasp as pleasure washes over you.  You clench around him and Spencer chuckles, sending vibrations through you. He begins thrusting his finger in and out of you. You pitch one hand to the bed to grab onto the sheets, holding on for dear life.

“Oh my god Spence,” you cry out.

Spencer continues licking and sucking your core as he picks up the pace of his finger.

“You said you liked my hands right,” he asks before blowing cool air over your soaked clit.

“Yessss,” you hiss, tugging at his hair again. Spencer moans and stills for a moment.

“Y’know,” you look down to make eye contact with Spencer as he speaks, “if you keep pulling my hair then I’m not going to have the patience to make you cum on my face and I really want to make you cum on my face.” His eyes are dark with lust and you almost don't know how to process this side of him. He starts to devour your cunt again and you let out a high desperate moan.

“Fuck Spence, oh my god,” he leaves you gasping, the suddenness of his mouth on you knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Mmf, love how you taste,” Spencer mutters, his finger picking up the pace again. You start to grind yourself on his face, pressing down on his head to get more of him. He chuckles against you and sneaks a second finger inside you, immediately starting to curl his fingers. 

“Oh my- fuck- god,” you whine out, bucking your hips slightly to chase the feeling. Spencer flicks his tongue against your clit and sucks, pistoning his fingers in and out of you. 

“You gonna cum for me, beautiful,” he looks up, trying to hold eye contact with you as you struggle to look down at him. His beautiful amber eyes grab your attention but the pleasure is so overwhelming you have a hard time sitting still.

“Yes, yes, please,” you whine, “d-don’t stop!”

The pressure that had been building in you was reaching a breaking point as your eyes squeeze shut.

Spencer chuckles and clamps down to suck on your clit again only coming up for air to say, “Look at me when you cum all over my face, pretty girl.”

He moves his fingers faster, occasionally adding a beckoning motion, and licking you in a frenzy. 

You look down at him, “gonna- oh god,” you scream his name as your climax crashes into you. You lock eyes, him peering up at you with an obvious smirk even when his mouth is busy with other things. Pressing his head down and clamping your thighs around him, a distant part of you worried you might suffocate him but you were too absorbed in the all consuming pleasure racking your body to stop. 

Spencer works you through your peak, fingers gently slowing as you come down. Slipping his fingers out of you he spreads your thighs back open and plants soft kisses on the plush skin. Your body buzzing and Spencer’s soft laughter is all that could be heard over your panting. 

“You did so good, Angel,” he speaks softly.

Despite just cumming seconds earlier you’re still desperate for him.

“Your turn,” you pant, gently pulling his head toward you. 

“Are you sure? I’m okay, really, you need a minute to recover,” Spencer says, very sweetly, but you’re in no mood for sweet.

“Fuck my face or fuck my pussy, your choice,” you challenge. 

Spencer’s eyes darken as he climbs back up to your face, “fine,” he plants another deep kiss, bruising and starved, on your lips. He sits up and starts to unbuckle his belt. You swat his hands away and unbuckle it yourself then proceed to pull down the zipper and undo the button. You pull his pants open and slightly down, greeted with the bulge in his briefs. 

“Are you ready,” you look up into his eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation.

“Absolutely,” he replies with a smile.

You pull down his underwear, his cock springing out of the waistband.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. It’s much bigger than you expected, you also feel slightly bad for not addressing him sooner with how red and hard it is. You just stare for a moment, it’s pulsing, flushed with red, and huge.

“Are you okay,” Spencer asks, voice heavy with concern, “we can stop if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, no, no,” you shake your head, “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so…big.” 

Spencer laughs, “is that a problem for you?”

You shake your head, “just nervous about the stretch a little, it’s been awhile since I’ve been with anyone,” you laugh.

“We’ll make it fit,” Spencer says, looking down at you almost sinisterly compared to his usual demeanor.

Spencer kicks his pants off and turns to face you again. You grab his shoulders and throw him down on the bed, immediately positioning yourself between his legs. Spencer yelps in surprise at the sudden position change.

“Heyyy,” he murmurs, “you said I got to pick.” 

You giggle, “so you don’t want me to show you how good I am with my mouth?”

“You can show me that later but right now I’m feeling impatient,” he chuckles deep in his chest. 

You climb up his body to straddle him, pressing his cock flat against his stomach underneath you. You settle on top of his hips with your hands resting on his chest and slide against him, watching his reaction. Spencer hisses and grabs your forearms.

“Want to be inside you,” he grunts.

“Just give me a second, still sensitive,” you say, grinding yourself against him, his hardness sliding between your folds.

Spencer’s jaw tenses as you ride him, watching you use his cock for your satisfaction. Finally having contact with this part of him sends little bolts of lightning through you. You let your eyes fall closed as you roll your hips down on him. 

Spencer whispers your name, it turns into a whine as he says, “please, I need you.” 

Your pussy clenches around nothing at that and you decide you can’t handle teasing him anymore. You lift your hips and grab the base of his cock, he doesn’t need it, but you pump it a few times just in case. Pressing your thumb to his slit, you smear his precum over his tip before lining yourself up. Finally feeling him press into you, you let out a soft gasp. You start to lower yourself, feeling every vein and pulse of him against your walls as you go. Spencer chokes out a gasp and fists the sheets next to him. You finally seat yourself against his pelvis, a slight burn accompanying the stretch of him inside you. You slide your hands down to his stomach, trying to remain relaxed as your body adjusts, you shut your eyes tight and point your face downward. 

“Are you okay,” Spencer asks, clearly struggling to remain composed himself as he rubs his thumbs across your forearms in reassuring circles.

“M fine,” you barely get out, “just adjusting.”

Spencer waits for a moment, watching you. You lift up slightly and give a tentative pump with your hips, letting out a high pitched moan at the friction.

Spencer whimpers and grabs the sheets with one hand again. You start moving, letting out a constant stream of gasps and moans as you pick up pace. Spencer tilts his head back and moans, deep and thankful like you just offered him relief. The hand on your forearm tightens as Spencer lets out a groan, looking down at where you’re connected.

“Oh god,” he moans. His hands leave their positions to slide up your stomach to your chest. He palms your breasts, “so beautiful, so, so beautiful,” he mutters to himself.

You roll your hips down on him, tearing a groan out of his parted lips. He rolls one of your nipples in between two fingers and tugs slightly. You claw at his chest, unable to control the noises escaping your mouth. He just fills you so well and you’ve waited so long for this. 

Spencer starts to buck up into you, meeting your movements and driving you crazy. Your hips stutter slightly as you approach your peak, pressure building in you, ready to snap. Spencer notices your breath hitch and your movements grow sloppy, he grabs your hips hard and starts fucking up into you. 

“Oh- oh god,” you cry as Spencer takes the lead. 

“Look at me,” Spencer says firmly. 

You fall forward, slamming your hands on either side of his head, trying your hardest to hold eye contact. Spencer looks at you, intensity burning in his eyes, his grip on your hips tightening as he rams into you. 

“Are you gonna cum for me,” he pants. You nod furiously in response, leaning to rest your forehead on his. You gaze into his eyes, his honeyed irises scorching you with their focus.

You practically scream his name as you come undone on top of him, the last thing you see before screwing your eyes shut is the pleased look on his face as he continues to fuck you through your high. You slump down onto his chest as his pace slows but doesn’t stop.

“Spencer,” you moan out quietly.

“Yeah,” he sighs and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Too good,” you say slowly and softly. 

“We’re not done yet,” he chuckles at you. Before you have time to react he’s flipping you both over so you’re pressed under him. He sits up and hauls your legs up to wrap more solidly around his waist. 

“Mmf Spence,” you whine, “I’m sensitive.”

“You can give me one more, can’t you,” he chuckles as he moves his hands up to your waist. 

“You’re just so tight and pretty with my cock in you, I just can’t help myself.” 

“Holy f-fuck,” you moan at his sudden change in demeanor.

“Do you like it when I talk to you like that,” Spencer asks, looking deep into your eyes. 

“Yess,” you whine, squirming under his gaze.

Spencer pulls out of you slowly so only his tip is left inside you. He starts to slowly slide back into you, moaning as he bottoms out.

“F-fuck,” his moan ends in almost a growl, eyes squeezed shut. Your eyes snap between his mouth and his eyes, realizing you’ve never heard him say that word before. Opening his eyes he gives you a puzzled look, “you okay? Look shocked,” he murmurs.

“You said fuck,” you say, cocking an eyebrow.

“You’re just that good baby,” he laughs. With that Spencer starts moving again, pumping himself in and out of you. His hands find your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You let out a choked moan, “Spence.”

He glances up to find your eyes, a question knitted into his expression.

“More.”

Spencer groans and picks up the pace of his hips.

He leans down to suck a mark onto your left breast. As he sucks you mewl at the building pressure in your core. Spencer bites into your flesh, the sting of his teeth shocking you into a yelp you don’t even notice letting out.

Spencer’s eyes shoot up to yours, “m sorry,” he murmurs, licking a stripe over the faint bite mark. 

“No, don’t stop,” you moan. Spencer smirks and continues nipping and biting over your breasts. Your hands look for purchase in his hair, tugging and pulling lightly. 

Spencer’s hips stutter, “baby if you don’t stop that this is going to over way quicker than either of us want.”

You don’t stop though, you giggle and tug harder. Spencer snaps upward, grabbing both your wrists in one hand and shoving them onto the bed above your head. He’s now just inches from your face.

“Is that how you want to play this,” he whispers, his hips having stopped moving. You whine and try to fuck yourself on his dick, struggling under his body pressing you into the bed.

“Fine,” he growls. Spencer snaps his hips, abruptly sending pleasure shooting through you. You keen at the overwhelming sensation, throwing your head back into the mattress. Spencer’s hand that isn’t holding your wrists finds your throat, delicately wrapping around it.

“Are you going to be good for me now or do I have to fuck some sense into you,” his voice rumbles from deep in his chest.

You nod frantically, trying to move your hips to match his movements.

Spencer fucks into you harder, his lips landing on your earlobe before he pulls it between his teeth and bites down. Your brain shuts down, sparks shooting through your body as Spencer ravages you. Spencer’s hand loosens its grip on your throat, sliding up to brush his thumb over your bottom lip. He drags his face above yours, smashing his lips into yours. Your mouth falls open at one swipe of his tongue, allowing him access. He kisses you like you’re oxygen and he’s been buried alive. His hips snap against yours, his cock hitting parts of you that you swear have never been touched before. He kisses you frantically as his right hand travels down your body, his lips on yours makes the room spin. You tighten your legs around his waist.

“Are you close,” Spencer murmurs huskily against your lips.

“Almost,” you’re barely able to whine out before another moan rips out of your throat. Spencer slows down his hips slightly, focusing more on hitting you deeper and harder rather than faster.

“Oh fuck,” Spencer whines, throwing his head back. “You feel so good baby, doing so good for me,” he rambles. You push your hips against him, trying to encourage him to speed up again, whining when he looks into your eyes.

“Oh what? You want to cum now? I thought you were too sensitive,” he chuckles between moans.

“Please,” you whisper.

Spencer leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, “I’m kidding, I want to feel you cum around me again.”

You almost sob out a moan as his thrusts speed up again.

“Where do you want it,” Spencer grunts.

“Inside, inside, inside,” you practically babble, so overtaken with the feeling of him in you and on you. Spencer thrusts into you hard and it causes all that pressure in you to release as you clench around him. Spencer whimpers and moans as you clamp down on him, cumming hard enough that you think you feel yourself ascend for a moment.

“There it is,” he moans, “there’s my girl, you’re doing so good for me, taking it so well.”

You start whining at the overstimulation and Spencer shushes you gently.

“I’m almost there darling just hold on,” he whimpers. His hands slide to the back of your thighs, lifting your legs and pressing them to your chest. His large warm hands hold you down as he slams into you. His hips stutter ever so slightly as he approaches his own high.

“F-fuck, oh my god,” he moans.

You whimper under him, squirming slightly.

“You can take it baby, I know you can,” he grunts, “fuck you feel so good.”

“Take it angel, take it, take it, take it.” warmth fills you as he spills inside of you with a moan. He slows his thrusts and slumps down on you, pressing soft open mouth kisses to your chest and clavicle. 

He lets out a laugh between pants, “oh my god, darling that was amazing.”

You both pant and laugh together in the quiet of your hotel room.

“I can’t believe it took us so long to do that,” you laugh, finally pulling your arms from Spencer's grip to wrap them around his neck. Spencer eases out of you and rolls both of you so you are laying next to each other.

“That’s the power of two anxious introverts I think,” he says with a quiet laugh.

“Thank you for talking to me about your feelings Spence,” you murmur, caressing his cheek as you speak.

“Thank you for not rejecting me,” he replies softly.

“How could I? You’re one of the most amazing people I know.”

Spencer pulls you into a soft kiss, it’s warm and sweet and everything you’ve been wanting.

“Do you think the team will notice,” Spencer murmurs, breaking the kiss.

“God I hope not,” you laugh, “honestly though they’ve probably already placed bets on when this would happen.”

Spencer laughs, “you are so right.”

Thank you for reading!! Any feedback is appreciated, let me know if you want me to continue this with more kinky spencer shit ♡

Requests open!!♡♡♡

[dilly-dahlia]

Heyy! Can I request MCD Garroth x fem reader and how he would care for her while she’s pregnant? I just think it would be adorable

how he treats the reader while she's pregnant (Garroth's version)

pairing: Garroth x fem!Reader

content: domestic fluff, pregnancy obviously, reader and garroth are married

word count: 856

a/n: apologies for inaccuracies, i have fortunately never been pregnant. also i made these headcanons because i promise i tried making it a full fic but it was giving me intense writer’s block guys i’m sorry 😞

masterlist

☾ okay, we’re starting with the beginning of the pregnancy. you tell him and his initial reaction is quiet ecstasy. he is so unbelievably happy that his life is going the way he wants and that he’s drifted so far from the expectations of the Ro’Meave name

☾ after a couple weeks, maybe about two months, that initial excitement kind of wears off and he gets scared. a little resigned, he isn’t talking to you ask much

☾ and it’s not because of you at all! it just seemed to dawn on him that he’s going to be a father, and he builds this fear that he’ll be like his own father

☾ of course, you reassure him that he’s nothing like Garte. you point out their different traits, their different reactions to the same situations. you tell him that he has his mother’s heart and that eases his worry

☾ not completely, of course, but he returns to his usual antics

☾ he gets excited for this baby and bows that, whether it’s a boy or girl, he will love and protect them and raise them the same way

☾ once you tell Garroth you're pregnant, you are not doing anything ever again

☾ this man is practically at your beck and call. you don't even have to call him, if we're being completely honest. he has that same spidey-sense Ken from Life in the Dreamhouse has where he can just feel that you need something

☾ and he doesn't care what it is. it could be the simplest, most mundane task and Garroth will be right there doing it for you before you could even ask him to

☾ you want him to get you a blanket from the other room? done. he's getting you a pillow as well and making sure you're comfortable wherever you are.

☾ someone accidentally gives you something you can't eat? better yet, you don't want to eat the food you were given? He'll eat it on top of his own meal if you don't want to save it for later

☾ you want to read a book? he'll grab an assortment for you to pick from. if you already have one right next to you, don't even bother reaching for it. he's got you.

☾ unless he's been stationed or is out, he tries to cook all your meals. he's not the best cook, though, so you often have to stand by and help him, but he tries

☾ and for the times he is away, likely accompanying Aphmau on whatever journey she's on, he leaves you a list of planned meals so you don't have to think about what to eat. and with every meal, he leaves a comment about how lucky and glad he is that he's yours

☾ he hates having to leave you, but especially later in your pregnancy. he's afraid that one day when he's gone, you'll go into labor and he won't be there to support you or meet his child

(he expresses this concern so much that Aphmau swaps guards that accompany her just so Garroth could stay home until your baby was born)

☾ later during your pregnancy, Garroth does everything he can to make you comfortable. if we're in season 1 he asks Molly what to do. if we're in season 2 he asks Donna, and both women make a smart comment about how their husbands weren't so doting

☾ any time you want to go out he always offers to go with you. he'll carry any items you buy without complaint and without asking (which he did anyway, but you noticed it more while you were pregnant)

☾ he brews raspberry tea for you everyday because he heard from Zoey that it helps ease labor

☾ he's always awake long before you are in the mornings, and he uses that time by himself to make you a simple breakfast and make sure you have everything you need for the day

☾ I personally don't know a lot of pregnancy tricks because again, I've never been pregnant. however. neither does Garroth, and he asks the people he knows have been pregnant before so many questions

☾ literally every concern that arises during your pregnancy he goes and asks Zoey or Molly or Donna what it is and advice on how to help or fix the problem

☾ when you get nauseous and start throwing up, Garroth is always there to hold your hair away from your face or leave a soothing hand on your back. he gives you whatever you need to ease your stomach and fans your face if you're hot

☾ overall, while you're pregnant Garroth is a very gentle and attentive man. he still has the looming fear that he won't be a good father and end up like his own, no matter how hard he tries to be different

☾ but he's with you for a reason. he knows that you'd never let him travel down that same path, that you'd never be quiet and submissive like his mother was, and that brings him relief

hope you guys still enjoyed even if this isn't a full fic like I wanted it to be 🫡

but guys. garroth as a father. garroth as a father

that's all I even need to say. let me know if you want these headcanons for other characters have a good day y'all <3

TAGGING: @mellozhi @garrothswiferealnotfake if you'd like to be added to the taglist for Garroth, comment to let me know!

[lvc-a]

LOOKISM ✦ Kim Joon Goo x m! reader ✦ 1.3k words

It's raining. You pulled out a cigar and lit it with your gloved hand. You looked down at the body close to your feet and checked around the penthouse once more. Clean, no evidence, no witnesses, a knife close to the body, a sliced throat. An accident. You made your way to the back door and walked away with an umbrella, then quickly sent a text to your employer. Done.

Busan is pretty, and as you look up, the moon is also present today, gracing you with its presence. You look through your notifications to find 22 missed calls and 31 texts from your little money grubber. Always impatient. As you walked in the cool night, you called him back, hearing it ring a few times before being picked up. "Hmph! So now you remember me!"

You chuckled at his little tantrum, continuing to listen to him ramble about how you always abandon him and leave him to tend for himself, how you didn't care to ask what is he doing right now, checking up on him, how you didn't even care about his well-being!. How dare you. "Hi darling, I apologize for the long wait, it seems that my target suddenly has a different schedule today.." You apologized to him, finishing your cigar and throwing it on the ground to step on it.

"Hmph! I'd better see you tomorrow, if not. I don't want to see you ever again!" You were quick to wind him down, promising you'd be at the house by morning and would smother him with kisses, to which he switched his tone and happily accepted your proposal. You continued to talk to him on your way back to your little apartment, well, it's more like he continued rambling about his day, and how Gun is annoying for leaving him alone to collect debts, he whined on how he hasn't recieved his daily kisses from you, for a month now, since you've been away for that long. To which you apologized again, and he said that he only accept your apology if you drown him in kisses.

"Of course I will, darling I've just arrived at my apartment, I will be packing my things and see you this morning?" You could hear him complain again on the phone, making you chuckle as you put your umbrella away and went up the stairs, you pulled out your keys from your pocket, quickly opening the door and letting yourself in. "Okey fine, I'll let you pack your stuff, but please… I miss you a lot.."

You smiled at his cuteness, at times like this, you just wish you could french him right then and there, not allowing him to breathe even for a second. "I know darling, I miss you a lot too, sleep tight okay? I will be there before you know it." You could hear him mumble out and okay, and proceed to say good night to you, to which to replied with good night as well and hang up. You scanned around the room for a bit and grabbed a towel on your bed, and went to take a shower, after all, you did wait all day inside his house, waiting for him to get home.

You finished showering not long after and went to your wardrobe with a towel around your waist. You picked a simple shirt with pajama pants and dried your hair, but your eye caught your phone lit up for a second. Walking over to grab it, you were met with a transaction, money has been sent to your bank account, a huge sum, though you didn't receive a text back. Typical of him.

This particular person you've eliminated was a big one, he's been on your employer's tail for quite some time, and he didn't like it one bit. That's why he sent you. To finish the job. This is basically your life. An assassin. Of course, Gun and your lover are doing dirty work, but you're doing dirty work… sure, they were more than capable for it, but they appear too often in public, if someone looked into it closely, they can be seen cleaning up some stuff the authorities are not happy with.

Your employer needed someone private, someone who does not appear by his side everywhere he goes, someone happy to be lurking in his shadow. Someone clean-cut, doesn't talk much, and is ready at all times. And you were perfect. Simple, direct, and quite fancy. He didn't care for any of that, but you liked style. Few times you were urgently needed as his bodyguard, when Gun or Goo were not available, but you were never at his side. Always around, but never seen, blending quite well with the other guests, thinking you're just another businessman. But you would eye him from time to time, taking note of his posture and expression. People think he's here without a bodyguard, they are gravely mistaken.

You put your phone on charge and turn the lights off to sleep, you've got a promise to keep and a flight to catch in the morning.

It had stopped raining when you woke up, you checked your phone and it's 4 am, your flight is at 6. You've got some time to spare. Getting up from your bed, you walked to the bathroom to ready yourself, then packed what little stuff you brought into your bags and double checking the small apartment in case you missed anything. You then ordered a taxi to the airport and arrived swiftly. A private one, provided by your oh so kind employer. They served you breakfast there, which is a plus.

You've finally arrived in Seoul, getting off the plane to meet a person there handing you your car keys, he didn't say anything as he escorted you to the parking lot. Nodding his head to you as he walked away. You got in your car and texted your lover before you leave. I'm in Seoul, I'll be home in a bit.

Driving your way home, you stopped by a flower shop. You fancied yourself with the classic, a bouquet of red roses, and bought some cakes from across the shop for your beloved. "Him and his sweet tooth…" you shook your head as you load the stuff in the back seat and made your way home to your needy wife. He's been waiting for a while now, after all.

The penthouse is in sight, and you parked your car and grabbed your stuff, you didn't even have the chance to open the door before a whole body was thrown your way. "YOU'RE HEREE!". You could smell his shampoo, well, yours, as you hugged him with one arm and kissed his head. He had just finished drying his hair, you could tell. "I'm home darling, and I brought you gifts as a token of my apology." He didn't let go of the hug but turned his head to the side, seeing you holding flowers and cakes. He was visibly happy.

Goo smiled at you brightly, as you press kisses all over his face, then a deep kiss to his lips. He quickly grabbed the side of your head to deepen the kiss. He has been missing you, greatly. You were the first to break the kiss, making him chase your lips, wanting more. "Let's get inside first.." He pouted at you, but lightened up again as you gave him his flowers and cakes. But his mood changed back, your darling has quite frequent mood swings…

"You've left me to rot for a month, you're not allowed to leave! Anywhere! Without me for a whole year!" A whole year? you know that's not possible, but you gave in to his actics. He is, after all, your beloved wife, making demands.

"Yes dear…"

I apologize for any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language, and thank you for reading. ✦ luca

[respectthepetty]

Hey petty. Did you hear the recent drama with JoongDunk? Apparently Joong liked the post on tt that was spreading false rumors and hate on Dunk, and after gettting the like, the op posted it with evidence. (There's literally a video of it too...

https://x.com/hxmnm385618/status/193103183341650077

After that there was some commotion ig? I followed up late not sure about the exact timeline, and Joong sort of replid to a fan that he sent it to a lawyer?? and not to make a fuss anymore, but he didn't specify which post he was talking about. The fans say that he "liked" the hate post to save it as evidence (below is the fan's explanation)

https://x.com/bl_zonee/status/1937385974238941637

but to be frank, I'm wondering why anyone would like a hate post when everyone usually screenshot it. You also can't file a lawsuit on behalf of your friend or family either. And the fans are saying Joong was standing up for Dunk, and while I really like JoongDunk, I'm having some questions because if I hear the same story about anyone, this looks like a case where someone was liking some hate posts about his colleague and got caught doing it with his real account, and just trying to backpedal by implying it was for a lawsuit? And bc the hate account op uploaded the evidence of Joong liking it, the fans cannot deny he liked it which is what fans usually would do, bc why in the hell would you like a hate post about your friends? Tbh, I don't think whatever he did was protecting Dunk and it actually made me wonder if things are messy in real life... I heard in many cases, annoymous damations are made by closest people and while fans really believe it was done with good intentions, if I was in Dunk's position, and my friend liked the hate post about me, I would definitely have some questions. Do you mind sharing your thoughts?

This is the second ask I got about this.

So let me first start with stating I am Black and Hispanic (Mexican to be exact), and a common issue in Hispanic families is the way mothers baby the hell out of their grown ass sons. Mothers are just out here coddling adult men as if they aren't enabling their kids' wild behavior. Like Lorenza would never believe her son could ever do anything wrong because Juan is an angel who has never done anything wrong ever (except all the shit he has done wrong). And it's just not mothers! Comadres do it too! It's a problem, and I've never understood how these women could just excuse every single thing these hombres could do without a second thought.

Until now.

Because I'm reading both of these messages, and I'm understanding that Joong 'liked' a post that was hating on Dunk from an account that stays hating on Dunk, then Joong came up with a wild reason for liking the post, yet I'm just . . .

So what if my boy did 'like' that post with ill intentions?

Or what if he is telling the truth and is gathering evidence for a lawsuit?

Either way, as a comadre, I'd tell Juan to go apologize to Diego before he gets all mad and it ruins the tour. This situation is as shady as a beach umbrella, pero like . . . no hay bronca.

[bluemoonbxtch]

[egophiliac]

do skully have pokemon?

Pumpkaboo is the obvious one, but y'know, sometimes the obvious one is the right one! (we'll say SUPER SIZE Pumpkaboo, just for fun. big pumpkin for big skeleton boy.) and another person actually also suggested Greavard, which I somehow hadn't considered, but feels so perfect that I feel like I should have. dangit.

(they can also have little Nightmare Suit costumes :D)

[spark-circuit]

Canto 6 Erlking Heathcliff boss fight, colourized

[guaca-and-her-sonder]

ok guys I think I might have actually liked TMC a little bit

[beepsilon]

more lazy rvb memes (blue team edition)

[laniidae-passerine]

james fitzjames - streets of laredo