#ok we're far down the tags enough

[wutheringmights]

Do you have any thoughts on how "everything was fine" au time, spirit, and warriors would react if they somehow met their ctb canon selves?

Everything In the Past Was Happy AU, how I missed you! This is honestly such a good question. I love thinking about characters meeting alternate versions of themselves, especially when their fates are so wildly different.

For clarity's sake, classic CTB brothers are going to be referred to as Warriors, Spirit, and Time. Everything In the Past Was Happy AU will be referred to by the captain, engineer, and child.

I think the captain would be very disappointed to see how far he's capable of falling. While the captain never got as bad as Warriors did, he also never really learned his lesson. He definitely admires Warriors for all the ways he's trying to shape his life into something better, but it's marred by disappointment that he's turned out so pathetic.

Warriors would think the captain was his nightmare brought to life. He would hate the captain on sight and would call him out on so much of his bullshit. But still, everything worked out for him. He got to save the day without fucking up his relationships with Spirit and Time. Warriors would be unspeakably jealous.

The child (who despite the title would be a full blown adult in this scenario) and Time would have the least number of differences between them. Time would have had a rough childhood whether or not everything fell apart during the war. Looking at them straight on, you would think they are exactly the same. They would even think they are the same.

But there's subtle differences that they only realize in each other after a while. Time is very secretive and purposefully keeps himself isolated from others. The child is warmer and tends to lean on others far more. Time has a helplessness streak he can't quite get rid of. The child is more stable. They would be more confused by their slight differences than disturbed

The engineer... oh boy. So in the Everything In the Past Was Happy AU, the engineer and the captain stay on good and close terms throughout the war. But that resulted in the engineer being the captain's outsourced moral compass. The engineer knows the captain is kinda a piece of shit, but he accepts that in part because he knows the captain wouldn't do that shit to him.

So here's a version of himself who lost that bet. The engineer isn't as shocked by that as you would think. The captain betraying him is disturbing, but not unthinkable. Again, it was always a possibility. But what does shake him is how bitter and angry Spirit is, and how Spirit has become the worse version of himself. The engineer is very comfortable believing he has a strict moral code, so to see any version of himself stoop to Warriors's low... that's rough.

Meanwhile, Spirit would be pissed off. In his mind, the engineer is the worst version of him. What do you mean you're his best friend? What do you mean that you let him get away with doing any of that bullshit on anyone?

So they hate each other.

[clowningaroundmars]

Hobie1610 pt. 3

part 3 has finally arrived!!! at a faster rate than part 2 but a bit of a wait nonetheless lol

not entirely sure how long this lil story will go on for but hope y'all are enjoying this ride regardless, whether it ends on the next part or in 3 more chapters ldfjkdhf

in this installment: thrilling action, a high stakes chase, and we get to learn more abt our beloved hobie jones! yippee!

>pt. 1 here<

>pt. 2 here<

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

By some miracle, Hobie did not mention the suit to Miles once they started texting semi-regularly.

Unfortunately, they also couldn't really make their lunch date (date? God, get it together, Morales. It is not a date…) as soon as Miles would have liked, due to a million different things getting in the way of them setting a solid day aside to chill together.

Just his luck, of course.

But in the hallways, Hobie actually deigned to give Miles a passing smile every now and then. They didn’t ever get to hang out like they did for those precious few moments on the first day of school, but Miles didn’t feel the crushing weight of guilt every time he saw Hobie in his same classroom anymore. What a relief!

So Miles was mostly okay with how things were going anyhow, even if the hangout ended up falling through and they both decided not to go in the end. He was able to patrol and do his homework in blissful peace for the first time in months.

… Kind of.

That look on Hobie’s handsome face as he looked down past Miles’ coat collar though…

That still ate away at an anxious part of Miles’ brain whenever he had the time to sit down and really let his worries manifest.

No time to think about that now, though. Miles was suited up again on a school night, hoping to get at least an hour’s worth of patrolling in before security at Visions noticed he was absent from his dorm room. He hoped Ganke would be able to cover for him like he always did.

It was yet another cold evening out in New York City, and Miles was steadily covering the edges of Brooklyn, heading towards Manhattan to do a quick sweep through Central Park like he did on occasion. There was always something going on in Manhattan, especially during the evening.

Miles decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek before calling it a night and heading back to Visions.

So away he went-- now fully in his Spiderman element-- vaulting and soaring over buildings, showing off every now and then by doing silly flips and tricks mid-air for the opportunistic New Yorkers looking to snap their Spiderman Sighting of the day. A little social media promo never hurt anyone, after all…

Spiderman finally swung down onto a tree branch on the western side of the park from a street lamp and was just about to lower himself down as inconspicuously as he could, before immediately feeling the tingling electricity of his Spider Senses race up and down his spine, giving him the usual headache along with it.

He crouched down quietly on a branch and watched as a familiar lanky figure streaked across the path underneath him onto the grass and beyond.

Whoever this runner was, he was fast. And hot on his trail was a gang of burly bumbling assholes cursing up a blue streak as they gave chase.

Spiderman’s eyes stayed glued to the fast runner like they were a lifeline. His senses honed in on the person and he erupted out of the leaves of the tree with one mighty leap, sailing through the air to shoot a web out and swing his way on over to the excitement.

Several joggers, people walking dogs after work, and mothers with baby carriages exclaimed and shouted as they were barreled into by the gang of men trying to keep up with their moving target. The runner didn’t seem to be giving up, though, as their long legs sent them flying over bushes and rocks and lounging people as gracefully as a ribbon in the air.

It was indeed getting dark soon again, but the darkness didn’t really affect Spiderman’s senses at all. His mask helped him fine-tune his powerful vision and anticipate the runner’s next moves.

It looked as though they were trying to make their way up towards the Great Lawn from Cedar Hill, but whether the person was planning to make a break for the now-empty Delacorte Theatre or the Metropolitan Museum Of Art… or beyond? That was the million dollar question.

Spiderman didn’t want to lose the person in case they happened to just be a petty thief, since that would be a quick and easy problem to fix. But as he silently chased down the runner alongside (and unbeknownst) to the gang, his suspicions gave way to some other... ideas.

Namely, that the runner seemed young, a bit too young for someone to be pissing off this many fully-grown gang members.

He pushed through his confusion and made a break for the theatre the second he guessed that the runner was pivoting in that direction.

The trees were getting thicker the closer they got to the Belvedere Castle and Spiderman eventually resorted himself to hoofing it, mindful of sticking to the shadows of the foliage that surrounded them on all sides.

He was super grateful now more than ever that his suit happened to be his signature sleek black and red, rather than the tacky and hyper-visible reds and blues of many of his Spider counterparts (sorry Peter!)

Once he confirmed that the suspicious target was indeed planning on hiding in the bleachers of the massive amphitheatre, he shot up a web to hoist himself into the infrastructure from the tall stadium lights. From there, he positioned himself a bit closer to the fray, hearing the loud and heavy boots of the gang following the runner, not far behind.

Then, he squinted into the dusk as he watched one of the entrances from his perch up high... and almost choked on his own saliva!

In comes none other than Hobie Motherfucking Jones, streaking down several steps like a shooting star, clutching onto… something tucked under one of his arms. He was breathless, panting loudly, and heading straight for the Belvedere Lake.

Upon hearing the heavy bootfalls get ever closer with every passing second, it seemed that Hobie got the idea to attempt a last-minute juke by throwing himself underneath the stairs that faced the lake, tucking himself as tightly as he could under the massive stage at the center.

Spiderman watched all of this happening with wide eyes, holding his own breath in. He prayed that the ugly thugs didn’t see Hobie’s sneaky last-second move, but climbed up high onto the stadium lights and prepared to swing down anyhow, just in case.

What was Hobie even doing here, out at this hour? And what the hell did he manage to steal that was so important to these men anyways? It was quite a chase they were caught up in, running nearly two entire miles all the way up to the amphitheatre just to catch him, and that was only from what he could see when he swung into action.

The group split up and pulled out flashlights, determinedly searching the bleachers and corners as best they could while the sky rapidly darkened above them.

From right below the webbed crime-fighter, Hobie poked his head out from the shadows and took a peek.

No, no, duck back down! Spiderman wanted to shout, but he couldn’t.

No one knew he had followed them and he was safe high above the action where he balanced himself on the metal bars that housed the bulbs. His muscles tensed as the bright beam of light from one guy’s flashlight swept a little too close to Hobie’s head. Damnit.

Spiderman couldn’t just sit there all day! He had a friend to save, stolen item be damned!

He rechecked his web shooters furtively and took aim.

He set his sights on another stadium light pole across from the stage, figuring that if he was quick and agile enough, he could time his swing well enough to scoop Hobie up from where he was hidden and avoid any detection. Hopefully.

Seemed like a solid enough plan though, until Hobie just. Shot out from his hiding place all of a sudden, the heels of his boots rapping loudly against the cement and echoing all around the stage as he made a beeline for the lakefront.

Shit!!!

Miles wanted to kill him. Those guys didn’t even suspect he was hiding where we was in the first place!

... Okay, plan B!

Spiderman’s brain whirred at breakneck speeds as he watched the thugs exclaim loudly and give chase yet again, this time much closer to Hobie than they ever were before.

Without thinking, he swung down from his perch and bowled over a couple of men in his haste to simply just… grab Hobie like a damsel in distress and fireman-carry him back around the gang to get a good line of web onto a nearby pole.

The men all cursed and shouted in surprise of course, flashlight beams waving around everywhere.

One of them even yelled, “what the hell was that?!” like a character in one of his dad’s favorite cheesy slasher movies.

Spiderman was too fast for them, a black blur simply whizzing by as he grabbed Hobie and hoisted the both of them up into the air with a mighty leap. Hobie yelped in surprise, grunting from the effort, and seemed to let whatever he stole slip out of his hands which then clattered loudly onto the ground below.

The thugs rejoiced then, shaking fists at Hobie and his rescuer as they flew up to the top of a tree and detached themselves so they could fall onto the stadium light opposite from Spiderman’s initial hiding spot.

Spiderman didn’t stop until he attached another web up to the lights and dangled there for a bit. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins as he shifted Hobie off of his shoulders and let him slide slowly onto his side, his friend’s wiry arms clutching him tightly.

They both watched with rapt attention at the goings-on several feet below them.

The thugs congregated around the fallen item, picking it up and turning it this way and that. It looked like a briefcase, though with the low lighting it really could’ve been anything. It was only when one of them-- the biggest and burliest of them all-- shouted out another colorful swear word that Hobie then seemed to come back to himself again.

He squeezed Spiderman’s shoulders with his arms and kicked at him. They swung a bit from the wiggling.

“Ouch!” Spiderman hissed, as quietly as he could. He was hoping the dark dusk would conceal their position now as long as they made No Noises, but even that wasn’t guaranteed.

“Go, go, go, go, man! Let’s get out of here!!” Hobie hissed right back into his ear, his face mere centimeters away from Spiderman’s mask.

Spiderman stubbornly ignored the heat radiating out from his face at that realization and jerked this way and that, looking for an easy escape from their conundrum.

Flashlight beams danced around the ground before finally swinging up to the trees and catching sight of a pair of shoes dangling in the sky.

The biggest and meanest one of the bunch pulled something out of his pocket and took aim.

Bullet! Spiderman’s senses screamed into his cerebellum.

“Goddamn,” he huffed ruefully as the shots rang out. Hobie panicked. “Bullets for us? That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

Hobie clung onto his hero for dear life. “Brother, if you do not get a move on from here, we are both gonna get turned into fish filets!” He shouted into Spiderman’s ear.

“Ow. Okay,” Spiderman grumbled, sticking himself to the side of the pole they dangled from and readjusting Hobie so that he clung onto his back instead.

He took a deep breath and narrowly dodged a bullet that whizzed unnervingly close to their heads. Hobie yelled again.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Spiderman began, speaking quickly. “Hold on, okay? Hold on tight. Just hold on and do not let me go for even a second!”

“On it!” Hobie shouted back, legs kicking a bit before wrapping themselves tightly around Spiderman’s torso.

They both took a breath and then Spiderman jumped, gaining some air before twin webs erupted from his web shooters-- aimed directly towards the seating area entrance.

Together, he and Hobie rocketed from their airborne position towards their escape route once the fluids connected to solid architecture. To his credit, Hobie only whimpered a little bit through the ride.

The thugs had no chance! They stumbled on tired, aching legs towards the very door the two teens had left out of, complaining and cursing some more as they searched through the steps and made their way out onto the theatre’s general admission and concessions area.

They searched and searched through the bushes and trees, going so far as to even check the sculptures near the structure.

After several tense moments of gruff shouting back-and-forth, the search eventually died down until only a couple of the men were left sweeping the area once more. The others had already given up their fruitless endeavor and called it a night.

“Fucking kids, man. What the hell,” Spiderman heard one of them grumble before kicking at the Romeo and Juliet statue angrily and following the rest of his cohorts down the path towards the Great Lawn again.

Hobie and Spiderman let out matching sighs of relief then, happy to have given the men the slip by managing to hide behind the giant 3D Delacorte Theatre sign right above the box offices. Lucky for them, most people don’t think to search behind lit-up signs, so they went completely undetected.

“… Wanna let me know what you were doing here this whole time? You could’ve gotten killed!” Spiderman breathed. He wanted his tone to be sharper, more authoritative… but he was just so glad to see his new friend still in one piece instead of riddled with more holes than a chunk of swiss cheese!

Hobie scoffed, tucking a loc behind his ear and sitting back. Thanks to the lighting of the sign and the other park lights in the area, Spiderman could see him digging around in his coat pocket and fishing out-- a USB drive?

Hobie held it up triumphantly, sleepy down-turned eyes glistening with pride.

“I got it! Suckers! Screw them by the way, I’m not the thief, if that’s what you’re wondering,”

Well. He was sneaky, alright. Spiderman had to hand that to him, at the very least.

He sat back on his heels as well and exhaled. “Fine. I believe you. What’s on that drive?”

Hobie squinted at him then, really giving him a good once-over now that the excitement had officially died down. “…Damn. You’re Spiderman,”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, hi, nice to meet you, I’m your friendly neighborhood Sp-- ugh, seriously man, just tell me what all of that was back there or else I’m webbing you up and calling the cops.”

“Hey!” Hobie objected. “Like I said already, I’m the good guy here. I snagged this from those guys because I caught them snoopin’ around the museum over that way. I followed them and found out they were stealing this!”

Spiderman bobbed his head. “Okay? And what’s on it?”

Hobie turned the drive over a bit in his hands, admiring it. “Most likely? Security codes, schedules, maps. I’ve been uh… investigating those dudes for a while after watching them sniff around the museum for a few days now. It looks like they were just art thieves plannin' a heist, so I jumped on the opportunity to deliver justice myself.”

Hobie’s mischievous grin was met by Spiderman’s disapproving stare.

“And why didn’t you just call security and let them know? Like I said, super dangerous thing you did back there! If I wasn’t there to save you, you could’ve died, man.”

Hobie pocketed his USB drive again and rolled his eyes. “Y’know, for a vigilante hero with cool superpowers, you sure are a square.”

Spiderman sat up and placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “Oof, ow. That’s mean,”

“Yeah, it is, but you know I’m right. If a kid like me walked up to some cops and tried to warn them of a possible art heist, you just know those pricks’ll laugh in my face and do literally nothing about it. I had to take matters into my own hands!” Hobie jutted his chin out defiantly.

Well. Couldn't really argue with that, especially considering PDNY’s less-than-stellar track record of taking preventative measures most times. All that they would most likely do is nod along to whatever Hobie was telling them and chuckle, shaking their heads as they walk away. Not their problem.

Spiderman rubbed his chin. “Point taken," he conceded. "So what’s your plan now?”

Hobie glanced around, as if he was checking for any eavesdroppers. “I’m gonna submit some photos to a journalist I met online before turning this in back to the museum. The journalist’ll help get those guys behind bars once a story's published and some actual adults talk to the cops. I am going to go collect my reward,”

Spiderman blinked. He had a bunch of questions swimming in his head, but the first question out of his mouth was, “what reward?”

“The reward for turning in precious security info, genius!” Hobie tapped at his forehead with a finger and grinned. “If I get to negotiate with them, I can get some money to save up and-- uh. Nevermind. Listen, are you gonna rat me out or not?”

Miles’ brow creased behind his mask. “… I don’t think I will. Sounds like you’re doing the right thing… mostly.”

Hobie cheered silently. “Yes! Okay, I take it back, Spidey. You are cool!”

Spiderman sighed. “But first, I need to know you’re gonna be safe. Like, actually, and that you’re not gonna get followed home.”

Hobie shrugged nonchalantly and pushed more locs out of his face again. “Yeah, you can walk me home if you want,”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, that’s not the only thing I mean. I need you to promise me that you’re not gonna get into stupid stunts like this again. That was so dangerous and you really could’ve gotten hurt!”

Hobie exhaled as well. He stared intensely into the mask’s giant white lenses for a beat, making Spiderman shift uncomfortably.

Then, he held up his pinkie. “… Fine. I won’t do stupid shit like this again. I promise.”

Spiderman blinked a few more times and hooked his pinkie onto Hobie’s. “Uh. Okay, cool! Cool, that’s what I wanna hear, considering keeping New Yorkers safe is my job! I just wanna see you safe, that’s all. No more art heists, you gotta leave that to the professionals to handle,”

“What, professionals like you? You might’ve not even gotten to them in time before they snuck off with like millions of dollars worth of art, bro.”

“Anyone ever tell you you are just so mean? Dontcha have a little faith in me? The ‘vigilante hero with cool superpowers’?” Spiderman shot back.

They both laughed.

“Seriously, though. I do appreciate the fact that you saved my ass back there,” Hobie admitted, eyes cast downwards for a second. “I was actually gonna throw this thing into the lake and hope this drive got eaten by like… a fish or something.”

“And what about you?” Spiderman smiled despite himself.

“Well,” Hobie shrugged. “If I died, I died. I guess,”

It was Spiderman’s turn to scoff now. “You have a family, man. Don’t be ridiculous. You have friends and family that would miss you!”

Hobie’s expression turned dark, his entire face shadowing for a second before being replaced by cool detached nonchalance. A slight hint of annoyance stayed put underneath.

“… My family’s barely my family. I don’t have any friends, either. Don't worry about me.” Hobie admitted in a clipped tone. He stood up abruptly and started doing some casual stretches.

Spiderman stood up as well, knowing fully well how this song and dance was going to go.

He would never admit it out loud, but he’d seen his fair share of self-destructive citizens throwing themselves into the middle of danger in the short time he’d been doing this whole vigilante thing. He had talked many a melancholy or manic person from tossing themselves off of multiple different buildings, different bridges, stopped them from “falling” onto train tracks.

And as loath as he is to admit it, this Hobie’s particular brand of cool detachment was entirely too familiar to him as well.

A flash of his uncle Aaron’s face lit up a part of his brain that he hadn’t really allowed himself to acknowledge since that fateful day. He quickly stamped that out.

He cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck. “… Well. That sounds pretty depressing, man.”

He didn’t notice Hobie’s shoulders hitch at that phrase.

“But,” Spiderman continued, “You got people out here who care about you, even if you don’t know it. You’re still so young, you could be ending your life before you even meet, like, your favoritest person in the whole world, right? So just do me a quick favor, take care of yourself. For me. Live long enough to meet your favorite person, alright?”

Spiderman put on his best comforting expression that he could despite the mask most likely getting in the way of Hobie fully seeing it. He hoped his words were enough to convince him not to dive off the deep end, at least not anytime soon.

It seemed to work at least a little bit, because Hobie looked back at him with a much warmer-- albeit hesitant-- expression.

“Can I ask you something?” Hobie finally said after a few moments of silence.

“Uh, sure.” Spiderman replied.

“Do you know about a kid named Miles Morales at all?”

The air was sucked out of Spiderman’s lungs right then as he floundered like a fish for a minute, brain working into overdrive to make his answer sound both intelligent and convincing.

“U-uh, maaaybeee? I dunno, I meet a lot of New Yorkers everyday and I don’t get many names, yanno? S-sounds familiar, but sorr--”

“I knew it,” Hobie exhaled a laugh and surged forward to embrace Spiderman with both arms.

Spiderman stood frozen in his place, arms held in mid-air as he worked to process this.

“Uh. What--”

Spiderman felt Hobie’s chin dig into the side of his cheek a little as he turned his lips to his ear. “Your secret’s safe with me, by the way. I’m not telling anyone,”

Miles felt his whole world turn on its axis before shattering completely.

Oh no, no, no, no, no! Goddamnit!

Miles pushed Hobie off and stepped back, holding his hands up. “Oh hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. I dunno what you’re thinking or who you think I am, but--!”

Hobie sighed loudly. “Miles, I saw your suit.”

The world screeched to a halt.

Hobie picked his gaze back up off of his feet and even seemed apologetic, almost. “I, uhm. Like, back on the roof. At Visions. I wasn’t… a hundred percent sure I saw it, since it could’ve been any logo at all, but. Well, you’re a pretty bad liar too, y’know that, right?”

Miles sucked in a slightly shaky breath, gulping loudly. “Uh. W-well,”

Hobie smiled shyly. “You, uh… you’re like around the same height as Miles Morales, anyways. And you sure sound a lot like him, too.”

Damn. Damn it all.

Miles spun this way and that, placing his hands atop his head as he panicked slightly. “H-Hobie, you cannot tell anyone else about this, whatsoever. Do you understand? No one. At all. Or we’re both dead!”

Hobie held his hands up, lines creasing in his face. “Look bro, you’ve got secrets of mine too. We pinkie promised, remember? I don’t break promises.”

Miles didn’t point out that the promise was so that Hobie would stop getting himself into stupidly dangerous situations, but he accepted it anyways, albeit reluctantly.

“D-do… do you actually, like actually promise me you’ll never breathe a word about this to anyone? Ever? At all?”

Hobie held up his right hand into the air, as if taking an oath. “I, MJ, solemnly swear to never breathe a single word to anyone about your super secret identity, so help me god.”

Miles planted his fists on his hip and shook his head. “Oh my god,” he exhales on a shaky laugh.

“Don’t you believe me? What would I have to gain by selling you out? Oh,” Hobie stops suddenly, perking up. “We could even work together! I got me my sweet camera and my extensive connects, man. Think about it!”

“No, no. Hobie. Stop that, man. I’m not putting you into any danger after I just saved your skinny butt. Spiderman doesn’t do sidekicks anyways,”

Hobie looked a bit put out, but shrugged anyways. “Well, I mean… think about it sometime. We could seriously take down criminal activity around here, if you’re down! And, uh. You do have my number,”

Miles looked up and took a deep breath. “Mmnyes, I do. I do have your number. That’s… I mean you’re not wrong about that. Listen, I think it’s getting pretty late and we should both be heading back home now, though.”

The corners of Hobie’s mouth curled up mischievously. “True, true. It is a school night, after all.”

Miles couldn’t stop grinning despite the heavy anvil that threatened to burst out of his chest. “Yep, yes it is! Okay, time to get you home now. C’mon, let’s go.”

Miles moved to step into Hobie’s space and carry him on his back again so he could lower the both of them down from the lip of the theatre roof.

But before that happened, he felt Hobie place a cold but strong hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

Miles looked up inquisitively and felt his breath catch in his throat as he felt those same hands slowly slide up the smooth spandex of his suit, up his shoulders, and then they stopped at his neck, at the seam of where his suit and mask met.

The entire thing probably only took a few seconds to do, but to Miles it felt like eons passed as he felt every single muscle twitch and the pulse beating underneath Hobie’s skin while he ran those fingers up his arms.

He was standing so close to him! Oh god!

The entire ordeal was unbearably intimate, and Miles could barely stop the shudder that wracked his body suddenly.

Hobie’s soft lips were slightly parted, the lighting of the sign next to them caught in the dark brown portals that were his eyes.

“U-uhm. Sorry, this is weird...” he mumbled quietly. But his hands didn't move.

All around them, crickets started their soothing chorus.

Here they were, right behind the giant lettering of the Delacorte Theatre, intertwined in each other’s arms on a cold night-- and Miles’ core body temperature has never felt hotter before. He felt like he could melt steel, the way this night was going. He didn’t know when his hands raised to grasp onto Hobie’s arms, but they must’ve done it of their own accord because Miles then felt himself squeezing softly onto Hobie’s biceps.

Slowly, painstakingly, and carefully… Hobie made his move.

Every centimeter of the mask being pushed up was accompanied by a soft look that asked-- no, it begged-- for permission to continue. His hands seemed to move on their own eventually, as he slid the mask up over the back of Miles' head and then eased it up off of his nose.

Hobie wore a soft look of determination then, that fully came into view again once Miles felt his mask slide right up off of his eyes. Hobie’s soft hands eventually fell away, mask in one hand, no sounds in the air except for the wildlife of the park starting to wake now that the night has officially fallen.

Miles wasn’t sure why he did, but he held his breath.

After a few seconds of appraising gazes from each other, pupils meeting pupils, exchanging a million words a second with just a few looks… Hobie grinned beautifully.

“Damn. There you are,”

Miles felt a plume of heat erupt from his gut and rush up to his face. “Uh. Hm, y-yep. Here I am,” he blinked back at Hobie with his big brown eyes.

Hobie had a look of pure joy on his face before it started to melt away suddenly. “You know… I should backstab you for abandoning me out of nowhere that one time, though… I really should...”

The moment collapsed like an undone web, a delicate thing now completely destroyed as Miles leaped up in indignation.

“Hobie!”

Hobie stepped back and laughed loudly. “Re-lax! I’m not gonna actually do it. But. Y’know.”

“And if you do, I’ll leave you webbed up to that billboard near Visions,” Miles threatened, mostly light-heartedly.

“Psshh, and then get my mom’s two million lawyers on your ass? Good luck,”

“As if they could ever catch me! I’m Spiderman!”

Just as easily as they had stepped out of being just kids for a moment, they stepped right back into it, bickering like they'd been friends since forever.

Miles lowered the both of them from the sign and they headed towards the eastern side of the park, making their way over to Hunter’s Gate. They bickered and bantered back and forth the entire way there, and it was only once they made it to the outer gates of the park that Miles stopped them both.

With his mask back on and other New Yorkers now milling nearby, Miles made it a point to lower his voice as he turned to Hobie and puffed his chest out heroically.

“So, random citizen. Where are we off to today? I told you I’d take you back home safely, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“’Cause you promised, right?” Hobie smirked, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

“Uhm. Yeah, yeah. I did. So, lead the way!” Spiderman made a grand ushering gesture, and Hobie chuckled good-naturedly as he stepped aside and exited Central Park.

“You gonna walk me home, Spiderman?” Hobie threw him a side-long glance.

“Yyyeah…? Why? You’d rather swing home?”

“I liked swinging, actually. Yeah,” Hobie stopped where he was on the sidewalk and nodded with an air of finality. “Yeah… let’s swing!”

Spiderman felt his heart do a few somersaults in his chest before he gestured towards his shoulders. Hobie quickly assumed the position, long lanky arms wrapping around him and leaning his body weight against Spiderman’s side.

Spiderman shot up a web to a nearby street lamp and gave his friend one more glance.

“You sure?” He asked again, really making sure that Hobie was okay with this. Not many people really liked swinging, which was understandable. Even Miles wasn't the biggest fan of it at times.

Hobie chuckled and ignored the onlookers as they slowly ambled past the two, throwing the teens questioning glances as they made their way past them.

“Yeah, I am! Let’s go,”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Miles: Do you actually actually really like on your LIFE promise that you’re not ginna tell a soul about… well…

Miles: gonna*

MJ: Yes, Miles. I PROMISE [eyeroll emoji]

Miles: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE

MJ: Do you actually, though? ;)

Miles: No. But I can find out… I got connects

MJ: Uh huh. I’ll tell your “connects” that if you don’t take me out on that promised lunch date, our friendly neighborhood Spiderman just might be the next trending topic on ALL social media apps again very soon……..

Miles: Oh my god. You are Evil. I can’t believe this. My next arch nemesis… damn

Miles: What a killer plot twist. The greatest foe I have yet to face happens to be none other than one of my very own classmates

Miles: It be ya own people

From his family’s Lower Manhattan penthouse, Hobie laughs out loud as he reads the text messages, ignoring all of the curious glances thrown his way by various members of his team.

From Miles’ own humble dorm room at Visions, he laughs aloud as well.

[qaanngi]

Scrolled to 2020 to try and update the file for Theo's birthday pic (HBD to him 💙) and that really was such a wonderful period for me in terms of drawing 🥲

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

pairing: cult leader!joel miller x virgin!female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 8.6k

summary:

You think you’re as good as dead when a band of raiders find you. In what you think are your final moments, an angel appears.

His name is Joel Miller, and he is here to deliver you from evil.

author's note: a huge thank you to my fellow cultist @atinylittlepain for listening to me scream about this. without them, we'd probably be on version 5 of this story. and to everyone who has been excited about this, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: DARK CONTENT - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, dub-con: power dynamics, dub-con: cult mentality, age difference - 60M and 27F, explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, dual POV, post-outbreak, canon divergence, canon typical violence (knife wounds, gun shot wounds, numerous mentions of blood), minor character death(s), blood cult ceremonies, religious themes, possessive behavior, emotional manipulation, loss of virginity, oral sex - f receiving, vaginal fingering, unprotected p in v, cum play, dirty talk, pet names, praise, joel really has a loose screw ok? if there are any tags missing, please let me know!

“I don’t think you should go out there by yourself,” you say, watching as your dad inspects his gun. He looks up at you with a pained expression.

“I gotta see where we should head next. I don’t want to lead you out in the wrong direction, accidentally get you in a bad spot,” he says. “I’ll be fine, buttercup.”

There’s a heaviness that settles in your stomach at his words. He sounds confident enough, but his eyes tell a different story, expose his fear. He stands with a sigh, a wince of pain washing over his face.

“Maybe I should—“

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m going. I won’t be gone long, okay? We can’t stay here forever. Who knows what’s out there in the forest.”

That’s exactly what you’re afraid of. At least inside the rotted cabin you stumbled across you could pretend you were safe. The forest is alive in a way you’ve never experienced growing up in a QZ surrounded with barbed wire and steel. You hear the snap of twigs and the howl of wolves, or the flutter of wings and the call of birds, and sometimes you think you feel the weight of eyes watching you if you venture out too far in your exploration.

“We’ve made it this far. We got out of Denver and that was half the battle,” your dad says. “You got your knife, right? And enough rations.”

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat. He kisses your forehead, dry lips lingering on your skin. You have an aching feeling this is a goodbye, some sinking intuition that he’s making a mistake that you can’t correct.

“Be back soon. I love you.”

Joel’s been keeping an eye on the people in the woods for the last three days. There was chatter on one of the radio stations that the Denver QZ was facing an uprising and he knows that once those walls come down, the survivors that venture out are bound to stumble across his town.

The cabin door opens and the man steps out, venturing into the forest. Joel waits to see if his female companion follows, but the door remains shut. He longs to see you, the girl who’s image has been burned into his brain since his first glimpse, but he has a duty to fulfill first.

He walks quickly and quietly through the forest, sure feet catching up with the man less than a mile from where he’d started.  Joel clears his throat. 

The man turns, fumbling with a gun that he clearly has no experience using, pointing it at Joel with shaking hands and shouting, “Move and I’ll shoot!” 

“You lost?” Joel asks, holding his hands up and keeping his face trained in a mask of concern. “Lookin’ for somethin’?”

After a pause, the man seeming to have concluded that Joel isn't a threat, he says, “My daughter and I…we escaped the Denver QZ."

"That must've been difficult." 

"We....we're running out of food," he continues, dropping his arms, limbs hanging heavy at his sides. "I-I don't know what else to do, man."

Gun no longer pointed at his face, Joel approaches the man, stopping when he's within arms reach. Up close, he can see the dismal state the guy is in -- sunken cheeks and bloodshot eyes, tattered clothing hanging on a thin frame. Joel places a hand on his bony shoulder.

"I can help you," he says. The man looks up, a brief glimmer of hope flashing in his eyes. Joel watches the slow realization, the way his brain catches up to what's just happened, a choked noise spilling from his dry lips. 

Joel tugs his knife from the man's gut and steps back, watching as he collapses to the ground. Desperate hands smear the blooming red stain across his abdomen. Joel circles the man, positioning himself at his back, and pulls him close with a hand slapped over his mouth.

"I'll take good care of her," he whispers before dragging his knife across his neck in one clean slice. The man twitches once before growing limp and Joel releases him, body hitting the forest floor with a dull thud. Not one to waste, Joel gathers anything of use from his person. 

Something catches the light against his neck. Curious, Joel tugs the bloodstained neck of his t-shirt to the side, finding a silver chain. He pulls, revealing the length of it. 

A cross.

The clasp snaps with a sharp tug and Joel stuffs it in his pocket. Standing and shouldering his bag once more, he begins his walk back towards the cabin.

You're running as fast as your legs will carry you, lungs and limbs burning with the effort. You made the mistake of not listening to your dad when he'd told you stay where you were, to stay hidden, that he'd come back. Your nerves had gotten the best of you and you decided that you would catch up with him, but you didn't know which direction he'd gone. You figured you would travel a little ways and see if you could find him and if you didn't do so quickly, you'd rush back to the cabin and wait, just as he told you.

That's when the men saw you, two large figures with rifles that reminded you of FEDRA soldiers slung across their backs. 

You duck behind a thick tree to catch your breath. You can hear voices calling out through the forest above the rush of blood in your ears, taunting tones carrying through the air.

"C'mon out, pretty girl!" 

You chance a peek out from your hiding spot, only catching a brief glimpse of one man through the trees. 

"Where ya hidin', sweet thing?" 

His voice sounds far away and that gives you the courage to move forward, a tentative dash for another tree. 

“I might be nicer to ya if you just come on out, but if I have to hunt ya down…well…you know what a hunter does to its prey, don’tcha?”

You press your hand over your mouth, muffling the cry that claws its way up your throat. You start to run again, faster, not caring if he can hear you so long as you're able to maintain that distance, hoping that if you can outrun them for long enough, he'll just give up and then maybe you can find your--

You crash into something, the world sliding out from under you and the breath rushing from your lungs as you land on your back with a pained shout. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling you across the rough ground before you have the chance to recover. 

"Gotcha," a man says, the voice different from the one that had been taunting you before. A figure stands over you, a foot on either side of your hips, looking down at you with a sinister smile. "Pretty little prize, huh?"

You twist your body, scrambling away from him. He laughs, following after you with unhurried strides.

“Now, don’t play hard to get,” he admonishes. A hand wraps around your ankle and he drags you toward him, kicking and screaming. Your foot connects with some fleshy part of him and he curses. 

“You little fuckin’ cunt,” he hisses, dropping your foot. He kicks you, heavy boot colliding with soft flesh and bone, a sharp pain blossoming in your side, shooting down to your very marrow. You curl in on yourself, wounded prey trying to protect its most vulnerable parts.

A shot rings out, the sound startling in the relative quiet of the forest. You sit up, sudden movement making you light headed, and it takes you a long moment to register the scene before you.

The man that had been chasing you, the one that had caught you, the one that had hurt you on the surface but planned to do far worse, lies on the ground, eyes wide open but unseeing. Above him stands your savior, an older man with gray streaked dark curls and tan skin, broad shoulders and hard brown eyes. He reminds you of a painting you saw once in a book your dad owned, long before the outbreak.

“Death On A Pale Horse,” he explained when you showed him the painting that caught your eye. “Based on the Book of Revelations. You remember that one, right?” 

“Yeah.”

“This one,” — he pointed to the central figure, a dark creature on a white horse — “is Death. And this one” — he pointed to a figure on the right that rides a dark brown horse, the dark colors making him blend among the horrors breaking from the sky behind him — “would be famine. You can see the emaciated man below him.”

“What about the other two?” You asked.

“The one of the red horse would be war.”

You pointed to the remaining figure, a man with dark curls and a determined expression. “And the white horse?”

Your dad paused. “Conquest. Pestilence. The Antichrist. The first horseman of the apocalypse.”

The man before you today looks like that figure on the white horse and despite his choice to rescue you from one horror, you fear he may be something far worse.

The man kneels and you flinch away from him. He sighs and says, “I ain’t goin’ to hurt you.”

“Who are you?” You ask, voice weak, throat on fire. 

“My name is Joel,” he says. “I want to help you.”

“How do I know you weren’t with those other guys?” Your eyes grow wide and you rush to stand on shaky legs. “Wait, there’s another—“

“He won’t be an issue,” Joel assures you, wrapping a steadying arm around your waist. “C’mon.”

“I can’t—“

“Men like those two ain’t the only things in the forest to worry about, and I’m afraid we can’t sit around and find out. That gun shot could send a horde runnin’.”

“Wait!” You snap, pulling out of his grasp. He holds his hands up, as if in surrender, or maybe like he’s approaching a wounded animal. You’re not sure which. “My dad is out there. H-he went to figure out where to go from here. We were in a cabin…” Your voice trails off. “I told him I would wait for him.”

Joel’s eyes are soft as he says, “We need to get ourselves to safety. I can send someone out to look for your dad first thing in the mornin’.”

“Send someone?”

“There’s a group of us, down in the valley. Survivors, like you.”

“Really?” Relief washes over you, eclipsing even the ache in your belly and the burn in your throat and the pain in your muscles. “How far?”

“With the state you’re in, probably about a two hour hike.”

You don’t have much choice but to go with him, do you?

“Okay.”

“Where’re you comin’ from?” Joel asks, glancing over his shoulder at you. You’ve been following quietly behind him, head down and eyes fixed on the ground. 

“Denver,” is all you offer in response. He knew that much already. He wants to know more.

Maybe he has to give more first.

“‘M from Texas, originally. Was in a QZ in Boston for a while before makin’ my way out here.”

“Why’d you come out here?” You ask.

“Had a friend once tell me, ‘Save who you can save’,” he says. 

“What does that mean?” You ask.

“You’ll see.”

Joel had mentioned survivors, but you're shocked to discover that just past a wooden sign proclaiming WELCOME TO CRESTONE in chipped yellow paint, a whole town is tucked away, surrounded by a wooden gate that opens for you as you approach. You feel the weight of curious eyes as you walk through a town square, Joel's palm between your shoulder blades steering you towards a more residential area until you reach a two story adobe home.

Once inside, you’re led upstairs to a sparsely decorated bedroom, a large bed in the center with a faded quilt tucked around the mattress with precision and a dresser against one wall covered in yellowed wallpaper. Joel gestures for you to sit, kneeling on the wood floor in front of you to work on the laces of your sneakers.

“What—“

“You need rest,” he says, removing your shoes. He looks up at you, brown eyes full of concern. Your stomach flips.

“But—“

“No,” he says sternly. He stands and walks to the side of the bed, tugging the quilt free and folding it down. “I have duties to return to, but you’ll be safe here.”

You don’t have it in you to continue arguing. You haven’t seen a comfortable bed in more than two days and the exhaustion catches up to you in one fell swoop, eyes halfway to shut as you crawl into the space Joel’s made for you between the sheets. He pulls the covers over you, the warmth of a hand smoothing across your cheek the last thing you feel before falling asleep.

You wake to the sun high in the sky, streaming through the open window of a room that you don't recognize.  You push yourself to sitting, your ribs protesting the movement and your head pulsing just behind your eyes. Your mouth is unbearably dry, so much so that you start coughing, further aggravating your bruised ribs.

"There's water on the nightstand," a voice says, startling you.

You look to your left, finding a young girl sitting in a wooden chair by your bed. Her dark hair is pulled back from her face, wayward pieces falling across pale skin. Her sharp brown eyes watch you with an intensity that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m Ellie,” she says. You mumble your own name.

“Did Joel save you?” Ellie asks. 

“Uh—“

“He must have. That’s what he does,” she continues, cutting you off. 

“Ellie!” A familiar deep voice calls out. Her eyes go wide and she scrambles from her seat, rushing for the door. Heavy footsteps climb the stairs, Joel appearing in the open doorway. He looks at her with a stern expression, mouth pressed in a thin line. “Thought I told you not to come up here.”

The look on her face isn’t fear, like her reaction would have led you to believe. No, she looks up at Joel with reverence as she says, “Sorry. Wanted to see her.”

Joel nods. “Head to the mess hall. I’ll bring her down shortly.”

Ellie casts a lingering look in your direction before disappearing through the doorway. 

“Sorry about her,” Joel says. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Could be better,” you say honestly. “How long was I asleep for?”

“A little more than a day.”

Your eyes go wide. “My dad—“

“We’ve sent out a search party. No luck yet, I’m afraid,” he says. You curl into yourself a bit at the news, shoulders tight with worry. He reaches forward and places a hand on top of your own where it rests on the sheets. “You should get some food. I brought you some new clothes, too. I’ll let you get dressed and we can go down to the mess hall.“

He leaves the room before you respond and you drag the pile of clothes closer to you, finding a neatly folded t-shirt, jeans, underwear, and socks. It takes you a long moment to work your way out of your dirty clothes, your movements slow to not aggravate your injuries. You keep your bra on, pulling the clean shirt over your head, followed by the jeans. You're thrilled to be wearing something that's not caked with dirt and sweat.

You're working on putting your socks on when there's a knock at the door, Joel entering when you call out for him to come in. He smiles at you.

"There, that's better," he says. "C'mon. Let's get down to dinner."

You follow him out of the room and down the stairs. The first floor of the home has a kitchen that opens up to a living and dining area, the space filled with worn mismatched furniture. The walls are wood paneled and there's a massive stone fireplace with elk antlers mounted above it.

The sun is setting as you step outside and get your first real look at the town as its bathed in gold. Narrow residential streets give way to wider roads once you reach the town center, where commercial buildings are pressed together advertising long forgotten businesses, their windows dark. 

"That's the butcher up there," Joel says, pointing to one of the wooden buildings. "He gets the meat from the traps prepped for us." He points to another building with a sign that says RESTAURANT. "That's the bakery."

"A butcher and a bakery?" You ask. "Do you have electricity here?"

"Sure do. Solar panels, just outside the gate."

You continue walking through the town until you come up on a large white building, people entering and exiting through a set of thick double doors. The shadow of a cross remains above the door, perhaps scorched by the sun where a crucifix once sat. People welcome Joel as he enters, heads turning in their curiosity. You press a little closer to Joel's side.

The large room is bursting with noise and activity -- a flurry of conversations, the clink of cutlery, and laughter. You've not seen anything like it before, the mentality in the QZ not conducive to camaraderie. You can count on one hand the number of people you would have considered friends within those walls, and even that was a stretch. You and Joel join a line of people retrieving plates of food from a single window. 

"How long has all of this been here?" You ask, gesturing to the room. He looks around proudly.

"Ellie and I came across this town on accident after we went through hell leavin' Boston. The folks here set up their own quarantine zone and with bigger fish to fry, FEDRA sort of left ‘em alone. They were kind enough to take us in," he says. "After that, more people started showin' up lookin' for safety. Lots of people who escaped the QZs or had been on their own for a while and were tired of runnin'."

"Ellie says you save people," you comment, taking a step forward as the line moves. "What's that mean?"

"Every flock needs a shepherd."

You’re at the front of the line now, standing in front of the window. A woman appears, her face lighting up when she sees Joel.

“Joel! How are you?” She asks, leaning onto the ledge. Behind her you can see people moving quickly and efficiently around a stainless steel kitchen, large pots of food simmering on the stovetop. 

“Well enough,” he says. He places a hand on your shoulder. “We have a new guest. Make her plate nice and full for me?”

“Of course.” 

She gathers a plate from a precarious stack, loading it with a heaping pile of food ranging from mashed potatoes and stew to colorful vegetables that you haven’t seen in ages, not since before the outbreak when you were seven and your dad would make dinner rather than pass you a ration package. You’re speechless as she hands you the plate with a kind smile, a mumbled thank you the best you can manage to show your gratitude.

Joel is handed a plate as well and you follow him to a table where Ellie sits next to a man with white hair, her plate already empty in front of her. The man looks up at Joel as you approach, his expression closed off and wary. 

“Michael,” Joel says in greeting, jaw ticking. You take a seat beside Ellie, who to your surprise moves closer to you, arm brushing yours. “You botherin’ Ellie?”

The man, Michael, shakes his head. “No, sir. We were just having a little talk.”

“What about?” Joel sits on the opposite side of the table. He rips his bread roll in half. 

“Just some concerns I was having.”

“You bring your concerns to me. Not to her.”

The two men stare at each other, the tension thick and impossible to ignore. Finally, Michael gets up, leaving the table without another word. Ellie’s shoulder’s lose their tension and Joel catches her eye, the two of them seeming to have an entire conversation in just a look.

The moment passes and Joel’s features relax, a smile tilting the corners of his lips as he returns his attention to you and gestures to your plate.

“Dig in,” he says.

Joel walks you back to his home after dinner, the sky now dark. Ellie’s already closed herself in her room by the time the two of you return, having left the mess hall before you had finished eating. 

“Tired again?” Joel asks when you yawn, mouth open wide as you stretch your arms above your head. 

Your expression is sheepish as you say, “A little bit.”

“That’s to be expected,” he assures you. “You fought a hard fight. It’s okay to relax now. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you.” Your fingers tangle in the hem of the t-shirt he’d given you earlier. “I don’t know if I’ve said that already.”

“You’re welcome. Come on, let’s get you back upstairs. You can use the shower and get to bed.”

“Oh my god, a shower sounds amazing.”

He shows you the bathroom and helps you get the water running. Once he shows you where to find a towel, you smile gratefully before shutting the door on him.

Dismissed, Joel makes his way to Ellie’s room, knocking on the door. She answers quickly, opening up only enough for him to see her face.

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Can I come in?” 

She rolls her eyes but opens the door further, allowing him inside. Her room is smaller than his but far more decorated, pages ripped out of old magazines and comic books tacked to the wall. She takes a seat on her single bed, folding her legs beneath her.

“What did Michael talk to you about?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders. Joel bites back a sigh. Sometimes he forgets what it was like to reason with a teenage girl. “Ellie.”

“He said” — she pauses, scratching at her wrist in the way that she will when she’s anxious — “he said that you were full of shit. That your fucked up ceremony isn’t helping any of them.”

Joel’s teeth grind together. “That all?”

“Called me a stupid kid for following what you say,” she mumbles. “Said everyone in town was stupid for believing you.”

“Thank you for tellin’ me,” he says. Rage burns in his veins as he turns to leave. 

“What are you gonna do?” Ellie asks as he reaches the door.

“I’m goin’ to teach him a lesson.”

He pulls the door shut behind him, tilting his head against the wood with a sigh. The click of a latch down the hall precedes your quiet, “Joel?”

Joel turns to face you, surprised to find you standing just outside the bathroom door with a towel tucked around your body. Water glistens on your skin in the low light, drawing his eyes down your neck and across your chest. He clears his throat.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” you murmur. “I…could I get some new clothes?”

“Of course, should’a given you some before you showered. Sorry about that.” 

Joel walks past you, entering his bedroom and approaching the dresser. He tugs the top drawer open, full of clothing he’d gathered while you’d been asleep for more than a day. He piles together another t-shirt, sleep pants, and underwear, setting them on the bed for you. 

You’re standing in the doorway when he finishes and he fights the urge to go to you, to pull you close, to run his wretched hands over your body like he’s wanted to since he first saw you in the forest. 

He doesn’t, though. Not yet. You still have much to learn.

“Here you go,” he says. “Some more stuff in the drawers for you if you need it.”

Joel leaves you to get ready for bed, shutting the door behind him. He heads downstairs to grab what he’ll need, essentials shoved in a bag thrown over his shoulder before venturing off into the night.

Only a few lights continue to illuminate windows as Joel walks through the residential area. The house he approaches at the end of a street is already dark, quiet beyond the wood door that he knocks on three times. The door opens slowly, Michael appearing in the small space. 

“What?” He grunts.

“Come take a walk,” Joel says. Michael rolls his eyes, moving to shut the door but Joel’s boot blocks his effort. “I ain’t askin’, Michael.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you going to do?” He challenges. Joel throws his weight against the door, catching Michael by surprise enough for him to step into the house.

Joel throws an elbow into the man’s gut, making him double over with a groan. He circles behind him, kicking the back of his knee to send him to the ground. He pulls a length of chain from his pocket, looping it around Michael’s neck and pulling the ends.

Michael struggles, clawing at the garotte and thrashing wildly, but Joel holds strong. He tightens his grip further until Michael’s fight becomes sluggish, lack of oxygen finally causing him to go limp.

Joel releases the chain and Michael’s body slumps to the ground. He removes his backpack, digging through the contents until he finds a rusted pair of handcuffs that he uses to bind Michael’s arms behind his back. Next, he places a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

When he wakes, Joel will lead him out past the gate. He will find an unassuming home that rests outside the boundary of Crestone. He will open the hidden doors of the cellar, the ones covered in a layer of leaves and grass. From the darkness he will hear the echo of desperate groans and the rattle of chains and the angry attempts to break free from bindings. He will lead Michael down the dirt steps, the smell of rot and fear and death clawing at his olfactory nerves. 

He will place a burlap bag over a struggling Michael’s head and the man will beg and plead in words muffled by tape. Then, Joel will offer him for judgment.

A hand on you shoulder shakes you awake, the room still mostly dark when you manage to open your eyes. You groan, pulling the quilt up over your head.

“C’mon, we gotta get to breakfast,” Ellie says. The cover gets yanked down and she gives you a mischievous grin. 

“Where’s Joel?” You ask, sitting up slowly. She shrugs.

“Probably there already.”

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and stand, stretching your arms up. You grab the same jeans and socks from the day before, changing into them quickly and sitting down on the floor to pull your sneakers on. Ellie watches you, her foot tapping impatiently.

“You can go without me if you’re in a rush,” you offer. She shakes her head.

“I’m fine,” she says quickly. “You ready?”

“Sure.”

You follow her out of the house, her clipped pace difficult to keep up with due to your lingering pain. As the sun starts to rise and you pass by more of the houses, you notice something peculiar about some of them.

“What’s that?” You ask, pausing in front of one the houses. There’s a streak of what looks like dark red paint across the top of the door. Ellie doubles back and stands beside you.

“Protection,” she says. 

“From what?” 

She shifts her weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with your line of questioning. Rather than answer, she walks away, leaving you to catch up to her or be left behind.

As the two of you start to walk through the square, there’s a rush of people around you. Shouting can be heard up ahead as a crowd comes into view, gathered around the front of the mess hall building. People press in close together, craning their necks to see over each other and catch a glimpse of whatever spectacle has their attention.

Ellie pushes through the crowd and you follow close on her heels until she manages to break through the other side of the wall of people. You catch glimpses of something writhing on the ground, something animal but not quite, something failed and fetid and foul. Another peek affords you a view of an arm littered with bite marks shaped by blunt teeth, deep gouges into their skin that shine red with blood and fester with disease.

Joel appears, stepping around the side of the building. The whispers cease, the crunch of Joel’s boots and pained groans the only noise to be heard in the stale air.

His dark eyes scan the crowd. People shrink back from his gaze, pressing closer to each other for relief. He reaches down, curling his fingers into the burlap material and yanking it off to reveal a man, familiar and yet not recognizable. Unseeing eyes, ashen skin, and dark red veins now the hallmark characteristics of the man you now remember as the one who had been talking to Ellie in the dining hall.

Joel draws a gun from his back, aiming it at Michael’s head. “Let this be a lesson,” he says, pulling the trigger.

The shot rings out, making you jump. The agonized sounds come to abrupt halt and his body goes limp, eyes still open as blood blooms on the ground around him. 

“No blood spilled. No blood saved,” Joel says. You look up from the horrible scene and meet his hard gaze. You step back, turning and shoving your way through the crowd.

Then, you run.

You’re frantically shoving clothing into your bag when a door slams downstairs and heavy footsteps climb the stairs at a quick pace. You can feel the burn of Joel's eyes on your back, his presence in the room thick and cloying as you refuse to turn around, even when he murmurs your name.

He moves closer, a hand on your shoulder prompting you to turn to break the connection. He holds his hands up in surrender, taking a step back as he says, "Let me explain."

"Explain? Explain?! How the fuck do you explain that?!" You snap. 

"If you'll just listen--"

"There's nothing you could possibly say that will--"

"Ellie is immune!" He shouts. Your words die on the tip of your tongue, lost to ether as you stare at Joel. 

"W-what do you mean? Immune?" You ask. 

He takes a deep breath. "I told you what my friend said. 'Save who you can save'. The first person I saved was Ellie."

"I helped her out of Boston, kept her safe, nearly lost my life if it meant keepin' her alive," He continues. "That's what I offer here."

"So you think you're....what? Some kind of god? That you can grant immunity?"

He huffs a laugh, the noise devoid of any humor. "God abandoned his worst experiment in their time of need. There is no god anymore, just the poor creatures he left behind. Someone had to take up the mantle."

"But how?"

"The ceremony," he says. 

"That’s not a fucking answer, Joel!” You shout. “What fucking ceremony?!”

“Blood spilled for blood saved. You can’t make it in this world without givin’ your everythin’ first.” He lifts the bottom of his shirt, just enough to reveal a jagged scar to the right of his belly button, shiny scar tissue disrupting smooth tan skin. “I did this for Ellie. Now everyone else has to do it for themselves.”

“I don’t…I don’t understand.” You take a small step closer to inspect the wound, raising your hand and reaching out with a tentative touch. Joel inhales sharply as you run your fingers across the puckered flesh. 

His hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand up and holding it against his chest. “It’ll be easier to show you, okay? There’s a ceremony in a couple days.”

“I don’t—“

“You’re just afraid because this is somethin’ new, but I promise you that you got nothin’ to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” He lifts a hand to your face, tilting your chin with his thumb. “I just need you to trust me.”

His eyes are honest, earnest, pleading with you to believe him and the longer you search them, the more truth you seem to find. He will take care of you. You just know it.

“Okay.”

Dinner is served early on the day of the ceremony, the room buzzing with excited conversation. You haven’t seen Joel much the last few days, just passing glimpses, and Ellie says it’s because he has a lot to prepare for. Tonight there’s a woman at his side wearing a white dress that flows to the floor, black hair braided down her back. She smiles at Joel, hanging on every word you can’t hear. It makes your stomach clench in a weird way when her hand curls around his bicep and her head leans against his shoulder.

“That’s Marcy. She’s volunteered for the ceremony,” Ellie says. She’s sitting across from you, a smirk on her lips. “S’why she’s been hanging around Joel the last few days. Joel’s gotta prepare her.”

“Oh,” is all you manage to reply, picking at the vegetables on your plate. “What does…what does he do? To prepare her.”

She shrugs. “Dunno.”

You glance at the pair. Joel leans in close to the woman, whispering into her ear. Your fingernails dig into the meat of your palm, your hands curled into tight fists beneath the table. He stands, a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he calls the people to attention, voices fading until silence envelops the room. 

“Tonight,” Joel says, “another is to be saved. And we will all bear witness to the gift of deliverance that only self-sacrifice can grant.”

It’s only a few words, but the power in them is palpable as you glance around the room at the entire town watching him with rapt attention. His eyes meet yours.

“Save who you can save,” he intones. A chill runs down your spine.

“Save who you can save,” the town echoes back. 

The sun is already low on the horizon, twilight casting a soft glow on the scene. You stand at the back of the crowd, watching as Joel leads Marcy onto a raised wooden platform. Another man joins them, passing something wrapped in cloth into Joel’s outstretched hands. 

“The thing about the world today,” Joel says, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a large knife, “is that there ain’t a single guarantee.” He looks out over the crowd. “Except here, within these walls. Why? Because here you’ll make the greatest sacrifice and earn the greatest reward.”

He begins to pace the length of the platform, knife in hand. “Givin’ your blood in exchange for your safety? That doesn’t sound so bad, right?” The people around you nod their heads in agreement. “You’ve seen what that sacrifice can do. I did it for Ellie. I did it for myself. And tonight—“ he places a hand on Marcy’s shoulder “—another has made the choice to earn that gift of protection.”

A cheer erupts, spreading through the crowd through shouts and applause. You find yourself joining them, clapping your hands together as you continue to watch Joel. 

“Marcy,” Joel says. “What brings you here today?”

“No blood spilled, no blood saved,” she recites dutifully. 

“Are you afraid?” He asks.

“No,” she says.

“Why?”

“Because I trust in your protection.”

Joel smiles at her, beaming with pride, and that knot in your stomach from earlier returns with a vengeance. You want him to look at you like that.

He stands in front of her, blocking her from view with his body. A hush falls over the crowd and from the silence erupts an anguished scream. You flinch, the sound piercing and painful and petrifying, though it seems to have taken nobody else by surprise.

Another scream as he jerks his arm back, the knife in his hand now stained with red that slides down the blade, dripping to the wood beneath his feet. He steps to the side and you can see the woman now, her hands pressed to her belly. Crimson blooms beneath her hands, marring her pretty white dress and leaching the color and vitality from her face. She drops to her knees and so does Joel, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and gently guides her until she’s lying on her back. He holds her hand and smooths her hair from her face as she just repeats, “Thank you.”

Slowly, the strength in her voice fades. Her arm goes limp in his grasp, dropping to the floor with a dull thud as her eyes flutter shut. Joel whistles sharply, three men rushing up the platform and lifting the girl into their arms, careful not to jostle her too much. Joel remains kneeling, his head turning to scan the crowd.

“We are born covered in blood,” he says. “It gives you protection from the outside world when you’re wrenched from the womb. And it will protect you now as it is wrenched from you.”

He steps off the platform and walks past the crowd, heading for the residential street. Everyone shuffles forward, moving en masse like sheep following their shepherd or cattle to the slaughter. You’re led to one of the smaller homes and you watch as Joel smooths the flat of the blade across his hand, gathering blood in his palm. 

He places his palm on the door, smearing the blood across the faded blue paint. When he’s done, he turns to face the crowd.

“Marcy has earned her protection. Those of you among us that have not yet made your sacrifice, may you return home this evenin’ and realize that each passin’ day is a wasted opportunity for your salvation.” His serious expression softens as he smiles. “No blood spilled.”

“No blood saved,” the crowd says.

To your surprise, the words fall easily from your lips.

Joel shuts the door quietly behind him. He’s just finished checking on Marcy and was pleased to find that her wound has been dressed and she’s recovering well. At the kitchen sink he runs the water as hot as he can tolerate and scrubs his hands clean.

He can hear faint footsteps upstairs, the sound of your pacing back and forth in his bedroom. He’s pleased that you stayed through the entire ceremony, didn’t run away filled with fear or disgust like you had watching him make an example out of Michael. 

There’s hope for you yet.

Joel dries his hands on a towel and heads upstairs. He glances at Ellie’s room out of habit, though he knows it’s empty. She likes to help out after the ceremony, usually sticking beside the town nurse, Shelly, as she monitors the person who participated in the ceremony over night. 

The door to his bedroom is shut but he can see that the light is on, the glow of it seeping out from the gap beneath the door. He knocks, three sharp raps of his knuckles, and waits.

You pull the door open, and Joel is once again struck by how much he wants you, how much he’s craved you since the first time he saw you. You look up at him with wide eyes but he doesn’t sense any fear as you pull the door open further and step back to let him enter.

“You doin’ okay?” He asks, shutting the door quietly behind him. You’re standing with your arms wrapped around yourself, nodding quietly. Joel moves closer, tentatively reaching out to tilt your chin up so that he’s looking into your eyes. “Talk to me.”

“I….,” your voice trails off. You take a breath. “I want that protection.”

He was hoping you would say that. Relief floods through him.

“I can’t do that,” he says. Your brows pinch together, hurt flashing across your features. “I won’t have your blood on my hands.”

“But—“

“Listen to me—“ his hands frame your face, thumbs smoothing over the high points of your cheeks “—you’re meant for somethin’ different here.”

“Something different?” You repeat. You shake your head slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew I couldn’t let you lose a drop,” he whispers. “You don’t need to bleed, sweetheart. Not like them. I’ll protect you myself.”

Your mouth drops open the slightest bit, drawing Joel’s gaze. He slides his thumb across your bottom lip, mesmerized by the softness of it. There’s not much about his life the last twenty or so years that he would call soft.

There was his brother, Tommy, even though they couldn’t see eye to eye and had to part ways. His daughter, Sarah, before the outbreak. She took care of him, made sure he took his vitamins and packed his lunch and didn’t miss a parent-teacher conference. She was light and joy, his heart outside of his body, and she was ripped from his grasp.

There was Tess, who was not a soft person but was a soft place to land among the carnage. Bill, ornery though he was, and Frank, arguably his better half. They were a breath of normalcy, even when Bill had a gun trained on him. Ellie, once she quit being a pain in the ass and wormed her way into his heart with her promise to follow him wherever he went.

And now there was you.

“Will you let me do that?” Joel asks. “Protect you?”

You lift your hands, delicate fingers wrapping around his wrists. He wonders if you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse pounding beneath your grip. Finally, after a long moment, you whisper, “Yes.”

Joel captures your lips with his, swallowing your gasp of surprise. You’re tentative, a bit clumsy with your movements as you kiss back and he pulls away, leaning his forehead to yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I’ve never—“

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

While his words don’t stop your pulse from racing, they do calm your nerves the slightest bit. It’s not that you’ve never been interested in sex, there was just never a good opportunity. Going through puberty in an apocalypse where a militant government faction monitors your every move in exchange for basic necessities wasn’t exactly conducive to forming intimate relationships. 

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Joel moves you backwards until your legs hit the mattress and he urges you to sit down. He kneels in front of you, working on the laces of your sneakers, removing them and setting them to the side. He looks up at you as he removes your socks and you’re not sure if you're supposed to find the sight of him kneeling at your feet as sexy as you do, but a rush of warmth rolls through you all the same.

He runs his palms up your legs, across your thighs, until his fingertips find the waist of your jeans, popping the button of the fly and pulling the zipper down. 

“Lift your hips a bit, sweetheart,” he says, working the denim down and off your legs, tossing them aside. His hands return to your thighs, goosebumps erupting along their path to your hips. 

“No one’s touched you here?” He asks, here being the soft skin of your inner thigh that his thumbs sweep across. You shake your head. He moves higher, a featherlight touch over the elastic of your underwear that makes you gasp. “What about here?”

“N-no,” you manage to whisper. He smiles at you, the same proud smile he’d given Marcy that you were so desperate to have for yourself. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs. He kisses the inside of your knee quickly before sitting up higher, reaching up to lift your shirt up, tugging it over your head and dropping it onto the growing pile of your clothing.

“Lie back for me,” Joel commands. You shift up the mattress and follow his instruction, bringing your arms up to cover your exposed breasts. He makes a dissatisfied click with his tongue, pulling your arms away as he crawls up the mattress to settle between your legs.

“None of that,” he admonishes, planting your hands by your head. He kisses your lips again, butterflies erupting in your stomach when his tongue tangles with yours, hot and demanding. He palms one of your breasts, hands rough on the delicate skin. “This is mine, do you understand?”

Joel brings his mouth to your breast, tongue swirling over your stiff nipple. You cry out, the foreign sensation making more heat rush through you, leaving you throbbing between your thighs. He looks up at you through his lashes as he sucks your nipple between his lips, releasing it with a lewd pop.

“Mine to touch,” he says, leaning on one arm to trail his fingers down your stomach. “Mine to kiss.” His lips trace the same heated path. “Mine to protect.”

When he reaches your underwear, he pulls back. “Look at that,” he murmurs, thumb rubbing across the gusset, making you whimper and squirm. “You’ve soaked your panties, sweetheart.”

Your face feels hot with embarrassment. “‘M sorry,” you mumble.

“Sorry? Ain’t nothin’ you need to be sorry about,” he says with a chuckle. He sits up, working your only remaining barrier between you down your legs. He spreads your legs with his hands on your thighs. “Goddamn, you look so pretty, baby.”

“Really?” You ask. His answering grin is wolfish. 

“So pretty,” he repeats. He settles on his belly, face so close to your pussy you can feel the warmth of his breath against your heated flesh. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your response to the question is cut off with a high pitched moan as Joel runs his tongue through your folds, circling your clit with broad strokes. You try to close your legs against the sensation but his strong hands keep your thighs pinned down near the mattress.

He groans as he sets a slow and measured pace, alternating attention to your clit with dipping his tongue inside of you, dragging your essence from the source. Your hands clench in the sheets, chasing and retreating from the overwhelming sensation in equal measure.

There’s a blunt pressure that turns into a slight pinch as Joel slips a finger into your tight heat. Your head tilts back with a high keening noise and you’re panting, desperate for breath as he moves his hand in tandem with his tongue.

One finger becomes two that thrust and curl and part inside of you, stretching you in unfamiliar ways. It feels good, and all you want is more, more, more.

Joel’s hand moves quickly and he sucks on your clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves until that flood of relief that you’ve only accomplished a handful of times on your own washes over you, your back arching sharply off the mattress as you shout his name like a prayer to the heavens.

His motions slow to a stop and he leaves the bed. You hear the clink of a belt and the rustle of clothing being removed before his weight returns between your legs, a new heat to be felt against your flushed skin with his clothes no longer in the way. With shaky hands you reach up to touch him, starting at his shoulders.

You trail your hands across his warm tan skin, down his hard chest and softer belly. That scar, the one that frightened you before, leaves you breathless as you run your fingers over it now. He’s so strong, so powerful, and he wants you. Wants to protect you so that you don’t know that same pain.

“Joel,” you whisper. He leans forward, hands on the mattress beside your head. He kisses you, slow and all encompassing. You can feel the hard length of his sliding through the mess he’s made of you and you gasp.

“Let me make one thing clear,” he says, face serious, “there ain’t any goin’ back from this. You’re mine. You got that?”

“I trust you,” you reply. Your response earns you a deep groan from the man, a kiss to your forehead that precedes the blunt head of his cock pressing to your soaked entrance.

His cock is thicker, much thicker, than his fingers were and you whine at the intrusion. His shushes you, peppering your face with soothing kisses. 

“I don’t think—“

“You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart, I know you can handle it,” Joel says. “Take a deep breath, just a little more.”

Tension gives way, a sharp pinch that turns into an ache as Joel presses his hips firmly against yours. He kisses your neck and trails his nose across your sweat damp skin, holding still as you adjust to his girth.

You shift your hips the slightest bit and Joel’s moan echoes your gasp. “Tell me I can move,” he begs, another desperate kiss pressed to your lips. “Please, baby.”

There’s something heady about the power you have in this brief moment, a man like Joel begging you for something when he’s used to having everything. You nod and that’s all the encouragement he needs to draw back slowly, that fullness leaving you inch by inch, before thrusting sharply.

It’s unlike any experience you’ve had before — the way his body moves with yours, the flex of his muscles above you, the intense look in his eyes each time he presses inside of you.

“Made for me,” he murmurs. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you agree, moaning as each drag of his cock presses against a tender spot inside of you that has your stomach tightening rapidly.

His effort doubles, hips slamming hard enough to make the headboard bang against the wall. You dig your nails into his back, watch the clench of his jaw against the sting, and moan his name as you succumb to the feeling of free falling into bliss, clenching around his cock.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck,” he growls, hips stilling against yours as warmth pulses inside of you, his mouth dropped open on a groan of your name.

Joel takes a moment to catch his breath before withdrawing from you. He reaches his hand between your legs, pressing his fingers into your swollen pussy as you gasp.

He holds those fingers up, the light catching on the red staining them.

Perhaps you’d spilled blood for your safety after all.

You wake to the early morning light filtering through the window, a noticeable ache between your legs as you begin to stir. You’re naked, having fallen asleep in Joel’s arms last night, his lips caressing your neck until you’d drifted off and dreamt of blood and wolves. You stretch your limbs, encountering only cold sheets as you do.

As you sit up, you realize the sound of rushing water is the shower and surmise that Joel must be in there. With stiff movements you leave the warmth of the bed and approach the dresser, tugging open the top drawer to find clothing for the day.

You’re reaching for underwear when your fingers catch on something cold, metal in a sea of fabric. You pull on the object, unearthing it from its hiding spot and holding it up for inspection.

A cross, hanging from a silver chain. A chain you would tangle your fingers in as a child, a cross that a thumb would rub across as a deep, familiar voice muttered prayers.

The shower turns off and you take one last look at the crucifix before setting it back into the dark corner you’d unearthed it from.

Then, you shut the drawer. 

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[jujutsubaby]

🫧 skin care daddy 🫧

☆ pairing: satoru gojo x afab!reader ☆ summary: your skin's been breaking out recently and you're stressed at work and you have your sister's wedding to attend in a week. according to the internet, this is the best spa in town, and you're lowkey desperate at this point...it can't be that bad right? ☆ tags: modern au ☆ warnings: penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral sex (f!recieving), facial, dirty talk, fingering, flicking the bean?? idk ☆ a/n: guys i swear i am cooking in the kitchen with the asks from my follower event AND other shit OK!! sorry for the wait on everything but here is a little crumb bc i love u all!! i was feeling unhinged bc i saw two things: 1) a spa called skin care daddy and 2) a post or one shot where the reader got a facial from gojo and it cleared her skin. idk i just felt inspired to make this bc it felt the universe was asking me to. not proofread some plot with corn u know the vibes babes xx ☆ word count: 7k+

"sorry, we're all booked for this weekend and the next. we usually recommend that our customers book 3 weeks in advance for our services at the ritz carlton luxury spa." the lady on the other end of the line was objectively speaking very politely, but you were far too frustrated with your situation to notice.

"great, yeah, no, thanks." you say quickly, hanging up the phone and groaning into your pillow.

"no luck at the ritz?" you turn to face your best friend, nobara.

"they're all booked, what a surprise!" you say sarcastically, your voice still slightly muffled by the pillow.

"i mean, c'mon, y/n. your face is not that bad..." nobara tries and deeply fails to comfort you, making you chuckle half heartedly.

you get up from your bed and walk over to the full body mirror of your closet in order to get up close and personal with your face. your fingers stretch on the skin around your breakouts as you study them with determination, as if just willing them to be gone will do the trick. it doesn't.

"it's bad enough that all the aunties will say something snarky to me all day."

you're usually one to always follow through on your skincare routine, am and pm, and watch what you eat carefully so that you don't get breakouts. but you recently went through a rough patch (read: a hellish period) and your face took the brunt of the damage. it wasn't your fault you were having massive cramps and craved hot cheetos the entire week (it was so worth it) but now, a week before your sister's wedding, you're facing the consequences.

you sigh. the ritz was the fifth place you guys called that didn't have any space for an all day facial, but you couldn't run out of hope. back to the drawing board.

you open up your laptop and get back to searching on google maps, as nobara does the same thing. you're grateful she's helping you out during your, albeit, dumb crisis, but what are girl friendships for? a spa you've never heard of before suddenly catches your eye and you zoom in. skin care daddy? you read the finer print underneath it. best day spa in tokyo.

you snort. best day spa in tokyo my ass. if it really was the best day spa in tokyo, why have you never heard of it?

nobara laughs, almost on cue. "wait, dude, are you seeing this spa?" she turns her phone around and you see she's also looking at skin care daddy. "this has to be a joke, right? no way would they be allowed to open up a spa named that, right?"

"ohmygod, i was just looking at that!" you say excitedly. "it literally sounds like a sex bot made it for unsuspecting horny losers to click on and get like, a crazy virus." you both laugh at how ridiculous this place sounds.

nobara's laugh almost abruptly stops as she scrolls down the place. "wait, stop. this place has like...over ten thousand reviews and a 4.9 star rating..."

you immediately click on the place and take a closer look at the reviews and ratings and see she's right. "i don't think i've ever seen a place have this many reviews with consistent ratings?" your brows scrunch as you read aloud some of the top reviews.

"this spa has given me the some of the best facials of my life. i always come to this spa whenever i'm in the area, and the people working there are obsessed with taking care of their customers. 10/10" you're baffled by the review sounding so...weird but you think nothing of it. you make a mental note that you are kinda desperately looking for a miracle facial to help with your breakouts, so maybe you shouldn't count this place out just yet.

nobara half heartedly scoffs as she reads the next one. "i've had chronic acne and back pain for years until i saw someone from here who made me feel soo good. you'll be coming here all the time once you go. maybe even multiple times a day."

"how good can this place be if you have to go multiple times to make sure your spa treatment worked?" you say, rolling your eyes at these reviews. "these can't be real right?"

"they sound incentivized or like someone paid them to write it or somethin'" nobara surmises.

"maybe it's a cult or something," you say, causing both of you to double over in laughter.

"a cult disguised as a spa is a bit too insane, even for tokyo." nobara says as she scrolls through and skims more reviews. "aren't you looking for a facial anyway? everyone's saying they're really good here...you know...despite the..." she gestures with her hands the reviews on her phone.

"ugh, am i for real that desperate for clear skin that i'm willing to go to a shady ass day spa?" you roll on to your back on your bed and stare at the ceiling, contemplating.

"can't be that shady if it's ten thousand reviews. say what you want but that's a lot of reviews to pay money for."

nobara has a point. you grab your laptop and try to look for a link to their website and see they don't have a website. interesting. not a red flag but just interesting. maybe i have to call for bookings? you search for a phone number, but fail to find one.

"wait, are you able to find any contact for this spa?" you ask noabra and you see her squinting her eyes at the phone.

"no i wasn't but i saw a review that basically said this spa is a walk-in type of deal?"

"it's a walk-in but has thousands of reviews? how does that even work? people are probably waiting years in line to get in?"

"dunno," nobara shrugs, and puts her phone back in her pocket. "maybe it's like a 'if-you-know-you-know' type of thing so it's like popular through word of mouth of somethin'"

damn. even more shady, then. you chew on your lip and stare at the ceiling again, trying to imagine all the things your aunties will say to you at the wedding.

"27 and still unmarried? shame."

"oh, you really need to watch your diet, the breakouts will never go away otherwise."

"clear skin is the first step to find a man who will desire you, y/n."

you feel like your skin is burning thinking about the so-called "advice" you're likely to receive at the wedding. normally you wouldn't care, but your hormones have been kind of out of wack with the new birth control you started recently, and you're not sure if you can really take any form of bullshit other than your sister's this weekend.

your thoughts are interrupted by nobara getting up from your chair. "alright, i'm off to work. need a ride to skin care daddy?"

"yeah, actually," you say as you slowly get out of your bed and change our of your pajamas.

"wait, what?!" nobara says with wide eyes. "i was actually joking when i said that. are you seriously gonna go? y/n, i dunno about this one..."

"c'mon! it's like you said, it's weird but it's not necessarily shady..." you say, mostly trying to convince yourself as you put on a pair of your favorite lazy girl black flared yoga pants.

nobara seems to consider it for a moment before responding. "kay, fine. but if i take you there and it's some abandoned warehouse-"

"then we'll drive away. no way in hell i'm about to die for this place." you assure nobara, putting her at ease.

you quickly don a thrifted gray hoodie and put your hair up in a messy bun. you don't care to put on any makeup, since you're probably gonna have to take it off anyway. if the day spa isn't shady and in an abandoned warehouse.

you quickly grab your keys and wallet before gesturing to nobara to leave. she sighs, looking at her phone one more time.

"fuck it, let's go before i change my mind."

"okay it says it's just right around the corn-"

"OH MY GOD?!" you're unable to hold back your disbelief as nobara took the corner to, what you think, might the chicest and prettiest boutique you've ever laid eyes on. the front was adorned with a gorgeous light blue awning with european style bell-shaped pendant lights making it almost glow during the day time.

"what the hell...ain't no way..." noabra is at a loss for words for how fancy it looks. "they have the money to rent out a place like this but no website?"

"or have a phone number." you mumble as you open nobara's car door. you turn around and give her a quick wave. she tells you to give her a call and tell her how it is after and you promise to do so. as nobara drives off, all the skepticism evaporates from your body looking at the dainty and cute decor all over the place.

you walk in to a fairly large lobby, with a desk in the middle and waiting chairs surrounding it. the calming scent of lavender, green tea, and patchouli hits your nose, and your guard immediately drops; the aroma relaxes you almost instantly.

you look around and are surprised to see only two other women in the waiting chairs on their phone. one of them seemed older, kind of like a mother, and the other seemed to be your age, but far more demure.

"hey, there! welcome to skin care daddy! we're determined to take care of you all your needs, no matter what! how can i help you today?" your head whips around to the guy sitting at the reception desk, and you feel a bit embarrassed; he must've noticed how lost you looked here, and you force yourself to straighten up and regain your composure as you slowly walk to the front desk. you take a closer at the guy with shaggy black hair sitting in the chair in front of you.

"hi..." you squint to see the faint print on his name badge. "yuta".

"yup! that's me!" he chirps. you know he probably has to exaggerate his good mood for the sake of the job but it kind of irks you. "what can i do for you today, miss?"

"yeah, uhh...what services do you guys offer? i tried looking online but you guys didn't have a website and..." your wandering eyes can't help but look around skeptically around the front desk and the doors on either side of the lobby.

"well, we offer whatever you need, miss. just tell us what you're looking for and we'll have it. i guarantee it."

"okay, well. my sister's getting married next weekend and..." you gesture to your face. "my life has been all sorts of stressful and hormonal so honestly, i'm just looking for something that can help me feel refreshed-"

you're interrupted by someone entering in from the right side of the lobby door. it's a woman who, you must say, looks glowing. her skin is bright and she quite looks like she's almost levitating. guiding her out of the spa is a young man, around your age, with blond hair and round glasses. he's unbelievably built, with strong hands rubbing her back softly and a chiseled jaw. he's wearing what you think is the uniform of this place: white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone and black slacks.

your breath gets caught in your throat momentarily. no fucking way. this guy works here? he's so fucking...hot. you have to force your eyes to tear away from him as you try your hardest to focus back on your conversation with yuta.

yuta chuckles as he follows your gaze. "ah, yes, mr. nanami is a customer favorite esthetician here. anyway, seems like you're going through a rough time and you came to the perfect place! normally, i would recommend the oxygen facial, but since you said you have a wedding..." yuta types something on the computer for a bit. "personally, i would recommend the full body tokyo special."

you're not entirely what an oxygen facial is, nor what the tokyo special is, and you feel even more stupid asking this guy who seems to be in college for more information.

"um, sorry, what's a full body tokyo special? i think i just need a really good facial."

"oh no worries, miss. i apologize. the full body tokyo special consists of a hands-on full body aromatherapy massage and our famous milkbomb facial, which'll do wonders for your skin." he winks at you. why did he wink at you?

you're unable to think about whether or not you even wanna do anything here when a group of men barge in through the left door of the lobby, laughing loudly, before lowering their voices.

one of the men is a dark haired man, seemingly a little older than the other two and yourself, but also very much ripped just like mr. nanami. you tried not to stare at the skin tight black shirt he wore that attenuated his pecs but miserably failed. he took the quickest glance at you and gave the faintest smile, revealing a slight scar on the left side of his lip. a scar that makes him sexier? you've gotta be kidding me. you follow his gaze to the older woman you saw sitting here when you came in, who know looks completely enamored by the man.

"there's my favorite mama," the man coos, holding an arm out for her as she skipped to him. he leads her to the other door, and you could hear them giggling and talking, as if this wasn't the first time they've seen each other.

"aight, see ya later, man." the other dark haired man said to his friend, before making eye contact with you, and then giving a slight smirk to yuta. he heads straight to the demure girl you saw when you walked in, and holds his hand out to her and she blushes and grabs it.

"th-thanks for seeing me again, geto-san." the girl says so softly that you have to strain your ears to listen.

"i told you to call me suguru..." you hear him joke as they disappear behind the door.

"like what you see?" you turn your head to the last guy, who now is far too close for your liking. you take a small step back, which makes him chuckle.

"yuta-kun! who do we have here?" the man asks boisterously. despite being indoors, he's wearing dark circled sunglasses. what a douche.

"oh, hey gojo-sensei. this is..." yuta looks at you, waiting for you to say your name.

"y/n." you say a bit too late, still trying to process the barrage of attractive men that just showed up all at once and what they had to do with the spa.

yuta starts filling in the man about what you were looking for, as you take in the man who's intently listening to him. he has white hair, and is wearing the same uniform as mr. nanami was, with three buttons undone and his hair slightly disheveled. he's also really tall. like really tall. like he towers over you easily tall. but also, just as well built like everyone else.

what is this place? you knew men could work in salons and parlors and spas, but this place seemed to be exclusively run by them. and not just any men, really attractive men. and what's worse is that you were not complaining. sure, it's a bit weird but there's really no other choice for you at this point.

"ahh, the tokyo special, huh?" he says, turning at you and giving you a bright smile which you suspect he gives to everyone who comes in here. "nice choice."

"he's the one who chose it, and i'm not even sure if i want it." you say, pointing to yuta, and trying your hardest to stand your ground. you have to really make sure this spa treatment is actually gonna help and not just a scam for your money.

"well, he chose right. i've never seen you here before, so you must be new here, right?" you nod, suddenly feeling really small and embarrassed about your attitude before. god, you're never one to behave badly in front of service workers. the hormones are really doing a number on your mood. maybe you could benefit from this "tokyo special".

he leans down to meet your eyes and takes off his sunglasses, and you’re face to face with the most gorgeous ocean blue eyes you've ever seen. through an almost hypnotic effect, you feel much calmer than you did before, and more trusting of him. "well, lucky for you, i've got an opening right now. i'll help you feel right at home." he gives you a wink, and you can't help but feel there's some other hidden meaning behind what he says.

"umm...well..." you say, holding on to the thin strings of your resolve.

"gojo-sensei is the best masseuse and esthetician here, especially for first timers like yourself, miss y/n. i guarantee you'll leave the establishment more than satisfied with his work." yuta assures you with a smile.

and with that, your resolve completely dissolves and you nod and hand him your credit card and he takes the information. gojo touches the small of your back ever so slightly, and you hope he doesn't feel you shiver at his touch.

"he just loves kissing up to me so he can get a full time job here after college. i'm his favorite cousin, after all." he says, making you giggle as you walk through the two panel doors into the spa.

"thanks for taking me in during your opening, mr. gojo." you say politely, feeling grateful as he leads you down the corridor of the neat, clean, and minimally decorated hallway.

"i think you're gonna be the one taking me in," gojo mumbles under his breath while opening the door to a room that looked like a doctor's office. a single lavender massage table greets you with small cabinets on either side.

you're unable to catch what he said. "what? did you say something?"

"i said call me satoru. no need to get so formal with me, i'm just some dude who works here." he chuckles. he locks the door as you sit up on the massage table awkwardly, unsure of how you should be positioning yourself or what exactly he was planning.

gojo goes to the corner and pulls out a fluffy white bathrobe and hands it to you. you're blown away by how soft it feels in your hands -- luxury at it's finest, you guess.

"okay, i just have a quick questionnaire i need you to fill out, probably will take around a minute," he says, as he grabs a clipboard with a pen attached to it from another drawer and takes a seat on a padded lab stool. he rolls closer to you until his long slender legs are almost touching your calves.

"alrighty here...okay, first question…” the questions gojo reads off are normal enough, with various clauses consenting to the spa treatment, confirming your age, and so forth. they don’t start getting weird until later. “ok last three, we’re almost done.” you notice a shit-eating grin on his face as he scribbles your answer to the previous question. “okay, are you a virgin?”

“what?!” 

“are you a virg-”

“i heard you the first time. what kinda question is that? that’s so invasive, what the hell are you play-” you’re ready to give an entire speech to this guy about how inappropriate and irrelevant the question is. 

“it’s fine if you don’t wanna answer it, i just can’t continue the treatment if you don’t.” gojo says this so simply and nonchalantly, as if the question was about your favorite color, and not an intimate detail about your sexuality. 

“okay, fine. not a virgin.” you cross your hands in irritation. 

“not…a...virgin…” you hear him say under his breath as he scribbles something you cannot see on his clipboard. you try leaning forward to see what he’s writing (and if there really was a question like that on the questionnaire but he quickly pulls it closer to his chest, giving you a teasing smirk. “are you on birth control?”

“y-yes?” 

“good to know. last question: got any STDs i need to know about?”

oh, for fuck’s sake. this is ridiculous. does he think you’ve never been to a spa before? the usual thai place you go to never asks this many questions. “do you have any STDs i need to worry about? what is this? 20 questions?”

“you can ask them to me back, i’d be happy to answer them.” he says calmly with a coy smile. “in fact, i’ll answer them right now. no, no, and no.”

you sign in defeat. “no for me too.” maybe this is what happens when a place has like, ten thousand 5 star reviews on google maps. they just ask the weirdest questions. there’s a small voice berating yourself for folding so easily regarding his questions, but whatever. you’re ready to get this treatment over with. 

“okay, take off all your clothes and wear the bathrobe. do you want me to step outside?”

what the hell kinda question is that? of course, he’s supposed to step outside? “um, yeah?” you say it almost obviously, not feeling bad about the attitude that’s coming out of you. 

gojo raises his hand in surrender. “sorry, just askin’...” he grabs his clipboard and steps out of the room, saying he’ll be back in five minutes for the warm up massage. you quickly undress yourself. you have a feeling he’s the type to come in within seconds of knocking on the door without checking to see if you’re decent. you’re unsure where to place your clothes other than the table next to the cabinet so you neatly fold them, hiding your underwear and bra within the folds of your yoga pants and sweatshirt. 

just as promised, gojo shows up five minutes later with one knock before welcoming himself in. he’s holding a dark colored glass bottle filled with a calming essential oil for massaging, and turns on the diffuser in the room. 

“thanks for undressing,” he says, looking at the neatly folded pile of clothes on the counter. “alright, here’s how this is gonna go. i’m gonna give you a nice full body massage to loosen your muscles up, and then we do the facial last, sound good, princess?” 

your skin tingles at him calling you that nickname, but you ignore it. there’s no way i can let my mind wander like that when he’s giving me a massage. you nod your head in agreement, and lay on your back slowly, fidgeting with the ends of  your bathrobe so that you’re not totally exposed to him. gojo slowly hovers his hands over you and lightly touches your stomach, patting it to get your attention, but it causes you suck in a breath a bit too loudly. 

“gotta go on your stomach for me for this one,” he says, urging you to flip around. “gonna undo this, okay?” he tugs at the knot you made on your bathrobe and you nod. he slowly undoes it, and you feel exposed as your breasts peek out through the sides. you cross your legs almost immediately, feeling incredibly exposed in front of a fully clothed gojo. 

you quickly turn on your stomach before he has a chance to take in your body. you feel his cold fingers slowly expose your back, as he stops right before the hump of your ass. you hear him squeezing out some of the oil and warming it up in his hands as he gets to work on your back. 

you suck in a sharp breath between your teeth as his cold fingers explore the knots on your back. 

“cold isn’t it? you’ll get used to my fingers, promise,” he says sweetly, as he hits a spot on your back that’s been particularly bothering you as of late. it’s too late when you let out a moan, and you hear him chuckle. “hit the right spot, didn’t i?”

he continues to undo the knot on your back, and moan back a breathy affirmation as you continue to try (and fail) to hold back your noises. “f-fuck, gojo, that feels s-so good…” you say in between his movements. 

you feel his hot breath in your ear. “told ya to call me satoru, don’t forget it next time, princess.” this time, the nickname goes straight to your pussy. it’s hard to cross your legs when you’re on your stomach and feeling delirious with the pleasure that came from the pressure of his slender fingers. 

unbeknownst you, your soft moans are slowly making their way down to gojo’s member, as he gets harder by the second. he doesn’t want to make it so obvious just yet – he’s just getting start after all. he can’t just blow his load this close into the session, but you’re sure as hell giving him a run for his money. 

“feel good?” you moan in response. gojo slowly inches his fingers down closer and closer to your ass, until it reaches the hem of your bathrobe covering it. “gonna move this down so i can do your legs, yeah?”

gojo will admit, he was a bit too excited to see your ass as he removed your bathrobe down before you could give a proper “yes” but it didn’t matter when you’re soft breaths were giving him the answer he needed. it takes everything in him to not knead the rounds of your perfect ass (he swears your cheeks were made for his hands) and move straight to your calves. 

he slowly massages the soles of your feet and calves with the oil as he moves closer to your thighs, all while relishing in your sweet moans. once he’s at your thighs, the real fun begins. gojo knows this routine like the back of his hands. 

you hear him sigh in confusion. “is everything okay?” you turn your head slightly to see him. 

“sorry about this princess, but you’re gonna have to spread your legs a little bit for me. it’s hard to get every inch of you warmed up, otherwise.”

you obey him almost too easily, and shift your thighs so that there’s more room for him to touch with his fingers. gojo’s hands reach up to slightly cup your ass, before his thumbs slowly slide into your inner thigh, lightly massaging you.

your breaths are getting shallower and louder, and you pray he doesn't go any closer to your pussy so he doesn’t see how soaked you are. you’ve never had a massage like this before, but you also don’t want him to stop. 

gojo’s fingers play with the space of your inner thigh before he spreads you apart, exposing you. you breath catches in your throat, and he performs the next part of his act. 

“we’ve got a pretty unconventional way of massaging our clients, princess.” you hear his voice straining. “gotta make sure you’re relaxed everywhere, but you gotta let me take care of you. think you can do that? all you have to do is relax, and let daddy do everything for you.” you can hear the lust dripping from his voice, but to be honest, you couldn’t give a shit at this point. 

“y-yeah, please, satoru, whatever you want. please, i just…i just feel so good right now,” you say, your eyes shut tight, and your hips practically squirming under his touch. you think you might go insane if he doesn’t touch you there in the next second. 

hook, line, and sinker. who’s gojo to deny your request? he graduated top of his class at his cosmetology and esthetician university, after all. his fingers glide almost too easily between your folds as he starts playing with your throbbing core. he can feel how needy your pussy is for his hands as he spreads your slick all over your core. 

the pleasure immediately gets caught in the pillow that muffles your moans. fuck, so this is what all the reviews were talking about. you feel his fingertips dancing around your clit and you want to shout at him to pay attention to it. 

“s-satoru~ p-please…i need you right there…” you say in between your moans. 

“where? here?” gojo’s finger taps your clit lightly, and it makes your entire body twitch with pleasure. he has to press down on the small of your back to keep you place as his fingers rub circles around your bundle of nerves, making you whimper. you unconsciously grind your hips against his fingers, trying to get close to your release. 

“need a better angle. face down, ass up.” gojo commands, and your body conforms to his words. you prop your lower body up with your knees while your face is sideways against the head of the massage table. he uses this now better angle to really rub his fingers into your folds and bundle of nerves, sending electricity throughout your body. you feel the dam building up inside you and threatening to break. 

“satoru~ i’m-i’m getting c-close…ah~” you hands grip on to the sides of the massage table as you brace for the earth shattering orgasm to rip through you, and with gojo’s deft fingers, you’re on cloud nine in no time. 

your body slumps back down and your eyes roll back as the vibrations of your release still radiate through your body. you hear  your pulse pumping through your head as you try to catch you breath, but you feel gojo’s now warm hands flip you on your back, and his face inches from yours. 

“you took that so well, princess. we’re not done, yet. there’s still another part of your body that needs to warm up.” you don’t have time to process what he means as he inserts two fingers into his mouth and then deep inside your entrance. your gasp is muffled by his mouth connecting to yours, hard, teeth and all. his fingers are long, and they easily find your sensitive g-spot as they curl upwards and bully your internal bundle of nerves. it’s quite embarrassing how quickly you’re ready for another release, and how hungry your entrance was for his finger, practically sucking them in and clenching around them immediately. 

“f-fuck~ i’m about to-” you don’t get to finish your sentence, as another orgasm rips through your body. gojo kisses you again to block your moans, and your hands wrap around his neck to pull him even closer to you. he playfully bites on your lower lip as you ride out your release on his fingers. 

gojo’s kisses turn into soft quick pecks as your breathing steadies and your eyes can focus again. “we’re not done yet,” he teases, slowly taking his slick coated fingers out of you. 

you don’t even have the energy to respond back as he flips you on you back. through heavy eyes, you look back up at him, biting back a moan as he restarts rubbing circles on your extremely sensitive clit. he needs to take off his shirt and fuck you already. 

“need something?” gojo teases, sensing your neediness from just your eyes. 

“take off your shirt, dumbass.” you say through gritted teeth. 

“try again.” he presses harder on your clit, and you let out an unsanctioned yelp through your teeth. 

“f-fuck~ please take off your shirt, dumbass.”

he smiles. “well, if you insist…” he rolls his eyes, feigning inconvenience, but the slowly growing tent in his pants says otherwise. gojo unbuttons his shirt, revealing a perfectly sculpted torso. now this is just unfair. 

“geez, my eyes are up here.” he teases, smirking at you as you quickly meet his eyes and feel your face flush. he unbuckles his belt and you slowly sit up from the massage table. you’re overcome with the urge to touch him, everywhere. you hook your finger to the belt loop of his pants and pull him closer to you. 

gojo smirks as he wraps his arms around hips and leans down to kiss you deeply. you feel your core ache for his touch again as his tongue explores your mouth again. you trace his perfectly sculpted torso, the indents of his abs slightly sweaty to your touch. your hands slowly make their way to the zipper of his slacks, but gojo immediately grabs your wrist to stop you from taking them fully off. 

“not just yet…” he murmurs in between kisses. while his lips are still locked on you, he slowly pushes your body back on the massage table and starts kissing down your bare stomach, the measly bathrobe long since discarded somewhere on the floor. gojo leaves small wet kisses along your body until he reaches your inner thighs. 

you suck in a breath as you involuntarily spread your legs for him, earning an enthusiastic hum from gojo, who’s still continuing to leave a trail of kisses that are inching closer and closer to where you need his mouth to be the most. “p-please~” you moan, your eyes closed in bliss. 

“please what, princess? use your words,” gojo coos, coming face to face with your soaking wet core. he blows on the sensitive bundle of nerves, causing your legs to twitch.

you can’t stand his fucking teasing but you need to be eaten out, so bad. “f-fuck y-you, gojo~” you say, pushing your core up to his face, trying to aim for his mouth before he easily pushes your hips back on the table. you hear him tsk in disapproval, and tears welling up in your eyes in desperation. “please, your tongue…inside me…please~” you whimper weakly. 

“since you begged so nicely…” gojo says before he immediately plunges his tongue inside you, almost making you scream. his tongue expertly explores your folds and sucks on your clit, making you inadvertently grind on his face. “y’taste so delicious, princess,” he says between licks as he eats you out like it’s the last pussy on earth. 

his ministrations with his tongue has you teetering on the edge in record time, and you’re threatening to spill within minutes of him eating you out. as the third wave of pleasure washes over you, you don’t have the energy in you to ask for permission as you feel your body tingle in the aftermath of it. you think you made a mess all over the massage table and gojo’s face, but you don’t have it in you to care as your eyes roll back. 

you feel gojo unbuckle his belt and take off his slack and underwear, exposing his hard member in his hands. you can see the precum leaking out the tip as you weakly lean on your elbows to prop yourself up. 

“see, princess, all those questions did have a reason after all…” he says in between breaths as he strokes himself, looking at your naked glistening body. you spread your legs further in anticipation of feeling him. “but there you were, being such a fuckin’ brat about answering them…” gojo says, eyebrows furrowing as he brings his tip closer to your core and you bite your lip in anticipation. 

“guess you better fuck the attitude outta me, then?” you say, looking up at him through heavy lidded eyes filled with mindless lust. you don’t even care about the consequences or who hears or even if you get your facial – you just need him. every part of your body craved him. 

gojo wastes no time at your suggestion, his tip entering you as you let out a lecherous moan. you feel the initial pain of his larger than average member tearing your tight entrance apart, and bite back a moan. gojo grits his teeth as he lets out a steady throaty groan. 

“fuck, princess. so fuckin’ tight. sure you’re not a virgin?” 

“s’too much satoru, y-you’re huge…ahh~” 

“too bad, princess.” he says, surprising you as he starts thrusting agonizingly slowly into you, bottoming out and effectively reaching the sensitive spot inside you. pain slowly turns into pleasure as you indulge in the feeling of your g-spot getting kissed by his member – the spot that you can never reach by yourself using your own fingers.  

“f-faster, please~” you urge gojo, and he obliges almost immediately, quickening his pace. he bullies your sloppy and wet core, as he watches your titties bounce with every thrust. unlike most people his age, it’s times like this where gojo realizes he really fucking loves his job. 

he reaches out and gives your titties a rough squeeze while he remains unrelenting in his pace. he feels your pussy clench around him, and he knows you’re close, and if he’s being honest, so is he. but he cannot cum just yet, and definitely not before you do. gojo abandons your titties and slides down his fingers to your clit as he starts rubbing inelegant circles around it, getting you closer and closer to the edge. 

you feel the dam breaking once again as the combination of him rubbing and fucking you comes to a climax. the orgasm travels to every corner of your body, as you see stars in your vision while gojo fucks your brains out. you hold on to his shoulders to steady yourself. based on how sloppily gojo is getting, you can tell he’s about to get close, too. you’re about to brace for him to finish inside you, when he abruptly pulls out, earning him a confused look from you. 

“lay down,” he commands more than asks, as he hastily pushes your chest down on the massage table. your sweaty skin sticks to the faux leather, but you don’t pay attention as he moves to the side of your face, holding his soaked member near it. 

gojo starts stroking his throbbing leaking member sensually, and you innately open your mouth and stick your tongue out. so this is the facial? the dots connected in your head at the same time gojo’s ropes of warm cum decorated your face – chin, cheeks, mouth, and all. you hear gojo’s throaty groans as he finishes on you and make sure not a single drop that gets on or near mouth gets wasted, swallowing pridefully. 

gojo leans closer to your ear as he catches his breath from his climax. “that’s the milkbomb facial,” he says cheekily, and you can’t help but giggle. you both take a couple more seconds to catch your breath. you watch gojo as he puts on his pants and tucks in his shirt, looking like he didn’t just fuck the shit out of you. he runs his fingers through his hair quickly as he goes to the counter and pulls out a warm eucalyptus towel as he takes his time to gently wipe your face and body. 

“that was fun,” you murmur, looking at the ceiling, finally understanding what the reviews you read about this earlier place meant. you definitely came here, multiple times in one day for sure. 

gojo chuckles as he goes over to wash his hands and you notice his forearms are glistening with your release. “that’s why we’re the best spa out here, princess.”

you notice your legs shaking slightly, but you manage to hop off the massage table, slightly dazed. gojo notices and helps you get on your feet and put on your clothes. the entire activity is soft and gentle compared to how he was just a couple minutes before. 

everything that you both have done in the past hour finally dawns on you, and you suddenly feel very shy despite whatever the contrary happened on the massage table. it’s so awkward now, like, what do you guys even talk about now? does he do this to everyone? is this their entire schtick?

“do you…do this with all your clients?” you whisper to him as you follow him out into the hallway to the exit. you cross your hands tightly to your chest, as if it’s shrouding you from other people finding out what happened in the room behind you. 

“ah, i’m not one to kiss and tell.” gojo puts his hands in his pockets and glances back at you, giving you a quick wink as you follow behind him, trying to keep up with him as he turns corners.s

“oh, so you do do this everyone, huh?” you challenge, your shyness slowly melting away with gojo’s playful tone.. 

“did you enjoy it?”

a pause from you.. “yes.”

“then don’t worry about it, kitten.” gojo pauses before he opens the door and turns to you. “listen, i wouldn’t mind if you came here again for the tokyo special, you know. i’ll even give you a discount, too.” he says earnestly. 

you let out a giggle. “oh? a discount?”

“yeah, the tight pussy discount.”

“shut up!” you say, and you playfully smack his shoulder, and you both laugh. 

“so… is that a yes? i’ll see you next week?” 

you bite your lip. “maybe, i dunno.” you give him a wink before opening the door, and you both know fully well that you’ll be back on the massage table again in no time with gojo pounding into you. 

needless to say, gojo wasn’t lying when he said they were the best spa in town because by the time your sister’s wedding came around, your face was quite literally glowing. 

“wow! y/n – you’re just looking so radiant today! what’s your secret?” an auntie who’s name you cannot remember gleams, looking at you. 

you smirk, and try to hold back the heat from flushing your cheeks. “oh, just a really good facial,” you say. technically, you’re being honest, right?

“jesus, dude. is this all from skin care daddy?” nobara says, as the tenth person from the wedding compliments your skin. 

“you have no idea. they really know what they’re doing.” you say nonchalantly. you pull out your phone and text a recently saved number. 

you: got any slots for a tokyo special tomorrow?

within minutes you get a response: 

gojo: u know i do babygirl. btw a new guy just joined our spa. hope it’s cool sukuna joins to observe  😈

[lucabyte]

obligatory ramble about postcanon loop ask

also your art is amazing

Hiiiiiiiii :D thank you :)!!

and thank you for the excuse to post the. just absolute wall of text that i truncated down to form the tags of that post. (i did,,, hit the tag limit. i forgot tumblr had one of those...) so let me just paste that and tidy it up a bit...

I am putting this under a readmore because it's a bit long. but:

This is like. The General Context for all* of my postcanon doodles? (Except AUs obviously) Like this is the base idea I've been drawing them all in. So, feel free to backread with this in mind. I've basically had this 'postcanon' timeline set in my brain since finishing the game...

My general thoughts are that I like the idea of Loop (even if through dubiously ethical means) being able to slowly reintegrate with the party as a whole new person, because they are, in fact, their own person.

It's a muddle of thematic threads im pulling on and "wouldn't it be fucked up if", but. (at its core, it's powered by the fact that like, while narratively isat's theme of 'the only person who can truly take the first step to help you is yourself'. (wrt: loop helping the party help siffrin in act 5) which i LOVE AND IS GREAT NARRATIVELY…. would be super fucked up irl to learn that your friend 'learned as a lesson' while you stood by kinda uselessly. I know i'd be upset about it. but thats mostly background here. doesn't really come up. at least not until loop has to explain who they are and the party realises they had to fall back on literally themselves again for help, but i digress,)

The real core concept is: Occam's razor. It is like, inherently, a buckwild thing to accuse a person of being somehow a clone or copy of your friend. Even if they start vaguely alluding to a backstory it's far more likely they were some other person before all that. (I still think Odile has that theory in the back pocket but she's rational enough to know it's a really long shot without a solid explanation. and i think Loop deep down knows this, and would, if cornered into confessing, turn the situation around to go J'ACCUSE and make HER explain it instead. Ever longer dodging being direct with their emotions...)

And the party are nice! And if someone has changed and wants to keep stuff secret it's kind of not their business? (Though it's hard not to speculate… see: the main joke of the doodles) And they seem important to Siffrin so they just try to accept them abrasive quirks and all. And eventually the question of their prior identity just fades away since, well, they're Loop. Their friend Loop.

but yeah. personal headcanon is that a few months/weeks after picking up and getting aquainted with Nille** (since that was presumably the IMMEDIATE TASK postgame), Loop reappears (either after a literal period of nonexistance, or just spending a few months wandering the french countryside alone being attacked by wild dogs). Since Siffrin has had a while to be therapised by the party they're doing mostly okay, but Loop showing up and still being agitated/aggressive pulls them both into a bit of a backslide behaviourally and puts the party on the back foot again.

Hooowever, I do think that due to no longer being literally stewing in the worst pressure cooker of all time together, the two do mostly actually sort themselves out with productive conversation. (Via a cycle of: genuinely distressing argument -> weeeird lovebombing -> ok we're good -> repeat, that gets less intense over time)

Thus, allowing the party to just. Integrate loop as a new person. They and Siffrin shuffle into different ecological niches (Loop taking over stuff Siffrin is now too squeamish for, etc (see: hunting, mostly)), and while it's not exactly what Loop wanted they generally get that beggars can't be choosers and it's a pretty good deal. And the rest of the party does straight up just like them as a friend, especially when Loop quits trying to actively antagonise them after a few weeks of being around them, since they just can't keep up being mean to people they like forever.

As for how I think the truth eventually drags itself out. This is where I invoke The Isabeau Torment Nexus™. So its gonna get shippy here for a bit hold on.

Which is, I think giving them time before Loop reappears long enough that Siffrin and Iseabeau actually manage to become established, Isabeau has to be the one to nudge the pair of them and go. "Hey. You know we're in Vaugarde right. I'm okay with polyamory if we all communicate." Before Loop and Siffrin actually even acknowledge that whatever the fuck they have going on kinda looks a lot like a relationship of some kind. (or have already been agonising about that via fighting and arguing, depending) (Obviously this comes after Isa "Emotionally intelligent enough to keep a lid on the jealousy" Beau has managed to use that big brain of his to Not just go Scream somewhere on the daily because oh godddd they keep talking like theyre suicide-baiting each other jesus chriiist. is it overstepping his boundaries to bring that up?? god)

This, taking a bunch of the tension out of Loop and Isabeau's relationship (Since I imagine Loop is a. being weird for the obvious reasons and b. feeling kinda guilty about 'getting in the way of' Siffrin and Iseabeau), allows them to actually get close in a normal friend way. (I think an interesting turning point could be Isabeau actually taking Loop's side in an argument vs Siffrin, which would absolutely break Loop's brain. Especially if it's an argument that matters. Like what do you mean he isn't just going to play favourites. What?)

Then Isabeau, just actually open minded and charmed by Loop (and maybe even somewhat at Siffrin's suggestion?) tries to close the final open side on the polyamory triangle here and that's the final straw for Loop on "This lie by omission is too unethical to keep up, this is just actually sick and wrong. I can't do this while he doesn't know who I am." Though. Obviously it probably goes. Very poorly with emotions high like that. And the added element of several months of deceit. Getting dark here for a second but that dagger is going MISSING and so are THEY for a hot minute.

Then yaaay everything works out in the end 👍 yippieee!! all it took was maybe a lot of harrowed recontextualisation of all the weird shit your new friend said and did when it turns out they're your old friend. It's fine.

But yeah. this is basically the context all of my postcanon doodles have existed within? And those exist to give other people something to chew on. So this does too.

I suppose TL;DR: Imagine if sloopis almost fucking happens before isabeau knows who loop is. can you fucking imagine. can you imagine having to navigate that. nightmare.

*Yes this includes the implied cannibalism comic. Uhh. Comes part and parcel with headcanoning that Loop went way off the deep end similar to A5 Sif But Maybe Worse before giving in. Add weepy half-asleep confessions to murder wherever you see fit in your mind palace. 👍👍👍

**Re: Nille footnote. I don't have anywhere to put this besides here! I have some thoughts on Loop and Nille having an odd dynamic. I don't imagine Nille to be super gung-ho on trusting a bunch of adults (even if they are majority around her age) given their implied backstory. It's probably a big shock to the system, especially since Bambouche is a good couple hundred Kilometers up north from Dormont and these guys don't seem to have trains. She would've been unfrozen and without Bonnie for some time....

Which is to say: I think she's suspicious of them. I think she may be looking for excuses to distance herself, keep Bonnie safe. SO.... A new guy showing up? And antagonising the party? What do they know that I don't...? I should find out.

And since... Loop didn't ever know Nille, they have no ammunition or real reason to be cruel. Plus, if they're trying to stay on Bonnie's good side (SINCE... if Bonnie thought Loop was cringe they may as well kill themselves. In their mind.) they SUPER have no reason to antagonise Nille.

Mostly, they might be able to open up to each other easier than they can the rest of the party?

I feel like this resolves with Loop feeling compelled to apologise for what they and Siffrin let happen to Bonnie, though... Hmm... Depends on how you interpret Nille that they'd be glad nobody else had been told about that yet, or furious it had been secret this long. I lean toward the former.

[intermundia]

ok so a quick rant re: anti anakin tags on my anakin posts, the thing is that i really do understand why people hate anakin! i understand why the posts are tagged with insults and yelling. he did appalling things when he touched and fell to the dark side. like.. he's awful as vader, absolutely, but he wasn't always!

the reasons i love him and the reason that his story of corruption is meaningful are the same, he has to essentially change states from goodness to evil. there has to be something deeply good for him to lose, but to remain deep down. if you make him always evil, always terrible, you're rejecting his story.

like there's a reason george made sure that we see him as a kind and generous boy first, why we needed to see him as friendly and sweet. if he were just bad from birth, than he couldn't have helped but do evil. he would've had no choice, he was just bad to the core. but that's not the story of anakin!

the story of anakin is that he made choice after choice that led him down a path to hell. he could have turned back, could have been better, but he chose to be selfish because it was easier and he could. it's essential that it's a choice he made, because it's also showing that it's possible to choose to be good.

we have to be able to choose to be better, to choose to be selfless and kind. that's the moral of the story, and how vader died on the side of the good again. even the worst of us, who've fallen so far, can move toward the light! it's a distinctly hopeful perspective, there's no original sin here, we're born with the potential to be good and kind.

the fundamental story of star wars is basically a moral exhortation: everyone is capable of choosing to do good. so it's important that anakin was not always evil and selfish and cruel. he made himself that way because it was easier and it felt right. he let himself touch the dark side enough that he was swallowed by it.

this is why anakin is one of my favorite characters! he was good and generous and kind, he had so many redeeming and loveable qualities! he knew better, and chose worse, just like i've done too. i feel really protective of that goodness, and defensive of him in his youth. i do hate the man he became, but i can't help but love the boy.

[bteezxyewriter12]

Milk/ 1

Pairing- San x Named Reader

Word count- 2.6k

Includes- Sex from behind, dirty talk, squirting, multiple orgasms

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxminnie @yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana @tannie13 @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

@yeosxxx @seokwoosmole @jjongsbebe @wisejudgedragonhairdo @meowmeowminnie @woo-stars @borntowalkaway @usagionthered @san-realblkwife @seonghwasstar @jejeyeppeo @soulseobi05 @kpop-bambi @prayerofthehaim @realisticnotes @pinkies-things @insomniacatiny @stephy-nicole13 @mknae-jongho @bykeynote @amyz78 @blueie-things

Masterlists- check out for more fics

📝Masterlists 📝ATEEZ Masterlist 📝San Masterlist

This is the San 3-4 part fic that won the poll

San POV

"Would you stop squirming?", my best friend snaps, glaring over at me from her side of the bed

"I can't help it", I answer, trying to hide my hard on, "I'm trying to get comfortable"

It's hard while watching this sex scene

I had no idea what I was in for when she wanted to watch True Blood

She said it was about vampires

Not my thing, but she's my best friend since infanthood so I caved

She's watched things I wanted that she had no interest in either so I figured I can do this for her

So far it was interesting but I had no idea about the graphic sex scenes in it

Like Game of thrones

And I haven't fucked anyone in awhile so excuse me if I get horny and hard during what is basically a soft core porn scene

I don't want her to know I'm hard or she'll never let me live it down

It also doesn't help that she paused the show midway through one of the vampires thrusting into the girl

"Why aren't you comfortable? You've been laying in the same position for awhile and now all of a sudden you need to move?", she rolls her eyes, "What, are you hard or something?"

How the fuck does she know?

"No", I scowl at her, turning my body away from her

She stares at me for a second then a huge grin breaks on her face, "Oh my god you are!"

"No!", I say defensively

"Let me see!"

"What? No!", I yell as she tugs on my arm to try to roll me to my back, "Stop Jo!"

She's freakishly strong and she manages to pull me hard enough to get me on my back, her hands pulling away the blanket before I even have a chance to keep it covering me

"Oh shit", she giggles, the big tent in my pants glaringly obvious

"Jo, the fuck?", I whine, trying to grab the blanket

"A sex scene in a show made you hard?", she laughs, "Seriously?"

"Hey!", I snap, "I haven't fucked anyone in awhile. I'm horny!"

"What about three weeks ago-"

"I was drunk and don't remember anything. You don't either"

Yeah we fucked.....

I think

But it doesn't count because we were both shit faced from a club, our friends dumped us at my apartment and apparently we had sex

I woke up naked with her next to me, naked too, the next morning

But I can't remember anything about it

She can't either

So we both assume we had sex but we're not really sure

And since I don't remember, then I don't count it and I maintain that I haven't had sex for awhile

"Yeah ok, I see your point", she agrees

"Good. Can we drop it now?"

"I don't think you can", she jokes, glancing at my dick

"Haha, you're so funny", I snap

I'm also annoyed that my dick isn't going down

Normally this would mortify me and make any hard on disappear in seconds

But it's her, we're open about stuff like this, we're talking about it and I guess that's why I'm still hard

It'll take awhile to go down but it will when I get distracted

"Put the show back on"

She shakes her head, standing up, "I know what you can do to take care of it"

Is she really going to leave me to jerk off in her bed?

Seriously?

I can go to the bathroom for that

Which I tell her

"No not that", she says and I'm at a loss for what she means

She walks over to her desk and to my utter shock she wiggles down her shorts and panties

Leaning over her desk, she looks over her shoulder at me, "Come fuck me"

My mouth drops open in complete surprise

Did she just say she wants me to go fuck her?

We don't do things like this

"What? You're horny. I'm horny, we can kill two birds with one stone"

That's what she's calling it?

That's why she wants to because it's convenient?

"I uh...I don't think-", I start but stop talking when she bends over more, her small fingers pulling her pussy lips apart, letting me see her small, wet hole

Oh my fucking god, her pussy is the prettiest I've ever seen

And so fucking wet

I feel my cock throb, wanting to be buried inside her

But I'm not sure about taking this step and I'm not keen on messing up our friendship

I love her, she's my rock and I need her

"Sannie", she whines cutely, "C'mon. I wanna feel you inside me"

"You do?", I ask flabbergasted

She nods, glancing over her shoulder again, "Ever since we woke up and didn't know if we had sex, I've wondered what it'd feel like to be with you. What it's feel like to have your dick buried in my pussy, fucking me, coming on you. And the more I think about it the more I want it"

I'm in total disbelief

I mean, yes, I've thought about being with her too but I never imagined she gave it a second thought

"Don't you want to?", she asks, sounding unsure now

"Yes", I answer immediately and internally smacking myself for sounding desperate, "I'm just....I'm worried this will change us"

She shakes her head, "Oh please Sannie, it's just sex. I'm not gonna fall in love with you or anything stupid like that. It's just fucking because we're both horny. That's all"

Ok, that's good

That was the only reason I was holding back

But now that it's cleared up, I'm good

Standing up, I drop my sweatpants and boxers, kicking them off, then moving right to her

"Wow San", she says, eyeing my cock

I smirk, "Like it?"

She nods, "So big. Gonna feel so good"

"Oh yeah?", I tease, pumping my cock a few times

"Yeah", she teases, "You may not know this about me but I like having big fat cocks up my cunt. And yours fits the bill"

Ok yeah I am shocked but I'm not gonna let that show

"Always knew you were a slut", I tell her, rubbing my head against her slit, feeling her juice soak my cock

"Mmm hmmm", she whimpers, "You're slut now"

God, that's such a turn on, "Yeah tonight you're my whore"

With that I shove my cock up her cunt, splitting her on my length so pleasurably, bottoming out in one stroke

"Yes, fuck San", she cries, her pussy clamping down around my cock, throbbing so fucking nicely, her pussy lips wrapped tightly around me

"God, you're so tight", I pant, "When was the last time you were fucked?"

"You", she moans softly

Me?

Guess she's counting that night then

"You don't even know if I really fucked you", I tell her, pushing her down on the desk then pulling out, feeling her cunt suck on me, trying to hold me inside her

Fuck that feels so good

Slamming back in, her hole takes me in, clenching as soon as I'm back, sending pleasure up my spine

"You did", she murmurs as I hold her down, fucking into her over and over

Her pussy locks on my cock every time I thrust into her, like she wants to keep me in, showering my dick and lap with her creamy juice

"How do you know?", I moan, pulling her legs apart more, jackhammering my cock into her waiting cunt

She takes me absolutely perfectly even though we're a tight snug fit with no room to spare

She has got to be one of the best pussy's I've ever fucked

"Because I re... remember...bits....and pieces", she moans

I remember her telling me that but I'm not sure if she's mixing me up with someone else

Slamming into her, she cries out loudly, clenching down on my cock particularly hard

"There Sannie", she whines, "Please, fuck me there"

"You're spot?", I ask smugly

"Yes"

"Ok baby. I'll fuck you there"

Pounding into her, I make sure I hit that spot over and over, her pussy watering like a waterfall

I look down, moaning as I watch her cream my cock up good, the squelching sound of my cock in her cunt so loud

"Hear how loud you're cunt is for me?", I ask her

"Yes", she moans, pussy pulsing sweetly around my shaft

"Think I'm fucking you better this time around?"

"Yes", she cries

I'm so fucking hot, sweat making my shirt cling to me

Not missing a thrust, I pull my shirt off, tossing it on the ground, the cool air hitting my body feeling good

She's sweating too, her shirt wet with it, so I shove her shirt up, telling her to get up

She moves up, her hands holding her up on the desk as I get her shirt off her, then undo her bra, tossing both on the floor with my shirt

Moving closer to her, I press my body against her, the soft, smooth skin of her back right against my chest, making me actually shiver

My hands reach around her, groping and squeezing her squishy boobs, my head right next to hers, leaning on hers

"You feel so good", I moan in her ear, letting the pleasure hit me everywhere, her pussy fluttering so fucking hard around me as I push through her tightness over and over again

"You....feel good....too", she hiccups

I hear crumpling sounds and when I look down at the desk, her hands are squeezing the life from the papers on the desk

I smirk, knowing I'm giving it to her good

"You've been craving for my cock in your pussy for awhile haven't you?", I murmur in her ear, her head leaning back on my shoulder

"Yes San", she moans, my fingers now pinching her hard nipples

"Mmm I'm glad. Glad you convinced me to fuck your tight wet pussy that feels so fucking good", I moan, glancing at her

She whimpers, pleasure on her face so pretty

I'm not dumb, I know my best friend is pretty

I just never thought about her this way

Until now

"May have to keep fucking you"

She nods, groaning, "Yes. Fuck. You can fuck my pussy anytime you want"

"Oh yeah?", I tease, "Want your best friend's cock up your cunt all the time?"

"Yes", she cries, pussy spasming uncontrollably, "Wanna be your cock sleeve Sannie"

My mind explodes at her words, getting hornier and fucking into her harder

"You can, fuck. Gonna wear your pussy all the time now", I tell her, "Fuck, want you to cum for me"

Once my words are said, she moans, her body shaking against me, her pussy clenching my cock in a vice grip as she cums

Incredible pleasure slams into me from her orgasm, taking my breath away

Holy fucking shit, it's fucking amazing

"San", she moans softly, my head snapping to look at her immediately, it taking me a second to process that she's saying my name while she climaxes

Holy shit

"Sannie, fuck. San"

While I'm shocked hearing my name, I continue to fuck her through her orgasm until she finishes

Then I shove her back down on the desk, speeding up my thrusts as I plow into her cunt, watching her tiny hole split open for me, her swollen pussy lips so pretty around my cock

"Cum again", I demand, pounding her into the desk, "I need it"

It's too fucking good

Her orgasm is like a rush of ecstasy and I need to feel it again

"Fuck", she moans, her head laying on the desk, her eyes squeezes shut as her cunt swallows my cock over and over

She's making such a big fucking mess on my cock that I love seeing

Moving my arm around her, I press my fingers into her clit, rubbing it in circles harshly

"Fuck!", she shouts, her cunt squeezing my cock hard

"Yes baby", I urge her, fucking her spot and playing with her clit, "Cum for my cock. Wanna feel it again. Feels so good"

I feel like a junkie, the only thing on my mind is getting her cunt to cum so I can get a hit of that pleasure

"Sannie", she cries, getting impossibly tight around my cock

Her orgasm is gonna make me cum

I know it

I pant as I thrust into her, her scream of my name signalling her orgasm

Clear liquid pours from her cunt as she squirts around my cock, soaking me and the floor, her cunt keeping my cock in a death grip as she pulses wonderfully

The pleasure I was craving washes over me and I revel in it

"Cum San!", she cries, "Cum in my pussy! Wanna milk your cock"

Shock at her words enters through the pleasure, exciting me more

"Please baby. Wanna milk your cock so bad"

"Fuck Jo! Fuck", I yell, shoving my cock deep inside her, my cock throbbing as I cum, pure ecstasy blinding me

My entire body shakes as I empty into her, intense pleasure I've never felt before tidal waving over me

Her cunt squeezes my length again and again, milking my cock so fucking well

"Yes Sannie", she moans, "Gimme your cum baby. Fuck want all of it. Every last drop"

Her milking pussy keeps me in pleasure longer, sucking everything from my cock

"Yes fuck", she whimpers, "Love milking fat cocks like yours Sannie"

She is completely shocking me today

I found out a few things about her I've never knew

And each one is such a turn on

The pleasure leaves as I'm sucked dry, only then does her pussy loosen around me and I fall out

I lean against the desk so I don't faceplant on the floor, both of us breathing hard

That has to be one of the best sex sessions I've ever had

Hands down

She stands up, her gaze landing on mine, her cheeks pink

"Don't be shy on me now", I laugh, caressing her face softly

"I'm not", she answers, "We uh...should get cleaned up though"

I nod, "Ok"

She gathers her clothes then heads for the door, "I'll be back"

"Hold on", I call

She looks back at me, "Do you really like milking cock?"

She rolls her eyes, her sass back, "Yeah. I like clenching on dick, I like feeling cum in my pussy. And it's easier to milk fat cocks than skinny ones"

Wow, ok

I didn't think she'd really answer that but ok

"We good?", she asks

I nod wordlessly

She nods, then disappears

I assume to the bathroom

I take a second for the reality of what just happened to hit me

I fucked my best friend

And it was amazing

That is a shock within itself

And the things she said, letting me fuck her anytime...I wonder if it was true or just something said in the moment

I know I said I'd fuck her all the time and honestly I'm not sure if I meant it or not

I mean if she wanted to, I'd definitely have sex with her again

This is confusing and I need to stop

It's just sex, like she said

Nothing to worry about or over analyze

She comes back five minutes later, her eyes averted from me as I realize I'm still just standing here naked

Shit

"Bathroom is yours", she says, looking down as she makes it to her bed

"Thanks", I say, collecting my clothes then getting to the bathroom

I clean up, use the bathroom and wash my hands then get my clothes back on

Heading into her room again, I take my place next to her in her bed

Like we were sitting before we fucked

"Ready?", she asks

I nod and she unpauses the show, both of us acting like nothing happened

[starberry-cupcake]

Hello, I haven't had time to read as much as I would want but I'm here with an update regardless, because if I don't keep these constant, I'm gonna forget things and this, so far, seems like a book in which I don't wanna forget things.

previously, in harrowbean the ninth:

this happened

currently, after "parodos" and ch. 1:

so I'm making up a timeline in my head with the information at hand

which is never straightforward

that'd be too easy, here in tlt we like to be kept on our toes

we like to be punched in the gut when we least expect it

so get ready for bad math

this would probably make our good friend palmolive atreides weep

I'm sorry palomilve's force ghost, I'm doing my best

SO

the first entry was the night of the emperor being terminated

the "parodos" bit (we'll get to that) is 14 months before the emperor is snuffed out

ch. 1 is nine months before the emperor kicks the bucket

I believe act 1 is going to be happening around that time, since ch. 2 seems to be following without another indication

because of what happens in "parodos" aka flashback, aka prologue 2: elecric bogaloo, we can attempt to estimate when the events of gideon happened

harrowbean tells ortus in the flashback that he's gonna train with aiglamene for 12 weeks

let's assume that's kind of the amount of time gideon trained, plus the time it took harrow to plot how to girlsplain, gatekeep and gaslight gideon into it

the only one girlbossing here is camilla, I don't make the rules

so, if gideon and harrow were ready to leave the ninth somewhere around 2-3 months after the flashback, it'd be circa 11 months before the events in the prologue

and ch. 1 starts 9 months before the events in the prologue

so gideon might have happened somewhere around 11-10 months before the prologue

I can't tell how long they were in canaan house (it felt like 12 years and 5 minutes at the same time) but I think about a month is mostly right, given that once bodies start dropping, things are all happening together

all of this is relative, since time in space is ????

but I need to do this for my own peace of mind

if you give me time measurements I'm gonna measure, ok?

I need to organize things

I know I will end up making a graphic at some point I just know it

this is what I get for calling palmolive a turbonerd

ANYWAY, MOVING ON

or, moving back, since we're in prologue 2: electric bogaloo aka flashback time

here we have ortus (the one we knew, not the one we will get to know, according to the characters list) telling harrow he doesn't wanna go to the field trip

this is ortus

if you're wondering why I don't nickname ortus, I'll repeat myself but "orto" means "ass" where I'm from, so that's enough to remember him by

harrow is like "I know you're underqualified but we're understaffed, so it is what it is"

the important part is that harrowbean says she sees the barbie in the freezer walking about

like a ghost or whatnot

she refers to her as "the body" and I assume that's barbie in the ice cube because someone reblogged my recap where I mentioned her and tagged

ever since then I've been wondering why she was referred to as The Body and now I'm gonna assume this is it

so harrow tells ortus he needs to hide the fact that she's mentally unstable

[non funny side note: masking is unbearable and it's awful we live in a social and cultural environment where we feel pressured to do it, especially when you're an adult having to fulfill expectations of supposedly "age-specific" activities and responsibilities, it's exhausting and I cried about that in therapy a mere week ago so, hitting hard, this bit

don't let people make you feel "less than" because the way in which you navigate the world and your experiences is different from what's expected in some theoretical socially constructed category

and fuck everyone who, in order to put people down in arguments online, ever make fun of those who aren't mentally, economically or socially as independent as what the category of an adult is supposed to be to them

argue with concepts, argue with opinions and facts, don't tear people down in the name of "moral upper hand" by telling people they're losers for needing help

side note done]

so, harrow entered the whole canaan thing not only carrying the weight of her house, her family and her entire people

she also came into it believing she's not mentally sound and seeing The Body walking around unnoticed by other people

whether or not her visions are mentally unsettled or something that actually happens because she opened the tomb, just the whole situation of her birth is enough to make anyone collapse, so we got you, harrowbean

we're here for you

and all that without mentioning what it'd be like seeing your girlfriend cavalier impale herself in front of you

I'm taking liberties with the 'girlfriend' bit but idk

so, next we know, 5 months have passed from that and harrowcita is struggling in her new environment of the clown emperor's ship

she is made to carry gideon's sword and she can't

she can't seem to know what to do or to communicate with said knowledge and she's throwing up a lot

WHICH IS GREAT!!!!!

I mean, it's not great that she's suffering

but it's GREAT because if she can't communicate with gideon's slurped soul, maybe it means gideon's soul has not been slurped AT ALL

more fuel for my wishful thinking of gideon's soul returning to her and getting regenerated and saved and being alive

I also like very much this situation in which harrow sees the sword as personified and they hate each other without gideon

it's like prim's cat in the hunger games with katniss

but with an inanimate object

I'm really liking that dynamic

is like they both miss her and can't relate to each other

ALSO barbie body ice cube is still there

just chillin' and being silently supportive, I think

not sure what her deal is but what if she's not the bad one here? because this emperor kind of sucks tbh

not in a 'he's evil' way but in a 'idk if he know what he's doing' way

I don't know about this guy tbh

so we're leaving off with harrow being mentally and physically struggling, ghost barbie roamin' the rooms, voices of people organizing stock and gideon in my head like this, walking in limbo to get back to us

also, another day without camilla

I thought I wasn't gonna have much to say and this is so long, I'm so sorry...

[bestworstcase]

@tumblingxelian tag from here

#OK I'd legit love to hear your take on her interactions with Oscar

oh i think about the interrogation scene a normal amount

something i want to underline before diving in is the conspicuous discrepancy between the eloquence and spoken delivery of salem's soliloquies in V1/V3 (internal monologue) versus her dialogue (verbal speech). it's especially noticeable in juxtaposition with ozma's V7 soliloquy versus ozpin's dialogue, where no such discrepancy exists; oz talks the way he thinks, he's an excellent orator and even in casual conversation he's well-spoken and charismatic.

whereas salem... thinks eloquently and often poetically ("nature's wrath in hand, man lit their way through the darkness..." or "it's true that a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary..."), but speaks with minimal rhetorical flair. her speech is also sometimes a little stilted or just very, very deliberate in a way that does not sound natural; and there's times—her conversation with cinder in V5 is a particularly noticeable example—where what she says circles around what she means.

"working with bandits? keeping ruby alive? what's the point? we're strong enough to take what we want by force!" / "never underestimate the usefulness of others; take leonardo. he was one of ozpin's most trusted, but now... hm. you will have the power i promised you when the time is right, but remember that it comes with a cost. if ruby rose has learned to harness her gift, you must take care to protect yours. there's only so much i can do to aid you."

<- its like. instead of just saying it, salem says examples supporting the idea she's trying to articulate. if a conversation were a math problem, salem shows all of her work but doesn't give the answer. and she does this A LOT.

none of the other characters in the story are like this—which means it isn't, like, a problem with the writers failing to write cogent dialogue. it's a deliberate character choice for salem specifically.

anyway, prior to the interrogation scene, salem only appears in contexts where she is either addressing her subordinates or—in V7—giving ironwood the terms of her siege. on two of these occasions, she get interrupted with unexpected new information (ozpin is back, ruby rose used the lamp) and in both cases, salem abruptly ends the conversation and either kicks everyone else out (V6) or leaves (V7).

and i think that's worth noting in relation to this scene, because the interrogation veers off script very fast and we get to see salem, um, Trying Her Best.

so!

as far as salem knows, oscar is gone. she expects—prepares for—a hostile and painful confrontation with ozma. when oscar wakes up, she's huddled against a pillar in a shadowy corner with an arm curled around herself and her head low, staring fixedly at conjured shadows of her dead children. she is Not Okay.

but when she speaks, her tone is conversational. almost cordial, once she's past the withering sarcasm in "my long lost ozma... found at last." it's affected! it's not real! she's reciting words she planned and probably rehearsed beforehand—which i think is likely the case for most of her little speeches. she's a poor speaker.

except... it's oscar. salem twigs that he isn't ozma the instant he talks, stares at him for a couple seconds without no visible reaction except that her mocking little smile fades, and:

snarls and grabs his face and yanks him down to get a better look at him—the mask just shatters. there's lots of ways to interpret this, but i'm inclined to take it as salem recognizing that this isn't ozma and then second-guessing that instinct and grabbing him because she needs to be absolutely sure.

"you can pretend, boy... but you're not fully him. not yet, at least." her tone shifts on every clause, from almost a growl to relieved to just sort of resigned. and then she drops him, exhales, steps back:

and just... stands there gazing into the middle distance for a couple seconds. like—oscar being here was not a possibility she even considered until it happened and upon finding herself in this situation her reaction is basically, "...um."

and then she's like

well... :)

perhaps you and i can have a better working reLaTiOnShiP.

...

...

oscar, >:[

was it? :\

laying aside the dire understatement of referring to what happened between her and ozma as a bad "working relationship," you can like. hear. the crash box crashing in her head as she says this. her tone swings from sweet and gentle to sardonic to coldly indifferent—and then she follows this by swerving right back into cordial neutrality. hrgkhsj her affect just goes haywire

and i think that happens because this is just so far out of expected bounds that she can't figure out how to say what she needs to say to get herself back on track. her speech smooths out again as soon as she segues into her questions, because she knows what she planned to ask ozma and she can tailor that to oscar instead.

but getting there? dial-up noises.

the hysterical part though is that it's really obvious this awkward verbal jumble isn't indicative of internal confusion or uncertainty, in that salem knows what she's going to do—her chosen tactics are clear and entirely coherent. she:

calms herself down and backs off.

states her intention to play nice if he cooperates.

both implicitly and explicitly differentiates him from ozma to indicate she understands he's his own person and can and will set her rage and bitterness with ozma aside to treat oscar fairly.

which is precisely what i meant in the OP, about salem having the necessary grasp of human nature to be—in theory—a formidable manipulator but lacking the social dexterity and charisma required to put it into effective practice. like, tactically this line of attack is very shrewd, but her awkward, erratic delivery cuts the legs out from under it because she sounds utterly insincere.

⭐️ she tried.

continuing on—salem first explains the context regarding what she needs to know about "the beacon relic" (sidebar, does... salem even know what it is? this is the only one she refers to this way. the lamp, the staff, the sword, and "the beacon relic"), all in a fairly amicable tone except for:

"if i know my ozma" <- she's implicitly positioning herself and oscar on the same 'side' against ozma. this follows from her deliberate rhetorical separation of oscar from ozma and also the basis of her strategy in coaxing this information out of oscar. the reason she's taking the time for this little prologue is not to help oscar understand why she captured him necessarily. she's (trying to) set out the rules of the game she is playing. trying to, because she's doing her showing-her-work-but-not-giving-the-answer thing again.

here's what she means:

"perhaps you and i can have a better working relationship. oscar, was it?" -> i can work with you because i know you're not him. "if i know my ozma, he has used some means of deception to hide [the relic's] location differently from the others." -> ozma lies. i despise him for lying to me. i expect you to prove to me that you're not like him in this specific way. "i need to know where it is." -> i want an honest answer.

salem knows he isn't going to tell her where ozma hid the relic, if oscar even knows that information; she doesn't expect or even want him to tell her that yet, necessarily. rather, this is a test. she wants to see if oscar will try to deceive her.

"that's not something i know about." he passes.

immediately, salem rewards him for being honest. "of course." she removes her hand from the hound's shoulder and moves away.

"he would keep that one guarded as long as possible." she also takes the opportunity to reinforce that she sees oscar as a separate individual and insinuates that ozma is actively keeping secrets from both of them.

and again, this is a cunning approach because:

oscar is scared and uncomfortable. he quite clearly anticipates that salem is going to get angry and hurt him as he says he doesn't know the answer. so when she accepts "i don't know" without hesitation and physically moves out of his personal space, it creates these feelings of surprise and relief.

that emotional reaction is the key to salem's strategy here. first she tells oscar that she will be reasonable if he cooperates, then she clarifies her expectations ("don't lie.") she asks a question knowing full well that he either can't or won't answer it. he says "i don't know" and braces for retaliation, but instead salem goes "okay" and turns down the heat. she's demonstrating through her actions that she's going to play fair.

"how about something easier, then? the password for the lamp."

she doesn't expect him to tell her this one either. not yet. it's another test that builds from the first. she's established that "i don't know" is a safe answer (as long as it's true). what salem's fishing for him to say now is "i'm not going to tell you that."

why? when she walked away, she left oscar hanging from the hound's jaws. salem lowered the heat—she didn't turn it all the way off. the point of all this is to teach oscar how to play her game, and the last rule he needs to know is that "i won't say" is also a safe answer. had he given her that answer, the hound would have set him down and withdrawn to lay down in the entryway.

only then would the game truly begin. the idea is to draw oscar into something like a real conversation and gradually get him comfortable saying things like "i don't know" and "i won't answer that question" by cultivating trust. once that rapport exists, it becomes really easy to turn the discussion around by asking oscar why? why not take the risk of trusting her with this or that information? after all, she's been nothing but polite and reasonable. does he truly still believe she's the evil monster ozma made her out to be? she gave him the benefit of the doubt... can't he do the same for her?

salem wins by convincing him she's a person he can negotiate with. that pulling this off would be the ultimate fuck-you to ozma only makes it more satisfying.

of course, that's not what actually happens. (partly because salem talked a circle about the "don't lie" rule and oscar—who hasn't spent the last four volumes seeing that his woman yells and flips tables when she's lied to—didn't pick up the hint.) instead, he tries to deceive her again and salem lashes out.

<- the physical violence gets all the attention from the fandom, and i do understand why, it's nasty and protracted and made to be viscerally unpleasant to watch, but. it's only a placeholder, something salem does while she considers what she's going to do—and say—to hurt him in a way that will never heal.

ok.

salem gets that oscar isn't ozma, didn't ask to become him, and feels desperate to retain his own identity distinct and separate from for as long as possible. she knows how ozma's reincarnation works, what this curse does to his hosts. it's not hard to figure out that it is a horrifying, traumatizing ordeal for the souls he's "paired" with. this is why she makes such a particular point of differentiating between oscar and ozma.

"the lies come out of you so easily." ("if i know my ozma, he has used some means of deception...")

why does she caress his face like this? to make him remember her like ozma does. "like-minded souls, indeed." you can pretend, boy, but so much of you is him that you remember even this.

the torture is just the preshow. this is the cruelest, most devastating thing she could possibly do to him, and salem knows it. she gave him a pass on pretending to be ozma, and he threw the second chance back in her face by lying to her again; she's furious and upset and she wants to HURT him.

this is how porous the boundaries between you and him have become. this is how close you are to being him. this is how little of you there is left to lose. like-minded souls, indeed.

like.

she does this to fuck with his head and it horrifies him so much that oscar spends the remainder of this arc actively choosing to endure being hazel's literal punching bag rather than let ozma take over or try to escape using ozma's magic. in 8.6:

OZMA: I’d like to express again that this is my burden to bear, not yours. His grudge is with me. OSCAR: No, it’ll be even worse. He’s holding back with me, I can tell. OZMA: I understand. I do. But you’ve done so much already. The least I can do is give you a break and try to get us out of here. OSCAR: We can’t leave yet.

they go back and forth, oscar proposes trying to flip hazel, ozma agrees it's worth a try. when hazel comes in, ozpin goes "oscar, please"—and because oscar doesn't respond, it's ambiguous whether he gives ozma control or if ozma shunts him aside again as he did at haven academy.

either way, the next we see of oscar after the interrogation scene is ozma entreating oscar to let him take over and oscar going no no no, that'll make it worse, no i don't need a break, i've got a plan, no no we have to stay here. and while his reasoning is cogent... this is a fifteen year old boy who's spent the whole day getting beaten up by a guy three times his size, and he actively wants to stay and be tortured more rather than let ozma front for a while.

and then in 8.9:

OZMA: I think this plan to divide may have run its course. It’s time we start thinking about a way out; not having our cane certainly limits our options, so… OSCAR: No! I don’t like what happens when we use magic. Every time we use it, I can feel us merging faster. I'm not ready for that.

the deeper truth gets spoken aloud.

this is not a new thing with oscar—his emotional core has always been existential dread—but framing it in this way, set against hours and hours of brutal torture that oscar insists is the less bad option, represents a massive spike in the intensity of his horror.

because salem Did That.

anyway the interrogation scene is great. 10/10.

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen

warnings: smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it kids), swearing, sex in a car

Ray and I giggled as we snuck through the firehouse. It was dark and ray was trying very hard not to run into anything. He had been tempted to use the pole but knew the second he landed someone would wake up.

“shhhh.” Ray giggled as he stared at me as I ran into Janine’s desk. “This is a covert operation. Silent as a mouse.” I laughed quietly as ray opened the door to the Ecto. He ushered me in before gently closing the door.

”yeah like you could keep quiet with what we’re doing.” I teased. Ray rolled his eyes before kissing me softly. I hummed against his lips as he guided me into his lap. I cupped his cheeks as we lazily made out, occasionally grinding against each other. Soft moans and whimpers left us as our hands started to explore. I kneaded rays chest as his hands squeezed my ass.

“I think maybe…” ray pulled away for a second before kissing me again. “We should just…” he dipped his head and kissed my neck. “Leave everything on…” ray hummed as I tilted my head back. “In case we get caught.” I nodded in agreement and moved to untie his pajama bottoms.

“that sounds like a good idea.” I agreed as I shoved them down just enough to pull his cock out. Ray moaned quietly as I stroked him. I kissed him before he could get any louder. “Told you you couldn’t keep quiet.” I teased gently. Ray gently bit my shoulder in retaliation and I giggled as he got my pajama bottoms pulled down.

"With what I'm gonna do, I don't think you should be teasing me right now." Ray teased back, glancing down to where I was still leisurely stroking him. I gently squeezed as I slid my hand down his cock and Ray's head fell back against the seat as he bit his lip.

"What were you saying again?" I asked, smirking as Ray lifted his head to playfully glare at me.

"Oh shut up and kiss me." Ray said. I hummed happily as I released him and cupped his cheeks again. Ray kneaded my ass as he slipped his tongue into my mouth. "Fuck. I can't believe we're doing this."

"You said it was a fantasy of yours." I reminded him. Ray nodded eagerly. "I just wanted to make at least one of your fantasies come true. You do it for me so often." Ray hummed, looking up at me with bright eyes. "I do have one concern though." Ray's eyebrows furrowed as I shifted on his thighs.

"What's that?" He asked. I reached back and touched the steering wheel, turning it slightly. Ray nodded as he felt the car shift with the wheels.

"Hitting the horn." I admitted. "If we do this, you're going to have to make sure that I don't go too far back." Ray hummed as he reached out to gauge the distance.

"That might be a little difficult." He agreed. "Well, how about this." He lifted me up and turned us around. I squirmed against the leather seats as Ray knelt on the floor. "This should work better. I don't have to move very far. We would be ok."

"Ok." I breathed out as Ray leaned forward and kissed me again. "I trust you." Ray smiled at me, his cheeks turning slightly pink at my confession.

"Ready?" Ray asked, taking his cock in his hand and lining up with my entrance.

"Ready." I agreed. "Need you now Raymond." I breathed out, sliding down the seat slightly as his head hit my entrance. Just as Ray was about to enter me, he bumped the horn. It squeaked out and we both froze. We stared at each other with wide eyes, Ray tensed up and my eyes jumping to the staircase. There was a creak above us and Ray threw himself over me on the seat. We were laid out on the bench seat as we waiting to get caught. Ray's weight was comforting above me as his hands rested on the hem of my pajama bottoms. No one came down and we both breathed a sigh of relief as we realized that the creak had just been the old building.

"That was a close one." Ray breathed out. I nodded and Ray leaned down to kiss me softly, hands moving to my sides and gently moving over them. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to anymore. I'll understand." I buried my fingers into his hair as I pulled him down to kiss me again.

"Let's do this. Just, like this though." I said with a giggle. Ray chuckled as he nodded. "I don't trust that horn."

"Me neither." He agreed. I shifted my legs so Ray could comfortably lay between them. He hummed as he slowly kissed me again. His hands explored my body, trying to get us back to where we were before the panic had set in. Ray gently thrust into my mouth with his tongue, making me hum quietly.

"Ray. Please." I whined. Ray chuckled as he dipped down to kiss my neck.

"Anything you want sweetheart." He whispered. "Anything you want." Ray lined himself up again and slowly thrust into me. I bit my lip as Ray pulled out and thrust back in. He kept his thrusts shallow, grinding against me more than thrusting. "Going to make this quick." He panted. "I'm nervous someone is going to catch on now. But you feel too good to stop." Ray kissed me deeply just before I could moan. One of my hands trailed down to his ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh there. Ray moaned into my mouth before pulling away to bury his face into my neck. "Oh baby." He breathed out.

"Ray." I breathed out as he sped up. "I'm not gonna last long baby." Ray nodded, pulling back to kiss me again.

"Me neither." He whispered, breath hot against my lips. "Fuck. I love you." Ray said, planting both arms by my head. I tugged on his hair and squeezed his ass, making Ray close his eyes and his mouth form an o.

"I love you too Raymond." I breathed out as Ray thrust deep. "So much. So so much." Ray kissed me as my orgasm washed over me. He followed me over shortly after, hips weakly thrusting as he panted into my mouth. "Fuck." I breathed out when Ray finally pulled away. He looked down at where we were joined before looking back at me with a big smile.

"That was amazing." Ray said, kissing me softly before pulling out. He raised an eyebrow at the seat before shrugging and pulling off his shirt. Ray wiped our cum off the seat and I giggled.

"Bet you won't be able to drive or sit there without thinking about what we just did." I teased as Ray pulled up his pants. I did the same before sitting up. Ray shrugged with a smirk.

"Who said I didn't think about it before we did it?" He shot back. I felt my cheeks heat up as I shook my head.

"Incorrigible." I teased. Ray shrugged before opening the passenger door and offering his hand to help me out.

"You know it." Ray joked as he pulled me close and wrapped an arm around my waist. I shook my head with a laugh as we headed back upstairs. "Now let's get back in bed before anyone notices we were gone."

[tellmegoodbye]

Hello! We're back with more songs as always.

No Roads Left - Linkin Park

Standing alone with no direction How did I fall so far behind? Why am I searching for perfection? Knowing it's something I won't find

When did I lose my sense of purpose? Can I regain what's lost inside? Why do I feel like I deserve this? Why does my pain look like my pride?

In my fear and flaws I let myself down again All because I run 'till the silence splits me open I run 'till it puts me underground 'Till I have no breath And no roads left but one

This song reminds me of Carlos and his tendency to avoid hard conversations while simultaneously always trying to be perfect for the people around him. Eventually, it all catches up with him. The lyric "why does my pain look like my pride" hits especially hard when I think about how Carlos would put himself through hell just to make other people happy.

Just Say When - Nothing More

We used to dream We used to name the stars Tracing futures lying in the dark They said we'd never last The brightest flame burns fast We say words But we don't talk anymore

Tonight we're growing closer Closer to the end Were we fools for each other Or fools for falling in? Are we looking at forever? Because I don't see it in your eyes Have you had enough or do we try again? The glass was half full when we stopped pouring in So just say when

This song is about two people who love each other but recognize that their relationship isn't working anymore, and the fear of having to admit that and move on. This reminds me of the tragedy of Owen and Gwyn because they've always loved each other, you can even say they were soulmates, but in the end they couldn't salvage what they once had.

Dream With Me - Nothing More

Just dream with me Follow my voice as we crawl through the dark Believe with me Trust what you already know in your heart I can't stand that you're fighting this all on your own The cancer has come, but you're never alone Don't you die on me Don't you die, don't you fade Don't you cry, just stay and be free with me Close your eyes and believe with me

Season 1 TK and Owen, need I say more?

The song does specifically mention cancer but I think it also applies generally to the strength of their relationship and how they never stop fighting for each other.

Mistake - NF

I feel like I'm at standstill waiting for you to tell me I'm ok If time heals, tell me why do I kill myself Tryna show you I'm not a mistake I've got qualities that I'm not proud of I've made promises that I walked out on I've had days I feel I don't deserve love So think what you think, just don't call me a mistake

In season 1, TK had to learn to stop relying on other people's (Alex) opinions of him. He had to learn to love himself and recognize that he's worthy of being loved as well. This song is a very powerful representation of that journey, and allowing yourself to understand your flaws while also knowing that you're not a mistake. This song definitely applies to Carlos as well.

Tags!

@strandnreyes @goodways @lemonlyman-dotcom @ironheartwriter @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@carlos-tk @literateowl @herefortarlos @nancys-braids @captain-gillian

@heartstringsduet @paperstorm @guardian-angle22 @emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi

@bonheur-cafe @reyesstrand @theghostofashton @reeeallygood @toomanycupsoftea

[runnning-outof-time]

The Greatest Gift of All | John Shelby x Reader

Request: no - part of my Countdown to Christmas Event

Pairing: John Shelby x reader

Summary: In which John and (Y/N)’s little family grows by one on one of the merriest days of the year.

Warnings: childbirth/pregnancy

Word Count: 1271

A/N: just a heads up, this is NOT edited! I finisged it late last night and honestly can’t be bothered to edit it now that it’s Christmas and I’ll be busy with family. Maybe I’ll come back soon and edit it. But hey, it’s Christmas!!! And this is the final story of the countdown!!! We did it!!! I just had to give John the Christmas he deserved. Enjoy! :)

A/N 2: Merry Christmas to those who celebrate, Happy Holidays to those who don’t, or if you don’t celebrate anything, I hope you’re having a wonderful weekend so far! :)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future stories similar to this one!

It all started when (Y/N) uttered two words: "it's happening". Those words sent John into a panic, abruptly making him forget about all of the previous planning that they'd done for this day. He was soon going to be a father, he couldn't think straight.

"Call Polly and Ada, John," (Y/N) reminded him through clenched teeth, her one hand on her swollen stomach while the other braced herself against the kitchen counter.

"Right, I'll call them right now," he nodded before rushing over to the home's phone so that she could call the ladies that (Y/N) wanted to have by her side during this time. He got ahold of them rather quickly and they confirmed that they'd been on their way. "They're coming," he informed his wife as he made his way back over to her, "is there anything I can do to help in the meantime?"

"Yeah, maybe help me move over to the sofa," (Y/N) answered, and within seconds, John was by her side, helping her walk over to where she wanted to be.

"It's really happening, isn't it?" he asked with a grin after she'd sat down, "we're having the baby on Christmas."

"It seems that we are," (Y/N) smiled up at him, enjoying a moment of respite after the contraction she'd been enduring had eased up. They were still rather far apart, but she wanted to have the ladies over in case if they sped up without warning.

Time seemed to drag on until the two women walked through the door of (Y/N) and John Shelby's home, and when they did, (Y/N) couldn't help but exhale a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness you're here," she breathed, a tired smile on her face.

"Is John not cutting it?" Ada asked as she moved over to where John was sitting so that she could set her hands on his shoulders.

"I think I'm doing a pretty decent job," John answered for himself.

"You may think you are, but if it ask me 'are you ok' one more time, I'm going to actually tell you how I feel," (Y/N) gave her own input, her eyes wide as she looked over at her husband. John opened his mouth but couldn't say what he wanted to because (Y/N) stopped him with a groan of pain. "Another one is coming on," she mumbled through gritted teeth as her hands dropped to her stomach.

"How far are they apart?" Polly asked from where she was in the kitchen area, preparing things that would surely be needed in the next few hours.

"They seem to be getting closer together at a steady rate," (Y/N) answered as she tried to breathe slowly through the contraction.

"You're getting closer to having her then," Polly started with a confident nod as she went back to working on what she was doing.

"A Christmas baby then, (Y/N)," Ada said with a smile, "how exciting?"

"I think I'll be more excited once she's here," (Y/N) responded with a slight smile as she focused herself on her breathing.

Soon enough, Polly came over to where the others were. "Let's get you up to your bed. It'll be easier to have the birth happen there," she stated, holding her hands out in (Y/N)'s direction then. "Up slowly," she told the younger woman, who nodded and heeded her directions. "John, you help her up the steps. Ada and I will be up shortly," she then told John, who was at (Y/N)'s side in an instant.

"Let's go, love...slow and steady up the stairs," he said to her, his grip firm on her waist as he leaded her to the staircase.

"We're really having our baby on Christmas," (Y/N) said once they'd reached their bedroom. She was out of breath from climbing the steps, but was happy to finally be able to properly lay down.

"I think we are," John answered with a giddy smile.

"Her name will be perfect now," (Y/N) pointed out, a smile forming on her face as she thought of the name they'd chosen for their daughter. They were going for it because they thought it fit the season that she'd be born in, but now it would be perfect for her considering the day she was being born on.

"It will," John nodded his head, "you're going to do great, love," he assured her then.

Ada and Polly entered the room then with their hands full. (Y/N) watched as they moved about the room, setting things places so that they'd know where they were for later. "Women only allowed up here from now on, John," Polly announced once she moved over to (Y/N)'s side, "Ada will call you up when you're needed.

John nodded at his aunt's words before he stepped to (Y/N)'s side again. "You've got this, (Y/N)," he said to her in a soft voice, a smile on his face as he leaned down to kiss her lips quickly, "I love you."

"I love you," (Y/N) echoed his second statement as she watched him walk to the door.

"Let's check to see if you're ready to have a baby, (Y/N)," Polly stated once John had left the room. (Y/N) took a deep breath and nodded her head, a whirlwind of emotions rushing through her as Polly got ready to do the checks that were necessary.

——

There were only a few hours left in the day when Ada finally walked down the steps and found John. Arthur and Tommy had joined him in waiting at some point, and they were standing about the room also when there sister entered it.

“You can come up now, John,” she said in a soft voice, a smile tugging the corners of her lips upwards.

“Go on, brother,” Arthur clapped his brother on the shoulder, making the stunned John stand up and look at his siblings. His shocked expression quickly dissolved into a smile at he moved over to Ada and followed her up the steps.

His eyes fell into (Y/N) the second that he reached their shared bedroom. She looked tired, but had a smile on her face as she looked down at the bundle that she held in her arms. “We did it, John. She’s here,” her voice broke him out of the trance he didn’t realize he was in, and she waved him over to see his daughter.

“You did it, (Y/N),” he critiqued her statement as he moved to her bedside, “she’s beautiful,” he gasped as his eyes fell onto his sleeping daughter.

“She is,” (Y/N) echoed the sentiment, smiling up at John. “Is it still Christmas?” she asked in a whisper then.

“I believe so,” John nodded his head.

“Her name’s still perfect,” she said in a soft voice, “Noel Anne Shelby,” the name rolled off of her lips like butter.

“Perfect,” John affirmed as he crouched down to be closer to his wife and daughter. “Thank you for giving me the greatest gift of all,” he whispered then, his eyes locked onto (Y/N)’s as a smile played on his lips.

His words made (Y/N)’s eyes water within seconds, and she couldn’t help but lean over and rest her head against his forehead as she enjoyed the very first moments of then being a family of three. John was most definitely right…this was the greatest gift of all, and it was one that (Y/N) will be forever grateful for receiving.

———

Tagged: @the-anxious-youth @mgcllovdrms @look-at-the-soul @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @shelbydelrey @december16-1991 @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @stevie75 @dark-academia-slut @zablife @cillmequick @lovemissyhoneybee @letal-y-poetica @lora21 @valentinabloom @wildheartsalwaysburn

MASTERLIST

Countdown to Christmas MASTERLIST

[quinloki]

Ok so, I shit u not, since u said I could pick who to talk about, I decided to use a number generator to pick for me and it picked my Kid Pirates OC LMAOOOO who was inspired by this, really fantastic fic by @standfucker (if I remember right the title is “Rotations” but don’t quote me on that)(also note that this is the crew I am the LEAST familiar with but the most FASCINATED by atm)

So, let’s get into Zella(he/she), my newest OC (like, literally came up with her in the last couple of weeks)! She is a 5’5”, 22-24 spunky lil shit from the West Blue, who loves her crew and ONLY them, fuck the rest of the world. He’s punk (ofc), usually sporting a cropped deep red and green leather jacket, long fingerless gloves, and black tank top and high waisted pants, with boots (a pair she’s had since before the Kid Pirates and would stab a bitch for as they were a gift). Short dark green hair, with two little white tufts that poke out in front of her ears and frame her face. (Im kinda shooting for like, a hummingbird kinda vibe for her, but not like “cute smol, wants some flowers” and more “I will stab u with my beak if u get near my flower” deal. A colorful chihuahua if u will)

Since Zella is so new I don’t have a lot aside from design vibes, but I have some key things

• as One Piece characters tend to have, his childhood? Fucked up. Got dragged around hopping island to island with their shitty parents until they finally abandoned him. He tried to find comfort and friendship with the local kids and it, didn’t go well. Let’s just say the fingerless gloves r there for more than fashion. Once she managed to leave THAT shitty place, Zella found an island home that, while on paper it’s not a good place, there were few people who actually took her in. Until that too was taken, resulting in Kid Pirate Zella.

• can and has climbed her crewmates like trees to get a better vantage point. It’s usually Wire or Killed, Kid in a knee-jerk reaction threw him overboard. Zella has not let him forget about it since.

• Has the filthiest mouth of my OCs, but is not immune to being flustered into place (which happens more often than she’d like)

• will pick the spiciest food and eat it with no reaction (Dive took a bite thinking she could handle it. She could not)

• very skilled at sewing and has helped her crew with fixing and customizing their clothes on many occasions. Do NOT touch her chaotic corner of supplies, she knows where everything is and somehow always knows if it’s been messed with. A l w a y s.

• has two tattoos (atm, may add more later), one in particular being an under chin tattoo of a red star/flower shaped pattern. Does not remember the night it happened, at all.

• always has a knife hidden somewhere on her person. Full body searched? HA u missed the one between her ass cheeks bitch

And that’s it for rn!!!! I have a lot more I want to develop and figure out for Zella, but I also have to get to know her crew first lmao thanks for letting me ramble!

Sincerely,

The 🌷

Holy shit - hey Zen - idk if the tag in an ask will ping you, but I'mma assume yes - Your one-shot birthed an OC for someone!!

And yeah, it's called Rotation - that one and Whiteout whew.

Anyway, we're talking about your Zella and I love him \o/ What you have so far is fantastic, and it's certainly enough for a full fledged OC, so I don't think you have to worry about that.

And it doesn't take much honestly, sometimes character creation is a long long process, and sometimes they come to us all at once. And sometimes real development happens in the parameters of a story, but you've got her down solid already. I love the bullets and the little personal bits here and there with the crew.

If you're fascinated with the Kid Pirate crew, I gotta make sure you're aware of @swampstew - she's got a Meet the Crew series, and yeah it's based on her head canon of them, but it's a great place to start in my opinion. (I imagine you are if you follow me, I love her Kid Pirate passion, and I bet if you're nice and ask for some head canons she'd share as much as me xD ❤️🥰)

[taleweaver-ramblings]

In the tags on the Mossflower post you reblogged you said that it wasn't your favorite (like it seemed to be op's). Which would you say Is your favorite 👀

This is a very hard question, and my Great Redwall Reread of a few years ago actually made it harder. It is, to be frank, easier to tell you my least favorite than my favorite. But if I must make some choice, it's a five-way tie between Lord Brocktree, High Rhulain, Rakkety Tam, Pearls of Lutra, and Mattimeo.

Lord Brocktree has the fabulous dynamic between the main characters (especially Brocktree and Dotti), Bucko's challenges, pretty much EVERYTHING with the hares, a stellar example of rivals-to-friends, and a pretty epic ending.

High Rhulain, Pearls of Lutra, and Mattimeo all have the riddles/treasure hunt thing going on, which I will never not love. As far as I was concerned, that was a plotline Jacques could repeat as many times as he wanted and I'd be happy.

High Rhulain is probably also a major source of my love of the "young person has nobility unexpectedly thrust upon them; must figure out How Does One Royal?" trope. And it has both hares and otters (my two favorite Redwall races) in major roles! This makes me happy.

Pearls of Lutra is actually my favorite of the treasure-hunt plots, and I think it's the best of the seafaring Redwall books. It's still in the era where we're seeing the overlap of different generations, and we see the young characters from past books grown up, and I really enjoyed that while it lasted. It also has one of the best sympathetic villain characters in the series . . . and I just like Grath Longfletch as a character, what can I say?

Rakkety Tam is Scottish squirrels. Enough said.

(Ok, but actually you have Scottish squirrels, plus the Long Patrol, plus Tergen (who is Excellent), plus a really cute romance? I also love the poems that bracket the different sections. And can we TALK about the final battle? It is arguably the MOST impressive fight, at least in terms of power imbalance, since Martin vs. Tsarmina in Mossflower. Rakkety Tam takes on the evil equivalent of a badger. And WINS. Literally the only reason this is not hands-down my favorite book is the existence of Yoofus, who annoys me so much.)

Finally, Mattimeo really just has almost everything I love about the Redwall series, both the A and B plots are excellent, and it's another one of the stories where you get to see some of the next generation. And it has the Sparra in it — I was so sad when Jacques dropped them from the narrative.

So, yes. Those are probably my favorites. I do love a lot of the series, though, so it's very hard to choose! And I recognize that not all of these have the Significance or Weight of Mossflower, and some of them may be technically weaker books . . . but they're the ones I've loved since the first time I read the series, and that I've only come to love more in the times I've reread them.

[whatsnewalycat]

Just Dumb Enough to Try

Chapter 25: Pitch Dark

Word Count: 4.3k+

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Tags / CW: swearing, cheating/infidelity, domestic abuse, smoking, kidnapping, pregnancy, tension, cops, gore and violence, I don't really want to say anything else to prevent spoilers but I think if you've made it this far you'll be fine???

Chapter Summary: The search comes to an end.

Notes: Chapter title from "Pitch Dark" by Chelsea Jade. FYI: the playlist for this chapter is a banger. I'll post chapter 26 probably on Friday this week because I'm going to the WWWY festival in Vegas next weekend (pray for me I am very neurodivergent why am I doing this). I cannot belieeeeeeeeeve we're almost to the end of this story. I'm a proud mama. OK ANYWAY HERE YA GO!

[ Masterlist for Series ] [ Taglist ] [ Spotify Playlist ] [ AO3 ]

8734 177th Rd, Laredo, TX July 31, 1998

After you’re roused from sleep by creaking footsteps outside the closet door, and come out the other side of your subsequent full-body panic attack, Dan drags you out into the foyer again.

The foyer, with its dusty hardwood floors, and cobwebs, and fucking yellow wallpaper, and the woody ammonia mouse piss smell. Morning sun hits the other side of the house, making the vacant room all dim natural light and shadowy corners.

He deposits you in the same spot he did yesterday, his presence suspiciously neutral as he sits down facing you and takes the gag out of your mouth. You take a deep breath of air and choke on it, triggering a coughing fit. Fearing the metallic, rotten wad of fabric being stuffed in your mouth again, you gasp out, “Sorry- not- trying,” when your seizing lungs let you.

He pulls a chocolate chip granola bar out of his pants pocket and opens it, ignoring the coughing completely. You note that he’s in a clean set of clothes and is no longer covered in blood. On his skin and hair, though, faint red stains remain.

It reminds you of Halloween 1995, when you dressed up as a vampire. You bought a tube of fake blood for $1 at the local drug store to smear on your face for dramatic effect. The red dye was unforgiving and left your face tinged red for a week, no matter how hard you tried to scrub it off your skin.

Again, you wonder if it’s Javier’s blood. But unlike last night, the thought doesn’t make you spiral. Because something happened.

I hear you, cariño.

The words play on repeat in your head. In the midst of your good morning panic attack, you were praying to God or anybody, his voice cut through the fog, crystal clear. It perplexes you.

Dan pinches off a chunk of granola bar the size of a quarter and brings it to your lips. You open your mouth and grab it with your teeth, trying not to be too obvious about how hard you’re avoiding touching your lips to his fingers. Between bites, he tips a plastic water bottle to your lips and you take sips.

He gets up and retrieves something from behind you, then sits down, crossing his long legs in front of him as he sets a first aid kit on the floor between you. You flinch when his hands land on your shoulders. He doesn’t react to the involuntary movement, just murmurs, “I’m gonna remove the rope to clean your wounds. Don’t make me regret it.”

“Ok,” you exhale in a shaky breath and watch the wallpaper like you expect it to do something. He moves methodically, untying the knots around your ankles, then your wrists, then your shoulders. His blonde curtain bangs hang loosely in front of his face, swaying from side to side as he tends to you.

Steady hands crinkle the weak plastic of a disposable water bottle when he twists it open, then pours some water over the lacerations. He dabs them with paper towels in an attempt to clear the wounds of debris. The pop of a cap being pried open makes you flinch, then he advises gently, “This is going to sting,” before he pours rubbing alcohol on the wounds.

Sizzling, searing pain rips a howl from your hoarse throat, and, even though you try your damndest to sit still and work through the pain, your feet smack against the dusty hardwood floor with a mind of their own.

“I’m not trying,” you whimper when he stares at you with a clenched jaw, deep blue eyes drenched in annoyance at your outburst.

He shoulders soften as he sighs, “I know.”

The searing pain fizzles out to a faint sting. He applies goopy ointment, then wraps the wounds in gauze. Once the rope burns are cleaned and dressed, he moves you closer and has you face him so he can clean your split cheek. The first couple of times he reaches out to touch you, you flinch.

Eventually, though, the movements don’t seize your breath, and it feels... strangely intimate. He’s calm, face almost appearing sympathetic, when you whimper helplessly at the rubbing alcohol burn this time. It dawns on you that the man you’ve spent the last four years with is still there somewhere.

You try to make casual conversation like you have across the dining room table hundreds of times before, asking him, “How was softball?”

To your surprise, he responds to this with a shrug, “It was fine. Average, I guess. We played a scrimmage, went ‘n’ got some drinks at Cowboy Slim’s after.”

“How is your new glove working out for you?” your throat feels raw and bruised when you swallow hard, tiptoeing into the realm of non-violent interaction.

“Kinda sucks, not gonna lie,” he mutters as he tapes down the gauze on your face, “Still breaking it in. So pissed I lost my old one. That one was perfect, I had it for so long.”

“Yeah,” you nod, staring forward at the yellow-tinged wallpaper, “Sometimes you lose things and just… have to move on, you know? It’ll get better.”

He stops moving, and you can feel his eyes burning into your profile. Abruptly, he stands up, picking up the first aid kit, carrying it out of the room down the hallway.

You inhale sharply as you remember the unattended front door. As you saw when you were ushered into the foyer, you can’t be more than a dozen steps away from it. There are creaks at the back of the house as he rummages around for something.

He might not notice. How much of a head start could I get?

Before you can think twice, you clamor to your feet and turn around, taking a step towards the screen door. Your bare feet are silent as you take another quick step.

Then another. A few more. Each step gives you a fresh surge of adrenaline.

Two steps away.

One more. You’re so close.

When your fingers touch the door handle, a creak sounds from directly behind you, and you hear the metallic click of the safety being pulled back on a revolver. You freeze.

“If you move, I’ll shoot you right in the fuckin’ skull,” Dan growls from behind you, burying the barrel in your hair. The cold metal circle presses flush against your bruised scalp. Your heart thuds in your chest and your field of vision goes white with panic.

He speaks quiet and calm as he instructs you, “Put your hands up.”

You comply, extremities breaking out in tremors as you slowly raise both arms at your sides. One of his hands encloses your wrist.

“Unfucking believable,” he grunts as he puts the safety back on the handgun and the cold circle of death is pulled away from your head. He brings your hands down behind your back, securing them in place with a zip tie, making you wince as the plastic digs into your fresh bandages. You can’t decide if this is an upgrade from the rope or just a different kind of hell on earth.

“Do you have to use the bathroom?” he asks as he turns you around to face him. It was a mistake to try escaping. His features are shadowed again, steeped with fury.

You ponder his question briefly, taking inventory of bodily functions you’d been completely neglecting to monitor, then shake your head.

With this, he yanks on your arm, leading you back to the closet. When he opens the door, you step inside obediently. He closes it. Your legs shake when you try to squat down into a sitting position, and you end up toppling over backwards against the wall behind you.

With a groan, you shimmy your ass to the floor and accept this as your seat. You stare at the slit of light shining under the door. Thoughts bounce around your brain like it’s a pinball machine.

“Did you love him?”

You wonder whose blood was on Dan yesterday. The red stains on his skin and hair. Was it even blood?

“Well that was pretty fucking stupid, wasn’t it?”

You wonder if there’s anyone searching for you. If Claudia or your parents know you’ve been kidnapped. If your parents would even care.

Something tickles your face.

Probably a spider.

You wonder what the odds of surviving a black widow bite are.

A shudder runs down your spine as you remember the cold circle of a revolver pressed against your bruised scalp.

You wonder what the odds are of surviving a kidnapping are.

Probably about the same as a black widow bite.

Your thoughts take a sharp turn, and you remember that it’s Friday, then wonder when The X-Files will start airing on Friday nights again.

Will I ever find out what happened to Agent Fox Mulder’s sister? Will he and Scully ever kiss?

This summer, you wanted to see The X-Files movie, but it came out the same day as The Truman Show, which you wanted to see more.

What if, instead of spiraling into an existential crisis while teetering between tipsy and drunk from giant margaritas, you gabbed Javier’s ear off about the possibility of extraterrestrials?

He might not have witnessed you bearing your soul, spilling your guts across the table in front of him (I don’t want to have to gut you, too ) as you came to the realization that being with him was the first thing you did for yourself in a very long time. Would you have come to that conclusion if the two of you had seen a different movie?

In his car two weeks prior, he talked about how, back in 1993, he didn’t like to be around Michelle other than “the fucking, yeah. Not like you…“

“What do you mean not like me?”

“I like being around you.”

“I like being around you, too.”

And it’s clear to you then, that it doesn’t matter what movie you saw, or where you went, because it would have resulted in your breath on his, hot and pleading for him to fuck you. You could have done anything in life, and you would have ended up tangled together in bed, Javier playing with your hair as you write love notes onto his skin.

It’s kismet.

This thought brings you enough peace that the erratic pinball that is your stream of consciousness settles into a lull, and you close your eyes. Maybe just a little nap. It’s not like you have anything better to do.

—

The sound of the hardwood floor creaking outside the door wakes you.

You blink a few times before coming to grips with your surroundings, realizing you’re propped up in the corner of the closet, settling into the dust and spiderwebs. The door groans open, spilling sunshine into your enclosure, and you hum with relief as the (relatively) cool air hits your sweat-drenched skin. You’re groggy and delirious when Dan asks, “Do you have to use the bathroom?”

You take a bodily inventory and determine that: yes, for the first time in probably 24 hours, you have to pee.

When you nod, Dan hoists you up and folds you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then starts carrying you down the hallway in a direction you haven’t been yet. Your head is spinning, dazed, like you’re in a dream.

He comes to a stop and lowers your feet to the ground. You think he does, anyway.

Your feet are numb phantoms, but you’re upright and semi-stable. The muscles you can feel scream in protest. You roll your head on your shoulders to squint and find Dan’s face, and when you do, he has a mask on again. Neutral as he guides you backwards through the threshold of a room, until the backs of your knees press up against cold porcelain.

He lowers you down onto a toilet seat, then pulls your shorts down until they meet the zip tie at your ankles. The big, shiny, red button gifted to you from the crows slips out of your pocket and clatters onto the ground.

You swear you can hear cawing.

Your face falls and you frown, voice coming out in croaks like your vocal chords are shards of glass, “Oh no, I didn’t feed the crows today.”

He says nothing.

You expect him to leave, or at least fucking turn around to give you some privacy, but he kneels down in front of you, one hand helping keep you steady as you weave back and forth, pulled by the weight of your spinning head. It’s not until your body releases a stream of piss you realize his other hand is in the toilet bowl.

He’s giving me a pregnancy test.

Not able to emote yourself properly in your delirium, you scrunch your face up and shake your head, asking with curiosity in a hoarse whisper, “Why?”

“You’re not fucking leaving here until I know whether or not you’ve been knocked up,” he growls.

That’s gonna be a problem.

—

Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Laredo, TX July 31, 1998

Someone broke the news of your disappearance to the media. Probably some fucking blabbermouth. Javier knows it’s bad when he finds himself pushing his way through throngs of people as they gather around the established perimeter.

As he reaches the blaring yellow crime scene tape, he scans the area for Detective Anderson. A petite blonde woman in a neat, fitted pantsuit widens her eyes as she spots him walking up beside her, then lays her hand on his forearm as she asks, “Excuse me, are you Javier Peña?”

This catches him by surprise.

He turns to face her and takes a step back, surveying her short stature as he answers, “Yes.”

He shouldn’t have answered.

“Do you have anything to say about the photos of you and the missing woman?” she questions, pulling a pen and a pocket notebook out of her smart navy blazer.

“No,” he snaps as he turns away to face the blocked off crime scene. He picks out Detective Anderson standing at the back of a cop car, hovering over a map, marking things off with a dull pencil as he talks to a few other law enforcement officials.

“Do you feel responsible for her abduction?” the woman questions next. Javi can feel the heat rising to his head.

The fucking balls on these people.

He steps over the crime scene tape and approaches Detective Anderson. Greg follows his lead, holding the list of empty properties under his damp armpit, while Claudia stays behind the barrier to shoot daggers at the blonde news reporter.

The Webb County Sheriff looks up from the map and nods at Javi. Anderson follows his gaze, then waves Javi and Greg over. They make room around the map for the newcomers.

“Sorry about the circus,” Anderson grumbles sideways to Javi, then clears his throat, “No blood in the car as far as we can tell, so we’re working under the assumption that she’s still alive. Organizing a search of these areas here,” he taps the eraser of his pencil to the areas circled on the map.

He starts dictating specifics about who he wants where, and the men nod as they listen along diligently.

Greg looks over the map, then flips through his papers, cross-examining the two documents. He prods the map in two specific areas with his sausage fingers, explaining, “We searched the empty properties here earlier today and didn’t find anything,” then points to two other spots, “These two haven’t been cleared yet, we can go check 'em out if y’all haven’t already.”

“Fine by me,” Anderson nods, which surprises Javier.

With this, Greg and Javi double back towards Greg’s truck. Anderson catches up with them, tapping Javi on the shoulder. Javi stops and turns to the detective, who instructs, “If you find anything, call right away and we’ll be there in a jiffy. Especially if you find the suspect. Don’t confront him. We don’t want any bloodshed.”

Javi’s mouth forms a flat line and he nods, “You got it.”

He doesn't mean it.

—

The two properties in question are on the same country road, about a mile away from each other and where Dan’s car was abandoned, forming an equilateral triangle on the map. Greg parks at the mid-point of the subject properties at Javier’s suggestion to approach with stealth, not come roaring down the driveway in a pickup truck. He wants to get you out alive. If you're not already dead.

“No blood in the car as far as we can tell, so we’re working under the assumption that she’s still alive.”

There’s hope. He’s been tortured by the unknown for the past 26 hours. The notion that he spent a decade avoiding serious relationships while in Columbia, only to come home, fall in love, and have her ripped away, is driving him fucking mad.

Javier’s hands shake as he lights a cigarette and their ragtag search party of 3 starts off towards the first house. The gravel road crunches and stirs dust up under their steps. He wipes beads of sweat off his forehead with back of his hand and grimaces at the sun that’s beating down on them.

Claudia glances to the cigarette clamped between Javi’s index and middle finger, “Can I have one?”

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he comments as he digs the pack out of his back pocket and holds it out to her. She plucks one out and presses it between her lips. Javi flicks his shiny silver butane lighter ablaze, holding fire to the end of the cigarette.

She inhales deeply, then exhales a plume of blue smoke, “I quit when I was pregnant with Michael, but my nerves are fucking shot. I need it.”

Javi nods in understanding, taking a drag, then tells Claudia, “I tried quitting a few years ago, but I couldn’t stick to it.”

“It’s fucking hard. If I didn’t have that motivation, I’d probably still be a pack-a-day smoker,” she scoffs.

“I think I’m going to try to quit again,” Javi announces.

“Yeah?”

“With the baby and all. I don’t want this shit around the kid,” he tilts his head and considers something he never had previously, “Plus, I should probably try to stick around for them as long as I can. Don’t want lung cancer to take me out at 50.”

A toothy grin spreads across Claudia’s face and she nods, “How are you feeling about it? Being a dad?”

The acid that was previously at a simmer in his stomach shoots up in his throat at a full boil. He clears his throat to lessen the feeling, then admits, “Fucking terrified. What if I’m not… I don’t know, good at it?”

“I’ll let you in on a secret: Nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing when they become a parent,” Claudia chuckles, taking a puff off the cigarette, “You’ll do great, I know it.”

Javier takes a drag off his cigarette. His eyebrows press together as he asks her, “How do you know?”

“Javi, look at what we’re doing right now. All you’ve done in the past day,” Claudia gives him a reassuring smile, “There’s nothing you won’t do to make sure your family is safe.”

Although he doesn’t point out that it was his own ignorance that put you in danger in the first place, he supposes she’s right. You’re part of his family, and he won’t find peace until you’re home with him.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, and one corner of his mouth upturns.

—

The first house was a bust.

While they did find approximately 17 feral cats in the barn, there were no humans in sight. The search party is silent on their route to the second house. Claudia and Greg shoot concerned glances back and forth, eyeing Javi from behind as he blazes ahead of them.

Javier ignores the fatigue settling in his bones and the burning in his calves as he quickens his pace. There’s a decent chance you’re at this next place. He remembers what you looked like in his dream. Beaten to shit.

What if you’re not there? Or worse, what if he’s too late? Would he be able to live with that guilt?

When the 8734 mailbox comes into view, he goes from a brisk walk to a jog. The driveway is long, winding back from the road a quarter of a mile, Javi estimates. Claudia and Greg catch up to him when he stops and crouches down upon hearing crows cawing. He thinks he sees a pair of fat, black bird loitering in front of the run-down rambler.

“She’s here,” he tells them, squinting up at the home, once again cursing himself for not seeing a fucking optometrist.

Greg crouches down further, “Do you see them?”

“No,” answers Javier as he pulls out his pistol to verify it’s locked and loaded, “Crows.”

While Claudia nods knowingly, Greg tilts his head and furrows his brow, “Crows?”

“Just trust me,” Javi sighs, then looks between Claudia and Greg, “Ready?”

—

Dan pulls you to your feet and steadies you against the sink as he tugs your shorts up over your thighs, sticky with sweat and streaked with dirt. He doesn’t button them, just shimmies them up to your waist and then hoists your dead weight over his shoulder again, carrying you into the adjoining room.

Without warning, he tosses you onto the floor like a rag doll.

Your back hits the dusty hardwood floor and the wind is knocked out of you. The ceiling is spinning above you. You’re gulping for air like a fish out of water, only able to rock from side to side as you try to curl into a protective ball and suck in air at the same time.

Your clamp your eyes shut and spin in the darkness.

When you open them, he’s standing over you, head spiraling like you’re being flushed down a toilet drain. He pulls you up to your knees by the zip tie around your wrists, and you don’t even feel it cutting into your swollen hands. The spinning slows and you’re able to take a broken breath in, out, slowly, his face centers and stills in your vision.

“You fucking bitch. I would have given you everything ,” his eyes bore into you, darker by the second, and you meet his stare with your own, trying to muster the illusion of bravery. He holds his hands to your shoulders to ensure you don’t topple over.

Then they come up to your throat.

As you realize what he’s doing, you scream and try to get away, only falling backwards for a moment before he catches you, spindly fingers wrapping around your neck. He squeezes down and holds you suspended. You wheeze when you try to breathe around his grip. A smile creeps across his stone face and he clamps harder.

Panic.

Telling you he loved you in the park. Making out in the photo booth.

Can’t breathe.

Hand resting on your bare leg, fingers drawing sweet nothings onto your skin. Playing with your hair.

No noises, no airflow.

Kissing your knotted wrist that was once a gaping wound.

You try in vain to rip yourself away.

Can’t move.

His lips against yours. Silky dark hair your fingers comb through. The slope of his nose. Dimpled smile. Bedsheets that smell like the love of your life. Puppy dog eyes.

Buzzing in your ears.

“I hear you, cariño.”

Sizzling. Ringing. Popping.

In a tunnel, all you can see so far away, surrounded by black.

Flashes of people you love: Grandma, brothers, Claudia, Javier. Jellybean.

Energy drains from your body and you feel your eyes start to flutter shut, even though you can’t see anything anyway.

-BANG-

You fall onto the ground, collapsing in a heap, gasping for air. Choking. Coughing. Your arm is wet and sticky and scarlet.

It’s blood.

You search frantically for its source, then see Dan.

He’s laying the floor, staring at you. You’re gasping for air, heartbeat exploding in your chest, trying to kick yourself away from him and the impossibly dark red circle expanding around him.

His blonde hair is a gushing, black, viscous spring. A waterfall of it spills down across his face. Pooling the darkest red in his mouth, gaping wide. Streaming over his open, vacant eyes. Not vacant like they were before.

No, this time, they’re vacant as in dead.

You scream but it’s silent and sets your throat on fire.

Just the whistle-high pitch like a teakettle that’s almost ready to pour. Then there are hands on your body, pulling you away from the pool of blood. You buck away from the contact in a frenzy of confusion.

The grip anchors in your shoulders and shakes you.

Your whole body goes numb and your ears start ringing. Because you see him then.

He’s wearing a gray polo shirt, hair wild and flying in all different directions, just like the last time you saw him. It feels like a lifetime ago. Dashingly handsome, looking more terrified than you’ve ever seen him.

Javi. Holy shit it’s him.

Your ears come out of the tunnel and tune into earth, and you hear him saying your name, mumbling, “Baby it’s ok, I’m here, I’m here, I got you, it’s ok.”

Someone else cuts the zip ties on your wrists and ankles, and you throw your arms around him weakly. He pulls you in, burying his face in your neck, hugging around your chest so tight, you start to cough again.

“Fuck, sorry,” he gasps, then he lowers to the floor and pulls you onto his lap, stroking your dirty, blood-soaked hair. Your body wracks with sobs when it dawns on you that this is real.

It’s real. He’s here. He’s alive. You’re alive.

He cradles you in his arms and yells at Greg to call an ambulance. You inhale the musk of his sweat and curl into him as your body heaves. His lips on your forehead, promising, “You’re ok, you’re safe now.”

[ Next Chapter ]